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"Funny" the City says with her child-like tone "Because you smell funny... and also taaaasty."

Sarait's eyes widened, unnerved by... whatever it was she was looking at. "Er... I'd say Creepy, but that doesn't seem very nice." She paused, and thought. It seemed as though everyone could hear the beating of her heart. Then, she remembered. This feeling was familiar. This call... was familiar. She hadn't been here, but she had. In her darkest moments, perhaps this is where she went. Partially. Maybe.

Sarait closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Familiar. That is your nickname. Familiar."

((OOC: I'm sorry if I completely misunderstood your OC, or if my post made no sense.))

The man looks at the woman with his gaze, two ice shards of eyes clashing in a glacial stare contest. Finally, the man breaks the silence, his voice firm and authoritative, yet... comprehensive of something.

"You remind me of someone I knew too well for decades..." he says, "And as him, you are chained to a theatre of lies and deceit, the poison which the nobility loves to gorge on. Mask of chains, yes, such will be how I, Gheiss of the mountain, shall call thee."

((OOC: Do I look like someone who makes sense? Psssst. Jokes aside, it's quite fitting actually: the city's not an OC like the others, and you nailed it despite its complexity))

The artist was forced to tilt her head back to properly look at the large man before her, her hands on her hips and her brow furrowed in contemplation for a long moment before she finally spoke. "...I feel like Giant Sword Guy is a little too on-the-nose," she said with a humorous but also somewhat perplexed grin.

"How about..." She trailed off for another drawn-out, thoughtful pause. "How about Bear? It's simple, but you give me bear vibes and I think it fits."

"Daisy." He says, remaining to the point and precise. Why that nickname? Because, Samson reasons within himself, it rhymes with her beautiful name.

The Priest hums, checking his nails over for a moment before finally looking to the mountain. "It's going to sound funny coming from something like me but, I'll call you Mountain. A little cold, a little unfeeling, and stubborn. So, so stubborn, like rocks tend to be. Oh, would you look at the time, I must be going, ta-ta!"

Nikkolai glanced over the celestial entity, "My... You're a heavenly one, aren't you... Perhaps I can just call you... angel...?"

Thorn raised an eyebrow. His eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling into a sickening smile. It looked bitter sweet. “Well, I believe I shall call you Chipmunk, since you seem to be acting grand when you are just so.. small.”

"They always said psychopaths were dangerously attractive and that's why they have many victims..." She took a deep breath as if she was feeling a little hot. Whether she was nervous from anxiety or something else was unclear.... "I'd definitely call you American Psycho"

Roryk turned his at the woman, his lips pulling every so slightly in a cold expression. It was hard to tell what he was thinking exactly. But then again, that was just how he worked.

“Siren.” he stated firmly. There was no debate behind his tone and no way he would change this name.

Gordon

Big Sissycakes

Puu~

"Hmph. Tiny little baby woman. That's all i'm gonna say."

The woman cupped her mouth, stifling a right fit of giggles that struggled to escape her mouth. Tufted ears angled low betrayed any sense of propriety, and she just looked away from the man's behind.

"How. Who even. Why'd you-- who even makes armour that accentuates the rear's cheeks that much?" She whispered, unable to hold it in. "I got it. You're Ser The-Clap-Of-Mine-Hindquarters-Be-Alerting-The-Guards.'

The young blonde woman said nothing as she stared at the Miqo'te with crossed arms. For once Ayla was giving serious thought before she opened her mouth. "Princess." She finally said. "Because you are beautiful like a princess would be." It was a vain answer but one could not expect any deep meaning to come from her. Still, this was a great compliment. Ayla did not like to compliment anyone, let alone women who she saw as a threat.

Sherlock took the set of goggles he was wearing and with a forefinger and thumb pushed them to the top of his head. The soldering iron he was using still bore the angry reddish glow as he held it far too casually in order to converse.

"Oh, would you look at the two of you," he spoke with interest, gesturing toward the girls with his tool. "Judging by the looks of you, you'll both likely be on my to-do list before long. I wonder who will report you missing first. I certainly hope I'll be available to take the case."

He paused, then gave them a quick examination. "You don't look as though you have strong connections with family judging by your cavalier lifestyle. I think I will call you both a six. I feel like the case will be an interesting one!"

"Hmm.... how about 'Locko'?"

(what does that even mean oh for the person above-) "I mean, what do i expect to say? I'll just call you Maria."

"How about Ro?" the artist suggested. "I've always liked that, as a name or nickname."