Fish of Oblivion

Fate/Illuminate Histoire

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• Name: Beatrice LaForet
• Age: 28
• Gender: Female
• Appearance:
  
  
  At 5’11” with an athletic figure, Beatrice is the kind of person who draws attention wherever she goes. Her ever-glinting eyes never seem to stay on one thing for long, and in all but the most extreme of cases she always seems to be smiling; though, whether that smile is friendly or portends your imminent dismembering is often a very open question.
  
  Though Beatrice wears her hair long, she usually keeps it tied up in a wild ponytail and dresses in a very casual, practical style, tending towards dress shirts, jeans, heeled boots and a jacket of some description (usually from the men’s section of whatever shop she got it from, fuck paying out the ass for some dinky little thing with no pockets). Little changes about her attire when on the job, besides the addition of light metal gauntlets for punching and proper handling of weapons and spells, and slightly heavier metal greaves better suited for running and kicking.
• Personality:
  
  Beatrice has matured somewhat with age, but deep down she’s the same wild young woman who turned up at the Clock Tower with no respect for anyone and a lot to prove. Though at first glance she doesn’t skew too far from the general expectation of magi to be composed and elegant at all times, further inspection reveals something altogether more troublesome; she’s sharp-tongued, spirited and never quite at ease unless she’s got something to hyperfixate on, whether that be a target to pursue or a challenge to overcome. Her experiences and chosen lifestyle allow her to fit somewhat more naturally into modern society than other magi, albeit no less eccentrically, but she’s almost never at home, always off pursuing personal leisure or a bounty put out by the Association (or both). She doesn’t seem to have much of a direction in life, unlike most magi and their attempts to reach the root of all things through dedication and study, but perhaps her pursuit of ever-greater fights is enough: something to prove to herself she’s alive, something more than a cog in a grand yet steadily failing machine.
  
  Old habits die hard, however, and so too does the inheritance of a child of magi. Although Beatrice places little value on elegance beyond the fluidity it affords her in battle, those who pry beneath her spirited surface will find she has both the pride and acute sadism one would expect of a magus from an old family. While she’s generally mindful of members of the common public, having little interest in meddling with their lives for her enjoyment and little patience for those who do, her relationships with other magi vary from offbeat to outright tense; she vocally considers many of her peers at the Association to be deluded, simpering snobs and wimps at best, and performative sociopaths besides, while she herself has accrued a reputation for being brash, uncooperative and prone to excessive force. She isn’t entirely a lost cause socially- she maintains friendly if occasionally vitriolic relations with other bounty hunters and the handful of Enforcers she knows personally, as well as many of her former classmates and teachers- but her bluntness when dealing with other magi doesn’t help matters, and neither does her apparent love of picking at perceived weaknesses to make people squirm and tip their hands.
• Skills:
  • Extremely Physically Fit: For Beatrice, maintaining her physical fitness is as, if not more important than maintaining her mind and magecraft: after all, reinforcement can only build upon what’s already there. Though perhaps a bit too much of a foodie for her own good, she’s still in very good shape.
  • Trained Physical Combatant: Beatrice has been trained in both armed and unarmed combat styles. While she blends characteristics of various styles, most notable among them are the Dardi school of swordsmanship for the former and bajiquan for the latter; styles emphasising a composed and deliberate form that, much like the wind and water Beatrice finds affinity with, can turn and give way to vicious and powerful blows and strikes in the blink of an eye. During her youth her parents indulged her sportiness with the train of thought that it was a curiosity that could help her return their line to prominence, but as of the present it’s become an essential part of her skillset, helping her efficiently apply the powers she’s worked to refine into a form suited for her split melee focus, as well as to improve her body’s flow of magical energy and the efficiency of her Od consumption.
• Abilities:
  
  Quality of Circuits: A
  Quantity of Circuits: C
  Elemental Affinity: Wind and Water
  Attribute: Compression, Reinforcement
  
