Who do you voodoo? (Swooce/Vio/Daizai)

[Swooce]

One, two, three, click. One, two, three clack. Click, clack, click, clack, over and over the sound reverberated on the beaten and battered dingy. Inside said dingy was an odd if not intimidating individual. Dressed from head to toe in black garb, sporting a cane with a human skull for a top, wiry hair upon the sides of his head, a skull painted over his face. This man was one Papa Vrock. Not exactly a house hold name to be sure but Vrock would change that. One island at a time. 


Click, clack, click, clack. His shoes and cane acted in tandem to create a rhythm of sorts as he paced the dingy, contemplating his next action. He stopped and stood stock still, the wind blowing in his springy hair for a moment. He turned his head to the side. There. On the horizon. An island. He heel turned to the back of the dingy, a chest laying beneath the seat. He pulled it from its hiding place and opened it, a number of things within. Rum, compass, sticks, rum, gin, aha! Map. 'Less' see 'ere..." He muttered to himself on the open sea, no one there but himself. He scanned the map, his present location only semi known to him. There. He took another look at the island on the horizon, his yellow eyes scanning it, estimating it.


Once more he turned to the map. No... no. Here. He poked the map with his index finger. Raito Island. Only three ports, one of which wasn't that large. Don' lok lik' muuch..." he said scanning over the map once more. He shrugged, rolling up the map and stuffing it in one of the pockets he had in his texedo-esque jacket. He fondled another of these pockets, pulling from it a gold pocket watch. He flipped the cap and its tune filled the empty waves. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. His gazed was fixated on the watch, the sound almost hypnotic as it seemed to intensify in his ears, the relentless march of time drudging on. Ticktockticktocktick


tockticktockticktocktick. 


TOCK


He tore his sight from the watch, hastily closing it and halting its sound, stuffing it back within his jacket pocket. He sat and took the oars of the dingy and began rowing, splashing the waves and making his way to port, his face crunching from the effort as he sped to land. "Dis ought ta' bee good'." 

[Daizai]

(Not a good post from me by any means, I am still very rusty )

A civilian transport ship pulled into harbour, containing tourists, travellers and Dee. The bustle to leave the ship and get onto the comfort of dry land was overwhelming though the blue haired young man took it in his stride, his walk calm and purposeful as if there wasn't a wave of people around him. Citizens of Beacon town were waiting for the arrivals, ready to promote events and shops as well as to check just who was coming onto their island. Dee chose not to follow the masses and head into the village instead he went around and made for the beach. Hefting his large hammer onto his shoulder he broke away from the other arrivals and followed the water. Using his other hand he reached into his pocket to pull out a piece of bread he had saved, he hadn't the time to eat on the ship as he was chatting to the other passengers he had forgotten to take a break.



The sun spread its warmth generously onto the sand, as Dee took off his sandals and let the grains pass through his toes. “Ahh” he breathed a sigh of relief, only having felt this experience for the first time around three years ago after starting his travels and it was one he enjoyed more each time. He didn't sit down, just walked at a leisurely pace. He wanted to avoid dirtying his clothes, firstly it's hard to find a red coat with a white fur trimming replacement and secondly Dee had a thing about always wanting to look his part when he's not working. Now that he was here and had begun to enjoy himself he began to think to himself, 'What should I do now?' his purpose here was merely travelling, drifting.



Scooping up a piece of driftwood he inspected its quality. He hadn't much time to apply his craft whilst on the ship before, it was only a quick journey and the ship was in perfect condition. A shipwright or not crews would be loath to part with spare wood in case of an actual emergency. Taking up a seat on a bench further up the beach Dee began to whittle the wood away in his hands just enjoying the time away with a great big smile upon his face.

