Enter, Shikari [Closed]

[Cirrus]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:400px; border-radius:0px 0px 20px 20px; margin-top:20px; background-color:#fff; border-left:8px solid #228b22;][style=float:left; border-radius:100%; height:100px; width:100px; margin-right:10px; margin-left:-39px; margin-bottom:10px; margin-top:-5px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/1HzNn.png);][/style][style=text-align:right; font-size:25px; font-family:century gothic; color:#228b22; text-transform:uppercase; border-bottom:1px dashed #228b22; line-height:20px;]NOW IT'S ALL AWASH![/style][style=text-align:right; font-size:9px; font-family:courier new; color:#ccc; text-transform:lowercase;]live my life without coming up for air now it's all awash i want everyone racing down the hill i am faster than you wait for summer time wait for summer time[/style][style=margin:10px; text-align:justify; font-family:helvetica; font-size:10px; padding:15px; color:#666; height:250px; overflow:auto;]The sun hung lazily in the sky, the orb of fire illuminating the island of the Ciudadela Queendom, as well as the rest of the earth. However its focus seemed primarily based on the aforementioned island, or at least from the perspective of its inhabitants that was the case. At any rate the sun was shining at mid-afternoon, its rays warped and distorted by the pre-evening air, reflecting the actions of those it cast its life-giving gaze upon: in this case, a flagrant haired boy strolling down a dusty path, kicking up the atomized debris of the well-worn road in a cloud behind him that drooped indolently in the air behind him before rising up as it dissipated like any force of intent for that day. It was to be a sluggish day; the air was humid and heavy, dragging down any ambitions like an ethereal anchor. It was not out of malevolence, however – the anchor was munificent, magnanimous even: it prevented any rampant crime, prevented any sort of incidents occurring. No, such unrest was reserved for the night. There was a reason it was always dark: the ascending nasty plots of so many uncovered underdogs tainted the sky so abundantly that it was accepted as a natural phenomenon. The orange haired boy walking down the path seemed to be occupied with things in his hands, and this would prove to be true: his fingers deftly poked about a packet of some sort sorting and filing and doing whatever else fingers are prone to do – dexterity was clearly not a foreign concept to the boy; he performed this task while his eyes were fixed on the road in front of him. He walked purposefully, or at least as purposefully as it was deemed possible with the atmosphere being so heavy. To say his eyes were fixed on the road would have been an inaccuracy though: his bright orange hair fell over his eye-line and would seemingly render him blind unless he chose to take action and get a haircut. Although to those that knew him, such an action would be madness – the boy’s hair always stayed at that length, always over his eyes (unless absolutely necessary): he’d simply learned to see through the orange locks. Despite his hair the boy was dressed rather unassumingly, being clad in a dark, forest green jumpsuit that would have disguised him had he been anywhere else in the area other than the dull yellow-brown of a dusty track; the standard and official colour of any natural roads was not going to change just because of his fashion sense, after all. At any rate his amble gradually carried him somewhere that wasn’t where he was – the lazy rural countryside that preceded the affluent areas of the Ciudadela Queendom couldn’t span the entire island, after all. No, the boy was walking into town. He had some business to tend to. He was due to leave the island, due to set off for freedom and adventure and all that jazz in only a few days and he had to say his goodbyes and give people things and experience some experiences one last time; everybody knew it was that ultimate occurrence of some routinely event that made it all the more sweet, and the walking boy certainly knew about sweet: plastered over his attire were stickers that advertised some of them: plant based, of course – he was the son of two great botanists, after all. It would simply be a travesty if their offspring didn’t grow into the same things they did. ‘Gaaah, this stuff is heavy – I need a drink and a rest…’ Thought the boy as he entered the more civilian district of the Queendom. Despite he and his family’s wealth he did not think himself above those who lived in the central business borough of the island: friends were friends were friends, after all – and right now he could have used some. Ever since he had announced he was going to be leaving the island to pastures new everyone he had considered a friend had sort of stopped talking to him. Maybe they were avoiding him because he didn’t invite them to venture out too, or maybe they just suddenly hated him: the boy had no way of knowing. Still, the truth could sometimes become as tangled as the vines that grew all over the island in its lush verdant summers, autumns, winters and springs. He had no way of knowing, and thus should not have assumed… “Bingo,” Muttered the boy, who was actually around nineteen despite what his facial features and gait told observers. He had spotted an establishment known around these parts as a tavern, although really it was just an un-fancy restaurant that sold alcoholic drinks at a bar. Still, semantics would be semantics and whatever the true identity of the edifice the orange haired botanist found himself strolling calmly into the fact of the matter was that they sold alcohol – and juice. No, this wasn’t your typical adolescent (despite what he enthusiastically claimed the botanist was definitely not an adult yet); he wasn’t instantly an alcoholic. Heck, he barely even registered the liquid courage being poured into glass chalices and downed by the fragile dependent. No, the teen was more focused on the innocent beverage derived from fruit and vegetables: juice and all non-alcoholic variants of it seemed to be this place’s specialty, at least liquid wise – he’d tried the soup, and it was definitely not the reason he came. ‘Cambino-Zumo’ was a fine establishment nonetheless, and this was reflected in the boy’s friendly and contented tone of speech when he greeted the man tending the juice bar. “Hey Raiz! The regular please – slow day today?” Quickfire discourse escaped his mouth with a pleasant ring of nobility, but the boy wasn’t embarrassed. He’d obviously frequented the bar multiple times before: he ordered the regular, which, as evidenced by the barkeep’s preparation of a cucumber-orange smoothie in a tall chilled glass complete with orange and grapefruit slices and a red plastic straw with exactly five ridges at the perpendicular between transporting stem and depositing mouthpiece, was a particular favourite of his. “Hola amigo! Here’s your smoothie; cucumber and orange with one orange slice, one grapefruit slice, a bendy straw from Ridgewell’s and chilled – you know I keep one glass aside for you in the fridge. You’re one odd kid, Fohlee.” He replied, appearing to sidestep the question the boy, whose name was Fohlee, had posed. Until he said, “And yeah… something’s in the air yunno? Won’t be the same with you leaving I guess…” He trailed off. Raiz smiled gruffly yet warmly. And then his eyes trailed off; someone else was entering the tavern. This was of no interest to Fohlee, who simply smiled back and nursed his drink. It was game day today, and despite what his friend had said the air was always different on game day – the hunters filled it with the mournful ether of death and danger and delight, all mixed together in one toxic cocktail that gave you no clues as to which was most pressing at the moment and once in your bloodstream changed your thinking, changed your heart and exhilarated you in such a way that nothing was real and everything was breathless and- and- “Hate game day. Everyone else has fun…” … But the animals? Was Fohlee a vegetarian because he cared for those that also lived and breathed but where not of Homo Sapiens? “…but me.” Nope. Simple selfish jealousy was the answer. Ah well, he was only young. With his grumbling concluded Fohlee slumped down onto the bar and stared into the opaque dark green drink, as if it were some swamp that held some murky answers… well, while everyone else was watching the hunt he had some time to separate his feelings from reality, though like the process of the drink’s construction under the heavy humid hot air of the Ciudadela Queendom the world had been blended together then chilled to a deep freeze. But that was okay; he could grin and bear it for now. In a few days he would escape the ice. [/style][style=text-align:center; font-family: courier new; font-size:9px; color:dedede; text-transform:lowercase;]words: 1369 | tags: raab&mythique&tyzen&val | notes: go wild. :)[/style]

