Avatar of The Otter

Status

Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current are we sure that kneecaps are real or has big ortho gaslit us all into believing in them
4 likes
7 mos ago
1.5 oz gin, 1.5 oz sweet vermouth, 2 to 4 dashes orange bitters
1 like
11 mos ago
dra til helvete
2 yrs ago
sometimes i like to talk to birds and pretend they're talking back
3 likes
2 yrs ago
praise snail

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

it's fighting everywhere right now
Esben Mathiassen


@VitaVitaAR



He had almost been looking forward to a fight with Tane's most skilled guards, although between the gun fire he heard down the stairs, Galahad's sudden arrival, and both the final guard and the crime lord's attention being immediately drawn to Izayoi on her arrival before she cut the last one down, there wasn't anybody present for him to actually fight. With his and Galahad's own words going unacknowledged—and the chance he'd though to give Ciradyl going untaken with the sudden flurry of activity—he sheathed his sword once more, choosing instead to observe the walls in this corner of the room.

Artwork; some stolen, undoubtedly, and probably the better pieces. Those that he figured were actually bought legitimately...he could only assume that there was a link between the sort of mind that appreciated such pieces and chose to become a crime lord for an occupation. Unfortunately, other than its occupants, the only things of note in the room were decorations and fresh corpses.

He had a sinking feeling that any sort of office or the like, containing any of the documents he might have liked to get his hands on, were further below. Hopefully not among the destruction that would have been wrought by Eve and Éliane; regardless, there wasn't much time left to try and find such. The other part of his goal had been entirely derailed by their target not being quite where he'd expected, their path forward blocked until the rest of the team caught up to them after all.

As Miina finished with her questions, he turned back to the farcical hostage situation playing out in the middle of the group. Given the utter dismantling of all of her defenses, it seemed that lady Mizutani Tane was starting to deteriorate before their eyes. "I rather think you're about to be hers," he observed, just loud enough that the panicking crime lord could likely hear...and just ambiguous enough given all the people in play that she'd probably be more confused by the statement than tipped off as to what was really about to happen.

He turned back around, descending the stairs quickly—one hand latching onto the collar of another of the group as he did.

"I think they've got things handled well enough up there. Want to help me hunt something else down back on the lower floors, Robin?"
wait you mean anime/manga is an art style and not a way to say "vaguely east asian" without sounding racist?
Esben Mathiassen


@Ithradine



What a bother.

Esben and Miina had almost immediately been made to take cover the second they entered the room they'd climbed up to; he hadn't even a moment to try and salvage some sense of dignity in the situation after the diminutive Mystrel's entrance before they were pinned down with a seemingly endless stream of gunfire. He was more than a little displeased that Izayoi had been wrong in guessing where their target would be—and somewhat confused as well; retreating to the highest position in the tower was certainly not a choice he would have made in the event of a battle like this, lest they had chosen to deal with it all in the easiest way possible.

The explosion he heard below, alongside constant cracks of gunfire and what could only be Eve working her particular magic, almost made him wonder if they had chosen the simplest option after all. The floor didn't immediately collapse out from under them or the building noticeably start to tip, though, so that was confidence enough they hadn't—before they started to show above the stairs themselves, immediately taking cover as the gunfire turned their way. Esben immediately set forward, sword and buckler in hand, even as Miina's almost impossible-to-perceive outline did the same. Between the corpse that was sent flying and Izayoi's own mad dash, enough of a distraction had been made for Miina to make her strike as the gunner abandoned his primary weapon and drew a blade.

Esben continued on past, beyond the gun emplacement, long bounding steps carrying him rapidly up the stairs as Izayoi took a moment to compliment Miina behind him. He burst through the thin door shield first, knocking into a shelf with a grunt—

Dislodging it a ways, and peering into a waiting three-on-one.

He ducked back against a quick thrust through the opening, before shoving the shelf in with a hard push. He slid into a sloppy-looking stop, the mat below him shifting slightly as he brought his feet together into an unstable, narrow stance; the mat was worn and due for replacing, spongier than it should have been and slightly shrunken out of the overall frame of the floor. A look of surprise played across his face, weighted forward on the lead foot as though he were completely shocked and about to fall. Acting; one of the first skills any graduate of the Garden had to learn that was going into clandestine work would prepare them as well for the theatre as anything else. Already primed to attack and perceiving a momentary weakness, the guards charged him with swords raised to maim or kill.

