"You always think things can be worse, huh..." That was all he could say. Cynicism was quite the comforting shield. When the world ended, there was a sense of unity amongst the survivors, at least for a few years or so. When things got worse, however, as food supplies dwindled and demons launched further attacks, the survival instinct drove people apart.
The tides ebbed and flowed. People flocked to safety within the masses even as suspicion divided them personally and emotionally.
Adell wasn't sure why he wasn't the same, cynical bastard that he thought a long life tended to shape. Perhaps Terra would have been less likely to give him lip if he had left her to die, but death taught the dead nothing.
"Eve̶r̵y͜ d͢ȩc̨ìsi̷o͏n̸, ̀e̷v̡ery ̶sing҉le̢ ̛śa̧cr̴i̡f̧ic͠e̵, e̷v͏ér̛y si͢ng͜lȩ d͘ea̢tḩ, ͝ev́ęr̶y si̡ngl͏e͏ ̕ma̸n,̸ w͟o̢ma̷n̴, ̶an̢d ̀c͘hild̴ ̢suf͞fèŕi͠ng͞ ̶a ho͘rr͞i̵bl͘e͞ ͏li̢f҉e ͏i҉n͜ th̷e͝ worst c͟o͜nditio̶n͢s ̡ima͟g͞i̵na̴ble͘, ̷perhap͝s ̧is̢ ̡thȩ abso҉l͡ut͏e͡ b͢e͏st̴ t̕h̛at͢ c̢án ͏be ̕d͢o͞n͠e̵ i̴n͏ thi̸s͝ ̴w̛o̧rld͢. ͢I͜f̴ ͢t̨h͝e̷ ̕w͝o͠rs͟t hap͜p҉ene͘d̢ ͡to͝ ̧e͠veŕyón͜e ̸aņd ą ͟p̧a͝rt of̶ yo͡u ͟mus͜t͠ be ̶s̛acr̕i͟f́i͞c̶e̡d t̛od͢ay ͏ju̷s̴ţ to͝ śt͝an̛d̛ a cha͝nc̢e ̡o̸f s̵u̷r̨vi̢v͏àl, a͜ll̨ I às͠k̴ i҉f͜ i͢t wou͝l̕d҉ h҉av̵e ͏perhaps͡ ͢b̀e͞en̛ ͡bèt͞t҉e҉r͢ to ̡die." He lapsed in his demonic tongue, sounding pensive and inward-looking even by demonic standards. It was an old philosophical quote by a man who lived even before Adell's time. Perhaps old books still had his name, but such books dealt with poetry rather than practical survival methods.
A few seconds later, an answer popped into his head.
He looked back at Terra, and tried to smile. It was a nervous smile, of one so unsure and yet attempting to project confidence.
"I don't know. I just... thought that leaving you to die in there was no fate for anyone to have. T̢ha̧t so̧un̴ded ҉bęt͠te̵r̛ ̶įn͡ my̕ h͝ead̨. I almost think you'll be relieved to hear me saying 'I'm going to turn you into my sex slave' or something along those lines... Err..."
His face turned beet red, and he shied away from Terra's face. Corrupted demons couldn't breed, anyway, not even with each other. He recalled trying it out with a lady demon. The awkward romance that started from an experiment to a weird tryst on an old romantic holiday only bombarded his mind with shame and embarrassment. If demons were red-skinned by nature, Adell certainly looked the part at this point.
"Forget it," he muttered.
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Is this still open?
Her teacup emptied, Spencer pushed it to the side of the table. A waitress, dressed in a tuxedo and bowtie that looked out of place in a poxy faux-English cafe, scooped up the teacup and saucer and smiled at Spencer.
"Thank you, sir."
It was so much easier accepting that than to explain how appearances deceived, and that was what Spencer did. With a nod and a smile, she relaxed her posture. During her first days of wearing the metaphorical mask, even casual times led her to watch her surroundings like a hawk. 3 years of a normal life didn't kill that habit. Her eyes darted everywhere.
The waitress that served her a moment ago had a horizontal scar on her wrist. The old man at the counter hadn't had his shirts ironed in a few days. The woman with her two children was most likely divorced and recently retrenched, but she would lie to keep her kids happy. The white lie was such a strange concept. Perhaps if she had done the same regarding the Undying Man—
A small speck of green gas popped out of the air vents of the cafe, going unnoticed even by the young man sitting next to it. Spencer had little personal expertise in chemistry, but whatever it was couldn't be healthy.
