F01 - Blackbook, Grand Opening Pt. II

[Vanta 0]

It had been hard to miss. A deliberate line of bumps and indentations in his skull. Why? Was it wise for her to ask? Would he mind? She wasn't sure. "Oh, I almost forgot."

He turned parting from her temporarily, bending down to reach for their discarded masks. Their appearance glitched; the masks shattered, disappearing. Vantas soft smile fell, it was a sour reminder of their reality. A reminder of her goal. They were still trapped in this prison, and the game had its own ways of reminding them they couldn't truly live. She crossed her arms loosely in protest, disguising the gesture as an attempt to warm herself from the cold. 

Hirru sighed and returned to her side. "Nevermind, I guess we can grab new ones, if need be." He held out his arm, she took it. They walked back to the entrance, the same man from before intercepting their path. 

"Welcome back! I see your masks may have been lost. Do not worry. There are more than enough for a spare, but do be good and keep these safe. It is your choice to not wear them, but it is still our rule to have it.”

He handed them each a black mask, and retreated to the side. Hirru turned, facing her, "Do you want to follow the rules, or do our own thing? You look incredible either way.” she smiled, taking a step closer. Her eyes fell on his mask, she reached up taking it, tying the ends into a neat bow around a loop in his slacks. She did the same with her own mask, tying it at her hip. 

"Just in case we find ourselves needing them, they won't be far, but let's do our own thing." She looked up at him once more, regripping his arm. She took a deep breath as he moved to open the door. They were entering once again, a club filled with music, smoke, liquor, food, and many hungry individuals.

 "Hirru, what happened to your head?" Her words were soft, hesitant, gentle, not meant to be invasive; but genuinely curious with a tinge of concern. She had weighed her options, the worst that could happen would be his evening being completely ruined by the question, him getting angry and leaving her, and her feeling absolutely awful for overstepping.

She didn't think it would really come about, but there was no way to know unless she asked. Worry, curiosity, they weren't bad things. In fact it was usually worse to the keep curiosity bottled within. Knowing this, she took the chance, hoping that even if it was of a sensitive nature, he would understand her heart. 

Edited 2 hours ago by Vanta

[Oscar 0]

Dammed, damned emotions.

The mystery began to unravel. Still ignorant of her story, but the miasma began to clear. He now possessed the what and the why, but not the how. His curiosity could wait. Attention enraptured - enthralled - by the weeping woman held in his arms. Perhaps it had been a mistake, he thought. Charm had been wielded irresponsibly, temptation beckoning without forethought. Objectively, it had been. The goal was never to make someone cry. Only to feel. And the ironic tragedy was that by feeling, he had demolished that dam that walled off her emotion. The waters burst forth, sweeping and drowning. It was no small wonder she was in such a state.

But there was no going back now. All he could do was ride the deluge with her. With any luck, he might be able to ferry her to dry land.

“Irony is -” Oscar said, gingerly grasping her by the wrist. He brought her hand to his face, his lips gracing each digit with the softest of feathered kisses. “Feeling should never be denied.”

Repression was the silent killer. How can one understand what it means to feel if they deny their emotions? How could such a thing be considered holy? Oscar knew too well the evils repression propagated. How people lost themselves without an outlet. How the tension and the pressure and the hate transformed someone into something entirely inhuman. He wore the scars from such decisions. A boy, swallowing it all, made a decision in haste and in hate. Three bullets - each one the nearest of misses. All because he was forced to stifle and deny the very essence of himself.

“Who says you have to stop?”

The words of a fool. He should be trying to let her down slowly. Shepherd her to dry land, allow her the freedom to learn herself. Oscar did not want that responsibility. And yet - what was meant to be a tryst for the evening seemed to be developing into something more. As he gazed into her eyes, all of the words and all of the phrases that he would have used - should have used - in such a situation left him. He shouldn’t get himself involved anymore than he already had. But the mystery was too alluring. Her voice was too sweet. Her eyes too deep. Oscar was drowning. So close to the sun, praying his wax wings did not fail him. Everything told him to dive low, back to the cool ocean breeze. At least to collect himself. But she just had to speak again.

Kiss me.

And he obliged, with zero hesitation. He lunged forward, taking her face between both hands. The Magician’s Pleasure - The Blackbook’s Authority - carried them away from the party. Whisked through space. Muted sounds graced their ears, more felt than heard. Bass thumped beneath them as he pressed her into that downy mattress. Lights low, door closed - a private room. The decor - the walls and the furniture - a haze. Focus narrowed, fixation bringing shadows to his periphery. He bore down upon her, hand sinking into the downy surface as his body engulfed her frame.