Esben sprang back and to the right off of his leading foot, the mat shifting again from his weight as the first guard stepped on it. He slapped the cut aside as he did so, the force of his parry and the worn flooring stealing away the samurai's sure-footedness. A quick shift of his lead foot in the samurai's way sent the man stumbling past him, through the ruined door frame into the former general waiting just below.

The second came at Esben as the first went through the door, cutting at Esben as he placed his foot against the wall. He ducked, kicking off and further to his right again. The sword cut into the wall where he'd been, Esben resuming his guarded stance in the corner of the room he'd sprung off to. Mizutani Tane and Ciradyl were back against the far wall from the door, the third guard advancing warily to the center of the room, the second wrenching his blade out of the wall and kicking a chunk of wood that had broken off of the now-ruined shelf back towards the rest of the debris. The first no doubt occupied with—or occupying—the other Kirins.

Evidently Esben had made the right choice, rushing in as quickly as he had; had they any more time to really barricade that door, getting through it may have been more difficult than it was worth. Climbing around again would have been slow enough for any more guards left below or outside to make their way on up, take some free shots, and let their quarry escape by a similar route.

"Mm. Only one visitor is enough for you for the night, then?" he asked conversationally of Tane. "It's all a shame, really, I would've liked to get to know you better without all of this mess." No doubt, the guards and Mizutani herself thought him pinned in the corner; for all he knew, they may well have been right to make an assumption like that, especially now that there was no further chance of fooling them with the clumsy, off-balance act. Not that it would stop him from speaking as confidently as ever. "Tell them to stand down, please. It would make all the rest of this easier, for all of us."
Fionn MacKerracher




Fionn grinned at Gertrude as she spoke up, glancing back at Gerard as he felt the tip of a sword lightly brush his mail. "Well," he breathed, clear delight evident in his face, "It looks like there's all sorts of fun to be had!" Sparring was all well and good, always helping to sharpen one's skills...but could never come close to a true duel, whether that be to first blood or to the death.

Merilia even seemed willing to facilitate. "Everyone, aye? Think you'd be willing to bring me back here if I ask? Let me find someone to fight, or just keep challenging Florian?" His tone aside, everything about the way Fionn was looking at Merilia...contained the exact same madness that Gertrude had seen when he'd suggested charging the dragon, but there was something awfully puppy-like about his insistent desire to see it all happen as well. "On demand, unlimited, like?"

Callum Prosser





For anyone who meant to make combat part of their occupation, fear was a common feeling. Even to the level of terror—a fully trained knight bearing down on their young squire, even in a mere training bout, was often shock enough to make the squire rethink whether or not they actually intended to be a knight themselves. Armed with little more than a desire to be more than the family banker, Callum had already faced down that fear, the fear of having to choose his own path without his father's express approval, and more besides.

The mightmares that the masked man before him sought to call upon might attempt to prey upon the anxiety he had on seeing the duke's entire household exterminated, but that particular anxiety had been ameliorated twice over within the day. However, to attempt something so irrational as to plant the thought in his mind that it had been his fault, somehow...

The man's chuckle was met with a scornful laugh of Callum's own, a single step to the left taken to block his path once again.

"Is that your way of looking at the world?" he asked quietly, the mocking grin that had settled on his face after his own laughter not dropping. "How immature. You may get along well with her friend I met earlier today—tall, dark hair, riding on a wolf. Maybe you should ask him your questions?" In any other circumstance, even after the poor impression that Raiden had made, the young noble may have felt some shame at selling the man out so quickly...but Raiden Asher at least seemed like the sort that could travel and fight more effectively than the baroness, and would have more of a chance at evading this pursuer.

He glanced to the winded baroness on the taller man's shoulders, before meeting his eyes once more. One thing he'd been taught by his prior master was that few things were as effective against fear as scorn, and he had plenty of that to spare for this man. "Either way," he continued, not giving the man a moment to respond—continuing on over him even if he tried to give some reply, "I'm afraid that wasn't a request."