[style=font-family:century gothic; font-size:9px;]made by RIVER! of BV, CTL and OTE[/style]

[❰ Misha ❱]

It was a marvelous afternoon on Ciudadela Queendom in the town of Acattopa, the very capital of the island. If Daemon hadn't known better, he'd say it was the closest place to paradise in South Blue. The fresh greenery made the city seem to fresh and welcoming while the flowers gave the city an exotic feel to the otherwise ordinary white plaster houses. However, he did know better and as he traipsed down a modestly busy street in one of the more populated civilian sectors of the city, he noted that this was not the case.

While the island was littered with tons of greenery, Daemon peered around the streets and gardens and made several surreptitious glances of the various plants growing in backyard gardens or small potted plants growing on the windowsills, noting some of them were starting to wilt. It looked like the island hadn't had a good rainfall in a while. Daemon mentally noted that it was probably a dry season, but the plants would need a good drink in a few days or the crops from this island will probably fail as well.

Daemon broke himself from his thoughts to simply consider it and realized it was probably no big deal before continuing on. After all, this was the tropical island. An island in South Blue renowned for its very high quality fruits and vegetables as well as many types of flora. A reason why he it should be called a "botanist's heaven". It would probably rain in a day or two and all would be well.

Daemon strode down the street, clad in his signature black leather jacket that drew a few stares from several bypassers. Despite the immense heat in the afternoon, Daemon refused to remove his jacket and instead elected to just endure the heat. It made him sweat a little, but being on Zarzara island for a few years had hardened him to the heat. He wasn't exactly dressed to please, but that didn't bother him at all.

On the outskirts of an empty plaza, Daemon stopped and looked up at a very fine-looking restaurant. Both curious and hungry, he didn't pause to read the name and stepped into establishment.

It wasn't a tavern or any low-end place, more like one of those ritzy places that the rich and upper-middle class dine in. This feature didn't register to Daemon however as his foot stopped in mid-step.

The restaurant was filled with women. Female guests, female waiters, and a female bartender. A few men were mixed in with the crowd, but Daemon took no notice. He immediately felt the blood rush to his head. You probably couldn't tell since he was already sweating from the heat of retaining his jacket, but you can be sure he was sweating even more. He felt his fists clench and start to shake violently.

