*Gonna intro another char now, I’ve had a lot of inspiration these days.*
Someone has made their way to that house on the hill that has burned twice over, sitting in the center, kneeling as white ornate gloved hands sift through the ashes left behind by both the fires, sniffing at the air and running their hands against what it left of the wall before looking at what remains of Nathanial’s skeleton. They shake their head, before walking over to the water at the edge of the cliff and staring out into the ocean.
They look human, or at least mostly so other than their head being a flower bud, yet to bloom as a trilling voice speaks in soft, tired tones, though optimistic “Loo’s handiwork, looks like the good ol’ gang’s set up shop somewhere nearby.” They say to no one in particular, their head changing, becoming entirely human in appearance as he lights a cigarette for themselves, turning into a human male, handsome enough to be noticed for it, sitting the cigarette on their lips and listening to the water. They are dressed in simple attire, a detective’s common uniform, brown shoes, spotless despite just walking through ash. He’s lanky, but not especially tall, more of a subtle height you don’t notice until up close, as well as a white button up, untucked, flapping gently in the wind as he taps a foot, thinking and blowing smoke.
*Atticus needs some love. Besides, I wanna play a wizard.*
Atticus is in the tavern sitting in front of a strange box, watching a muffin tin slowly rotate inside of it while it makes a loud MMMMMM noise.
*Did you give Atticus a microwave?*
The detective sits nearby, tapping his finger on the table, watching the strange device with eyes of constantly shifting colors, though it doesn’t seem to be a conscious shift.
*Atticus needs some love. Besides, I wanna play a wizard.*
Atticus is in the tavern sitting in front of a strange box, watching a muffin tin slowly rotate inside of it while it makes a loud MMMMMM noise.
*Did you give Atticus a microwave?*
The detective sits nearby, tapping his finger on the table, watching the strange device with eyes of constantly shifting colors, though it doesn’t seem to be a conscious shift.
*He's an archmage, after all.*
Atticus looks up at him. "You're new."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*Atticus needs some love. Besides, I wanna play a wizard.*
Atticus is in the tavern sitting in front of a strange box, watching a muffin tin slowly rotate inside of it while it makes a loud MMMMMM noise.
*Did you give Atticus a microwave?*
The detective sits nearby, tapping his finger on the table, watching the strange device with eyes of constantly shifting colors, though it doesn’t seem to be a conscious shift.
*He's an archmage, after all.*
Atticus looks up at him. "You're new."
He smirks, teeth have an eeriness to them, like there is something wrong with them “Am I? You must have been here quite some time to say that. A pleasure.”
He smirks, teeth have an eeriness to them, like there is something wrong with them “Am I? You must have been here quite some time to say that. A pleasure.”
"Atticus Gorta. Don't smile at me." The microwave beeps very loudly and he pulls out the muffins. He does the toothpick test, then begins to frost them. The frosting somehow does not melt off.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He smirks, teeth have an eeriness to them, like there is something wrong with them “Am I? You must have been here quite some time to say that. A pleasure.”
"Atticus Gorta. Don't smile at me." The microwave beeps very loudly and he pulls out the muffins. He does the toothpick test, then begins to frost them. The frosting somehow does not melt off.
He tilts his head, and his lips curl back over his teeth, he doesn’t seem human, more closely something trying to mimic or copy a person, “Why don’t you want me to smile at you, Mr. Gorta?” He walks over, sitting down across from them.
"Atticus Gorta. Don't smile at me." The microwave beeps very loudly and he pulls out the muffins. He does the toothpick test, then begins to frost them. The frosting somehow does not melt off.
He tilts his head, and his lips curl back over his teeth, he doesn’t seem human, more closely something trying to mimic or copy a person, “Why don’t you want me to smile at you, Mr. Gorta?” He walks over, sitting down across from them.
"You know what, do smile at me. You desperately need the practice." He offers a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. "So, what brings you here?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"Atticus Gorta. Don't smile at me." The microwave beeps very loudly and he pulls out the muffins. He does the toothpick test, then begins to frost them. The frosting somehow does not melt off.
He tilts his head, and his lips curl back over his teeth, he doesn’t seem human, more closely something trying to mimic or copy a person, “Why don’t you want me to smile at you, Mr. Gorta?” He walks over, sitting down across from them.
"You know what, do smile at me. You desperately need the practice." He offers a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. "So, what brings you here?"
He does, so bright and wide that it becomes perfectly clear they can’t be human, taking the cupcake and cradling it in their open palm, “Work, naturally. I’m a detective, from what you can clearly see.”