Hips met, lips touched. Passion unleashed. Heat building. She burned him. Seared herself onto his skin - onto his lips. He should go. Flee. Hide. Leave her to struggle through her fall.

But he didn’t. He was too cruel to do so. It would have been a mercy. 

Here, now, mercy was the thing that Oscar lacked.

His fingers tangled in her hair, his kisses wild and sinful. His lips graced her jaw, her neck, down to her collarbone. Eyes fixed, unflinching, almost unblinking. His pulse quickened - breath heavy and hot against her skin. They were on a collision course for something beautiful - future complications. Future emotions. Future connection. This would not end at sunrise. He would, full of selfish desire, draw her into his world. The blood and death, war unending. Would it bother her, when she was confronted by it? Would she hate him for making her feel? For all the things he wanted to do to her? All while knowing full well the depths of his own monstrosity?

“Tell me what to do,” Oscar invited, his words muffled against her skin. He took the liberty to leave his mark, a ring of fangs sinking into her flesh.

He didn’t care anymore. Sense and logic had died at the hands of want.

@Winnie

[Adelyte 0]

 

   ♦Lv4 Adelyte

Spoiler Adelyte | HP 80/20 | EN 26/26 | DMG 7 Lv. 4 | T. 1 equipped 2H Warhmmer DMG|DMG -- -- battle-ready inventory 3x Potion (+50 Hp) skills HAMMER | Rank 2 buffs Pretty buff ᕙ(•̀‸•́‶)ᕗ

 

chaos ||
noun : a state of utter confusion or disorder ||

Ever since she was a little girl, Genevieve always invited chaos into her home. Wherever she could be found running around the chateau giggling, it usually meant that someone, somewhere was a victim to her antics. Pranks, usually, harmless ones were her forte. Putting googly eyes on all of the statues and hanging art in the main hall, replacing some of the bottles of vodka behind the bar with water. Once she locked one of her mama's high paying clients in the bathroom.. she got in trouble for that one. Her intent was to never cause any harm or hurt anyone, it was just her form of entrainment that she wanted to share with the world. Usually, though, those on the other receiving end of her pranks just ended up irritated or pissed off. Really, though, it was for her. 

Where kids create imaginary friends to fill the void created by loneliness, Genevieve had chaos. And it had a rather large void to fill. 

There wasn't much of a plan, really. The party she had paid to take her  joined up with to go questing decided that raiding some new nightclub on their opening night seemed like a better idea. Something about eating the rich.. she didn't catch the whole conversation, she was too busy being told to fetch drinks for the rest of them. They messaged some friends of theirs, the group grew larger, and then they decided to strike. All of them dressed the part, dashing two-toned suits, tight fitting cocktail dresses. Just something that didn't stand out too much, help them blend into the crowd. Adelyte, on the other hand, decided to don a more traditional Japanese inspired look; a white and red kimono with gold embellishments and a black bodysuit underneath. 

They slunk into the club in waves, claiming masks at the front door and taking to the crowd. They had decided since someone in the group decided to dress a bit more.. flashy.. that she would be the anchor of the group. Once they saw her walk in, they knew they could get the real party started. 

"Hmmmm.." Adelyte stood there, looking down at the two masks presented to her. "You don't have anything with color do you? Maybe blue? Or pink?" 

Nope, just white or black. She decided on the white. 

It would be easier to paint once she got inside. 

The moment she pushed through the foyer and into the main room, all hell broke loose. Innocent people were tossed to the ground, glass bottles smashed over their heads, furniture overturned. She watched as a martini glass arced over the dance floor, before shattering and leaving a smattering of tiny glass shards on a velvet carpet. Gasps and screams of frightened partygoers, being promised a safe evening of drinks and dancing. 

This wasn't the chaos she welcomed. These were just terrible acts at the cost of others. 

But there was nothing she could do about it. If she tried to intervene, she would just get dragged down with the rest of the group when the owner finally decided to put his foot down.. Let alone anyone here who wasn't about to put up with this kind of bullshit. This was a mistake, she knew that group seemed shady the from the moment they put a price on helping Adelyte with some simple quests. Before she had a chance to leave, a elbow to her chest from someone rushing by knocked her off of her feet. Familiar, from the few moments she had to look at them. Someone she entered with, maybe? Perhaps she wasn't the only one with a change of heart. 

