I feel like the name of this RP may be "how many laws of physics can I break before people get frustrated." XD
- Last Seen: 7 mos ago
- Old Guild Username: RedXCross
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 290 (0.08 / day)
- VMs: 3
-
Username history
- RedXCross 10 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
8 yrs ago
Current
I feel so attractive right now.
3
likes
8 yrs ago
I've been clicking to come back to this page way too often...
1
like
Bio
Writer and lover of writing, the written word is the best way for me to communicate for the words from the tongue may fail me.
Most Recent Posts
Staring down at the mark below his feet, Nitrous couldn’t help but grimace. For someone to waste paint on such a useless drawing; he was flabbergasted. He glared at the man as he walked away, and he made one statement before the guy walked away on his task.
“Your geometry is deplorable at best, and atrocious at worst. I hope that your other art makes a little more of an impact.”
He moved past the rest of the group, grabbing his slip of paper from the box as he tilted his head towards the man in the gas mask for one last moment. He didn’t fully understand where this man was coming from, or what kind of process was moving through his mind in this moment as he set challenges for this group of artists.
Nevertheless, Nitrous never backed down from a puzzle or challenge. It was like building computers, or taking things apart and back together. People were so impatient these days that they expected him to fulfill tasks for them within a few minutes of delivering the solution. Making something large and impressive for a few hours on a building, that shouldn’t be a problem. Though the thought of this boy’s disrespect of circles… that was going to get under his skin for sure unless he did something about it. He grabbed the paper, flipped it open as he stepped out the door and snuck another sip of coffee from beneath his mask. With another tap of a heel his wheels were out and his Gear were speeding away as a bright trail of neon light swirled out behind him.
The building in question was exactly what he wanted: that big building near one of the major intersections. It used to be a brick apartment once, but it had been knocked down and replaced with this very slick white office building. This would just have to be another way to take it back.
He stuck to the back roads for the most part, passing down to a ramp past a road, sliding up over a construction site and grinding down the railing of the massive “do not enter” fence. If efficiency was the goal, then limiting colors would be the best bet. From his bag he pulled two cans out as he leapt of the fence and spun around to the back of said building. There were some people around, and he could see some lights high up near the top, but he also saw a thick box nearby. A heavy lock kept it stuck, and a thick yellow sign depicting a lightning bolt as a means of warning was displayed above a small white panel. He moved over to it carefully, turning of his Gear only for a second to diffuse the lights. Then he moved to the panel.
“Well then, plastic case, what are you hiding?” He smirked.
His gloved hands moved around the surface of it, found some screws in the back, and pulled out a small screwdriver. The case dropped to the concrete with a clack as he found a small display and a smattering of wires. He took out a small pair of wire cutters, and found one particular wire. With a quick cut, the building’s power suddenly went black. His gear went back on and he got to work.
The building was about five stories. Not tall enough to reach for the stars, but enough to give him a massive white canvas. He sped up his Gear and when with a blast of speed, taking a nearby railing to hop up a couple stories of a smaller building nearby. Then, from the roof, he launched himself at his target, throwing his feet in front of his body with the momentum. Bracing for impact, he pushed his heels forward, and the moment they hit the wall, the wheels retracted and the spikes emerged. Sure, there would be some holes in the white wall of the building, but it wouldn’t be a big deal. Then, using himself as the focal point, he got to work.
He had to take that leap a couple more times, re-adjusting his positioning and using the wheels of his Gear to climb up the sleek surface or let gravity tug him downwards. The next upgrade would be adding some grapple element to his belt just to hang and give him a different angle.
But Nitrous was anything if not a perfectionist. The speed was a pressing challenge, and there were a couple moments where he had to wait for a police officer to drive by, probably because the power of a building had been cut by some “mysterious force”.
Sometimes the authorities were absolute imbeciles. Too blinded by the streaking whiteness of their conformist society.
In about two and a half hours, the piece was done, climbing from the top of the fifth story down to the bottom of it.