  
  • General Magecraft: As befitting a Clock Tower-educated mage of a relatively esteemed background, Beatrice is well-versed in the fundamentals of Magecraft. High Speed Incantation, Bounded Fields, memory alteration, command, shared perception, healing essentials, even geis; Beatrice was certainly an apt pupil, making her all the more frustrating to her teachers, who wished she would settle down and apply herself to research rather than a violent life of bounty hunting.
  • Reinforcement: While well-versed in basic magecraft, Beatrice put in particular effort to learn reinforcement at a young age and has refused to let go of it ever since as she made a name for herself as a brawler. She uses it to supplement her already-impressive levels of physical fitness, providing the perfect counterbalance to her powerful but taxing spells and allowing her to both overwhelm targets who rely purely on their magecraft to defend themselves and help her close the gap with even stronger physical combatants. More than this, however, she makes some scarily impressive use of it in tandem with Storm; besides maintaining the structure of the blade so that it doesn’t warp or break during intense fights, she can apply her Water affinity to outright alter the shape and properties of the sword to allow techniques and moves that would otherwise be impractical or outright impossible with a weapon of its design.
  • Compression Magecraft: The LaForet family’s speciality, which allows them to designate a radius of about twenty meters around them as ‘their territory’ and pull in a selected element within that space towards them. Most traditionally, they used this to pull in and compress prana from their surroundings, both creating tightly-wound pockets of prana that they could then use to quickly cast powerful spells and disrupting the ability of targets to draw from the world around them, a function that they were sure to pass on to their prodigious heir. It does have some more direct offensive applications, such as firing the compressed prana in a form similar to a bullet or shell, but these are of dubious effectiveness when it comes to Beatrice’s peers and the high-level targets she most often concerns herself with. As such, when making use of it in unaltered form, Beatrice tends more to use it to pull targets in towards her, refusing them the luxury or comfort of attacking her from a distance with ranged spells, or conversely to create a distance between them by compressing air and releasing it for a blast of repellent force, allowing her to break off and recompose herself if actually pressed physically.
  • Elemental Manipulation: While historically The LaForet family has used their speciality as a supplement for more traditional spells, and she herself most commonly uses it for zoning purposes in physical brawls, Beatrice has put in the time and effort to figure out applications relevant to her elemental affinities. Though compression magecraft may be unreliable for direct offensive applications in its unaltered form, interfering with nature to manipulate and amplify existing elements is a handy way of circumventing both the ability of targets to shrug off or even absorb raw prana and significantly increase both the destructive power and precision of offensive spells conducted through it. Her most common uses are to draw in air and moisture and use gathered prana to both amplify and compress them to an intense level of pressure and power. From there, she can release them as direct offensive attacks such as powerful blasts of force capable of breaking bones and sending foes flying away or viciously concentrated jets capable of cutting through even diamond, or bind them to Storm and Stress to grant them extended range, cutting power, or even just greatly increased heft.
  • Implosion: An application of the LaForet’s compression magecraft entirely unique to Beatrice, designed to mitigate their traditional weakness against magecraft with a wide area of effect and mystic codes or other such constructs with a high volume, such as the Volumen Hydrargyrum of the Archibald Family. Rather than use herself as the focal point to which her chosen element will converge, Beatrice can use a bolt of focused prana or her Mystic Codes as vectors to designate a focal point; and with shrewd application, she can use it to not only ‘cancel’ or otherwise create breaches in wide-range attacks, but cause any solid or semi-solid bodies the vector becomes embedded in to be pulled violently inwards. The effect requires intense concentration and is extremely taxing to Beatrice in the heat of battle, but strategic use allows her to effectively conduct fights on her own terms rather than that of her target’s.
  • ‘Blinking Strike’: An application of the LaForet’s compression magecraft entirely unique to Beatrice, similar in concept to the art of Fa jin; rather than prana, air or liquids, she can compress her own muscles for a momentary burst of power. If reinforcing the body could be compared to giving it a consistency or strength closer to steel than flesh or bone, this ability could be likened to giving a specific limb or organ the power of a bullet or shell for a split second; reckless or prolonged use of this ability stands to tear Beatrice’s muscles or shatter her bones, leaving her crippled, but effective use allows her to quickly and brutally end fights with a single vicious blow strong enough to punch clean through reinforced steel or, more likely than not, strike a target’s head clean off of their shoulders.
• Assets:
  
  • Storm: Beatrice's primary Mystic Code, a longsword designed to channel the elemental affinities of the wielder into either enhanced physical attacks with the longsword or enhanced spellcasting using the body of the sword as a conductor. The longsword was originally the Mystic Code of a magus who specialised in the creation of similar implements, who became a fugitive from the Association after testing out his ‘masterpiece’s destructive capabilities against members of ‘the common public’, keen to establish whether it made a qualitative difference when it came to the potential of the magecraft channelled through it to kill. Beatrice ended up prying it from his corpse's cold, dead hands after he refused to go down without a fight, and claimed it as a trophy in lieu of the usual bounty from the Association. Besides using it as a focal point for her compression magecraft, she has since refined it to be especially compatible with her own wind and water affinities, coating the blade in either compressed wind to extend its range or compressed water to greatly increase its cutting power. When the situation calls for it, however, Storm has a special relationship with her second Mystic Code, known as:
  • Stress: Beatrice's secondary Mystic Code, a sheath and extension for Storm that allows Beatrice to change up her stance and fighting style to deal with larger or sturdier targets. While Storm was a trophy that she redesigned to suit her needs, its sheath is an original creation of hers that allows her to 'transform' the graceful and swift longsword into a solid, hefty axe in a manner reminiscent of a certain cult video game from the mid 2010’s. While it loses versatility in the process, as the heavy blade and relatively ponderous swing speed of the transformed weapon benefits less from her elemental affinities, the destructive power of the combined Storm and Stress is staggering, with it being able to cleave through metal and bone with Beatrice's enhanced strength alone. But Stress wouldn't be much of a Mystic Code if it were simply a slab of iron, and the ways in which it pairs with Storm are more striking than its form implies. Even when inactive, the sheath absorbs and receives prana gathered by Beatrice and stores it in a rechargeable jewel concealed at the tip of the sheath where the axe blades attach, and while she can use the sword inside to incrementally tap into it for standard enhancements, igniting it all at once affords her bursts of power sufficient to level even the heaviest and most durable of targets. By channelling her affinities into the stored prana, she can greatly increase the axe's destructive potential, water increasing the density and weight of the weapon and wind to placing greater force and speed behind each swing; and if she is able to act and find an opening before the stored prana is exhausted, she can fire off whatever remains as a torrential wave capable of mowing down or blowing away anything caught in its path with a downward swing. Though there is a significant downtime between each use of this function, as a great deal of prana is required to enable it for even a few minutes, strategic use can turn the tide of fights and force even Servants to assume a defensive posture, if only briefly.
• Brief Backstory:
  