Wordlessly, she stood up and walked out of the cafe, striking the little wind-chimes with the top of her head as she left. Spencer's eyes scanned the rooftops of all the nearby buildings. If someone had wanted her dead, the glint of a sniper rifle scope would be obvious. The streets of this place was not conducive for long-ranged sniping, and she would know. The first few hours of her free-time were spent on rooftops, figuring out the best places for snipers to be. To prevent her death, she had to think like a killer.
The boyish red-headed girl glanced back into the cafe for a moment with a forced, disinterested gaze, and then back out onto the streets. She hoped she was just seeing things.
"Thank you, sir."
It was so much easier accepting that than to explain how appearances deceived, and that was what Spencer did. With a nod and a smile, she relaxed her posture. During her first days of wearing the metaphorical mask, even casual times led her to watch her surroundings like a hawk. 3 years of a normal life didn't kill that habit. Her eyes darted everywhere.
The waitress that served her a moment ago had a horizontal scar on her wrist. The old man at the counter hadn't had his shirts ironed in a few days. The woman with her two children was most likely divorced and recently retrenched, but she would lie to keep her kids happy. The white lie was such a strange concept. Perhaps if she had done the same regarding the Undying Man—
A small speck of green gas popped out of the air vents of the cafe, going unnoticed even by the young man sitting next to it. Spencer had little personal expertise in chemistry, but whatever it was couldn't be healthy.
Wordlessly, she stood up and walked out of the cafe, striking the little wind-chimes with the top of her head as she left. Spencer's eyes scanned the rooftops of all the nearby buildings. If someone had wanted her dead, the glint of a sniper rifle scope would be obvious. The streets of this place was not conducive for long-ranged sniping, and she would know. The first few hours of her free-time were spent on rooftops, figuring out the best places for snipers to be. To prevent her death, she had to think like a killer.
The boyish red-headed girl glanced back into the cafe for a moment with a forced, disinterested gaze, and then back out onto the streets. She hoped she was just seeing things.
Oh, I think we should edit things so that we recognise each other, though only by name and 'reputation'.
Sent you a PM.
My current idea of what will happen next is:
1. Your character enters the cafe. Maybe with friends?
2. Spencer notices the first signs of sleeping gas and hastily exits the cafe. Elena probably notices it too, and does the same?
3. One former contact of theirs greets them outside the cafe, and asks them for one last job. Killing the Undying Man. And all the supernatural baggage that comes with the implications of an immortal man.
1. Your character enters the cafe. Maybe with friends?
2. Spencer notices the first signs of sleeping gas and hastily exits the cafe. Elena probably notices it too, and does the same?
3. One former contact of theirs greets them outside the cafe, and asks them for one last job. Killing the Undying Man. And all the supernatural baggage that comes with the implications of an immortal man.
bump
Spread the nude reminds me of a library book in my school once.
It had a huge picture of lady-parts downstairs that the librarians apparently failed to notice.
We placed it in a prominent place, outspread like an eagle. It got removed the next day.
We spread the nude about it.
It had a huge picture of lady-parts downstairs that the librarians apparently failed to notice.
We placed it in a prominent place, outspread like an eagle. It got removed the next day.
We spread the nude about it.
I'm writing the intro atm. But it's hard to find the energy to do it. Ugh.
Nagi nodded with no expression on her face. It wasn't her issue anyway, and she hadn't really met anyone with issues bigger than her own. A temporary stay was no place for any lasting emotional bonds, and not that she was good at making them, anyway.
The self-proclaimed village idiot who called himself Fukugawa Youhei ingratiated himself to his role right from the start, considering all the theatrics he did in whatever went on in his head. Nagi rolled her eyes; Nami would have too, probably.
"Nami. I have a brother called Nagi, and he is very protective." Nagi felt the need to add on the latter sentence in a curt, direct tone. She didn't think that Fukugawa truly had any intentions of meddling with a girl, but her fierce stare into his eyes showed quite the opposite.
She claimed a seat at the common area sofa, and the strain released from her feet, and her heels, made her sigh almost audibly in relief.
The self-proclaimed village idiot who called himself Fukugawa Youhei ingratiated himself to his role right from the start, considering all the theatrics he did in whatever went on in his head. Nagi rolled her eyes; Nami would have too, probably.
"Nami. I have a brother called Nagi, and he is very protective." Nagi felt the need to add on the latter sentence in a curt, direct tone. She didn't think that Fukugawa truly had any intentions of meddling with a girl, but her fierce stare into his eyes showed quite the opposite.
She claimed a seat at the common area sofa, and the strain released from her feet, and her heels, made her sigh almost audibly in relief.
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