Satisfied, he released the spikes, pulled out the wheels and used some combined electronics and gravity to leap for a lamp post, spin around it once and then flip towards the ground, doing a slight roll on impact. He winced as a sharp pain went through his shoulder, probably a bruise, but he was up on his feet rather quickly.
With a deep breath, he pulled his hood off, turned off his Gear and re-approached the box. Using some electrical tape and the same screws; soon the lights came back on, and Nitrous could view his piece descending the wall in all its majesty.
Blue and red lines in separated circles, but it was clear that the geometry was thought out, the rings and their purposeful angles, and the colours dragging all attention towards the centre. The cans, now more than empty, were stashed back in his bag as he walked around the corner of a side street. Already he could hear shouts behind him as people started to wander towards the massive rings.
Mission accomplished.
Once he was sure he was out of site, he took a more direct route back to the warehouse. It may have involved grinding over some store front signs (and right past the window of some couple having a couple’s night) and then taking a broken pipe back into slum territory.
He found himself back at the warehouse with only five minutes to spare, but he walked back in as casually as he could, tossing the empty cans to the ground right in front of the feet of Gas Mask. He took another swig of coffee before returning back to the exact same position he was in before. Right at the center of that awful, misaligned circle.
He groaned.
“I’m sorry, but can we do something about this atrocity?” Nitrous glowered, “It’s going to drive me crazy.”
Chris stared the man down for a moment. He watched the pen dance across the pad frenetically as he glanced occasionally back at the pictures on the table. One more person had to come in to confirm them, apparently, but Chris’ whole body seemed to tense up ever so slightly as he stared at his watch. He was missing so much time at work, already. In fact, he was kind of amazed that no one had called him. Even if he’d taken the day off, there was usually someone who needed some question.
Instead, he was getting the third degree from some guy with sunglasses and some other unsettling ink. Chris really had nothing against tattoos. What he did have an issue with was all this waiting around.
He steamed quietly to himself, choosing to put a little more distance between himself and the door. It felt like his brain was stained with the blood he’d seen, and the damage that had been done already.
And then his eyes moved to Piper. Based on what she’d stated, it seemed that perhaps there was a little more to her than just being a lazy mechanic with little to no motivation. Someone’s past could say a lot about someone’s behavior, but he was still a little frustrated with the girl that had caused him so many issues back at the garage. If she had been a few minutes quicker, there could’ve been a chance that he would be back at his practice on the other side of the city, prepping for some level of surgery.
Instead, he was in a room with a group of strangers, waiting on some old man to come in and give another opinion on the growing curiosity of this mysterious place.
“You do realize that some of us have some other schedules to keep, sir.” Chris grunted, eyes flat and stoic like concrete, “So I hope that you won’t be wasting any more of our time.”
@Kidd @The Harbinger of Ferocity
@GreenGoat Nope, I just read to fast and missed that haha
That's my bad!
That's my bad!
Nitrous kept his position firmly against the back wall. He knew little of the people in the room, other than rumors and hearsay. To be honest, there were probably pieces made by these folks that had likely impressed him. He always loved it when he saw a tag on one of the massive buildings, as an assault against the oppressive white-ness of the city. He didn’t really know what to think of most of them.
For example, why was that one girl laughing so much? And why was there a girl holding on to a crowbar?
It didn’t matter too much to him. His eyes perked up when he heard the challenge. Oh. This was interesting. An actual performance test to prove that they could deliver. In that case, he would have to deliver the best piece he could in a limited time. There was something a little foolhardy about it, however. Asking taggers to go out when the night was this early to set up a piece on a wall was a little obscene. Not enough to scare him off, mind you, but perhaps that was part of the challenge.
A good Tagger wasn’t going to get caught by the police.
Still, Nitrous kept his position as the main guy kept explaining what was going on. There was a sense of permanence in this entire room. Nitrous expected that no one was going to be ditching their invitation so soon. For whatever reason, all these people were not associated with any of the Big Three, but they were still interested with being part of a different prospect.
But forget that. A wall out there was asking for another glyph and he wasn’t going to wait around for this nonsense to finish if there was a white building waiting to be blessed with color.