  Beatrice is the current head of the LaForet Family, something of a dark horse in the modern Clock Tower. Once fairly notable even among the venerated lines of the Clock Tower, the untimely death of the family’s head and subsequent loss of much of their crest in the early nineteenth century saw them fall into decline and recuse themselves from magus society to recuperate their losses. The process was slow and painful, with a number of unremarkable and even outright unsuitable heirs contributing little in the way of research or inheritance to elevate the family back to its former heights. As such, in that space of time the family grew increasingly distant from the politics of the Mage’s Association, integrating more and more into non-magus society as they pursued more mundane business ventures to accrue the funds needed to pursue their research and keep their lifestyle afloat.
  
  This, perhaps more than anything else, is what set the stage for Beatrice. Born in London in the late twentieth century, her talent and the quality of her own magical circuits weren’t fully comprehended until significantly later into her life than if her parents had anticipated their daughter to be the harbinger of their line’s renaissance, and so the environment in which she grew up in was vastly different to that of the heirs of other magus families. While many such children experience some version of reality outside the immediate sphere of magus society, Beatrice’s parents were so fixated on their research that they took an extremely emotionally distant approach to their daughter, neglecting to be involved in much of her upbringing but consequently giving her freedom to do as she wished so long as she kept up appearances during social occasions and kept up with her lessons. As such, by the time they started paying enough attention to realise her potential and thus arrange for her to be enrolled in the Clock Tower, she’d grown into a wild, energetic girl who was in and out of trouble and was more than happy to throw a punch in a situation where magecraft was forbidden or impractical.
  
  Whilst she proved an apt and capable pupil, and a competent and powerful magus with a willingness to prove herself, it became increasingly clear that she was a deviant too difficult and capricious for either her parents or the faculty to control. While she would complete all work and assignments on time, it was always to free up her schedule to go and test out some new application of her magecraft in the duelling grounds or pick fights with other students who gave her or her handful of friends grief for their ‘common upbringings’. While her martial inclination proved conductive to her development and the continuation of her family’s magecraft, the aggressive and boisterous personality that accompanied it didn't do much to endear herself to others in the Clock Tower, nor did it foster any real respect or regard for the institution in Beatrice herself. If anything, she resented the institution and her parents for uprooting her from the identity she’d forged early in her life, reducing her from ‘Beatrice’ to simply the ‘LaForet scion’, just another piece in their absurd long game to fight back against their inevitable decline. Indeed, by the time she had graduated, it was clear she held scarcely more than naked contempt for the politics and goals of the Clock Tower. While she did assume the role of family head in response to her father’s pleas, she refused to be his pawn and chose to distance herself from the society he had treated her as nothing but his ticket to rejoin, instead opting for an active career in the field. While there weren’t any vacancies in the Enforcers at the time, there was never any shortage of rogue magi to hunt down, and so she elected to take up the life of a bounty hunter, which would afford her a regular supply of targets whose foolishness and recklessness endangered those around them to hunt down and hone her skills and unique brand of magecraft against. Perhaps some day, she could see herself settling down and carrying on the family’s legacy, but she would do it on her own terms, and until then she had a journey to undertake, to make sense of this strange existence caught precariously between the mundane and fantastic.
  
  As of the present day, Beatrice has been working as a bounty hunter for around seven years. She was living and working in the American Midwest when a target she was pursuing turned up with a number of strange sigils on their arm. Curious as to what the sudden appearance of the markings portended, upon returning to London to hand the body over she took their severed arm and got a colleague of hers to identify them Command Seals; the mark of one chosen to participate in the Holy Grail War. Whilst much of the information she could collect on the war presented it as another damn fool’s errand, the promise of a battle royale of such a magnitude piqued her interest: and whether or not the wish supposedly afforded to the war’s victor was genuine, perhaps this fateful providence would finally yield her the personal truth she was seeking.

