BCTheEntity

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious Look, I can't keep not doing anything in this with no action taken on my part. I've been in no mood to keep participating, and frankly, I'm not feeling any motivation at all to post as Motley, especially with most other players at the start of things having vanished by now. I don't imagine my dropping out ruins any significant plot points at this stage, anyway; if it matters, I wish you luck in concluding the game appropriately.

The Rhythm of the Night

Brandon Whittaker - Queen of Swords

BRANDON WHITTAKER - QUEEN OF SWORDS

Mask and Costume of the Queen

---

---

Name: Brandon Whittaker; in vigilante persona, goes by "Queen of Swords"

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Appearance: For a guy, Brandon is oddly feminine. Dark-haired, light-skinned, and pale-eyed, "twink" would be the term to describe him based on his 170cm height - often dressing in dark, loose clothing in casual settings, he has a fondness for hair gel and makeup that borders on camp, not to mention a few bits of jewellery that often stand out compared to his outfit. Many people question his sexuality as a result. He also shaves his entire body very regularly, and has a lot of dark-coloured tights and gym shirts, though these are for legitimate gymnastics reasons rather than being mere fashion choices.

As the Queen of Swords, his clothing is far more distinctive, and far more girlish, showing off a black-and-red cybergoth design that combines leather, cloth, and metal in a distractingly unforgettable fashion, and very subtly adds and subtracts curves in a way that makes his figure seem legitimately female. Combined with a red and black wig, held on by the straps of a pseudo-plague doctor mask glowing with red LEDs and bearing a voice shifter to make himself sound more feminine, it is extremely difficult to distinguish who is under all the clothing and gear. All that, of course, is to hide his true identity whilst he takes on the streets - or so it would seem, as he never crossdresses outside of acting as the Queen of Swords.

Personality: Normally, Brandon comes across as quite an amicable guy. He dedicates himself suitably to whatever work he is tasked with, usually some form of gymnastics practice, but also understands the need to give himself some downtime too, and isn't so fond of those who don't see the need to calm down at any point (though not to the point of hating them if not given a reason to). That said, he's very anti-drug use, and laments how many of his neighbours indulge themselves in such vices, often encouraging them to drop the drugs in order to improve their fitness. He's also the sort of person who truly believes that the bad side of human nature is something that will eventually be excised from the species, and he nominally espouses that this will be through humanity evolving itself beyond a need for such ill traits.

As the Queen of Swords, the full depths of his delusions of grandeur come to the fore - in truth, he sees evil as something that must be dealt justice, and as evolution is very well known for being utterly random beyond whatever survives the breeding cycle, it is therefore true that evil humans must be taken out of the genepool by force rather than guile. He is fully willing to perform this work himself, considering the fact that he hears the Beat proof that he is worthy of this difficult task, and if other Beathearers oppose him, then evidently they have misjudged what they must do, or else fail to recognise what Brandon considers obvious.

History: Brandon was born into a decent enough family, but very frequently showed off tendencies toward more feminine pursuits; he never bore an aptitude for soccer or football, but loved to read and dance, was an avid theatre fan, and was very keen on gymnastics by the time he reached high school. Thus, he wound up being bullied very frequently throughout his years of education; in particular, one boy in high school found a target in Brandon, a boy who at some point developed the power to produce rocky spires to trip or hit people with. Whilst this was no fun for anyone else either, Brandon in particular often wished that boy would suffer some horrible accident, or that he'd suffer in such a way that he'd never bully anybody again.

Brandon's wish would be answered one fateful day, when in the middle of a class he started hearing some sort of music in his head. It was dramatic and fast-paced, reminiscent of a lot of the shows he watched on television as a child, shows featuring heroes beating up the bad guys, shows where the heroes were always in the right. That music inspired Brandon, when he was confronted by that boy again during his lunch break, to kick the boy in the stomach, for which he got beaten up a bunch, though with surprisingly little injury after a quick check-up by the nurse.

By the time he'd gotten out of the nurse's room, that boy's belly had split open in the middle of the schoolgrounds, spilling his organs in front of hundreds of screaming teenagers. The boy received prompt medical treatment and barely survived, but from then on was forced to use a colostomy bag, and- much as Brandon had wanted- never bullied anybody again. It took a few days for the gears to fit together, but Brandon eventually realised the truth: he'd done that. He'd manifested the Beat, and defeated somebody he considered evil.

From then on, his self-image developed in a somewhat twisted fashion, boosting his confidence greatly, but leading to some vile conclusions. He'd gained the power to fight against evil and injustice; that evil hadn't been taken down by any legitimate systems to date; the fact he existed and could do it therefore meant he must in lieu of anything else; since the tools given to him obviously encouraged doing so in a violent fashion, he'd have to use violent means; and that was fine, as those with power regularly committed far worse acts on a regular basis. At some point, something in his brain stopped functioning properly, and by the time he graduated from high school, he'd managed to convince himself that people who performed evil acts weren't human enough to justify letting them live, meaning it was fine if he mutilated them, or even killed them.

What wouldn't be fine would be what happened if he was discovered cutting people up willy-nilly. He had to do it, but he also had to avoid being seen doing it, at least as himself. He had to dissociate himself from such killings as much as possible... and how better to do so, he decided, than to pretend to be female when performing his deeds? Thus, as soon as he moved to a new town to be closer to his college of choice, he ordered a cybergoth outfit designed to make his frame seem feminine, complete with fake plague doctor mask to hide his features.

Since then, every so often, reports have shown up in town about people being discovered missing limbs, disembowelled, and decapitated, not to mention far worse injuries; yet, all victims are visibly seen to have been in the act of committing a crime in the process, and so it happens that too many of those reports simply go unheeded, whether or not they could be followed up on to begin with...

---

---

Beat Heard As: Action orchestral.
Beathearer Type: Beatrunner
Beat Abilities: Generation of ultrasonic vibrations that, when suitably focused, allow him to disrupt molecular bonds on contact and consequently cut through nearly anything with his hands, feet, arms, and legs, even allowing up to a few minutes of delay before an actual cut is made if focused correctly. Substantially enhanced speed, durability, and awareness of his own body, possibly a side effect of his vibrations. Reduced need for sleep - about four hours a night is sufficient for him to remain fully alert. Modified response to potentially traumatic events, leaving him unaffected by the sight of extreme blood and gore.

---

---

Employment: College student and aspiring professional gymnast - he hasn't decided upon Olympic or stage yet.
Accommodations: Three-room, relatively cheap apartment, about an hour's walk from college. Paid for by his parents on the understanding that he doesn't drop out.
Transport: Public or foot. Cars are expensive.
Skillset: Reasonably intelligent, with a particular bent toward kinaesthetic intelligence, providing a keen sense of balance regardless of the surface or his footwear. Extremely flexible, able to bend his body in graceful yet athletic postures. Able to leap quite a substantial distance into the air and land unharmed through a combination of his Beat-borne speed and gymnastic skill.
Anything Else: N/A

One Piece: New Horizons!

Dirk Messir - Flood The Ship With Digital Oceans

Yes. It was time for the cappen to be at the ship commands, and Dirk is ready to do his bit to start doing the bit of sailing that any am man wants to be at. For sailing, that he was already doiung and will do.

'Caaaaan do,' he said, grinning with violence intent to break all these waters. Only he, with his mighty knowledge of ship, can do that. Him and Kaiser. Why though.

'Why though.' Kaiser didn't need to be there, and then also patted his head? But also how? Caesar Inu is short, Dirk is tall, this doesn't make sense. Dirk, what are you doing?

Yes, Dirk. Why are you even there? You don't know how to control a ship. You might as well let the animal man do it; at least he'd have a chance of controlling it.

Bugger off, Caesar is a cool guy, but doesn't know how to understeer properly. I'll do it, because I hev the top mastery of rotation and is the Divine Purpose will guide the paths.

