Hey, the main thread will be postponed since I'm going to be taking a bit of a break. My mental health isn't the best right now, and I'll be helping my mom with her surgery recovery. I thought you guys should know.
Studio City, Delmonica street 1004HRs, January 1st 2020.
Ronan was at a party when they called. Well, it wasn't really a party party. It was a one-man party with some temporary guests. He was at a club with a girl on his lap and drugs in his system. The booth was comfy, the music loud, and the women pretty. But then he got the call. It yanked him out to this shitty theatre and out of his comfort. He longed for Destiny and the music, but here Ronan was. No lights, no music, no girls, just the drugs still in his system. They never satisfied, not anymore. He always needed more. Maybe he needed a new drug. He wanted that first time experience again, even if it usually made him feel sick to his stomach afterward.
Ronan stood in the street, taking in the scene. He knew it'd be a mess, it always was. He tapped his fingers against his knife and had his right hand on his gun. He was posturing, something he learned worked best for when you wanted people to leave you alone. He cleaned the remains of a bar peanut out of his mouth, his eyes twitching over everything. Ronan looked calm, but thanks to the drugs, his mind was moving a million miles an hour. He was hot, so his coat was open, showing off a clean white tank top. The heat was just another side-effect. That was what he was right now, a bundle of side-effects. Ronan was wearing a smirk, something different than his usual glare. He could blame that on the drugs too, but to be honest he felt pretty good right now. Even if the call removed him from his shelter like a crab leaving its shell, it was a welcome thing. He had something to do now, and a reason to go outside.
Now, there were two ways in. Ronan could go through the front, risking the attention of the thugs. It would get him a fight, but he was too high for that right now. The drugs removed his anger or at least turned up so many good feelings that it felt non-existent. He didn't want a fight tonight, or at least not at the moment. That left the better option, going through the back. Ronan made his way around the theatre, being careful not to draw the attention of the thugs. He felt like if he got in a fight, he would certainly win, but for the moment he wanted to bask in this feeling. For once, Ronan felt like he could think without his anger or violence getting in the way. For right now, he was focused on how to get in, not how to start a fight.
Ronan moved up to the back of the theatre. He wondered if he should wait for backup. He felt, as they say, like a million bucks, but that didn't mean he could face whatever surprises were inside. For all he knew, this could be a gang clean up, not the simple thing he was told it was. Ronan decided to wait. He leaned against the wall, jacket open and hand on his gun, waiting for at least one person to use as bait.
There's nothing up there There's nothing in my mind My heart is empty
I feel like I'm happy But I feel like I'm empty There are no thoughts, no feelings
I try to care But you make it difficult You fight with me You ask me why you matter Why I love you and, for the first time, I don't know
I'm trying to hold on Because that's what I've been told to do I'm trying to understand Why is it so difficult? I've done this all before I've cared so deeply Loved so passionately But now I don't care
I've asked what's wrong with me But no one seems to know I've looked inside myself But there's nothing there
I don't know what to do What to do about you Or me Or this
Maybe there's nothing to do Maybe I just need to accept it Maybe I just need to let you go It's what I feel like I need to do
But you've been with me for so long Five years Why does it suddenly mean nothing to me? Why do I suddenly want to leave you? Why is guilt the only thing keeping me with you?
Why is guilt the only thing in my mind when I talk to you? Why is guilt the only thing I feel? Why do I not care But I feel such strong guilt Nothing is there any more But this horrible guilt
You say you hate me But for some reason, you respond You say move on To let you go But why do you keep pulling me back?
Every word Pulls me back I feel nothing but guilt And it keeps pulling me back
I thought I loved you But I'm just guilty I hurt you and I'm sorry But you won't accept it So I just feel guilty
Not happiness, Not emptiness Not this nothingness, I feel Guilt.
