Forums » General Roleplay » Let loose the howls of Chaos. (PM to Join)

** close enough. whooooOOP! **

Crap crap crap crap not good, not good at all. The urge to just Travel the jerk into a tree and give them something to whimper about was dampened by the realization that that might just make Glaceia cry even harder; this problem couldn't be solved with violence. Revy turned back to the child, kneeling down to hand the icicle rose back to her so it (hopefully) wouldn't be harmed and patting the little girl. As she stood back up one hand grasped the child's, even as the diminutive booger tried to hide behind Revy's leg.

Oh, but he had to go and break out the 'b'-word, didn't he? That really stoked the Chaos Mistress's flames. Flames of Internet-troll-hatred, anyhow. Nevermind that the area was clearing of people, which was both good and bad. Bad, for obvious reasons - but good because it meant she could go all-out and no one would be the wiser until the police reports started showing up.

Too bad she'd spent her daily dose of Chaos on those crummy hunters. If she hadn't gone all-out then, she might have had enough to turn the man's bat into, say, a rabbit, or a rubber snake. Wouldn't that have been a sight! Sadly, that wasn't possible, but she still had plenty of Traveling left in her.

"Hey, this ain't no crusade, ya jerk. Ain't no blood-sacrificin' or animal slaughter either, so git'cher knickers untwisted and scram." Even with the threat of being bludgeoned, Revy didn't appear one bit afraid of the impending beating. That didn't mean she wasn't planning for a good way out of this without giving the man a real pantsing.

Then an idea struck her like a lemon duct-taped to a gold brick; why not play up to the man's fears? Might at least give her a moment to think of a good spot to Jump to. "B'sides, if we is, ya don't wanna get us mad. Don't want no nothin' t' happen to ya later, 'm ah right?"

A Southern Fried Satanist? What a hoot!

I was leaning in the shadows, grinning like a necrophiliac in a morgue as I held out my camera and filmed the scene of the ghost kid and the Manipulator and the psycho. And the nasty bloke with the sword.

Okay, now look: You couldn't have honestly expected me to go there and "save them", could you? Please. I prefer not to get into fights. Besides, to be perfectly honest, Revy the punk chick did have a certain demonic look, if we looked at her ( and her hair ) from a certain light. You couldn't blame the poor man if he found her terrifying. The child, however, was another matter.

Still, no big deal. It was obvious. Some hero would come and save the girl and save the child and save the day.

I dislike heroes. They areusually suicidally gloomy when sober and homicidally insane when drunk. Or vice versa.

And he did come, all tall and dark and handsome. With a freaking sword. Who uses swords these days?

And I bet they were all preparing to beat the crap out of the man. Sword, chaos magic and innocent little blizzard.

There is a question I have asked myself all these long centuries:

Why am I surrounded by idiots?

But it's true. A sword? Please. A camera does the work, really. I send this on youtube and the man gets mobbed and thrown into court for intended violence. Done. I might even blackmail him for a bit, really. Though I don't know what will be the usefullness of THAT .

I continued to film the incident, hidden in the shadows.

"Oh, great," The Assistant groaned. "What is that guy doing?!"

There was a young man wearing a blue coat pulling out a sword sheath from his backpack. It was the first of its kind he had seen. Wasn't that inconvenient, though? But then again, pulling it out from one's back, that was pretty dangerous. At least the man took that precaution to put his backpack down first.

But there was still that bloke with the stick. And he was getting closer to the probably-a-mutant!

"Hide, Jaime," he motioned to his dog, letting go of the leash. The dog, being relatively intelligent, hid in the bushes behind The Assistant, waiting for his owner's command to strike.

The Assistant quickly dropped on his belly, minimizing his visibility. He reached for his trench coat pocket again for that item he was about to pull out earlier. All there was left to do was to aim at someone - the guy with the stick, or the guy with the sword?

----

"Mister officer," a young elementary schooler outside of the park worriedly said to an officer nearby, "There's a guy with a sword in the park and I think he might cut off someone's head."

Police code 417. "Wait here, son," responded the officer. "We'll take care of that and that mean-looking guy with the stick." There was already a sizable crowd being escorted outside the park, and most were wondering just what the heck was going on. A sword? Weren't swords banned by the city a while back? (Probably because knives were better, more efficient, but still.)