'You smell nice, Caesar,' he said to Caesar. He had a nice smell, nice comforting smelly smell, like a dry dog. Yes.

The Rhythm of the Night

Brandon Whittaker - Queen of Swords

BRANDON WHITTAKER - QUEEN OF SWORDS

Mask and Costume of the Queen

---

---

Name: Brandon Whittaker; in vigilante persona, goes by "Queen of Swords"

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Appearance: For a guy, Brandon is oddly feminine. Dark-haired, light-skinned, and pale-eyed, "twink" would be the term to describe him based on his 170cm height - often dressing in dark, loose clothing in casual settings, he has a fondness for hair gel and makeup that borders on camp, not to mention a few bits of jewellery that often stand out compared to his outfit. Many people question his sexuality as a result. He also shaves his entire body very regularly, and has a lot of dark-coloured tights and gym shirts, though these are for legitimate gymnastics reasons rather than being mere fashion choices.

As the Queen of Swords, his clothing is far more distinctive, and far more girlish, showing off a black-and-red cybergoth design that combines leather, cloth, and metal in a distractingly unforgettable fashion, and very subtly adds and subtracts curves in a way that makes his figure seem legitimately female. Combined with a red and black wig, held on by the straps of a pseudo-plague doctor mask glowing with red LEDs and bearing a voice shifter to make himself sound more feminine, it is extremely difficult to distinguish who is under all the clothing and gear. All that, of course, is to hide his true identity whilst he takes on the streets - or so it would seem, as he never crossdresses outside of acting as the Queen of Swords.

Personality: Normally, Brandon comes across as quite an amicable guy. He dedicates himself suitably to whatever work he is tasked with, usually some form of gymnastics practice, but also understands the need to give himself some downtime too, and isn't so fond of those who don't see the need to calm down at any point (though not to the point of hating them if not given a reason to). That said, he's very anti-drug use, and laments how many of his neighbours indulge themselves in such vices, often encouraging them to drop the drugs in order to improve their fitness. He's also the sort of person who truly believes that the bad side of human nature is something that will eventually be excised from the species, and he nominally espouses that this will be through humanity evolving itself beyond a need for such ill traits.

As the Queen of Swords, the full depths of his delusions of grandeur come to the fore - in truth, he sees evil as something that must be dealt justice, and as evolution is very well known for being utterly random beyond whatever survives the breeding cycle, it is therefore true that evil humans must be taken out of the genepool by force rather than guile. He is fully willing to perform this work himself, considering the fact that he hears the Beat proof that he is worthy of this difficult task, and if other Beathearers oppose him, then evidently they have misjudged what they must do, or else fail to recognise what Brandon considers obvious.

History: Brandon was born into a decent enough family, but very frequently showed off tendencies toward more feminine pursuits; he never bore an aptitude for soccer or football, but loved to read and dance, was an avid theatre fan, and was very keen on gymnastics by the time he reached high school. Thus, he wound up being bullied very frequently throughout his years of education; in particular, one boy in high school found a target in Brandon, a boy who at some point developed the power to produce rocky spires to trip or hit people with. Whilst this was no fun for anyone else either, Brandon in particular often wished that boy would suffer some horrible accident, or that he'd suffer in such a way that he'd never bully anybody again.

Brandon's wish would be answered one fateful day, when in the middle of a class he started hearing some sort of music in his head. It was dramatic and fast-paced, reminiscent of a lot of the shows he watched on television as a child, shows featuring heroes beating up the bad guys, shows where the heroes were always in the right. That music inspired Brandon, when he was confronted by that boy again during his lunch break, to kick the boy in the stomach, for which he got beaten up a bunch, though with surprisingly little injury after a quick check-up by the nurse.

By the time he'd gotten out of the nurse's room, that boy's belly had split open in the middle of the schoolgrounds, spilling his organs in front of hundreds of screaming teenagers. The boy received prompt medical treatment and barely survived, but from then on was forced to use a colostomy bag, and- much as Brandon had wanted- never bullied anybody again. It took a few days for the gears to fit together, but Brandon eventually realised the truth: he'd done that. He'd manifested the Beat, and defeated somebody he considered evil.

From then on, his self-image developed in a somewhat twisted fashion, boosting his confidence greatly, but leading to some vile conclusions. He'd gained the power to fight against evil and injustice; that evil hadn't been taken down by any legitimate systems to date; the fact he existed and could do it therefore meant he must in lieu of anything else; since the tools given to him obviously encouraged doing so in a violent fashion, he'd have to use violent means; and that was fine, as those with power regularly committed far worse acts on a regular basis. At some point, something in his brain stopped functioning properly, and by the time he graduated from high school, he'd managed to convince himself that people who performed evil acts weren't human enough to justify letting them live, meaning it was fine if he mutilated them, or even killed them.

What wouldn't be fine would be what happened if he was discovered cutting people up willy-nilly. He had to do it, but he also had to avoid being seen doing it, at least as himself. He had to dissociate himself from such killings as much as possible... and how better to do so, he decided, than to pretend to be female when performing his deeds? Thus, as soon as he moved to a new town to be closer to his college of choice, he ordered a cybergoth outfit designed to make his frame seem feminine, complete with fake plague doctor mask to hide his features.

Since then, every so often, reports have shown up in town about people being discovered missing limbs, disembowelled, and decapitated, not to mention far worse injuries; yet, all victims are visibly seen to have been in the act of committing a crime in the process, and so it happens that too many of those reports simply go unheeded, whether or not they could be followed up on to begin with...

---

---

Beat Heard As: Action orchestral.
Beathearer Type: Beatrunner
Beat Abilities: Generation of ultrasonic vibrations that, when suitably focused, allow him to disrupt molecular bonds on contact and consequently cut through nearly anything with his hands, feet, arms, and legs, even allowing up to a few minutes of delay before an actual cut is made if focused correctly. Substantially enhanced speed, durability, and awareness of his own body, possibly a side effect of his vibrations. Reduced need for sleep - about four hours a night is sufficient for him to remain fully alert. Modified response to potentially traumatic events, leaving him unaffected by the sight of extreme blood and gore.

---

---

Employment: College student and aspiring professional gymnast - he hasn't decided upon Olympic or stage yet.
Accommodations: Three-room, relatively cheap apartment, about an hour's walk from college. Paid for by his parents on the understanding that he doesn't drop out.
Transport: Public or foot. Cars are expensive.
Skillset: Reasonably intelligent, with a particular bent toward kinaesthetic intelligence, providing a keen sense of balance regardless of the surface or his footwear. Extremely flexible, able to bend his body in graceful yet athletic postures. Able to leap quite a substantial distance into the air and land unharmed through a combination of his Beat-borne speed and gymnastic skill.
Anything Else: N/A

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Alessa Heather: Trainyard

It didn’t take too long after Lillian was shot with whatever it was that the Wards finally regrouped entirely. Margrave managed to smack one of the clones round the head with a wooden bat, hard enough to crack it in two, before offering his assistance with carrying the injured dino-girl. Messiah accepted with a nod - she’d tell him what a good job he’d done later, she reckoned.

First, make sure everyone got out without dying. Upset was fine, dead wasn’t.

They did, fortunately. Epsilon immediately rushed forward and took a few deep breaths, saying something foul to Decoy specifically. Right. They didn’t have enough intel. Decoy was probably at fault for that, she felt. Was that fair? Probably not.

A couple of moments later, something detonated in the building, and the entire thing collapsed, crushing whatever Deans remained within. Burying them. That was it. The original was dead, all the clones were dead. Nothing remained in this universe of poor Dean.

Fuck. She teared up. She should’ve done more to help him when she had the chance. Fuuuck.