When the words came out of Laphicet's mouth, Aro immediately stopped walking. She turned to him, biting her lip. She didn't know how to explain what happened. She didn't even know if she wanted to. The Terror taking form was her fault, but it wasn't something she could control. Ever since it happened, Aro couldn't stop thinking about it. The Terror looked exactly like the Griffin that haunted her dreams. It was the exact one that destroyed everything she had ever known. Aro didn't know how to tell him. She took a deep breath, thinking of the words.
Aro whispered to him, not letting the old man or Nyte know about her not-so-secret secret. "A long time ago... A long time ago, I used to have a group I wandered with. We were in a forest, kind of like this one, but snowy. We... we didn't know we were in Griffin's territory. I was on watch, and I didn't see it. I didn't see it go to the camp and kill everyone. When I got back, it was... it was eating my mom. It looked at me, and was burned into my mind ever since. It's the only thing I really ever think about."
Aro looked away from Laphicet, ashamed. She was starting to cry, the memory pulling the tears from her eyes. She had just met Laphi, and he already knew what she had done. He had already seen her cry.
"That thing that took Sunny, it looks exactly like the Griffin that killed my family." Aro looked back to Laphicet, not bothering to wipe the tears running down her cheeks. "I have to fix this."
She turned back and continued to walk to where she figured the Griffin was. She walked with purpose, tears washing away the dirt on her face.
Ronan followed the group, still glaring. Then, an idea popped into his head. He walked up to the one giving the orders, and the one that yanked them out of their tubes. It didn't feel like they wanted to kill him, otherwise, he would be dead. He felt emboldened by that fact, they were keeping them alive for some reason.
"Dude, I have to piss. Where's the bathroom?" Ronan didn't have to go to the bathroom, he wanted to get away from this mess.
He wanted to go to a place to think this out. Maybe escape if he could. This made no sense to him. How could he just forget everything? He had a number but no name. He had to find out who and what he was, and why the fuck he was here.
Ronan still glared, forgetting to turn off his default face. He had to get this guy to give him some wiggle room, and looking like he was going to stab the guy probably wouldn't get him anywhere.
Normally, Light worked alone, however, the opportunity had presented itself to see new places and finally use his spells. In his home country, mages were often disowned, especially ones of the destruction magic like himself. People were always,
'Light, you blew that tavern up.'
'Light, that library is on fire.'
No one appreciates destruction magic. There could be a battle or bandits, and they couldn't do a thing. What are they going to do, heal someone to death?
So anyway, here Light was, sitting by a window in the Wrangled Drunkard. He was there first since he was always early. On time, to him, meant 15 minutes before arrival. Being late, was highly upsetting, to say the least. The bar was crowded, but that was okay. It was interesting. The people of Carthus were completely different. Their clothes, their accent, even their hair was odd. He kind of expected the table placement to have three spoons.
Since Light's trip was being paid for, he got the most expensive thing on the menu he could find. It was some sort of... lamb. Whatever it was, it was delicious. After eating the swill that people on the boat dared to call food, this was a very welcome change. Flame outside the window caught his eye. He turned to look at the source, sweet drink still in hand. The crowd gave oo's and ah's.
Light scoffed into his cup, "I could do that."
Yet, he was mesmerized. The things that he'd witnessed today had been astounding. There was vender just selling cheeses. Every kind you could imagine. It was a miracle that someone could base their entire livelihood around cheese. Light swished his glass, recalled how much cheese he had purchased. Five blocks. On second thought, it suddenly made sense how people could sell cheese for a living.
Light looked at his pocket watch. Why didn't others share his love of being early?
“And here was Ronan, like a heart attack that never stopped.”