"You know what, do smile at me. You desperately need the practice." He offers a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. "So, what brings you here?"
He does, so bright and wide that it becomes perfectly clear they can’t be human, taking the cupcake and cradling it in their open palm, “Work, naturally. I’m a detective, from what you can clearly see.”
"I thought you were a dealer or a neckbeard, honestly. You're trying too hard for the look." He stretches and grabs at the detective's cigarette before using telekinesis to take it. He takes a drag on it, coughs, and puts it in the microwave. "But I mean, dress how you like, man. What I think has no bearing on what you should be doing. What's your name, anyway?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"You know what, do smile at me. You desperately need the practice." He offers a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. "So, what brings you here?"
He does, so bright and wide that it becomes perfectly clear they can’t be human, taking the cupcake and cradling it in their open palm, “Work, naturally. I’m a detective, from what you can clearly see.”
"I thought you were a dealer or a neckbeard, honestly. You're trying too hard for the look." He stretches and grabs at the detective's cigarette before using telekinesis to take it. He takes a drag on it, coughs, and puts it in the microwave. "But I mean, dress how you like, man. What I think has no bearing on what you should be doing. What's your name, anyway?"
“Neckbeard? Really? And there goes the thought of me looking like a professional. How do you suggest a change things?” He simply takes out another, lighting it up with the snap of his fingers, “Just call me Bluebell, it fits me fine enough, sounds like it would be a person’s name, right?”
Carrion is somehow in the tavern kitchen. The flesh god, despite being enormous, has somehow managed to make himself fit with room to spare. He appears to be making a fruit salad of sorts, complete with watermelon, cantalope, honeydew, pineapple, apple, pear, grapes, peaches, papaya, and blueberries.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
"I thought you were a dealer or a neckbeard, honestly. You're trying too hard for the look." He stretches and grabs at the detective's cigarette before using telekinesis to take it. He takes a drag on it, coughs, and puts it in the microwave. "But I mean, dress how you like, man. What I think has no bearing on what you should be doing. What's your name, anyway?"
“Neckbeard? Really? And there goes the thought of me looking like a professional. How do you suggest a change things?” He simply takes out another, lighting it up with the snap of his fingers, “Just call me Bluebell, it fits me fine enough, sounds like it would be a person’s name, right?”
"Detective Bluebell. Sounds nice. Just weird enough to be real." He examines the outfit. He baps the hat off Bluebell's head. "Miles better already. Have you considered some light scarring? Most wannabes don't have the nerve to go out and get beat up. You look too clean for the noir style stuff. A little stubble. Maybe longer hair. You wanna look professional, but not so professional that you could have come straight from the factory."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Carrion is somehow in the tavern kitchen. The flesh god, despite being enormous, has somehow managed to make himself fit with room to spare. He appears to be making a fruit salad of sorts, complete with watermelon, cantalope, honeydew, pineapple, apple, pear, grapes, peaches, papaya, and blueberries.
Atticus clambers out of the oven and climbs up Carrion's side to look at the salad.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Carrion is somehow in the tavern kitchen. The flesh god, despite being enormous, has somehow managed to make himself fit with room to spare. He appears to be making a fruit salad of sorts, complete with watermelon, cantalope, honeydew, pineapple, apple, pear, grapes, peaches, papaya, and blueberries.
Atticus clambers out of the oven and climbs up Carrion's side to look at the salad.
Carrion bares a lipless grin and tilts his head to look at him "Hello Atticus!" he chirps happily.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
"I thought you were a dealer or a neckbeard, honestly. You're trying too hard for the look." He stretches and grabs at the detective's cigarette before using telekinesis to take it. He takes a drag on it, coughs, and puts it in the microwave. "But I mean, dress how you like, man. What I think has no bearing on what you should be doing. What's your name, anyway?"
“Neckbeard? Really? And there goes the thought of me looking like a professional. How do you suggest a change things?” He simply takes out another, lighting it up with the snap of his fingers, “Just call me Bluebell, it fits me fine enough, sounds like it would be a person’s name, right?”
"Detective Bluebell. Sounds nice. Just weird enough to be real." He examines the outfit. He baps the hat off Bluebell's head. "Miles better already. Have you considered some light scarring? Most wannabes don't have the nerve to go out and get beat up. You look too clean for the noir style stuff. A little stubble. Maybe longer hair. You wanna look professional, but not so professional that you could have come straight from the factory."