And Lillian agreed, too. Was that the first time she’d been heard to curse? Either way, she did it, and even as she struggled to remain conscious on the ground - as Alessa kept a tight hold of her hand - she detailed what had caused... from the sound of it, what had first caused her to freak out. Master protocol? Damn. Damn damn damn. The Jacks really weren’t people to mess around with, then.

Speaking of whom, some unknown approached them with a teenager over his shoulder, placing the kid in the back of their transport before addressing Lieutenant Reynolds about Lillian’s condition and leaping away. She needed medical attention ASAP, and from the look of things, so did Private Skeetz.

...oh yeah. She’d gotten injured too. Huh.

That guy was a Jack, wasn’t he. Bastard. Or, maybe not, if he helped save somebody who probably shouldn’t have been there.

‘Messiah, are you okay? You’re injured,’ Lieutenant Reynolds said, somewhat concerned.

‘Oh, yeah, I’m fine.’

When had she collapsed to her hands and knees. Why did she do that.

Oh yeah. Dead Deans.

Dead Deans everywhere. Puddles of blood and liquid meat and the real Dean exploded by some impossibly loud shot.

When did she start shrieking at the top of her lungs for a few seconds. Stop that.

Oh yeah. Dead-

She stood up, coughing away the slight pain in her throat now. She still held Lillian’s hand. ‘J-just fine. W-why do you a-ask?’ No, stop your voice trembling. That’s not leaderly. It’s not.

---

Raymond Haywood: Trainyard

For crying out loud, were they all idiots? Or was he just annoyed because they hadn’t immediately followed his orders as expected? Or, maybe Troll was having a lingering effect on him. In any case, he was somewhat upset, and short of slaying a couple more clones trying to make their escape, he could do nothing but wait for the other Jacks to show their faces.

Finally, somebody turned up before him: Jason, mentioning the presence of multiple clones of- really? Was he really under the impression Raymond hadn’t also heard Chatterbox mention his and Sofia’s new doppelgangers? And then, of course, he wandered off to help the two soldiers carry away the unconscious boy nearby. Why? Chances were, they were just going to come back later.

To hell with it. He had better things to be doing than waiting for the remaining two Jacks to get out of there. Following Jason’s one good bit of advice, he began to stroll toward the nearest car - only to see Chatterbox and Sofia on their way toward it. At least... some version of them. Quickly, and remaining as hidden as he could behind one of the external storage containers, he morphed his gun to its Desert Eagle form, then pointed it in their direction and scoped in.

Target: Chatterbox. Version currently in view-

No, not even a hint of targeting. Were they the clones? Most likely, otherwise why would they still be under cloaking? Then again, why wouldn’t the originals also remain under cloak? More importantly, it struck Raymond that Chatterbox’s advice would be utterly worthless; if they were the clones, the Chatterbox of the duo would have potentially no qualms about mind controlling any of the other Jacks around. Didn’t the original Overrun claim “This isn’t my universe, so why not screw it up a little”, or something to that end?

Unfortunately, then, there was nothing to be done with them other than let them go for now, and either meet up with them back at the safehouse, or wait for a better opportunity to take them out individually if they turned out to be the false copies. Sofia couldn’t keep her eyes closed forever, after all.

Quite suddenly, something in the warehouse exploded, and it began to collapse before him; Raymond found himself forced to scramble away from the debris cloud as the building came down, briefly blinding and choking him before the dust settled. Well, if the beings still inside weren’t dead before, they were now.

And yet, for some insane reason, Jason had decided it would be a good idea to approach the two unknowns. Not just him, but Heartless too - who at this point was just adding to a laundry list of idiocies in Raymond’s mind. Son of a... didn’t they realise how easily they could be turned to the copy Chatterbox’s will, if indeed that was a copy?

Speaking of copies, the other versions of he and Sofia found themselves visible at last. At least they’d gotten out of the warehouse before it collapsed. Though, would Sofia’s power have saved them from the building’s rubble? Admittedly, it probably would have, considering how that worked- why was he trying to figure it out? He needed to determine if they were the clones or not, because if they weren’t, Thunderbolt and Heartless were playing a very dangerous game.

Ignoring Heartless’ suggestion that they leave as soon as possible, and the loud scream of anguish that emerged from somewhere on the other side of the wrecked warehouse, Headhunter strolled casually over to the two unoccupied versions of his teammates, gun still drawn, and uttered to them ‘So what would you do if I said “purple venom” to you, Chatterbox?’

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@jbeil Not quite snowed in, but we're not far off that point where I am.

RPGC #16: It Takes Two... - Discussion

@AngelofOctober and I have just put up our story. I wonder how we'll do.

RPGC #16: It Takes Two... - Prompt and Entries

@BCTheEntity - Jeremy, @AngelofOctober - Noah

We Don't Say Goodbyes

Breakfast

“Two Grand Slamwiches, please.”

“Two Grand Slamwiches...-”

“Each. I hear they’re very popular.” Jeremy offered Noah a coy smile, knowing full well that his friend wouldn’t want to be outmatched on that front. “And if you could put the hash browns in with the other ingredients, that’d be great. Thank you.”

Watching the waitress walk off, Noah gave a laugh, clinging his spoon on the rim of the coffee mug.

“When did you get so funny?” Noah asked Jeremy. “Oh, this better not be a Hansel and Gretel moment. No surprise ovens, right?”

“No no, nothing like that,” he reassured him with a shoulder pat. “I just figured, it’s my last day alive. Let’s make sure I’m not living it on an empty stomach, right?” Whilst he wouldn’t normally have picked Lenny’s for breakfast, it had struck him- more specifically, it had struck Noah, who then told him as much- that he’d never had one of their more expensive options. And what better place to start a day than a hearty meal at Lenny’s, right?

Noah gave another snorty laugh. “Don’t say your last day alive. It’s your Ascension.” It’s not like he was trying to avoid the terminology. It wasn’t his style. He already grieved a long time ago for Jeremy’s departure. He just dealt in silver linings and all that, rather than leaving a sad note on the world. “You’ll go from Jere Bear. To God’s Right Hand Man.” Again not that he believed in God, just something. Something after death.

“Ah, I don’t know about right hand man... maybe one of his librarians? He must have a lot of data to sort,” Jeremy mused, fingers stroking his goatee. For a moment, he grieved the loss of one of his favourite jobs - hell, his favourite, period. Alas, as he’d grown weaker, he’d found himself less and less able to work, and had eventually put in his two weeks notice, receiving a surprisingly graceful send off on his last day. He couldn’t convey how encouraging Noah had been in the weeks after that - nor could he be sure how graceful his send off would be on this, his last day ever.

Noah began to crack up in hysterics, he was sure that his thoughts were obvious to no one. To him, Jeremy had a funny view on things about God’s data, and a great joke has come to mind: “Don’t you know God ignores most of his prayers?” He snorted and took a second to calm down. “No, Heaven’s Library would be perfect for you,” Noah said, sipping some coffee. There was always a pro and con to seeing the future. The pro was seeing shitty people finally get theirs. The con was seeing things happen to people you love and care about. He knew Jeremy was going to die before Jeremy was dying. Today was going to be his big send off. His big day. He spent a year on this project, no project wasn’t the right word. A year making sure Jeremy had at least one person close to him.

One person who cared how he left this Earth. Noah wanted Jeremy to have something to cherish.

Jeremy couldn’t help but chuckle at Noah’s crack about prayers, but in turn settled down and sipped his own drink, observing Noah briefly in the silence that followed. The other man had gone to such lengths to make sure he enjoyed his last day. Pain had been a constant companion for months, and if Noah hadn’t done his best to be nearly as constant, Jeremy was sure he’d have languished in bed for the last week or so of his life.

“Hey,” he began, smiling warmly, “I know I’ve said it a couple of times before, but I really do appreciate you doing all this for me. It means a lot to me.”

