Prosaic

🌌 Ultraverse: Strifes and Triumphs. (Superhero RP, Always Open). 🌌

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Los Angeles - Café Belle Vie
@Shard

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He watched silently as the little girl approached Midnight, seeming starstruck by the prospect of meeting the young hero. It was touching, in its way, but it also made him glad that he had gone relatively unknown. Not many people knew Éclater, not unless he'd done something to help them or he'd had the pleasure of punching them in the nose. He didn't tend to stick around to exchange pleasantries, he didn't tend to introduce himself upon entering a battle.

He had been very low-key in his work, trying to stray from the public eye. It wasn't that he thought it was bad to be known or acknowledged for his work, he just preferred his privacy. Hooking up with blokes in bars became a lot more complicated when they started recognising you as the weird ass guy who ran around in a porcelain mask committing arson. Arson was arson, even if it was for the “better good”.

And what was the “better good” anyway? He pondered almost constantly, never quite sure what he was fighting for, never quite sure why. That was the million dollar question, it was the only question that he'd never been able to answer. He'd met sympathetic villains before, he'd related with some of them quite a lot and it often made him wonder if he could have gone that route too if he'd been in a different mindset at the time. Of course, here and now wasn't the best time to start thinking about all that nonsense.

As Midnight and the girl became occupied in their photo, he took another long swig on his flask. He was by far the worst person to represent ideals of a “better good” and in a way, he knew that, but he was also doing this out of the kindness of his heart. That was kind of good, wasn't it? The sheer fact that he was willing to put his life on the line for little to no gain was some kind of good. If one could forget all of his bad examples and indulgence of his impulses, he was actually an alright hero.

He waited politely for them to finish up, or at least, it seemed polite, he just didn't have much to interject. He'd already come off as a glory hound by jumping into this fight, there was no need to incriminate himself more by greeting Midnight’s fan. He waited for them to finish up, stuffing his flask back into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Midnight, huh?” He feigned curiosity because he'd already checked the watch at his wrist and it was far too early to leave for lunch. He didn't expect the kid had much interest in talking to him either by the wariness in which he'd been watching him, so, he figured, why not keep talking? “I heard your name on the radio. Where's your ah- partenaire?”

He paused, rolling the word over in his mouth. “Partenai- Partner. Where's your partner? Faultline, is it?”

🌌 Ultraverse: Strifes and Triumphs. (Superhero RP, Always Open). 🌌

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Los Angeles - Outside Café Belle Vie

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He watched idly, almost boredly as the battle came to its conclusion. He hadn't come out here for an active attack and luckily this hero had saved him the trouble. He had to admit that the kid seemed to know what he was doing and he seemed to know how to do it well. There was a dull thud as the alligator-man hit the ground and suddenly it was over and he was staring into the eyes of the other hero. His eyes were the only part of his face visible through the porcelain mask, one pale green eye and one blind blue eye.

He blinked, the porcelain mask on his face gave nothing away, not that his expression probably would have either. He didn't feel particularly strongly about this situation, it was just another fight. He had barely had any part in this fight and he didn't think that it really quite mattered that he was here at all. So, he did what any self-respecting, functioning alcoholic would do in his situation. He fished a silver flask from his pocket, he unscrewed the cap, slightly lifted his mask and took a swig.

The other hero was dressed like something akin to a storybook knight, or perhaps a more high-tech parody of a storybook knight. He estimated that he was younger than him, shorter at the very least. After meeting La Buitre, he had stopped being surprised by younger heroes running amuck through Los Angeles. She had been competent enough on her own and he supposed this kid was too, or at least it seemed that way. He was more of a heavy-hitter than Keandre, at the very least.

He was partially leaning back against the building, strangely relaxed despite everything that had just happened. “Bonjour, I'm Éclater.” He greeted, horribly casual for a guy in an unnerving porcelain mask. “Pardon the intrusion, I have been doing this for awhile and I haven't run into you. I tend to assume the worst, but you appeared to handle yourself well.”

🌌 Ultraverse: Strifes and Triumphs. (Superhero RP, Always Open). 🌌

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Los Angeles - Café Belle Vie

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Well, that was hard to ignore. The uproarious response from the café patrons washed over him, panicked voices and people getting close to the windows to watch the young man outside. He was barely focusing, mind numbed by the radio show he'd become infatuated with. Of course, that was the bad thing about Keandre, he didn't react nearly enough. About two minutes passed before he freed his ear bud from his ear and put his phone on sleep mode.