He looks down to the hat on the ground, sighing “I thought the hat worked, welp. I’ll take the advice, you seem like the type to know.” Scar tissue forms on his cheeks, like he took a sword to the teeth the hard way, leaving a scar that’s just long enough, a bit of stubble forming at the tip of his chin, “This better?” He ask, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
*Mornin’ peoples, I’m here now.*
*[tucks blankets around you until you are a burrito and takes you over to the fryer.]*
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
*Wait! Wait! I should be pan seared first! Oil the pan! [struggles in the burrito blanket]*
*Gonna intro another char now, I’ve had a lot of inspiration these days.*
Someone has made their way to that house on the hill that has burned twice over, sitting in the center, kneeling as white ornate gloved hands sift through the ashes left behind by both the fires, sniffing at the air and running their hands against what it left of the wall before looking at what remains of Nathanial’s skeleton. They shake their head, before walking over to the water at the edge of the cliff and staring out into the ocean.
They look human, or at least mostly so other than their head being a flower bud, yet to bloom as a trilling voice speaks in soft, tired tones, though optimistic “Loo’s handiwork, looks like the good ol’ gang’s set up shop somewhere nearby.” They say to no one in particular, their head changing, becoming entirely human in appearance as he lights a cigarette for themselves, turning into a human male, handsome enough to be noticed for it, sitting the cigarette on their lips and listening to the water. They are dressed in simple attire, a detective’s common uniform, brown shoes, spotless despite just walking through ash. He’s lanky, but not especially tall, more of a subtle height you don’t notice until up close, as well as a white button up, untucked, flapping gently in the wind as he taps a foot, thinking and blowing smoke.
*Atticus needs some love. Besides, I wanna play a wizard.*
Atticus is in the tavern sitting in front of a strange box, watching a muffin tin slowly rotate inside of it while it makes a loud MMMMMM noise.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*Did you give Atticus a microwave?*
The detective sits nearby, tapping his finger on the table, watching the strange device with eyes of constantly shifting colors, though it doesn’t seem to be a conscious shift.
*He's an archmage, after all.*
Atticus looks up at him. "You're new."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He smirks, teeth have an eeriness to them, like there is something wrong with them “Am I? You must have been here quite some time to say that. A pleasure.”
"Atticus Gorta. Don't smile at me." The microwave beeps very loudly and he pulls out the muffins. He does the toothpick test, then begins to frost them. The frosting somehow does not melt off.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He tilts his head, and his lips curl back over his teeth, he doesn’t seem human, more closely something trying to mimic or copy a person, “Why don’t you want me to smile at you, Mr. Gorta?” He walks over, sitting down across from them.
"You know what, do smile at me. You desperately need the practice." He offers a chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. "So, what brings you here?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He does, so bright and wide that it becomes perfectly clear they can’t be human, taking the cupcake and cradling it in their open palm, “Work, naturally. I’m a detective, from what you can clearly see.”
"I thought you were a dealer or a neckbeard, honestly. You're trying too hard for the look." He stretches and grabs at the detective's cigarette before using telekinesis to take it. He takes a drag on it, coughs, and puts it in the microwave. "But I mean, dress how you like, man. What I think has no bearing on what you should be doing. What's your name, anyway?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
“Neckbeard? Really? And there goes the thought of me looking like a professional. How do you suggest a change things?” He simply takes out another, lighting it up with the snap of his fingers, “Just call me Bluebell, it fits me fine enough, sounds like it would be a person’s name, right?”
Carrion is somehow in the tavern kitchen. The flesh god, despite being enormous, has somehow managed to make himself fit with room to spare. He appears to be making a fruit salad of sorts, complete with watermelon, cantalope, honeydew, pineapple, apple, pear, grapes, peaches, papaya, and blueberries.
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
"Detective Bluebell. Sounds nice. Just weird enough to be real." He examines the outfit. He baps the hat off Bluebell's head. "Miles better already. Have you considered some light scarring? Most wannabes don't have the nerve to go out and get beat up. You look too clean for the noir style stuff. A little stubble. Maybe longer hair. You wanna look professional, but not so professional that you could have come straight from the factory."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Atticus clambers out of the oven and climbs up Carrion's side to look at the salad.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Carrion bares a lipless grin and tilts his head to look at him "Hello Atticus!" he chirps happily.
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
He looks down to the hat on the ground, sighing “I thought the hat worked, welp. I’ll take the advice, you seem like the type to know.” Scar tissue forms on his cheeks, like he took a sword to the teeth the hard way, leaving a scar that’s just long enough, a bit of stubble forming at the tip of his chin, “This better?” He ask, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
"Hey baby." He nuzzles Carrion before picking up a blueberry and trying to feed it to the flesh worm monster god thing.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.