Kicking his legs a little underneath the table, restless sitting usually he continued to drink his coffee. As Jeremy thanked him for the umpteenth bajillionth time. Noah rested his mug onto the table and just gave Jeremy a smile. “No seriously thank you for letting me do something.” Too many people remained grief stricken. They just wanted to wait for the day to come. He didn’t like to experience sad things feeling like he has done nothing. He dealt with it by doing something about it. Beat the sadness down like its a fist fight. Go through it. But don’t let it take you down.

---

Golf

Once they were both stuffed with various breakfast foods, the duo headed to the nearby golf course. It had always been a favourite pastime of Jeremy’s, and though Noah had suggested it was a bit boring for a final day, Jeremy had wanted to play one last game.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t going as well as he’d have hoped. His last round had been a while ago, and whilst he’d been able to send the ball three hundred meters on a good drive, now he was barely managing a hundred at best, and had to catch his breath after each stroke. Both of these frustrations had built up to severe annoyance; he’d forgotten how exhausting the sport was… or was that a physical change in himself? And this, despite all that medication...

Even before Jeremy had a death sentence, Noah had been dragged out here before and it always ended up the same. No matter the circumstance it simply could not keep his attention for very long. Jeremy always ended up putting more effort into than Noah. He couldn’t understand the rules, the swings, what club was what club and ended up getting distracted by a weird looking shaped tree.

“Has it always looked this crooked?” Noah asked out loud, he didn’t even really mind if Jeremy actually paid attention. Though Noah thought this would make a great piece on one of his art demonstrations. Perhaps put a bra and a pair of undies, where the two knobby parts looked like breasts.

Jeremy glanced over at Noah’s question, still frowning. Maybe he’d been selfish in trying to bring Noah golfing... maybe he’d wanted to relive some glory days that weren’t accessible any longer. His friend had agreed to it, sure, but he probably wasn’t enjoying himself.

“I think it’s gotten a bit more crooked since I was last here,” Jeremy considered, glancing over it himself and eventually nodding. That tree had been old before his father was born, or so he’d heard, and the irony was that it’d probably grow older still well after today. That said, Noah wouldn’t just point it out unless... “What did you have in mind for it?”

Noah turned his attention to Jeremy quickly, “You know who plays Golf the majority of the time?” Noah pauseed. “And this isn’t against the Jere Bear. Rich shitheads. Who like to touch people without their consent. In this case women. These two knobs look like breasts, and this would be a great place for big underwear.” He began to hysterically laugh, “Like a big tree version of grammy panties.”

Jeremy first chuckled, then began hooting with laughter at the mental image. “God damn it, Noah,” he called, “this is a civilised sport!” His laughter continued for a second or two, only to segue into harsh, hacking coughs, a fit that brought Jeremy to his hands and knees as he struggled for air. God damn it, indeed; they had a whole day planned, he couldn’t die now!

Luckily, the moment passed, his breaths rattling with mucus before he choked it up and swallowed it, but ultimately under control. Slowly, he brought himself back to his feet, shaking his head. That had not been fun, and he was feeling drained all over again.

“Uh… pardon me,” he stated, blushing ever so slightly despite himself. “I guess the golf was a bad idea for both of us?”

Noah didn’t feel anxious during Jeremy’s fit, it didn’t make him uncomfortable. It just became something normal as he grew weaker. Plus it was easier to deal with it if it was something normal. Of course he felt bad and of course he hated to see Jeremy this way. There was a comfort though, in knowing how Jeremy was going to die and when, letting him know that he’d live through today. So he needn’t worry.

“You always thought you were better at Golf than you were anyway,” Noah told him. “Your swing is bad.” He wasn’t sure if that was true. He just repeated something he’d heard Jeremy’s dad say once when they were teenagers brought here by his father. To show them a man’s sport. He never had the attention for it then as he did now.

Noah clapped his hands excitedly.

“How about we go to the Arcade then?” Noah remarked, “I know we weren’t supposed to after this, but... I’m dying of mind numbness and you’re actually dying.” Noah wasn’t sure if that came off in poor taste. He just didn’t want to sit through reminiscing about the old days, he wanted to create one last day to commemorate their friendship.

Jeremy snickered at his friend’s words. “Like you’d know how good I am,” he ribbed with a grin, before his face fell at the thought of his impending doom. He’d declined, in his game and his health... and he wasn’t going to get any better at either. He’d had a good run at the sport, but best to cut his losses, perhaps.

“Alright, let’s go, then,” he yielded with a half-mock sigh. “I’ve gone and tired myself out; maybe kicking your backside in a few rounds of Street Battler will suit me better.”

Jeremy didn’t think he noticed that look. This wasn’t supposed to be that time. This was a celebration of twenty-six years of life. This was a commemoration of their friendship and the things they had overcome. Jeremy was the only person who ever stuck around. Everyone else never stuck. It was probably his fault because of the way some people saw him and his behavior.

Noah gave Jeremy a cheeky smile. “Where I may not be able to swing a club on the golf center, I have an unnatural gnack of hyperfocusing on Street Battler. You sir are going down and I am going to get a thousand tickets to get their most expensive prize. Then I’m sending you off with it. A PS4 or something like that.”

---

Arcade

The arcade wound up being far more fun than golf had, much to Jeremy’s surprise. He suspected Noah had let him win a couple of rounds of Street Battler before “hitting his stride” and flooring him ten times in a row; by contrast, a five-race tournament in Grand Prix X ended squarely in Jeremy’s favour, a full ten seconds ahead of Noah by the end of most of them.

“Noo,” Noah sobbed as he lost again in a race of Grand Prix X. Hugging the steering wheel a little, he asked “Why would you betray me? It’s this gas pedal, it’s sticky with soda.” Noah slung his head in defeat, then sighed deeply.

“That’s like blaming other people’s lag on your performance in Horns, Noah,” Jeremy admonished with a cheeky shoulder pat. “You had Street Battler, I’ve had this. And you have a promise to keep, my friend!”

“Lag matters,” Noah defended proudly. “Lag and performance do go hand in hand.”

After that, Noah buckled down hard on his word. Just an hour after the GPX tournament, he’d already earned countless hundreds of tickets, and dramatically spouted his intent to earn far more than that - something he was trying to make good on by claiming a massive jackpot in an arcade version of Wheel of Millions.

“Seven-thirty-seven,” a voice interjected, as they stood around Wheel of Millions farming tickets. Noah turned his head to a fresh faced high schooler, wearing a polo shirt with the Arcade’s logo on it. He had piercings and a neck tattoo. His hair was dyed in an assortment colors, but under the harsh, dark blue lighting of the arcade you couldn’t make out any of the details.

Couldn’t they see the moment he was creating here? And couldn’t they see he was basking in his own defeat? Seven thirty-seven? Oh. Oh.

“That’s what some call me, others number the rest of the numbers, othas call me Tetris and others call me Tetyais,” Noah snorted a laugh. “Watcha need?”

The kid beamed. “I’m a huge fan. I watch your feed.” He looked to Jeremy and said, “You must be lucky to know him.”

Sometimes, Jeremy forgot that Noah had a bit of a cult following for his street art. It was, he considered, good for him that he was starting to be recognised. Maybe he’d become the next Banksy, if he kept that work up... though he might become more well-known for his sometimes-bizarre arrest record. What had it been last time? Right, burning a pile of Monopoly money in Wall Street after spray-painting “WHERE HAS THE MONEY GONE?” all over it.

And yet, for all his quirks, he couldn’t have been a better friend. Who else would set up a Patreon, who else would gather and save and thrift, all to ensure somebody would enjoy their last day on Earth?