LOOKS
Either nearly bald or has a very short haircut Sometimes will let his hair grow out, but not by much Sharp features Cheekbones that could cut someone Metal stud in his left ear White, clean teeth he takes pride in Shark eyes. The kind you can look in and only see bloodlust
PSYCHE
Violence and rage was something Ronan grew into. He didn't have it as a child, but after beating a kid half to death he decided he liked the feeling. He's unapologetic and angry but doesn't mean he doesn't lack empathy. He hates most people, but the people he does like he treats like family and will protect them until the very end. He doesn't ever back down from a fight or challenge, but he never plays fair. Ronan has no respect for the law and does whatever he wants whenever he wants to. Ronan craves violence like a drug and can start a fight in an empty room.
HEAT
The owner of a small corp. (that no longer exists, thanks to Ronan's efforts) that he helped take down and steal from. They can't do too much, but they hold a serious grudge. Local police, mainly because he's known for starting brawls and disturbing the peace.
STREET CRED
Small-Time He's known by local police as someone who likes to start fights, whether it's in a bar, on the street, or in a home. He's also hated by a small corporation owner, but other than that he's not known for much.
THE STORY Ronan is from a family of wandering gypsies. When he was little, his mother, Irene took him around the country. They only settled down in Studio City when she got sick. Irene found out she had lung cancer when Ronan was about 16 and didn't tell him about it until he asked why they had a permanent home. He tried to get a basic job, but his efforts combined with the small trickle of income the gypsy business gave wasn't enough. Ronan began selling drugs for a small-time dealer. He got 25% of his sales, but it was enough to pay for his mom's treatments and then some. Although, his efforts were in vain. Cancer got her, and Irene died a few years later.
After his mother's death, his violent tendencies got worse. He actually had something to fight about. Ronan used the funds he got from selling drugs to get him out of trouble, but after fighting with a few customers the dealer dropped him. He had no dignity, no pride, and nothing to keep him out of trouble. He began stealing, which quickly escalated to him becoming a mugger. Ronan used the pay for food and a cheap house, but spent the rest on drugs to ease his pain. He doesn't do anything that would mess him up too badly, just things that keep him high enough to keep him from thinking about his mom.
Ronan now takes out his anger on his targets. He's a mercenary that doesn't really care who he needs to take down. He'll kill anyone, except for kids. He draws the line at children, although that won't stop him from taking their parents. He still does drugs, but they're mostly party drugs now. His memories of his mother are fading, now that is the focus is on his work, along with staying alive. Ronan also tries not to take contracts that are put on his friends, but he only has a few. He'll take down those he's less attached to, or he'll just break them apart and tell them to never come back. Ronan prefers to take, "teach them a lesson," jobs. Those are the ones where he can really let himself go, although he sometimes forgets that he's not meant to be beating them to death. Most of his friends are in the blood business or they're owners of bars and clubs. His friends aren't powerful, but they're family, and he wouldn't trade them for the world.
ARMED IN THE ONE AND TWENTY
Butterfly knife Metal baseball bat he's named after his mother, the center of most of his anger. Ruger SR1911, used for basic hits.
Synthetic Nerves. They aren't as good as normal nerve endings, but they fix the damage that drugs caused. Electronic Contacts. A pair of contacts that make darkness less of a problem. Less light is needed to see in the dark with the help of the contacts.
...AND THE REST
"Local ones at least, the corporate police stay in their corporate zones while the big boys do the rest of the work. NCPD is funded by Night City's city council which seems to have an endless fund for the police department. The corps pitch in, probably to keep the NCPD off them and off their corporate police. That isn't the problem though, they are too spread thin as it is. So many districts, most rookie officers are sent off to the combat zones where they fight the booster gangs, the crazies and the occasional corporate security team. For the most part, they are well trained, brutal and don't take any shit. Some can be nice, but can you really trust anyone these days? They use to be on the corner of every street, but look what the city is doin' to them? They've turned into savages."
-People to be wary of
Solos - are ex-military, killers, hitmen, assassins. All for hire, they live and die by the sword and the gun. You point and they shoot. Doesn't matter who if the money is right, they pull the trigger and don't look back. Allegiance is from wire transfer to wire transfer, they usually work for the corps some on contract while others as security forces.
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