[Vio]

The rays of the sun warm. A gentle sea breeze blowing in from the west. Finally the public vessel had arrived at its chosen destination: Raito Island. One of the island's newest arrivals was a young Sheridan Reese, whose travels had brought him to this region of the West Blue, far from his homeland in the East. Mirrorball Island had had its highlights, but living there for eighteen years had drained out every bit of excitement and wonder that it usually held. This place, however, was drastically different. There was no great glass dome enveloping it. No gigantic disco ball hanging above like a mass of twinkling stars. No, this island was rather plain. An expanse of beach leading into a town, and further inland one could make out the lush greenery of some sort of forest.

"So this is Raito Island?" asked the youth, his query aimed at no particular person as he followed the crowds down the gangplank, treading lightly as the wood rattled and creaked beneath the weight of many pairs of feet. Onto the docks he stepped, continuing to follow the crowd as it spread out and moved towards the small town whose name he did not know.

Clad in light blue skinny jeans, peach slip-on pumps and a tee shirt of matching colour, Mister Reese was dressed rather casually like many. That said, nobody who looked at him could ever have guessed that he was male. From the figure he was blessed with to the way his clothing conformed to his physique, even the doll-like visage accentuated by chocolate hues, this youngster looked like a girl. Even the pitch of his voice was quite high and soft compared to other boys of his age, adding yet another layer to an unintended illusion.

'I wonder what I should do first,' Sherry thought as he left the docks, having managed to filter free of the masses. The town he wandered into was a small one, all things considered, but the most distinguishing feature was the large lighthouse that stood to one side of the settlement. That and the large number of market stalls and street vendors who seemed to pull newcomers aside in an attempt to sell their wares. So far he had escaped such a fate, but that was more out of sheer luck than any actual attempt at avoiding them.

Bobble-heads, herbal medicines, superstitious souvenirs. All the traditional tricks of the trade seemed to have found their way to the port, but nothing truly interesting had drawn the young man aside as of yet. All these things were so very stereotypical, especially when you came from a land that was a popular tourist destination by nature. So far this was nothing different, save for the lesser numbers.

And then something caught his eye.

'Wait,' he told himself, stopping on his toes and turning his head to look at a nearby vendor's stall. A simple wooden set up with a canvas canopy to provide shade, numerous rails were present about it, all of which were jam-packed with a veritable feast of colours and fabrics. Some sort of clothing store, it appeared. As was natural for the fashionista, such things drew his interest with little effort, but there was one particular article that drew him closer. A short-sleeved top, a sunburst yellow in colour, with a very distinctive logo embroidered upon the chest. A panda.

'That can't be... They can't really ship and sell over here? Could they?' Curiously he turned and strolled towards the stall, dark brown eyes fixated upon the garment that hung neatly at the end of a clothes rail. It looked like the real deal, but the dark-haired youth had to be sure.

As he drew closer, the price tag came into view. A hefty number of several thousand beri. Far too expensive for the average person of lacking wealth; a brand name that carried a lot of price and prestige within the simple icon of a black and white bear. The words read 'Doskoi Panda', but something was not right. Yet as he approached, the shopkeeper turned to him. A middle-aged man by the looks of it, with a dark complexion and small eyes, dressed in a scruffy blue shirt that did not suit him at all and a pair of baggy brown trousers a size too big for his waistline.

"How can I help you?" he asked, as any good salesman should. His voice was dry and rough, a little hard on the ears, but it did not bother the boy all that much. Indeed, he maintained a gentle smile in the presence of the store owner. The older man's hands were clasped together in the typical prayer of payment.

"Hi! I was wondering about that shirt?" Sheridan inquired, aiming a delicate finger in the direction of the garment in question. The salesman's eyes shifted slightly as he turned his head, settling upon the sunburst yellow top. He seemed to pause for a moment before speaking again.

"Ah, yes!" The gentleman livened up, stepping over to the rail and removing the shirt and hanger, holding it up. It certainly looked the part with its bright and crisp colouration, fine stitching and clean hems.

"Doskoi Panda brand clothing, straight from the East, y'know! Very expensive," he chuckled, eyes sweeping left and right before he put a free hand to his face and whispered, "but I'm selling it pretty cheap. Just seventy five hundred!"