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jeremy murmured with a distant gaze, just a tad overcome with emotion, before shaking his head clear as he had a thought. “Hey, since you’re a fan, you want to help us get this jackpot?” he asked the teen. “We can split it half-and-half.”

The kid smiled.

“Sadly I am working-” the kid pointed to his shirt- “But tell you guys what. The Boogie Club tonight has a huge event going on. I know the bartender that works there.” He handed Noah a card. “You guys should come. I want to show seven-thirty-seven to my friends. They won’t believe me if I tell them I saw you with no proof.”

Noah snorted a hysterical laugh and shows Jeremy the card, The Boogie Club, the B formed by a woman bending over and lifting her leg up in a sexy pose. “We have to go!” Noah said excitedly. “Last look at breasts.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes just a little at the card, but couldn’t help but smile at it. “Yeah, alright, I’ll think about it,” he offered. It was all well and good seeing a nice chest or thirty, but worse than worthless without some, ahem, payoff.

And speaking of payoff, Jeremy had realised something about the current state of the game. “Noah,” he pointed out, “if you can get the wheel to land there, and then follow up with an immediate answer, you can get that jackpot unlocked for the endgame. You want... a medium amount of spin, I think.”

Noah looked to Jeremy, replying “They don’t call me the Wheel of Millions god for no reason, sit back Jere Bear and watch the wheel spinning master.” Noah laughed maniacally as a joke, as he rubbed his hands together and span the wheel for that sweet sweet jackpot.

With baited breath, Jeremy watched the wheel spin, spin… and land on the million dollar space, which translated to more than one and a half thousand tokens if he got it. Seconds later, he’d answered the question and secured the space, along with a substantial chunk of in-game money in his own right, practically guaranteeing his entrance into the final round.

Holy crap, Jeremy thought to himself as his eyes widened, he might actually get that jackpot.

Soon, the final question loomed. Noah drew the in-game card; picked his letters; answered the question with seconds to spare... and...

Blaring lights and sounds in an already loud arcade, as JACKPOT shined with multi colored lights. Wait? He actually got it?! Of the many times he had farmed tickets from this machine to get things to pawn, this was actually the first time he got a Jackpot. The machine loudly declared his big win on its speakers.

Noah fell to his knees for a second and raised his hands up to the ceiling, “I take everything I ever said back about you,” he told whomever was watching from the Heavens. “There is a God!” he declared. As tickets began to spill out from the slot.

Hardly able to contain his own excitement, Jeremy fell to his knees next to Noah, clutching the man’s shoulders as he laughed with unadulterated joy. Admittedly, laughter failed him as he began to hack and wheeze for the second time that day, choking for nearly half a minute before he could breathe again, but even in spite of this reminder of his mortality, he was grinning like a madman. They’d gotten the freaking jackpot. Fate itself couldn’t have been kinder.

“Well done, Noah, you grand man, you,” he smiled, practically hugging him. “A Wheel of Millions God you are! Now let’s get those prizes you wanted.”

---

Lunch and Niagara Falls

Both men continued riding the high of their arcade victory as they ate lunch in the car, their prizes safely nestled in the boot. They’d grabbed a sandwich each from a nearby Submarine, then stopped on the way up to Niagara Falls State Park. Alas, Jeremy had had only a couple of bites before the two breakfast sandwiches from earlier had his body insisting that he was full. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d downed them earlier, given his recent low appetite, but he wasn’t going to push his luck.

“You know the staff died inside when you made them sing the song, right?” he uttered, glancing over at Noah with a renewed blush of embarrassment. Apparently, today was now his birthday, and thanks to Noah, everyone in the store knew it. It was a bit special, but also a bit unnecessary in his mind.

Behind the wheel he had already given Jeremy shit about Niagara Falls being on his bucket list. Here they lived in New York city and they had to take the drive up to the state park to look at a huge body of water dump into another huge body of water and it was called a World’s Greatest Wonder. The sad fact is Jeremy was in New York and had never seen Niagara Falls. He hadn’t touched much of their lunch either. But the fact he got some people to sing happy birthday to Jeremy was worth it.

“I love it,” Noah told Jeremy as he parked in a crowded parking lot. “I love watching them feel their own mortality.”

“I kind of wonder if they could sense the death on me,” Jeremy quipped in response, giving a grim chuckle afterward. True, he’d done his best to look nice today, but in the end, he looked exactly as haggard as he felt, if not moreso. Terminal illness was a bitch like that. “I can’t imagine they’d be too pleased to learn how much longer I had, either. At least I’ll live on in your memories, though,” he added whimsically, throwing a crooked smirk in Noah’s direction.

Noah just snorted.

“A dying guy and someone who must have a drug habit walk into a shop and ask for a birthday song,” Noah began to laugh.

Still Noah looked up towards the stairs as the tourist trap awaited them. “Are you good to face the crowds? I can’t save you if some Chinese woman comes up to you and starts speaking a language I can’t speak.” That was no racism card. Just the truth. A lot of foreigners he’d love to ask questions to, who didn’t all speak English.

Jeremy barely held back his laughter at Noah’s quip, wanting to avoid another choking fit for the day. It wasn’t that the medication wasn’t helping, but as close to death as he was, there was only so much it could do for him. He envied his former self a fair bit, frankly... speaking of which.

“I’m sure they’ll avoid us both like the plague.” Or like he had the plague, or at least something just as infectious without inside knowledge. “I’d be a bit more concerned about whether I collapse on the stairs or not. It’d be a damper on the best day of my life if I spent the rest of it in hospital, don’t you agree?”

Noah scowled. It was probably the first time he had scowled in a long time.

“You’re not really taking this with tongue and cheek,” Noah mumbled, “you’re already serious. Can you lighten up more? That was the whole point of this day and all you bring up is hospital and death. We already know this. Can we make this more fun? You’re not really being...” Noah sighed and rested his head on his steering wheel, taking out his keys. “...this is suppose to be a celebration and a commemoration.”

Jeremy’s face fell a bit as Noah turned serious. He only got really serious when he was upset, as he knew full-well from their school days. After a moment, he nodded, then forced a grin on to his face.

“Alright, I apologise. Maybe I’m being a tad morbid...” he murmured back, putting an arm round his friend’s shoulders. “But hey, cheer up. We’ve still got time with one another, and... well, you’ve taken time out of your day- hell, out of your life to get me here. How many of my other friends did that for me, one or two? You have done so much for me, I... I, uh...”

Jeremy took a moment to inhale and exhale, keeping himself from breaking into tears at the thought. “Anyway, you’re right,” he continued with a bit more composure. “I should be taking today with a bit more humour. Besides, if I faint, you can just puppet me around on your feet, right?”

Noah started to laugh. “Hello I’m Jeremy, I’m always serious, yes harrumph. I cannot stop harrumphing.”

“Yes, I am always completely serious. This is my serious face, which I’m always wearing due to how serious I am.” He made a serious face, before breaking into light snickering at Noah’s joke.

“Alright, fair enough, your message is received,” he sighed. “Let’s get to Niagara Falls, eh? I’d like to arrive before the sun goes down.”

“I’m going to buy you awful souvenirs to take with you,” Noah laughed, “you know over your Sunday Best suit is an ‘I <3 NY’ shirt.” Noah began his fit of hysterical laughing, as he did whenever he found something more funny than he should.

“Your mom would be shitting the bed so hard if I had that happen.” Noah lost it and snorted. “Okay, we can go. Let’s go look at the world’s greatest puddle.”

---

Laser Tag

It turned out to be quite a great puddle, despite Jeremy’s lingering fatigue throughout the trip. He’d recovered somewhat by the time they’d driven back to the city, but what came next was going to be far more exhausting than even that: laser tag had never been his finest game even when he was healthy.