And so a group of three officers moved forward down the concrete path, quickly trotting towards the scene.

This is stupid, Aervin thought. Why of all the inopportune times did he have to raise his sword high in the air for all to see?

Not that it was an absurdly sharp sword. Old Oxide was oxidized and rusty. Blunt enough to not cut off a limb, only break several bones. But still, that compulsion to show off! Stupid "soft power."

Despite the three years with his sword, he had only several days experience with longsword training. Not enough to beat the pros or historical experts of German longsword-ery. His "soft power," on the other hand...

This is really stupid, Aervin thought again, trying to remember what stance he went into ("Near ward?" "The fool?" A fool indeed). But he made a choice, and now had to wait for the inevitable legal repercussions.

Had he inadvertently activated that "soft power" by now, he would have heard and felt the brush of a small, grenade-like device at his feet, nestling behind his backpack.

"Hi and who are you" sid a man that came out of the shadows "im here in need of help do you guys want to help me or not yes or no question pleas no answer with anything but yes or no" he sais in a cold dark voice like he was about to kill them (which he is not) if they say yes this plan will be complete he thinks to himself wondering if they could actualy be of help to him but either way what else can he do no one else could help him they are his only option

(OOC: Hello there, jaykob! To be honest, I am incredibly confused as to what you mean with your post. Who are you talking to, exactly?)

(you and the guy who raised his sword sorry for being confusing)

(so yeahh anyways lets role play now)

(OOC: I am the guy who raised the sword.

If you want to continue discussing this further, we should communicate by the Private Message system. Just a heads up.)

(how do we do that)

((Ah, I believe you're right. Eh...lol...do we need to create a whole new PM for it? )

(soooooo you there if so lets roleplay and just say that was directed at you)

(Ok now I'm confused with Jukilo. It's like he ignored the whole situation currently at hand. Well whatever, I'll post when I get back from volunteering.)

(Actually skip me.)

** okay, let's push this derailed thread back on track X__x **

Welp, this wasn't working. Even a little hand-waving and some spooky-ish ghost noises only seemed to make him more angered. Nevermind that Revy herself was getting quite a bit agitated by the constant comments. The Chaos option was looking better and better with each passing second; however, ignoring the fact that she was tapped out, it might scare Glaceia even more, and another winter gust was not in her schedule.

He was just about close enough to hit them with his 'big stick' when Revy gripped Glaceia's hand - icy dead feels and all - and enacted her escape plan. "Y'know what? Screw this. Poof." Just for added effect, she snapped her fingers; why let anyone else know she could do this at well? As soon as the snap happened, both adult and child disappeared from sight, reappearing behind a cluster of bushes out of sight. With another second's concentration, the rabid ravings of the loony were just a distant chattering in the background, amid the other city noises.

"Shesh that was irritating," Revy growled under her breath, shaking her head as she relaxed her grip. Just can't reason with some people, and it wasn't the first time she'd had to put up with such tripe - nor the worst such incident. Glancing down to the little girl, she added "So how're ya holding up? Don't tell me that jerk gotcha all riled up again." She tussled Glaceia's hair, a smirk on her face as she was unwilling to show any sort of fear around the kid if she could help it.

"Well, that was a load of crap," the disshelved, unwieldy excuse for a fundamentalist said. Then, shaking his fist, he yelled.: "THIS ISN'T OVER, HELLSPAWN! I WILL FIND YOU AND END YOU!" He seethed. "I'll certainly kill her, I'll kill 'em both."

He turned. There was a guy in a blue coat holding a sword up with both hands, rusty-end pointed at him. The stick-wielding loon was taken by surprise. He didn't expect retaliation to be this heavy. A sword? Most likely they would have used tasers on him, but a sword?!

"Hi," Aervin said, completely at a loss at what to say next. They blinked out of existence, the little girl and her caretaker. How was that possible?!

"Get away from me," the fundamentalist said, trying not to sound scared. If he had a sword, he could at least dispatch with the young man, too. "I don't want any trouble from you filthy liberals."

"Relax," Aervin replied, "I'm not here to hurt you." Hopefully Aervin himself wasn't lying. "I'm here to-"

"POLICE!" someone blared, and both heads turned. Two officers in blue, guns drawn, aimed at Aervin. "Drop your weapon!" Three more quickly came in from another angle, tackling the fundamentalist from behind.