“Introductions can wait; don’t you think?” Nitrous sighed from beneath his mask, “If this is meant to be a challenge, then it means that there are some people who will likely fail. So why not save the introductions for when we return?”
Harsh? Probably, but Nitrous didn’t have any time for that. His hand was already tugging at the strap of his backpack as he prepared to grab the nearest can of paint and rush onto the city. It was time to get going, and his mind was already spiraling with ideas.
He hoped they didn’t need him at the store tomorrow, because if he started tagging now he probably wouldn’t be able to stop.
Azira had prepared ages ago for the moral quandary that was coming with the oncoming Gathering, but the benefit to all the events that were happening within the Karill tribe meant that there would be numerous occasions for her to fade away into the background and set up everything that needed to happen.
That meant one last night with the man of her dreams.
She’d given up on a happy life a long time ago. Back in the plains outside the Hollafoth clan as she held her dying father in her arms, and then decided to murder the man that took his life; that was when she gave up on ever having the things that she wanted. That being said, she couldn’t say that her past few years with the Karill had been appealing. Essentially having unbridled access to a group of rather prideful royals left her with plenty of time to work on her performance, to twist the people around, and make her presence known wherever she went.
She knew what they said about her, how people were afraid of that powerful woman that guarded their Clan leader. The woman whose beauty could destroy the hopes of any man. She’d played her role well, and she would continue to play that role for as long as she needed. But the Gathering always brought about thoughts of change, of growth, and transformation. In terms of age, she was approaching her middle age, and if she ever had a chance to try and gain a life that was more than pretending to be this dangerous slaver, this may be her only chance.
The Clan Leader told her she was free for the Gathering. As he prepped to marry off his daughter, Azira really had no need to hang around. Grabbing a small slip of paper, and her white mask, she slipped it onto her face and wandered out into the dusk hours, past the numerous campgrounds that were set up, and the central fire, where children were already gathered around story tellers and travelers, who shared their journeys and crafted brilliant stories about the Gods above. The children from all the different clans gasped and giggled at the stories these performers crafted, and Azira had to remind herself there was a task at hand before she became enthralled herself. She missed the days when there was joy in performance.
Instead, she spent every day as a performer, and it threatened to become her.
She shook her head, and pulled her hair back as it dangled down her back. Her sandaled feet tapped lightly against the dust as she walked with purpose past the camps. She heard whispers flying around about a missing Narcissa, but Azira thought nothing of it. It was not unusual for Narcissa to walk off on her own for whatever reason, based on what her father said.
No, her focus was somewhere in the Craenak clan. She’d heard that a certain mercenary had been travelling with them recently… It had been a long time since they last saw each other.
Quietly she dodged the eyes of people moving past as she pulled her mask off of her face. She’d used it as a symbol before. An icon to represent the night the spent together last. Hopefully the rugged man would know what it meant. It took a few moments, but eventually she found what she was looking for.
A small tent just on the outskirts of the encampment. A soft grin came to her face as she wandered into Floran's tent quietly and lay the mask on the ground.
She was unsure what would come of this. Her brain was playing numerous contingencies, planning multiple exit plans… she never let her guard down, for even a second.
“Whatever deity is listening,”
she muttered under her breath, “let this Gathering decide my future.”
@KiritoAsuna Haha thanks! I think there's definitely going to be some unique interactions between the people in this group. Dax looks like he's going to be fun to be around :P
I'll try to get some sort of post up today.
Graffiti was an art of spontaneity. The quick act of rebellion and the explosive creativity that would appear upon a wall at a moment’s notice, usually with a splash of colour or an intricate symbol. The difficulty to graffiti was that there was no erasing. Every stoke was intentional, and even if it was a mistake you would have to make it part of your piece, because God forbid you get caught as you’re trying to wipe a mark off a wall.
For Nitrous, this was the challenge he faced on a daily basis. In his mind was angular perfection for each glyph he slammed against a wall. It took ages to find the right nozzles for his paint that would perfect his straight lines and create the right markings in his pieces. The largest one he’d done had taken three hours, which is an eternity in the time of a Tagger. The first mistake you could make was getting too invested in one piece when there was still an entire blank canvas waiting throughout the entirety of the city, so he’d learn to leave his mark and then move on.