“Come on out, Noah, or I’ll come to you,” he yelled, leaning against a wall as he tried not to suffocate again. At least he was expecting to be bad at the game this time, unlike with the golfing earlier, but at least they had a buggy to drive around the golf course on back then.

He wasn’t very good at laser tag either. He suggested it only because Jeremy needed to live a little. Bad word choice? Even before Jeremy was dying, they already spent hours at the library or somewhere with little sound or something to hold his attention. Standing next to Jeremy who was yelling to his left Noah snickered, “Yo Jeremy.”

He was fatigued, not paralysed. Hearing Noah’s voice, Jeremy whipped his gun around and shot the jokester, scoring a point against his companion’s arrogance. “Cower in fear, for I have none!” he exclaimed, making to escape before Noah’s gun came back online… a slow escape, but even so.

“Oh now it’s on. SPLINTER CELL BITCH!” Noah laughed hysterically. He didn’t follow Jeremy instead he snuck around using the walls to conceal his presence. He wondered how some might sum up this day in writing. Two grown men reliving their nostalgic childhood. Reliving their glory days or something like that. Now he was getting inside his own head right now. The one wish he wanted for Jeremy was that tomorrow he could have the final laugh. That’s all he wanted to know, was that Jeremy was comfortable and happy.

Jeremy wondered at Noah’s thought process when he seemingly vanished. Splinter Cell, huh? Which meant he’d be sneaking around in an effort to catch Jeremy out... which meant, if he hid himself into a corner, he could out-match Noah without even moving too much. If he could get to such a spot, and if he could shoot Noah first...

Well, maybe not. He’d need to be pretty well hidden for all that to work out. Though he had found a decent corner; sequestering himself there, Jeremy waited, attempting to minimise his huffing and puffing to catch Noah off-guard.

He had scanned the area in front of him beforehand. The way the corners slanted and the walls were slightly triangled together. Jeremy would most likely be somewhere trying to corner him. The only thing Noah was ever good at was not being noticed. The only time they actually played laser tag was back in middle school during Chelsey Rayman’s birthday party and the only reason Noah was fifth place was because he opted not to play-play. By shooting people who didn’t notice him and hiding.

Sneaking up on Jeremy again, Noah shot this time without hesitation. “Bzzzzap.” Something about this didn’t feel right to him though. Noah just scowled, “Are you having any fun with this? I remember us cowering in a corner as a team during Chelsey’s birthday. And shooting people who tried to get close.”

Jeremy “hmph”ed with a slight smile as Noah hit him, then frowned before realising what his friend was implying.

“Oh- no, Noah, don’t worry,” Jeremy soothed, walking up to Noah and patting him on the shoulder. “Listen, I know it looks like back then...-” For a second he considered how to word himself, then just decided to be blunt. “I am enjoying myself, I promise. You wanna know why?”

Half a second later, Noah received a laser to the gut, and Jeremy smirked just a bit. “Because I can still get cheap shots in. No, no, I’m joking, it’s... you’re here, with me, we’re playing this, and it’s... it’s fun, you know? This is a good time. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Cheap move Jeremy,” Noah said with a smile, “I give oh master gunslinger.”

“Come on, no need to do that just because...” Jeremy’s words caught as his breathing hitched, his eyes widening as he stopped breathing momentarily. About ten seconds later, he finally managed to force some air into his lungs, inhaling and exhaling with a harsh rattle to his breaths. At least that didn’t add to his ongoing pain, despite highlighting his proximity to the end.

“...alright, maybe I’ll accept the win here. Let’s… let’s move on to the next thing.” He scrunched up his eyes and shook his head, then made to move out of the laser tag arena. He really did hope Noah’s vision was as accurate as he claimed.

---

->Strip Club

The Boogie Club’s bright neon sign was fairly well-designed, if standard: as the b became an l, the woman would lift her leg up and wink in blinking lights. Noah howled in excitement, “Would you look at that? It blinks!” He laughed hysterically for a second as a group of high schoolers eyed him. He waved at them. Written on a chalkboard, 18+ night, no booze, and dance open.

“You made it,” a familiar voice standing in line called out. “Come on. I don’t think anyone will mind a celeb cutting a little. My friends are going to totally love you.”

Noah looked at Jeremy. It was still his night. Day. His Life. They took some time to rest in the car after laser tag. There were still things he had left for Jeremy to take with him. Something Noah had been working on. Something important.

Jeremy couldn’t help but squint at the neon sign’s apparently-humorous glare. Did they have to crank those things to be so bright? Or was it at normal brightness, and he was just too sick to look at it properly?

“Hey, early entry’s always nice,” he murmured, taking a moment to lean on Noah as they moved forward. At least they’d have seats inside... a couple of minutes passed before they got to the front of the line and were ushered in. The sight was, as expected, very much like a usual strip club, though with more clothing on the dancers than one would normally expect of an establishment like this.

“Alright, let’s give you something to work with. Anyone you fancy the look of?” he asked, glancing around himself just in case somebody took his fancy first.

It was so shiny in here. Neon rainbows dancing around all the walls, creating glittering effects. They would swap colors in an instant, before fading in some effect that honestly looked like a screensaver from the late 90s. It didn’t bother him, it was honestly what caught his attention first. He only half caught Jeremy’s question as he was fascinated by a star design that imploded and spread out into rippling colors, “The lights are fancy!” Noah told Jeremy excitedly.

Heh. Of course he’s more attracted by the lights than the half-naked girls, Jeremy pondered with a smile. They were some very nice patterns, of course, albeit just as glaringly annoying as the one outside... that said, after a moment of ponderance and shaded eyes, he decided that one of the nearby dancers who looked like she wasn’t getting much attention at the moment seemed quite attractive. Clear skin, nice hair, pretty good figure - he didn’t like judging people if he could help it, but since that was rather the point of a strip club anyway, he decided she was a very solid seven, if not an eight.

“Come on, you,” he said, pulling Noah away from the light show he’d been drawn into by one arm and toward the dancer in question.

Noah was being dragged away from the glittering, shimmering wall, goodbye lights as Jeremy dragged him to a half naked woman. There really wasn’t much fuss, most of the dancers were quite clothed today and there were a lot of teenagers just dancing and ignoring many of the actual dancers. Then he saw it. A sparkling orb, when it caught the other lights, it turned the walls into a wash of silver light.

“O mah gawd!” Noah said. “It is the greatest thing I have ever seen.”

“The best part is, you can buy those in a lot of places,” Jeremy pointed out. Disco balls were pretty commonplace, and whilst he was sure Noah would get a kick out of having his own, it’d probably distract him from... well, life. His street art, no less.

That said, if it was what Noah wanted to look at, then by all means, Jeremy would let him look at that. As for himself, he’d take a seat at the base of the dancer’s stand, silently watching her pour herself into her movements, erotic and titillating as they were. Somewhat, at least.

Noah gasped and grabbed Jeremy’s shoulder, “You’re so right!” Noah said excitedly. “Where do you think I can get one?” He only noticed the dancer when she started moving, he stared for a second. Hips moving, he could see the movement around her. Invisible strings that called to his muse, colored in glittering lights. Where was he? He couldn’t remember.

“Drink? You want a drink?” Noah asked near as excited as he was earlier for something he couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

“Uh... sure, Noah,” Jeremy murmured, drawn out of his observation briefly. He’d probably tail the guy, to be honest; he rather suspected he’d wind up lost or distracted otherwise. Nonetheless, he said “I’ll have a coke. Make it a rum and coke, if they’re letting you buy alcohol with an ID.”

Noah nodded and walked to the counter. The bartender gave him a stare. Obviously Noah was not his usual crowd. He was sure the man expected him to frequently visit some queer bar. Dude was ripping with muscles and looked like he should be replacing his job with the bouncer up front.

“Yeah,” the man barked at him, “can I help?”