Well, that was quick, Aervin thought. Best case scenario, I only lose my swords and stuff.

He dropped his sword as the cops moved closer.

Oh, crap, the cops.

The Assistant could not have predicted that those two girls would suddenly vanish out of existence much to the befuddlement of all witnesses involved. And now, cops.

It was a good call, throwing that chaff grenade underneath the young man's backpack. If anything, this could get the kid out of that sticky situation he was in.

He felt a slight pang in both of his arms - timelessness, this feeling he tried to explain - when he saw the young man draw his sword. It was a brief flash in the pan, but he recognized that feeling right away, that extrasensory mutant feeling. They were always brief, and always led the Assistant in trouble.

Was this kid a mutant? Only one way to find out. Lying low in a nearby bush, he flicked a switch in his trench coat pocket, and-

From beneath Aervin's backpack, the Assistant's grenade clicked and flashed a pale blue. From it emitted a high-pitched, shrill whistle which caught the officers off guard with its suddenness. The initial screech gave way to an annoying monotone sound.

Aervin felt his own muscles weaken. The instant the sound hit him, he fell backwards on the grass with no effort. It felt like his own life was flashing before his eyes. Images of shows, games, adaptations were sprawled out vividly on the afternoon sky before him. But what about those images of his own life? Where was this sound coming from? Was he really going to die?

The cops looked at the dazed man, dumbfounded, before taking both of his arms.

-

The earlier fundamentalist twitched, seconds away from temporarily losing control of his muscles. The officers found it easier to carry him outside the park, though that high-pitched sound was getting on their nerves.

And then-

I finished taping the whole scene once the police arrived, pressing off and smiling in satisfation. I liked this: it could always prove useful, you know. ( Despite, frankly, the usefulness of a psychotic religious bloke being unknown to me.)

Then I looked up. Then I saw the man with my own eyes, not of the tape. Then I saw him.

Oh. Really?
__

And then the wind roared as an invisible force slammed into the policemen, throwing back, dragging them in cicles, sending them crashing into a tree. A wind that was quickly become a gale. Autumn leaves, freshly raked, flew into the air, obscuring the sight. A wind that was cold and frosty, leaving anyone it passed through with the feeling that they just had taken a dip on the artic ocean.

And in the confusion, as the wind stopped harassing the park, the bible basher felt something around him, as the mist concentrating and enveloped him and...

-

...and thirty seconds later, he was thrown against the wall of an alley, three blocks away, by a very angry person.

I pointed the revolver at him, snarling. I hated doing things like that. It was all special effects, really: the "wind" was the speed at which the ethereal force caused chaos in the park. All extremely tiring.

But it was worth it to see the nasty look on his face.

"Bible basher indeed", I mused softly as he grew larger, his skin tone regaining its sickly grey colour, tusks revealing themselves, claws ripping clothes.

"Hi!" I piped up while pointing the gun at his face. "I want answers."

((Everyone okay with this? Lanthe used an enormous quantity of energy, really ))

The grenade was activating its first payload. Any second now its second, electronic-jamming payload would activate. The Assistant looked on - the sound only affected choice 'mutants' or otherwise. He didn't know which grenades on him had which effectiveness; he didn't even know exactly what the young man being dragged away was incapacitated with! He should've consulted Marlon. That tricky fool was always getting into trouble with top secret mutant projects-

"Woah!" Then came the sudden gust of sharp, cold wind. The Assistant held on to his hat and dog, shielding his face with the hill. He saw police officers fly into trees, autumn leaves flying in desperate patterns, the young man suddenly being blown away, someone's shadow creeping up through the obscure air- it was chaotic, and unexpected, for sure. That deranged fool he knew earlier was wrapped in a cocoon of thick air. How...?

Jaime barked and whimpered. The Assistant got a good look at the sudden gale.

He could not be certain, but something glowed in that thick covering.

The Assistant's arms twitched. That settled it. William, that insufferable jerk, was a damned mutant.

He turned to run, dog under his arm, but WHAM! the young man's holster-backpack took him by surprise, quickly toppling both Assistant and pet. He would be down, at least, for a few critical seconds.