'And he thinks that's cheap? He'll never sell it at that price...'

For a moment the youth eyed the garment curiously, well aware that the average price of Doskoi Panda merchandise could easily strike the ten thousand beri margin, and even second hand it sold for a very high price. This one, however, was on the more affordable end of the Doskoi spectrum. Still expensive, but worth saving up for in the eyes of most. For this young man, however, the illusion was quickly broken.

Brown eyes scanned the fabric that the seller held, following the seams and stitches and weave. This was not Doskoi Panda. He could tell, simply by the state of the seams. They were good, yes, but not as fine as those of the clothes produced by that world famous brand. The warp and weft looked coarse, as well, as opposed to the finer threads of far more intricate design. But the brand logo was near enough identical, easily fooling the uneducated buyer. Sherry could see it, the panda was slightly thinner - but the most notable feature were the words written beneath it.

"I'm sorry to say this, but," the travelling tailor began, meeting the eye of the salesman, "I think you've been had."

"E-eh? What do you mean?"

"This is Dosko1 Panda, not Doskoi Panda," the youngster informed him, once more pointing at the garb, but highlighting the last character of the first word. Sure enough, it was a '1' not an 'I'...

[Swooce]

With a resounding "boink" from the meeting of wood and planks, Vrock pulled
the oars back into the dinghy, sitting for a moment to catch his breath.
Finally, he had made it to Raito Island, Beacon Town to be specific! He turned his head, spotting a few people who thought they could sneak a glance at the odd, lanky  looking man. No doubt his attire would attract some attention, but he didn't mind. Hell, he almost enjoyed the attention. He grabbed his cane and the chest beneath his seat, throwing the wooden box over the edge and
onto the dock. He didn't even bother to tie the dinghy.


Rowing was difficult work, and Vrock was both tired, thirsty, and hungry. He
lifted himself from the battered thing and onto the wooden pier,
brushing himself off from head to toe. He took off his top hat, a spiky
peak of his wiry black hair unsheathing from the headware. He gave it a once
over before dusting the brim and flipping it back onto his head.


Heel turning, he gazed down at the boat, as if appraising it. It was like a
puppy. A poor, battered, saddened, malnourished, downtrodden,
unsalvageable puppy, "O'ly one ting ta' be don' 'ere." he muttered and sighed.


He took his cane, the spear tipped end aimed at the hull of the boat. Like a sword, he dove it down into the side of the shamble of wood, punching a hole through it. STAB STAB STAB, one two three. Three holes he had pierced into the poor bateau. Water bubbled forth from the wounds and filled the tub, as it slowly sank into the harbor. He brought his hat to hat to his heart, then with a slight of hand adorned it once more, picked up his chest and made his way off the dock.


He examined the rest of the island, scanning the owners of the stalls and
other establishments. People selling fish, trinkets, garments, all sorts
of other things. But Vrock had one goal in mind, driven not by his mind
but by his rumbling stomach and dry throat. His scheming would have to
come later.


Sniff, Sniffsniff, SNIII~~F, deep intakes of breath accompanied his search for food via scent. Finally, he caught wind of a certain aroma. 'Sqeid... I lov' meh som' sqeid.'
He thought, the image of the grilled cephalopod making his mouth water.
A few turns here and there and he had finally found it. A stall with a
grill in the front, a box of ice next to it hosting a number of
beverages, from Spirit to Croak.


He looked at the grill, the cook flipping the delicious looking squid,
sizzling and crackling on the metal bars, hot coals burning beneath
them. He licked his lips and turned his attention to the chef, "'Ow much fo' one o' deese?" He asked, his accent thick in his speech, "One squid is ten Belli sir! Drinks are five!" Said the cook with a hearty voice.


Vrock peeked in his pocket, digging inside. He found nothing. His eyes darted
around, mind kicking into gear. Behind him was a group of three others,
two men and one women, all bystanders, 'Ah hop' dis wurks.'
With a movement that made it look like he was reaching for his pants
pocket, Vrock reached to the back pocket of one of the bystanders and
snatched a wallet from their pocket, 'I got to get meh one o' deese soon.'