Pariah

As Remy and Jimmy entered the alleyway past the security door, they would no doubt observe a scene of carnage; one more common-or-garden than the disaster taking place a short distance away, but carnage all the same. One of the trash cans out behind the bodega appeared to have toppled over, its contents strewn across the concrete ground and the ramped walkway leading up to the door. Fortunately, there was nothing too unseemly- the worst of the store's refuse went in the locked and mercifully not overturned dumpster, with the trash can being more for convenience, but a menagerie of moldy, half-eaten food left by people passing through the alley and broken glass and split cans carelessly dumped there by the same was hardly an appealing sight to behold.

What was about as unappealing a sight was the individual standing just behind the fallen can, their stubby arms in the air and their oversized, bugging-out eyes darting back and forth between the avalanche of waste and the two who had just come out into the alley.

"Now fellas, I realize this ain't exactly a pretty picture." It seemed as if there was a third bizarre individual who had arrived with the two currently browsing the bodega's wares, and while physically they were identical to 'Frankie' and 'Dean', it was hard not to notice the dramatic difference in personality: and the slow, lumbering timbre they spoke with. "But there ain't nothing afoot here, I just had myself a little acc-i-dent."
---
Back in the bodega itself, 'Frankie' and 'Dean' had decided that while they both had equally little idea what they'd set out to purchase with the money they'd acquired earlier today- "Long-lost in the haze of rejection and the ensuing passion," as Frankie put it- if they'd finally gotten their foot in the door they'd be remiss to not come out with something for their troubles. After three minutes and four arguments in which they bounced from magazines to soda to the weird off-brand construction toys near the register and back, they'd finally come to something resembling an agreement and moved on to the chiller with cold cuts.

They were a few minutes into a new argument- which cuts to get and what bread to have them with- when they felt a sudden jolt of fright that caused their impossibly round ears to stick up. They shared a confused glance, wondering for a moment what was so existentially terrifying about their debate about coppa and bresaola, before realization hit them.

"What is it, Sammy, the cops?" Frankie asked, raising a stubby hand to his head to focus on talking to their lookout.

"... Oh yeah, I was meant to be lookin' out for them." The response came after a few beleaguered seconds, Frankie and Dean's ears twitching as they received the communications from outside and fed it into their brains. "Naw, I just thought I saw a rat and knocked over a trash can."

"Should have got me to be the lookout," Dean groaned. Frankie glanced up at him dubiously- all these hot takes, and he'd have been happy sitting it out?- but a moment later he looked back down and focused on his other 'sibling'.

"Now look, Sammy, accidents happen, it ain't no big thing. But the fella in charge of this here outfit is the only one we've met all day who hasn't had his head up his ass. Take care of business so we can keep doing business, yeah?"

"I know, Frankie, but how's you supposing I should do that?"

"Come on, Sammy, you big palooka." Frankie sighed. God, to be sadled with such steaming malalukes for brothers. "You know what to do."
---
"... Oh, right." All while that conversation had been going on, 'Sammy' had been staring into space, their 'ears' twitching away as they seemingly completely forgot about the two humans present to speak to thin air.

That in itself was confounding, but it didn’t stop there. When they'd spoken before, it had been with a mouth more than a little too small for their bulbous head. But now that same mouth opened wider than should have physically been possible, the orifice expanding like an iris or camera shutter to almost encompass their entire face, revealing oversized and very noticeably and distressingly human-looking teeth.

But even that paled in comparison to the fever dream that laid behind them. As those horrible teeth came into view, something extended from the 'throat' behind them. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a long tube, perhaps a tongue- but as it fanned out into the shape of a funnel, it was hard to miss the countless lamprey-like teeth embedded into every available inch of the structure's interior, nor how far they extended back, the depth of its 'throat' stretching into a long darkness revealed by the faintest hint of some eerie light at its terminus.

With a sudden rush and intake of air akin to a vacuum being turned on, the bizarre organ began to pull in the ocean of refuse laid out before it. The 'teeth' inside spun and shredded it down into something that resembled dust more than ground-up refuse as 'Sammy' seemingly devoured the contents of the can that they'd knocked over, the source of the vacuum pulling it deep into the depths of their jaws.

Digimon: The Parallel Visage

Everything happened a bit too fast for Dante to take in. A heavy pause hung in the air as MarineAngemon and Piximon visibly clammed up at his query, while a couple of the others mulled over the implications of what had been said. A moment later and the two Digimon erupted back into life, practically shouting at each-other so fast that they might as well have been two dogs fighting over a bone, before MarineAngemon seemed to lose it altogether and bolted.

"Bro, I’m sorry, but he is a psychopath! Bro!” Piximon shouted after their sibling before they too tore out of the clearing after him. Dante blinked, running the chaos of the last few moments back over in his mind.