He hated women and girls above all else in the world. It was a rage that began the instant one entered his field of vision. He felt his forehead pulse and his face broke out in a sweat along with his palms. This was an unavoidable reaction that Daemon exhibited. He went out of his way to avoid contact with them whenever he could.

Promptly, Daemon turned around and slammed the door shut, causing a few perplexed patrons to glance at the door for a second, wondering what happened before returning to their meals after dismissing it.

After that, Daemon exited the immediate area, though any passers-by would've thought he was crazy from all the sweat he was generating and still refusing to get rid of his jacket. As soon as he was far enough away from the restaurant and didn't see any women in his immediate vision (much to his relief), Daemon resumed walking down on the roads, keeping a lookout for a place to eat.

After a few minutes of wandering the street, Daemon came across a small tavern a short time later. He stepped inside the building, and glanced around for any sight of women. He was relieved to find almost none. There was a waitress running along the rows of customers and taking orders which did cause him to think about turning around, but his stomach let loose a slight grumble that made him think twice about doing so.

Carefully skirting away from the waitress, Daemon made his way to the bar and sat down. He noted a small boy with orange hair seated a small distance away but ignored him for the moment as the bartender approached.

"What do you have on the seafood menu?" Daemon asked.

[tyzen]

Tyzen sat on a thin wooden bench outside of a fairly standard blacksmith's store. The sun beamed down directly on his face making sweat dribble down his forehead. It was a beautiful day, but extremely uncomfortable. His left pinky was deeply dug into his ear as he was trying to peel out the wax that tends to coagulate when you sit in the same place without bathing. He had been in the same spot for two days outside of going to the bathroom and requesting to use a close by neighbor's shower and being swiftly denied. With heavy reluctance he had given his katana to the master blacksmith of the place called Devo so that he could fix the hilt of his blade.. Despite his assurances about the quality of his work no chances could be taken and he would not stray farther from his cherished weapon than he had too. There was nothing special about it, but it was the first katana he had ever owned and something told him instinctively not to risk losing it. By the time that he had lost his patience and was about to go barging in a frail old man slowly came through the front door of the shop.

"Quite a beautiful sword you have. Don't see much black steel these days do you? Anyways, I fixed the hilt like you asked, and I sharpened the blade, no charge" remarked Devo as he slowly unearthed the katana from a white towel with black splotches scattered across it. Now that he had seen the blacksmith for a second time he seemed much more upbeat and cheerful to the point of contagiousness. Tyzen couldn't help but shine a smile back as he made conversation despite wanting to grab the sword and run.

"Really? Thanks a lot old man. I was half expecting you to rip me off. Hard to trust people these days." Tyzen replied half talking about the current situation and half reverting to a memory in his head.

"Well, just the untrustworthy ones." jested Devo before insisting that Tyzen take the blade. With almost no hesitation he obliged him and held the katana with his right arm fully extended to feel the swords weight in his hands. After a few seconds of staring at his blade with a blank expression he sheathed the sword and smiled back towards the Devo. They exchanged handshakes before Tyzen went on his way.

Like few times in recent memory Tyzen had a beaming smile on his face that everyone could see. The island had sort of been a damper in his journey as he had been there for nearly a month without catching any sort of bounty head, or even really meeting one. The small amount of Beli he had taken with him was beginning to dwindle and he had few prospects for finding a way off the island, but to hell with that he had a shiny katana! The logic of his happiness was questionable, but he wasn't going to ruin the mood, so he decided to treat himself at a local tavern he had been meaning to visit.

As Tyzen opened the door he was overcome by the difference in temperature. It might have just been wishful thinking but it felt like going from a sauna to a beach with a cool breeze washing over you. After scoping the place out for a few seconds he decided to take a seat in a booth near the front entrance. Within a few seconds the waiter came over to his table and asked him what he wanted. "Umm...would you happen to have any candy bars?" he timidly requested. After he saw the waiters face indicating she was going to go off on him for asking such a stupid question he reverted his eyes to the wall anticipating the embarrassment. His desire for candy had always been his weakness.

"Sorry honey, but we're not a candy shop, we sell food, not sweets." she replied condescendingly.

"Cookies?" Tyzen innocently questioned.

"No."

"Ice crea-" continued Tyzen before getting cut off. He was too concerned with the chance of candy to be bothered with the waiters tone of voice.

"No. Sorry sir, but I have other customers. I'll give you time to reevaluate your life, I mean order." she replied before giving a sinister grin and sashaying away. Tyzen had a hard time looking up as he could feel the stares of the whole room on him despite no one even noticing what had just happened. A few minutes passed before he heard a man ordering fish at the bar causing him to look up. Tyzen crunched up his fist in anger as he awaited the bartenders response.

"If they have fish and no candy Ima be pissed!" Tyzen muttered under his breath.