He didn't think this kid needed his help but he also didn't think anyone else needed his help either. He drew in a very deep breath, he exhaled in a very long sigh. He wound his ear buds around his phone, slipping it into his messenger bag and rummaging around with his free hand for his mask. That was the problem with this whole hero thing, he had to conceal his identity somehow but he didn't want to be one of those colorful dumbasses running around in full gear.

No, Keandre had settled on the most minimal effort costume that he could get his paws on, as if that was surprising in the slightest. It glinted in his bag, scarred fingertips clasping it from the side. A smooth, porcelain, featureless, black mask. It hid his face almost entirely, it made him look strangely inhuman, like some kind of faceless dark anomaly.

He shrugged off his suede jacket, stuffing it in the bag before pulling up the hood of his hoodie. When he was sure that no eyes were on him, he strapped his mask on. Sure, it wouldn't be a flawless exit and some people were likely to wonder what happened to the tall red-headed guy that had been slumming it over a cup of coffee (without paying his tab, no less!) but that was hardly his problem.

He nudged his way through the small gathering of people near the door. “Quelqu'un a omis de m'informer d'une fête.”

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Loss Angeles - Outside Café Belle Vie
@Count Cuddles & @Shard

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When he stepped out of that café, he focused his thoughts. He keyed them into one singular goal and that was to somehow help this kid take down this villain, he knew that he wasn't much of a heavy-hitter but he had been doing this long enough to create some maddeningly good distractions. “Over here, friend! I have something for you!”

In the blaze of the sunlight, he looked quite normal, save for the disturbingly featureless porcelain-doll face. Just a tall, well-built young man in a hoodie and jeans, a beige messenger bag was slung over his shoulder. The opening flap of the messenger bag was clustered in colorful and clattering buttons. Most of them seemed to have band names, others seemed to have quirky little sayings, there were a few in French.

His hands were covered in pale, marbled burn scars, they spider-webbed over his fingers. His right hand was moving, clenching and unclenching. His fingers curling and uncurling almost involuntarily, he was focusing very intently, aiming where he wanted his blast to go off. Not too close to the villain, not too far either, not too big. Just enough to startle him.

He smiled faintly behind the sober lips of his porcelain mask. The air was hot enough, he released his power, like unfurling smoke. The sound was loud, ringing, like a gunshot and it cracked through the air. A blast of heat that seemingly came from nowhere at all, it wasn't too large a blast but it would likely be startling nonetheless.

It was a pocket explosion of extremely hot air, not quite a fire, that was too much focus and he didn't think he'd have the chance to go tossing matches around. He also thought he might look genuinely ridiculous doing that.

Hopefully the little blast would be enough to hold the alligator-man’s attention and give Midnight an opening to better strike.

🌌 Ultraverse: Strifes and Triumphs. (Superhero RP, Always Open). 🌌

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Keandre’s Apartment - Los Angeles.

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Dizzy.
The stumbling steps that bruised his knees and bumped his elbows. He was dizzy and his head was aching steadily. Nights were long and often full of senseless alcohol consumption, last night had been long and full of senseless alcohol consumption. He didn't remember what had happened, not really anyway. It was a dazed blur of fumbling hands and gasping laughter. He couldn't remember what he'd been fumbling for, he couldn't remember what was so funny.

Someone had come home with him, he did remember that through the haze. Fumbling hands and punch-drunk laughter wasn't lost on him, he remembered the taste of their mouth. They'd been drinking vodka, it burned on the back of his tongue. They weren't here now, he could see the sheets were mused on their end, cold. They'd left during the night, he didn't remember it happening.

He rolled to his feet, stumbled, pitched forward and caught himself on the wall. “Fuck.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his blind eye. “Fuck me. Pourquoi est-ce que je me fais ça?”

-

Los Angeles - Café Belle Vie.

He had taken a seat near the window that faced the street, keeping his good eye focused on the world outside. The weather was nice and his coffee was warm, steam trailed upwards from the mug in thin curls. He rapped the cup with his index finger, listening to the clink of his nail against the porcelain. It was a plain white thing, nothing particularly exciting about it.