The knot forming in his stomach tightened as his fears were confirmed. They knew what was responsible for the current crisis, and, if their reaction was any indication, were absolutely terrified of it and the looming possibility of it catching up to the group while the two of them were still present. Some of his question was unanswered- no way of knowing whether it was close or far, aware or not- but it ultimately mattered little. The major takeaway of it all was that they were absolutely not safe here.

... So as he looked up and saw all three of the other humans present begin to make their way out of the clearing, he made after them with a start.

"Hey! Don't leave me behind!" They may have been in danger, but that would only get worse if they drifted apart.
---
From the darkness between the trees, something watched the group as they went.

The sounds of commotion- the fight between the two siblings- had drawn them to the clearing and they been there since, the glow of two mismatched eyes dimming so that they remained concealed. What they had found was fascinating. The two digital monsters were of little concern, but before them laid an assortment of strange creatures, all seemingly so far from home; something in their memory stirred, but they soon quelled it, not willing to trust it just yet.

No, they couldn't know for sure if these were the ones. The thing's tricks had no rhyme or reason, and blindly trusting things to be as they seemed never ended well. But if they were...

The eyes faded fully into the darkness as the group went. Regardless of whether these humans were the ones they had spoken of, they would have to make sure they didn't stray too far...

Pariah

&

A few minutes out from the commotion that had taken place on the floor of the bodega, things seemed to have calmed down a bit. With the kid seemingly content and at ease in the back, and nobody in the shop the wiser about the police that were on their way, a sense of normalcy returned.

"I still think we should cut our losses."

"Yeah, but you say that about every idea I have. Anyway, we're here, so no good crying about it now."

A sense of normalcy that was promptly shattered by two voices from the street outside the bodega, somehow loud enough to be distinct even as they were muffled by the concrete, glass and metal of the storefront.

"Just sayin', Frankie.” The first of the voices was nasal and almost lazy-sounding despite its volume, as if its owner thought they had a laundry list of better things to do than whatever business their companion had in mind. “It didn't work at the other places and it ain't gonna work here."

"You talk about a lotta things, but you never say much, do ya?" The second voice, meanwhile, was likewise nasal but a lot more energetic and cutting, as if its owner was teetering on the edge of some kind of episode. There was a brief pause, before they continued: "Alright, if Dean's done-"

"Stupid idea, Frankie-" The first voice- ‘Dean’, it seemed?- cut in-

"If Dean's done- Sammy, it's just like we said.” ‘Frankie’ replied, the edge in their voice briefly boiling over into a screech before it settled back down and he continued as before. ”You stay out here and keep an eye open for any wiseguys and we go in and talk business."

"Yes, Frankie." A third voice cut in, this one deep and smooth and only just audible by comparison to the other two.

"See anyone suspicious, and you let us know right away, yeah?"

"Yes, Frankie."

"Attaboy. Dean, you coming or what?"

"Yeah, sure, let's get this shitshow over with."

A moment passed in silence. The sound of footsteps could be heard as one of the unknown people outside- likely ‘Sammy’- skittered away in a hurry, but even that quickly passed as it got further away. Another passed, the silence becoming heavy-

And then the door of the bodega swung open with a jingle, revealing two of the three individuals that had been talking amongst themselves outside.

It was as if a fever dream had become manifest. Whatever the two beings were, they certainly weren’t human; the proportions weren’t impossible, even if they were far shorter and more squat than the impression their voices sold of them, but the green hue of their bodies rather precluded that even before they stepped forward and the two strange disk-like structures atop both their oversized heads became visible. Their unblinking eyes darted about the bodega, turning every which way in their sockets as they darted from product to product, customer to customer- finally coming to rest on their mark, Saul.

“Salutations, good sir!” A thin line on their face opening up into a grin that revealed a disconcertingly human-looking set of teeth- incisors, canines, premolars, the whole nine yards- ‘Frankie’ was the one to break the heavy silence, the manic edge to his(?) voice almost gone as it took on new inflection and diction; still rapid-fire, but now far more deliberate despite that. “Am I to understand that this fine establishment is a place in which money may be exchanged for goods and services?”

“Yeah,” Saul rumbled as his eyes narrowed at the pair of little green men. “I’m guessing you two aren’t from around here, is ya?”

Under the shelf, his hand slid towards a button.

“Ah, don’t let our preferred manners of elocution deceive you, myself and Dean are as much New Havenites as any of you fine folk!” At least for now, however, it seemed as if the bizarre entities didn’t mean any harm. “Born here, certainly, debatably bred, so to speak. The old lady doesn't have much time for us these days, but we're enterprising men-about-town, so we make do."

---

“Who are they?” Jimmy demanded, staring at the security monitor at Frankie and Dean.”
“Never seen ‘em,” Remy said, putting down the half-eaten sandwich.
“Am I seeing this right, are they green?”
“Looks that way.”