Rude. In a perfect world he’d stand on the stool and use his persona, do you know who I am? In reality he just walked back to Jeremy.

“Out of everything,” Noah told Jeremy.

He’d managed to keep an eye on Noah as he wandered over to the bar, then wandered back with... nothing at all. Jeremy frowned for a moment, then raised an eyebrow, then finally just shrugged.

“I doubt that, but I’ll take your word for it,” he acquiesced, returning to look at the dancer as she started to put on a bit more of a show. Specifically for him? It almost seemed like that could be the case, what with the sultry looks that nobody else seemed to be receiving. They wouldn’t amount to anything, of course; he looked half-dead, and she wasn’t paid to sleep with her clientele.

“Hey, did I ever mention how I think strip clubs are essentially designed to blue-ball their customers?” he asked, leaning over to whisper in Noah’s ear before he got distracted again.

Noah ended up hysterically laughing in his way and he snorted. Didn’t know why Jeremy whispered it when he found himself bringing the attention of people’s eyes from his laughter alone. “Jeremy you’re thirsty,” Noah whispered back after gaining some control of himself after his laughing fit.

“Maybe I am, Noah,” Jeremy pondered, “maybe I am...”

This problem, as it happened, would be solved shortly by a good dinner at a high-class restaurant. Noah’s meal was quite sumptuous; Jeremy’s was less so, and yet came close to being wasted despite his very light lunch. They talked about their likes and dislikes all over again; Noah described his ideas for more street art; and the waiter serving them was tipped very generously when all was said and done.

---

Big Surprise

It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be to walk behind Jeremy and guide him up some hills behind an abandoned park. It was a quiet place, lots of trees, lots of scattered memories, old coke bottles from ages ago dug into the leaves, but there was one special place he wanted to take Jeremy. This was what all his money amounted to in this moment. He had Jeremy go up one more rock, to a clearing, towards an abandoned parking lot and a building. Jeremy blindfolded and dumb to his plans, he stopped moving.

He had managed to snag one dollar cups earlier today before they met at Lenny’s, and he bought a couple of bottles of wine on the way.

“Okay, take the blindfold off,” Noah said with a mischievous laugh.

Jeremy did as he was asked, blinking as he glanced around, before his eyes settled on what appeared to be an unlit billboard before them.

“So, I take it we’re going to be looking at adverts tonight?” he asked jokingly, smiling half to himself. Chances were Noah had something more elaborate planned, but even if he hadn’t, he’d be happy to spend that time alongside the man.

“Nah,” Noah said eagerly, dashing to the other end of the billboard where he’d stashed a generator back there. Please the fuck work. Plugging a bit into the other bit, the billboard at first slowly blinked on, until a bunch of colorful Christmas lights in red, green, blue, and yellow all lit up. Reading in bold, wrapped around iron, it said ‘Goodluck in Heaven’.

“Tadah!” Noah said, raising his hand in the air as a delayed big reveal.

For a moment, all Jeremy could do was stare. This was... this was... exactly the sort of thing Noah would set up, when he thought about it, typo and all.

Overwhelmed, he fell to his hands and knees as he laughed joyously, shaking with it for a few seconds before he managed to pick himself up and stroll over to Noah. By the time he’d made it there, his laughter had diminished to silent mirth and a shaky smile; and yet for his apparent laughter, tears had streamed down his face like waterfalls in that time.

“God fucking damn it, Noah,” was all he managed to get out before wrapping his arms around the artist and squeezing him like a vice. This time, he shook as a result of his quiet sobbing, interspersed with quiet “thank you”s repeated again and again. What else could he say to a grand gesture like this?

“I figured it’d be big enough for you to see when you’re up there,” Noah smiled, he was glad it made Jeremy happy as much as it made him happy, “So...you know whatever is after life you do not forget I am still here.”

“I won’t, I s-swear I won’t,” he promised, crying into Noah’s shoulder. He held his religion as a somewhat minor part of his persona, but of course he couldn’t forget, not after everything he’d done for him.

“...thank you so much,” he finally uttered with some force once his sobs had died down. “This has... listen, Noah. In spite of my illness, this has been one of the best days of my life. I couldn’t have wanted a better sendoff than this... and I couldn’t have gotten a better friend than you to set it up for me. Thank you.”

Noah smiled and took out a bottle of wine he bought. “Should we toast?”

Pulling away from his hug, Jeremy smiled back, eyes wet with emotion. “Let’s.”

Noah laughed and took out the cork opener he also brought. Popping it open, the air hissed, and he waited for it to breathe before he poured it into red plastic cups. It wasn’t quite fancy as the crystal wine glasses they drank from earlier at dinner, but it was better this way. He handed Jeremy a glass and he held his glass.

“To Jere Bear, you have always stuck with me like that 90’s goo toy we used to throw at the wall and when you go to Eden or Paradise or Heaven, you’ll be going in style cause I have your back and I ain’t going to let them have no paradise without a few treasures,” Noah laughed. “To your life. And to your friendship.”

Jeremy laughed in kind, exalting in spite of himself. “To my life, to my friendships, and to you, Noah.” He tapped his cup against Noah’s, and drank of it.

For the next hour and a half, they drank, and laughed, and made more ostentatious toasts to one another. At some point, midnight came and went, and eventually, Jeremy found himself lying on the grass, Noah to one side, glancing alternately between the billboard and the stars above him with a smile on his face.

The smile faded, and he grimaced for a mixture of reasons.

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a small, hollow voice. “This is going to sound sappy as anything, but... could you hold me, please? At least my hand?”

Noah looked at Jeremy, before hesitantly taking his hand.

“Remember when Bobby Roberts wanted to fight you,” Noah told Jeremy. “You were scared then too. Remember what I told you back then? Punch Bobby in the fucking nuts. Jere, I’m scared too. I don’t like seeing you like this. You did not deserve this. And I hate myself for knowing the fact before you did.”

For a moment, Jeremy looked over to Noah, coming to an understanding of what he meant - though there was no punching terminal colonic cancer in the nuts, he didn’t need to be scared. Whatever came after, whether it was Heaven or Valhalla, or whatever, he’d face it with dignity.

“I’ve never blamed you for that, Noah,” he explained gently. “There was nothing you could have done about it, and you did as much as you could anyway. Thank you, so much.” He meant to say more than that, but found he no longer had the strength to say so; turning his head back to the sky, he gazed up at the stars one last time before closing his eyes.

As he drifted off into slumber, he wondered if he’d open them again.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Curse those magical powers of hers! One layer of warding was already a nuisance that he might not have pierced if it weren't already weakened, but two?!

And then, as she pointed her finger in his direction, he was struck by a wave of power that sent his mind reeling with, with, with Fineki knew what sort of momentary emotional madness, extremes of rage and depression and glee all at once, enough to leave him staggered by the aftershock as its effects vanished a moment later. By then, the mage he'd tried to stab inexplicably had one of the Skal-loy's bolts in her stomach, and before he could act again, she twisted a ring on her finger, vanishing in a flash of light, with a cruel smile plastered on her face despite her wounds.

'...I knew I should've just stayed back,' he muttered to himself, sheathing his sword and shaking his head to clear the last of whatever emotions had been forced into him by the witch. After responding to Ursaren's question with 'Just fine, my fellow!', he took a look around to see that any surviving Dark Elves had vanished along with the sorceress - save, of course, the prisoner. Approaching to a decent distance for a somewhat closer inspection, it seemed she was badly beaten and bound in chains, and yet for that, her hands and mouth were smeared in blood. Smart, then: both able and willing to use the natural weapons at her disposal - good traits to bear, as he knew, yet a nuisance if she managed to figure out how Sett was playing the others in his group so far.