The liquid in the cup was a diluted brown, swirling with lighter undertones. He could rarely stomach coffee if it was black, he liked to double down on creamer. Strangely, he didn't really feel like drinking it at all today but schedule dictated that he'd have to sooner or later. Schedule ruled his mornings, dismay ruled his nights.

He picked up the cup, deeply inhaled the steam wafting off of it. He set the cup back down, he tapped it again. He listened to the soft and insistent clink, clink, clink and tried to occupy his mind with the tinny voices drifting through his ear bud.

It may have looked merely as if he was listening to music to an outsider, a single ear bud in his right ear and his phone lying on the table. As it turned out, he was tuned into more than a few different radio frequencies. He'd idly change them every so often, listening for something interesting. So far, he hadn't had much luck save for a bit of talk about a bank robbery. Boring.

A shooting outside a hotel. Not too long ago.
Too far, he lamented to himself, why would I ever bother going that far to look at a bloody mess?
He kept tapping his index finger, he kept listening. He finally sipped his coffee. It tasted syrupy and disgusting. He considered ditching it for a moment. He didn't. He remained in his seat, he kept sipping his syrupy coffee. The tinny sound of the radio channels continued in his ear. He was hopelessly, helplessly, irrevocably bored.

He kept his good eye on the window, he kept listening. Something worth pursuing was bound to show up. Probably.

Circus of the Supernatural

I'm interested!

🌌 Ultraverse: Strifes and Triumphs. (Superhero RP, Always Open). 🌌

-

Vivid Recollections: Into the World Unknown (Season 1 COMPLETE)

@Surtr Inc I'm glad you enjoyed my characters, I really had a lot of fun while my muse was still going. I'd prefer if you could just sort of knock Martin and Aliana off, if that's okay. Maybe say they died off screen or something.

Thank you for letting me be a part of this though. It was a lot of fun. <3

Vivid Recollections: Into the World Unknown (Season 1 COMPLETE)

@Surtr Inc I may have to bow out completely, I'm really sorry. Things irl have been weird and crazy and I've lost most if not all of my muse for my characters here. I've had a lot of fun with everything though and I wish you the best in the reboot.

A Truly Gifted World (Perpetually Seeking!)

Niklaus Santora & Richmond Durmont

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Parasitic.
While Niklaus was useful to Richmond, Richmond had his uses for Niklaus. Of course, his usefulness hadn't come into play yet for the young dream-walker. He had only ever wanted one thing since he had been a child and that was to have ultimate and unchallenged power. The knowledge that every being in Erubesco saw him as a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't an easy task, not in a place with a hierarchy but he intended to start small. He had found over the years that people listened to him sometimes, that he had a knack for speaking with a honey coated tongue when it suited him. He practiced into the nights, standing atop his bed and speaking to his imaginary crowds. He spoke tenderly, he made sickly sweet promises and he imagined himself as someone grand.

That was all fantasy though, it wouldn't truly count until he took his words to the street.

Treasonous.
This was a desire that could get him imprisoned or killed, he knew that. It would be a lie to say that he had no delusions of grandeur but he knew his limits. He knew how to keep himself from getting too tangled up in his own desires. He wasn't like Richmond, endlessly chasing everything in pursuit of some picturesque existence. He wasn't like Richmond, he wasn't content with just being Lord Santora. He needed more. He expected more.

The little scientist had bouncy blond hair and curious looking golden eyes from behind her spectacles. It appeared that she harbored not one but two consecutive pupils, while this might have slipped the mind of someone more focused, it did not slip his mind. He found himself staring very intently at her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away, he perhaps stood frozen there for a moment too long. He could feel a cold hand clasp his wrist.

“It's our pleasure to make you acquaintance, Miss Vasilisa. I am always excited to know more about what the scientific community is working on.” Richmond’s voice is a purr, it drips with polite falseness. “We were quite happy to be able to attend.”

Niklaus nearly jumped out of his skin when a knight addressed them by screaming but brightened considerably. “Richmond, he's so shiny, look at how shiny he is.”

“Yes, Klaus. Let's find a seat, shall we?”