---

At the front of the store, Saul glanced at the storeroom door, then shrugged at Frankie. “If yer money’s good and you and your ‘associate’, was it? As long as you behave, I won’t give ya the bum’s rush. That okay with you, Mister…?”

“Frankie,” the strange being quickly replied, nodding vigorously. “Yes sir, I see you’re a man of proprietary, truly a rare thing in this day and age, so I assure you; this is legal tender acquired through entirely legal means. Myself and Dean here have been through the wringer today trying to convince some less-than-accommodating fellows of the same, so you have my word as the boss of The Rat Pack-”

“You don’t need to keep adding that part-” The second being huffed, speaking up for the first time since they came into the bodega-

”Can it, Dean!” Only to be cut off by a sudden jarring screech from their companion, whose eyes almost bugged out of their sockets as they clenched their teeth in fury. An awkward moment passed, and as they collected himself they looked around, cleared their throat and continued. “My apologies, that was improper of me. You have my word as the boss that we won’t cause any trouble for you, your customers or your fine establishment here. Simply allow us to peruse your wares at a leisurely pace and we’ll soon be on our way, money exchanged and goods in hand.”

Saul’s face split into a wide grin. What the hell, he had insurance.And he had to admire how these two stayed in character.

“I like you,” Saul nodded. “Seein’ how we’ve got the ground rules set, I am honoured that you and your associate Dean have decided to grace my shop this evenin’.”

---

“Is he…” Jimmy paused, leaning forward trying to catch a better glance of Saul in one of the cameras, “Is Saul smiling?”
“He doesn’t smile?” Remy asked, blank faced.
“Almost never, not since… Well, never.”

---

“Much obliged, good sir. You’ll not regret your kindness this evening!” And with a final nod, ‘Frankie’ waddled forward into the bodega, their head turning back at an unnatural angle to stare back at Dean as they went. “... Hey, do you remember what we wanted to buy in the first place?”

“What, you forgot?” ‘Dean’ responded, as they likewise made their way from the entrance of the store to follow the other strange being towards the wares on sale, snorting with derisive laughter that revealed their own uncannily human teeth. “... Naw, I forgot too.”

---

While Remy and Jimmy had been transfixed by the scene unfolding on the back room’s security monitor, it may have escaped their notice that something unusual was happening more than a little bit closer to them. At first, it had been faint; the sound of shuffling footsteps and something rummaging about in the clutter outside that could just as well have been mistaken for the sounds of activity in the bodega itself. As the two strange, green beings on the camera feed finished up their dialogue with Saul and walked forward into the shop, however, it was hard to miss the sudden crash of something being overturned in the alleyway outside the door at the very back of the room.

“Aww, fiddlesticks,” came a deep, smooth voice, followed by the sounds of something rustling as metal rolled about on concrete.

"What's...?" Jimmy manages when the monitor disappears from its bracket, leaving the two of them staring at the cables and bolts that had been cut cleanly.

Remy, his eyes bulging, squawks as he falls backwards as a sudden weight appears in his messenger bag. With a splintering sound of glass and a whiff of hot electronics, he lands on the bag and winces.

"What...?" Jimmy demands, turning to stare down at the scruffy boy, reaching into his pocket.
"I think it broke," Remy said,handing him the other C-note, then scrambles to his feet, bolting towards the release bar on the security door.

Pariah

Ob's Variants:

Corinna Capasso | The Rat Pack

Greg Bowie

Digimon: The Parallel Visage

"Oh jeez." Despite everything, Dante couldn't help but feel a little guilty as the clione started crying. He'd just wanted some answers, not to give the poor flying sea slug an existential crisis!

The feeling of guilt deepened as the pink blob shouted at them for their bullheadedness, and further still as the gastropod in question- MarineAngemon, was it? Well, at least the nomenclature was self-explanatory- finally started from the beginning. Seems like he and his sister- Piximon- had happened across them and decided to try and do something approximating the right thing, and as they bickered over the wisdom of that decision he was more than a little reminded of his own twin, however far from her he was in this waking fever dream of a world.

That feeling of guilt, but not the feeling of distress, fell to the wayside as he finally got some answers to his questions, however. They were summoned here by Gods? And- without so much as a beat of courtesy to let him process that complete curveball to his already-struggling perception of reality- they'd been summoned to rescue them?!

The others didn't seem to react as strongly to- or perhaps even fully realize the implication of- that bombshell, and as they asked a fresh round of questions Dante's mind raced anew as he bit down his panic and tried to think. They were in another world with alien lifeforms, and had been selected to rescue Gods. No mention of what they were expected to rescue them from; granted, MarineAngemon hadn't specified the circumstances of their disappearance, but if they'd been summoned in such a hurry it seemed unlikely that they'd just gotten lost on their way home from a night out.