Punctuating the statement, his ringed finger twitched slightly; the dagger in the floor, ignored as the masked man attempted to make his exit, yanked itself out of the board it had stuck in—reversed its pitch and flew point first for the small of the masked man's back, well below where Anabel hung, heedless of the fact that there was a man's body between it and the hand of its master.
Fionn MacKerracher




"Does it stop us from speaking with each other about it so long as someone who doesn't know isn't around to hear?" Fionn asked as the others fell into a lull with their own questioning. It had taken him a moment to reorient himself—from Thrinax's great head coming down on the front of his makeshift lance, sending him and Gertrude flying end over end, only to be brought back to the center of the conversation by, likely, Merilia's own hand.

Just to find that the witch was thinking to put a geas on all of them to keep them from speaking about it. "For that matter, what of Tyaethe? Surely she knows of this?" It would be more surprising to learn that she didn't, and that Merilia would be so intent on keeping them from speaking of it even to her one remaining fellow knight in the living world. Of course, if she was so intent...

There'd be ways to speak around such prohibitions.

Wait.

Fionn turned back to Aisling, and the abnormally-large cake next to her.

That's all for me?

Turning back away from the gargantuan confection, he faced Merilia once again. "Regardless, I have three remaining stipulations of my own before we're all done here, as you've already answered one. We should have one last proper dinner with the others before we go, a proper rest, and I want to have a rematch with Florian when I haven't just gone through hundreds of other fights' worth of mental fatigue right before him."
you're all doing game of thrones and there he is on some dunk and egg nonsense
And now, the bad great decisions really start for Arrowfell's stupidest luckiest ginger.

Callum Prosser





Callum was almost instantly accosted by the innkeeper, passing some sort of note across the countertop. "Ah. My thanks," he said with a gracious nod, taking the folded parchment in hand. He drew his dagger from his belt, breaking the hastily-made seal keeping it shut. After reading who the note was from, he wasn't surprised at how basic and messy the seal was; likely the man had had nothing more than a candle to seal it with. "Curious..." he muttered to himself after reading the note. Athius? And Raiden had so carelessly scrawled it on a note, trusting the innkeeper not to read it?

Or truly so hastily? Maybe Athius is where that thing Anabel mentio—

He paused at the sound of some sort of argument coming out of the tavern, the same place that he'd just been thinking about mentioned right at the edge of his hearing. Followed immediately by the baroness's voice in response...seconds later rising higher in alarm than he would've thought possible an hour before. He pushed open the door to the tavern proper, just in time to see some man staring the baroness down, hand clamped tight around her dainty arm.

Not my recruiter, man, come on!

He stood still for a moment, note still in one hand, dagger in the other. He hadn't yet picked a side in whatever this confrontation was between the baroness and Raiden, and now could be his chance to be rid of both; even if his name and face were known to them, he could still make good on an escape, get out of the hairy situation. But he had to watch how it played out first, to know how best to make his escape...

Anabel cast her gaze around the room, desperate for help—her panicked eyes met his, desperate for aid against this man who was more than twice her size and had to be at least thrice her age.

The bronze-hilted dagger that he'd opened the letter with flew end over end, passing between the man's legs to lodge in the wooden floor a couple feet further back. A calculated, low throw; without knowing exactly what was going on or where he stood with everything, he didn't want to aim anywhere lethal. No doubt the man would've been able to evade it anyways, should it prove so obvious, but at least he'd gained some attention and sent a message.

"That's no way to treat a lady or a child, is it?" he asked conversationally, nonchalantly flicking a lock of his reddish hair out of his face, the ring containing the greater part of his Seed turned so that the gem faced inward, out of view. Internally, he was certain he could hear the sound of something screaming—probably some part of himself, horrified at how thoroughly he'd just ruined his own chance to get away—but his focus was entirely on the baroness and the vagrant that had laid hands on her.

Hopefully, by this point, the innkeeper had heard the commotion, or someone outside had heard Anabel's rising voice. Surely she wouldn't be so foolish as to go without guards...if she was, then she was putting quite a bit of faith in Callum. "We were just about to have a lovely dinner together. Can I interest you in not being a nuisance, and leaving us be?"

Whether he intended to follow the baroness or the pie-molesting rogue, one thing was certain: He'd sealed his fate to theirs now, one way or the other.
© 2007-2025
BBCode Cheatsheet