Like now. Nitrous inspected his work one last time as he tossed an empty can to the side of the wall. He was getting really good at this “spontaneous” art form, despite his inner love of perfection. He could scratch that itch when it came to upgrading his site later. The puzzle blocks of code would be the perfection he needed.
But this was pretty damn close.
Total time… fifteen minutes? Sounds about right. Nitrous wasn’t really worried in this area. Underneath a highway bridge, far out of sight of the ivory obelisks that would stare at him from above. He tapped his mask ever so slightly as he stepped back and stared.
“…Good enough,” he muttered under his breath as he grabbed a metal thermos off the ground. The coffee inside was still warm due to the heat-storing technology in the cup, which was good because it was getting pretty late at this point. His phone’s flashlight poked out of his pocket just to get one final look at his piece in the depth of night.
How’d it get so late already? He glanced at his watch as he pulled that letter out of his back pocket one last time and compared the two.
The meeting time was fast approaching
Taking one last breath, he stomped on his left heel, and the wheels popped out of his Gear once more. Neon lights flickered to light within the heavy-duty wheels. A couple LED lights strapped around his waist on a heavy belt flickered to life as the colors started dance around on his mask. His wheels spurred to life as he flew forward, taking a fallen piece of concrete to ramp up onto another road with an easy turn. The emptiness of the underpass soon faded away to the ever-vibrant city as he passed white wall after white wall… it frustrated him to no end. He shook his head as a gloved hand reached for a spray can from his bag.
He had to stop himself.
Hold yourself together, Rowan. He chastised himself, you have other engagements.
Soon those buildings were struck with shades of gray and the dirt and grime became apparent on the concrete walls. Trash flocked to the decrepit slums that tumbled into the corners of streets as he passed a man leaning against a wall in a torn up hoodie.
Around that corner was another one of his glyphs, and another one a couple streets down. His art pieces were like his children, and he had to know their location at all time. He’d probably wander back to one later this evening.
He spotted the warehouse out from behind another building. A metal roof rusting quickly from days of rain, and old concrete that had graffiti all over it. Tags smashed together and squeezed over each other. Rowan furrowed his brow. The chaos of it all was… despicable. There was a whole canvas of a world out there, yet all these people were crowding around the same walls…
Pathetic.
He shook his head as he stomped the heel again. The wheels shut back into the shoes as he kept walking without losing any real momentum. Then, he saw it. The mark on the door matched the symbol on the invitation, if not a little… lopsided. It was clear that it was hastily done, but, to be fair, the symmetry was fairly close for something that was probably only made in a few minutes. It wasn’t flawless, but it would do.
The door creaked open, and he came into the wide room of the warehouse. There was another room in the back with the door open slightly, but otherwise the first part was just a grey, empty factory. He heard feet fall to the ground behind him, but paid no mind to it. Perhaps it was another person with an invitation, but their presence wasn't important at the moment.
For a moment, Rowan was thankful that he’d kept his mask on. For the next little while, he would have to be Nitrous, and he was more than okay with that.
He pushed open the door, and his eyes fell on the man sitting there. A heavy gas mask covered his face, which was pretty common gang symbol around here, and his whole persona seemed rather lax.
“I’m assuming you’re the one who sent this,” Nitrous spoke in a flat tone, purposefully avoiding emotion from the equation as he pulled the dark letter from his pocket.
“Your work that I’ve seen is… acceptable. I understand that time is limited in this medium, so it can be difficult to work out geometry and angles with spray paint. Then again, your art form is likely not trying to be as flawless as mine.
If it wasn’t clear, I’m Nitrous. I haven’t decided if my future is within this… group, but I’ll wait and hear you out.”
He went through this whole short monologue in as flat a voice as possible, placing his own back to the wall near the door as he adjusted his mask ever so slightly. There was a small part of him wondering what the Big Three would do if they heard about this group forming…
© 2007-2024