No, there was something going unsaid here. The easy assumption would be that MarineAngemon and Piximon were just intelopers who just happened to be the first ones to come across the group, but Dante wasn't one to take such a straightforward answer at face value. They clearly knew a lot about the circumstances of them being here, even if he was generous enough to assume their knowledge wasn't exhaustive, and while Piximon was easy enough to read- a little pink bag of hot air- MarineAngemon's distress was unusual, now that he thought about it. He clearly wasn't scared of them, between his willingness to approach them and to stick around afterwards to talk, but yet as he'd been prodded for answers he'd almost fallen apart. He knew more than he was telling them, and whatever it was, it clearly had him worried for his life.

Dante looked up from his thoughts. The others were pressing MarineAngemon and Piximon about the devices they held, which they claimed to need more despite their apparent function of joining human and Digimon. In most circumstances, Dante would have joined them in calling the two out, but gripped as he was by his revelation, his mind scrambled to figure out why they needed them so desperately. If they were some kind of power source, and MarineAngemon was visibly disintegrating over the thought of what was responsible for spiriting away actual Gods even in these seemingly remote surroundings-

Oh. Oh no.

"Damn it, forget about the fucking digivices or whatever they're called!" Dante just about snapped. Even if they were as important as the two Digimon were making them out to be, they wouldn't be for long if they weren't prepared for whatever was waiting for them. "What took them- what took the Sovereigns? Does it know we're here? How long do we have before it finds us?"

Digimon: The Parallel Visage

Though Dante was now confident that he wasn't dead, at this point he wasn't sure how much comfort he could take from that.

"You're in the digital world now - I've been told it's a dimension parallel to yours, and dependent on yours as well for its existence."

"All humans in the digital world are said to have digimon partners. I'd suggest finding them soon. Some parts of the digital world are quite dangerous, and not all digimon are open to discussion and reasoning."

"Hold- hold on." Information flew thick and fast and his beleaguered brain struggled to process it. They were in another world? There were more beings like the clione and the flying ball?? They were supposed to 'partner' with them???

He looked around, trying to reconcile what he was hearing with the apparent reality around him. Since he'd come to, two more people had regained consciousness, leaving the total number of individuals whose appearance didn't fill him with dread and confusion at four. There was the girl in a windbreaker who'd come to before him, who seemed significantly older than the rest and seemed to carry herself with something of a harder edge. The first of the others to come to was another boy with red hair similar to his own (and a posture that was very much not), and the last of them was a boy with a slight frame who seemed about as lost as him; not in the least because of the green and purple creature that was apparently intent on making him her manservant.

Dante's gaze lingered on the strange insectoid being, still not quite believing his eyes as it- she, if the cadence of its voice was any indication- made demands of the other boy before pressing the other two unusual beings for information as the girl had. After a few moments had passed, he turned his attention to the other boy, noticing that, likewise, another strange creature had taken a fancy to him. This one also resembled a worm, albeit one with a cat's face and a reptillian frill, and while they didn't seem capable of speech as the others were, that did nothing to make them any less surreal to Dante's increasingly laboured perception of reality. Sensation returned with a vengeance as his thoughts began to race, weightless confusion threatening to give away to outright panic-

"Okay, okay." No, Dante, keep it together. It seemed that all this wasn't a dying dream or a feverish hallucination, so it was time to ask some questions. In-between fighting off the onset of existential dread, he'd overheard the girl and the insectoid creature ask them for more information- one about the nature of the world they'd purportedly been thrown into, the other about the finer details of these alleged 'partnerships- but as his mind caught up with the situation the best it could, it seemed as if there was a crucial detail being overlooked.

"Why are we here?" He started off small, but a moment later and he blurted out. "Something summoned us? What for? Why us?" He very much doubted that whatever entity or force saw fit to snatch them from across dimensions did so without an ulterior motive or some purpose in mind, let alone some innocuous 'adventure' ripped from the pages of some twee storybook. But at the same time, why them? Why snatch four random children from across worlds without even bothering to explain their purpose beforehand?

Dante felt the dread creep back up on him again, but he did his best to beat it back down as he took a deep breath. And, as he awaited a response from the strange creatures, his eyes scanned across the clearing once more and zeroed in on something else questionable.

"Where are the other 'Digimon'?" So the insectoid creature and the absurd taxonomical nightmare seemed to be the partners of the two other boys, but that left himself and the tall girl in the windbreaker unaccounted for. Though they seemed to know more than was natural for a pair of purported interlopers, the clione and the blob didn't seem to be related to the other creatures. Then where were their partners?

Digimon: The Convergence of the Human and Digital Worlds

@tobiax So me and Vo forgot the exact details of your post until it was a bit too late to go back and convincingly change what we'd drafted; that being said, both the characters concerned by this one would have reasons to not notice Rodendramon right away, so I'll follow up with Parasimon next round?