“But-”

Too late.
He was being pulled away by Richmond, he lead him to a seat. He sadly settled down, he rocked from side to side as he waited. He couldn't stay still, he knew that Richmond hated it when he did this but he needed to keep moving. If he didn't stop moving then he'd start tapping or clicking or well, doing anything but sitting quietly.

Richmond nodded to another man that entered, not because he recognized him, because it was important to be polite. Niklaus didn't nod, he kept his rocking up as he watched the scientist, watched the knight. He liked her eyes, he liked his shining demeanor. There were much more important things to think about.

"Klaus?"

“Richmond?” He inquired brightly.

“You're drawing attention, please stop rocking.”

A Truly Gifted World (Perpetually Seeking!)

Niklaus Santora & Richmond Durmont

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Spiders.
The tipsy-turning movement of an arachnid as it spins its web, the way it's legs cling to the fragile silvery threads. The way that thousands of tiny eyes are constantly watching, the knowing that you're being watched. The thrashing of a fly entangled in sticky silver nets, the way that it twists it's body in the pathetic and desperate hope of freeing itself.

Spinning, spinning, spinning. Spiraling, spiraling, spiraling. Intricate silver threads from one wall to another, crossing and curling. Glistening pathways from one end to another. So many links, so many things left to catch, so much to do.

It was easy to get tangled in webs. It was easy to become prey to his own desires. It was easy to become trapped. He was a very busy spider and he had a very big web, it was all just a small part of the bigger picture. Everything that became stuck to the web was just one piece of the overall image. Nothing was truly important unless it brought him closer to his goal. His childhood had been washed down too many water spouts. He had learned to be careful. He had learned to be watchful.

A good spider never catches anything unless he's prepared to wait.

This meeting was a cosmetic detail. A leaf snagged on the web. As soon as he snipped it free, it would be forgotten as it drifted back to the ground below. Appearances were important and it was important that the world saw him, it was important that he maintained what they expected of him. He had always been a very beautiful spider. He had touched up every detail before he'd left the house, one lean, long line of black.

None of it mattered.
Not really anyway.

What mattered was control.

Control.
That's what he wanted, wasn't it? Obsessive compulsive creature that he had become over the years. Every taste of control was tantalizing, every chance to capture that fly was delicious. Every moment-

“Richmond, hurry up! You are so infuriatingly slow sometimes.”

Niklaus Santora.
Try as he may, he had no control over Niklaus Santora. He has worked to tangle his limbs into the web, to wrestle him into submission but Niklaus was a fire that burned heedless of his efforts to contain him. Troublesome. In a way, he loved Niklaus despite how headstrong he had become. He had grown fond of the young lord, they had become family but it was hard to ignore his frustration. The man could function on his own, that was no good, it wouldn't do.

He could see him as he hurried forward. He was a flare of color, sunlight casting prismic rainbows off water droplets. He liked to be noticed and it was hard not to. He wore deep purple and blue today, stylistically, it bore some resemblance to the garb that might have been worn by an old English nobleman. His boots were soft, they had heels, he liked when he looked taller.

Details, details.
Niklaus was compensating. He was making up for what he was lacking by trying to paint himself brighter than the world around him. He was obsessive in his own way, obsessed with power and proving himself. He had to be noticed, he had to be respected, he had to have it all. He had taken to cosmetics, golden dust glimmered on his cheekbones. Nothing fantastic, just enough to draw eyes to his face.

Details, details.
Niklaus was desperate. Desperate to be something. Desperate to be someone. He poured over history. Leaders, dictators. He got this sort of envious glint in his eyes when he read about them. Some nights Richmond would hear him in his room, his voice drifting disembodied down the hallway. Speeches. Charismatic charm oozed from him when he spoke to his imaginary audiences. It unnerved him how easily Niklaus could take the persona of something he was not.

It unnerved him that he couldn't stop him from dreaming.
That was Niklaus’ speciality.

“You are so slow!”

“Sorry, I was thinking.” he responded idly, stepping into the room with the strange looking scientist. He was inclined to dip his head to them, a distant greeting.

Niklaus was not distant in the slightest. He took his seat, leaning it back on its legs and eying the scientist with a grand and never-failing grin. “Hello, I'm Lord Santora and this is Lord Durmont.