And at the same time, she was very skittish, glancing around between the members of their party, especially at Geradin. Though come to think of it, neither Calanon nor Argon were the most likely customers to seem like friends of hers. How unsurprising, then, that she seemed unhappy with her situation; he wouldn't be shocked to learn that she planned on running away immediately.

A moment passed before, Sett realised, her eyes had locked on to something. Following her gaze casually, he in turn espied something shimmering within a pool of blood, blood that had somehow diluted to yellow where it made contact with the water. He didn't claim to be an expert on why blood did what it did, but he reckoned yellow wasn't quite the usual colour. Still, strolling over to the puddle, he gingerly picked the object out and shook it clean, finding what appeared to be a key...

Ah, a key for her chains! Well, that put him in a good spot. He moved back over to where he'd been standing previously, perhaps a little further away just to be safe, presenting the key to her in one hand before closing a fist around it. He wanted naught to do with her, honestly, but he needed to make sure she didn't kill them on the spot. Which required... tact.

'Ma'am, you are in luck,' he uttered, his tone as soothing and charismatic as he could make it, in part for the sake of fooling his allies. 'It appears to be the case that this key-' He pointed to the clenched fist. '-is the one you need to unlock your binds, and 'tis a good thing too that it was not lost to the river. Now, I am a man of the gods,' he explained semi-truthfully, 'and as such, I am not a judge of people, regardless of their heritage. I would hope, in turn, that my compatriates-' Another gesture, this time an open-handed wave at the other members of the party. '-are equally as open to ensuring that those who do not deserve punishment do not receive it - and I am inclined to believe that you are not deserving of whatever punishment your captors had in mind for you at all.

'That said, we are engaged in matters of importance. To have those disrupted would be... ah, unfortunate.' He hoped that didn't reveal too much. 'So, before I or anyone else unlocks your chains, I'd like to get your assurance that you won't attack any of us after they are unlocked. That way, we may all get along without further injury, which I reckon we'd all like after a fight of this sort.' He left the rest unsaid, mildly concerned that he'd already implied too much to keep himself safe - the party were obviously far better armed than she was, and outnumbered her massively, enough that Sett himself likely wouldn't need to get too involved if it came to an execution- ahem, "battle".

@POOHEAD189@Gardevoiran@The Fated Fallen@Fetzen@Stormflyx

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Raymond Haywood: Trainyard

Eventually, Raymond found himself in a position to stop shooting as often, giving him the opportunity to reload his weapon a second time. Meat layered the ground around- well, everyone, both the molten puddles of dissolving clones, and the still-solid pseudo-corpses that had been left to rot, or possibly dissolve in their own right. It was interesting, actually - he had never smelt this much blood before now. He was more used to coldly picking people off from hundreds of meters away than performing an up-close mass shooting.

That said, whilst he’d tried to ignore Troll’s words after his only real kill today, she’d still annoyed him a bit. Even so, now he knew roughly where the warehouse’s speakers were located; once he got the chance, he took aim at them, scoping in where he needed to, and shot to take them out of commission. No use risking everyone’s sanity for the sake of a little girl’s blathering, though the car that drove through one of the walls actually did his work for him there.

Then again, Heartless’ actions might have driven him mad anyway, listening to what he said over the comms as he took out Troll’s speakers. He could not for the life of him believe what he was hearing; first he bullied a child into having a full-blown dinosaur freakout, then he tried to save the same girl?! He’d just wanted him to shock her unconscious or tie her up in the first place, damn it!

Not to mention Jason’s insistence on him taking out a specific clone of this Overrun. ‘Yeah, we need a lot of them dead,’ he pointed out, before begrudgingly scoping in and taking aim.

Target: Overrun, clone. Power: hurling of massive objects, similar function to Thunderbolt.

He took a moment to scope out and step round so he didn’t break his spine. Was that a roar- no, it didn’t matter. Scope in, take the shot.

Headshot, instant kill. Shoot.

By the time he’d scoped out, everything had gone insane. He could only watch as the giant metal monster smashed head-first into the dinosaur that suddenly existed again, causing it to stop existing again, only to burst into a flash of light and disappear entirely with a hole in its body, followed by a beam of burning light sweeping a large chunk of the warehouse.

And THEN Chatterbox contacted the team, suggesting that the real him needed to be identified by the phrase “Purple Venom” and the response “Green Fever”. Wait, the real Chatterbox?

It wasn’t often Headhunter got to say “what the fuck”, but...

‘What the fuck?’ he murmured to himself. Things were getting more ridiculous by the minute, more and more dangerous clones were popping up, and- oh yes, the warehouse was on fire.

To hell with this. They should have left a long time ago. ‘Headhunter to all Jacks: I don’t care how, but get out of the-’ he stated into the comms, pausing to shoot another clone before adding ‘out of the warehouse, now. And tell us once you’re outside, at that.’ And with that, he turned, and began to wander toward the back of the warehouse himself.

The soldier he’d shot earlier was gone. No, wait, not gone, just outside - along with some kid in a mask. Apparently, there were also a large number of clones there: most seemed normal, but one appeared to be rather muscular, and another was shrouded in some kind of glowing mist. No matter.

Targets: clones ahead. Headshot, instant kill. Target next viable clone one current is dead. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

By the time the misty one got up to him, all the others were dead. But that last clone was a real doozy: he couldn’t get a target on him. This realisation nearly cost him his heart, as they managed to claw through the armour at his chest like water before he started backpedalling. Shit, was that that clone’s power, some form of lethal intangibility? He needed... what he needed was a gun to shoot it with, that could...

That could what?, he asked himself, his gun falling to his waist as he, for the first time in a long time, panicked a little. This was an untenable situation for him. He was good at shooting things; what the hell could he hope to do against something that he couldn’t shoot?

Though he couldn’t, apparently someone else could. For whatever reason, the clone suddenly went down, felled by a wave of rubber bullets. A quick turn found Headhunter with a gun aimed at his face from a safe- for the firer- distance away, held by what appeared to be a female PRT soldier.

‘I’ll ask you, just in case you know: where is Skeetz?’ Corporal Johnson wasn’t in the mood for a fight, here. Whilst Margrave had apparently gone off to do his own thing again, she could at least see that he was with Lieutenant Reynolds and the rest of the Wards from here, and they all seemed to be moving out the front of the warehouse. Thank God for that. That still left one missing soldier, and since she’d been ordered to find him, find him she would.

Raymond took a moment to think about what she was asking, coming to the conclusion that she meant the guy he’d shot unconscious, then decided that he’d probably be best off complying. He could hit every one of her vital points if he wanted, but there was no way he’d get the scope up to his eye before she shot him. Besides, he realised, he and she both wanted to be in the same place at the end of the day.

‘Follow me,’ he uttered, turning to lead the soldier outside. Ten seconds later, he directed her to the bodies of her comrade, just starting to stir, and the masked kid who’d pulled him outside - and another clone of Overrun, sword raised dramatically to decapitate who he assumed was Skeetz.

Target: Overrun clone. Headshot, instant kill. Shoot.

Even before he’d fired, Johnson had reacted, pelleting the target with rubber bullets from the hip, forcing it to drop its blade before it died. After that, Johnson began reloading, muttering ‘God damn it,’ to herself as Skeetz finally started comprehending what was going on.

‘Wh- what? Where am I? Who are these...’

‘Skeetz, you’re concussed, but alive,’ Johnson explained bluntly. ‘Do you think you can help me carry Overlook round the front? We’ll be able to get you both medical assistance once we’re out of here.’ The fallen soldier muttered something about trying, then shakily stood, just about keeping his balance. Lifting Overlook under an arm each, they began wandering off round the warehouse, leaving Headhunter to pick off a few more clones from outside the building, then simply waiting for anyone else to show. Whilst he was technically obliged to wait for them, if that place came down on their heads, he wasn’t going to mourn their dumb asses, nor was he going to dig through the rubble to find them.