Digimon: The Parallel Visage

Human Character

Name: Dante Jones-Yasuragi

Appearance:


Age: 13

Gender: Male

Personality: Risk-averse and non-confrontational, Dante is unusually reserved for a lad of his age. He tends to keep to himself and away from situations that would entangle him in group dynamics; which, combined with a pronounced stubborn streak and a smart mouth, makes him come across as difficult and unwilling to work with others.

Though certainly not a social butterfly, this is largely unfair to Dante. Though perhaps a bit too reserved for his own good, he is the way he is not out of any sense of malice or sense of superiority, but a deeply-ingrained sense of caution and responsibility instilled into him by a difficult life. Though he tends to avoid other people and their problems if he can help it, that side of him often compels him to get involved anyway. Though he'll often rationalize it as 'just trying to do the right thing', he's certainly not the most pragmatic individual, regardless of how he tries to present himself.

Brief Bio: It'd be remiss to say that Dante's life has been full of tragedy, though it certainly hasn't been an easy one.

He and his twin sister were born to young parents; a young English man and a Japanese international student, only a couple years after their graduation. Despite a decent financial situation and plenty of support from their families, things weren't easy for them; Dante's parents genuinely loved each-other and their children and did all they could to provide, but they themselves had issues to work out that often forced them into a difficult balancing act. As of this, whilst they had the care and resources they needed, he and his sister had to learn to take responsibility for themselves at a fairly young age; helping out with cooking on nights where the family was worn down or short-handed, running extra errands and chores when the need arose, and doing their absolute best to stay out of trouble so that things didn't get any more difficult for them.

Things picked up significantly two years ago, when after some needling from Dante's aunt and her partner, his parents started seeing someone about their issues. Whilst things were still difficult at times, the improved psychological health and a handful of job changes and promotions lead to a significantly less demanding and stressful home environment, even by the time Dante and his sister entered secondary school. That lead to its own issues, however. Whilst they had a handful of friends from earlier in their life, the move to a bigger environment in secondary school was a difficult one for them; they didn't quite know how to interact with such a large number of class and schoolmates. This lead to some bullying at first- it was hard enough fitting in without the bonus of being mixed-race in a otherwise mostly homogenous environment-but between a handful of growth spurts and more or less retreating into themselves, they managed to make it a survivable environment; just one no less difficult than before.

Sovereign Connection: Xuanwumon

Equipment:
- Shoulder Bag w/ contents:
* Empty 500ml Bottle
* Telescopic Umbrella
* Notepad
* School Pencilcase
* Nintendo Switch Lite
* Smartphone (Somewhat slow and outdated)
* Wallet

Miscellaneous:
- At 5’5”/165cm, he’s fairly tall for his age.
- Character Theme: Sweet Home (Keisuke Ito)

Main Partner

Digimon Species: Dracmon

Appearance:


Gender: Male

Digivolution Line: Kuramon -> Tsumemon- >Dracmon -> Sangloupmon -> Astamon -> ???

Personality: Owing to the influence of a ‘funny old man who speaks to himself’, Dracmon is significantly more high-minded than you’d expect of a Digimon whose kind is largely considered second only to Keramon for wanton mischief. Though far from immune to the various foibles of adolescence, he’s almost disarmingly polite and helpful, and scarcely ever raises his voice or curses. Though certainly not above being a smartass, that much seems to be as much deliberate mischief as he’ll subject most people to; and though he can be extremely glib about matters, it never usually seems to come from a place of malice.

This belies the fact that Dracmon has what can only be described as an intensely morbid worldview. Though he’s as guarded about his exact circumstances as he is about the rest of his background, he seems to have knowledge and awareness of the world beyond what you would expect of a Child of his seeming age, and is all too happy to expound to others the pointlessness of worrying about particulars in the limited time allotted to them. Life is a brief, uncertain dance on a stage left ever uncertain by the whims of beings beyond mortal knowledge and comprehension, and if you spend it fretting over every step you- or someone else- might take, it’ll be curtains for you before you know it. While this does somewhat explain his restraint in tormenting people, it in turn means that individuals who act out of line with this worldview will soon find just how high-minded he really is. While most people, regardless of how morose they can be, will just be subject to varying degrees of smartassery, once Dracmon finds a suitable target he’ll come up with some truly inspired pranks to bring them down a peg or two and make them measure up to the absurdity of reality.

Equipment:
- Black travelling cloak
- A peculiar talisman made out of bark from an ancient tree. Has no apparent function beyond being shockingly durable, seems to be kept on hand out of sentimentality.

Attacks:
- Undead Fang: Bites the foe with its fangs.
- Eye of Nightmare: Hypnotizes the foe with the wicked eyes in the palms of its hands.
- Pico Darts: Throws a gigantic syringe at the opponent, draining their blood.

Miscellaneous:
- Character Theme: Hunter's Dream (Ryan Amon)

Digimon- [The Uncanny Frontier]

A few people have dropped out due to life circumstances, so we're looking for more players: if anyone's interested in a more cyberpunk/horror take on Digimon, this might well be the game for you!