Commotion at the bar caught her attention, and she would turn onto hip to look in that direction. A fight had broken out at the bar.. or, to put it better, the party crashers were facing the consequences of their actions. 
"Wait.. is that..?" Adelyte asked herself as she looked at the toned back and shoulders of a familiar, tan skinned woman bashing one of the men she had paid's head against the bar. Even more bodies tossed into the air, landing close to the exit, as a massive stud of a man made easy work of some of the raiders. She'd probably have heart eyes right now if this were some anime. 

Okay, maybe coming here wasn't a total mistake.. at least now that she was here, she could just enjoy the party. 

Edited 3 hours ago by Adelyte

[Veil 0]

 

The same story, different soul.

Veil had received the invitation, he smirked. It was certain there would be refreshments, food, perhaps even some fun. It didn't take him long to be ready, every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, smooth. He had a ball to attend to, an offer he simply couldn't refuse. He had been denied the pleasure of voluntarily attending much of anything in his youth, so he found an extra wisp of pleasure in knowing that he could decide what the evening would be. 

He arrived on the scene, a man who looked to be a guard approached him, offering a choice; Sainted or Sinful. He met the mans eyes, calculating his options. He certainly wasn't a blatant sinner, but he was far from a saint. He took the black mask, tying it in place. 

The music within shifted- only subtly- but enough. The kind of shift one only noticed if they listened rather than heard. A brush of strings, a deeper thrum of the base. A shadow at the doorway that didn't try to draw attention, yet every perceptive instinct of his surroundings turned towards it anyway.

Veil stepped inside. 

Tall enough to eclipse the soft red light that shone behind him. His mask was black lacquer, matte, expressionless. No feathers, no flourish- only sharp simplicity, it suited him. His presence wasn't loud. It just commanded without trying. 

He waited to join the festivities, enjoying the offered and readily available refreshments. He simply observed. Eyes hooded, a hand tucked loosely into his left pocket. His posture made it clear; he wasn't here to be impressed, he was here to see. 

Eventually he spoke- not loud, but with a resonance that carried,

"So this is the Blackbook."

No judgment. No praise. Just acknowledgement. 

The crowd shifted, not because anyone parted for him, but because Veil simply moved through the space like he had always known it, as though he belonged. 

He noticed her. 

He didn't stare, that would have been too obvious, too eager, he wasn't a man that was caught wanting without cause. She was beautiful, confident. The white mask, her purple skin. A careful distance disguised as freedom. 

She moved as though the music had been made for her. Radiant. Untouchable. Unapologetically living. He took his time approaching her, stepping into her orbit, just close enough for her awareness to brush against his. His height made him a shadow even in the glow of the dance floor. The black mask revealed nothing but the slight tilt of his head as he observed her movement. He waited, patiently, quietly. Every group of dancers, every pair, every shifting step on the floor had a pattern- a tide. Most people simply rode the wave. Veil read it. He watched the subtle break in her spin, the fraction of a pause when the music inhaled before the downbeat. 

That was where he entered. 

One step. A half-turn. A lift of his hand meeting her own. Not claiming, simply falling into place naturally. His other hand found the small of her back- not possessive, just steady- guiding the continuation of her spin into a smooth arc that brought her effortlessly towards him. The contact was minimal, but the poise and control was unmistakable. It felt less like being led and more like dancing with someone who knew the language of her movement without needing to ask. His voice came out evenly, deep, gentle. 

"You wear the mask as though you are someone who is used to being looked at."

No flirtation. Just truth, offered soft and sharp all at the same time.

"Seen but not recognized." a pause, not uncomfortable, just intentional.

"Veil." 

he turned her again, spinning her with ease and practiced rhythm. He didn't demand her identity, he simply offered his own. He understood the meaning of the masks. He didn't care about remaining anonymous, it was a ploy, one that he easily rebelled against. He leaned in slightly, catching her eyes,

"You are beautiful, and you dance wonderfully." He complimented. 

 

@CosmiQueen

 

Veil | HP: 20/20 | EN 20/20 | EVA 0 | ACC 0 

Spoiler

Name: Veil

True Tier: 1 

Level: 1

HP: 20/20

EN: 20/20

 

Stats-

Damage: 1

Mitigation: 0

Accuracy: 0

Evasion: 0

Recovery: 0

Bleed: 0

Battle Healing: 0

 

Inventory- 

(3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP)

2,000 Col

(25) Material

 

Edited 25 minutes ago by Veil