"'Ere ju' arr." Vrock said as he fished out fifteen Belli, "Won' Spireet an' won' squeid." the cook grabbed the stick that skewered the skid, and retrieved a Spirit from the icy cooler, "Here you are sir!" Vrock took the drink and squid, quickly scarfing the delicious seafood down, "Tel' meh, shopkeep, who 'ere be sellin' weapons? Goons an' boms namele."


"Oh, weapons? Well, there's Marks Munitions, down the road from that clothing stand there," The shop-keep pointed down the road, where a sign hung that showed two flintlocks crossing, their muzzle's smoking as if they had both fired shots. In front of it was a stall that carried a number of clothes, even name brands like Doskoi Panda! It seemed the shop keep was conversing with a young girl about one of the Panda shirts.


Vrocks eyes nearly popped out his skull. This girl. Innocent features, not too voluptuous, her hair, 'dem legs 'DIS' GERL!!' Vrock practically growled in his head, he peeked into the stolen wallet again, still some Belli left, he slammed another ten Belli down "One moore!" Vrock exclaimed, startling the chef. Hurriedly he handed him another grilled squid, terrified of the skull faced man. Vrock grabbed it from him and check himself in the Spirit bottle, checking his reflection. He smiled a wily grin and tossed the bottle into a nearby bin and began sauntering down the street.


OOC: I'm commin' fo' you Vio.

[Daizai]

From the wood and the tools applied to it what emerged was a smooth carving of a mermaid, a pretty buxom woman with a fish tail the common male fantasy of what they 'should' look like. Holding it up in the air he inspected it all over, smiling with satisfaction another creation was complete now he could trade it for something in the town hopefully extend his meagre money. Up from the bench he jumped and made his way back to where he had come ashore. Sand and sun was a nice change from the biting cold of Ice Nine but as much as Dee would love to spend the whole day enjoying the scenery he decided to not spoil himself, he could grow sick of it.



Seeing the stalls Dee gained an unsavoury look on his face, his mouth felt like cotton. Parched was another word he had not had a drink in a while, so it was for a food and drinks vendor. Strolling up to the least adventurous food stuffs, selling rice and other such plain food. It was a street restaurant with outdoor seating, so Dee took up a stool on the left most side and placed his hammer on the floor to lean against the wall. A canopy umbrella provided shade to those on the stools, orange and blue stripes. Leaning over the counter recently cleaned, he asked the old lady behind, “Excuse me, can I have some juice please?” a pleasant smile across his face. It was reciprocated as she said “Of course dear, and what lovely manners you have! Now which would you like orange, apple or...” the question was left unfinished as she turned to motion to the selection on the wall behind her. Without bothering to look he kindly said “Orange juice would be excellent thank you.” sliding over a few Beri to pay for it. He got a long tall glass of chilled OJ, with a straw, even a little umbrella in the top, oh that lady knew how to spoil people. Picking up the glass he swivelled around in an exaggerated fashion, taking an extensive slurp through the straw as he watched people go about their business. Looking over his shoulder he called back, “Anything interesting happening around here?” the old lady chuckled and said “Don't you know about the treasure in the nearby forest?”.



Turning back to his drink for another slurp, “Ahhh, treasure is nice but it's not very fun.” the people passing by seemed pretty average, either locals or obvious visitors but nothing that stood out. That was until he noticed a man who definitely did not fit into the normal category. Tall, slender and clothing that was just creepy. Dee made sure not to stare and looked around but he had to laugh albeit quietly at the way he spoke, it was in a large contrast to the 'proper' Queen's English manner in which Dee spoke. Adding to the difference Dee also spotted this figure snatch a wallet from a passer-by, Dee silently wished them well but he had seen people worse off. He'd never do it himself but people need to live somehow, not everyone is skilled enough to work, chuckling at the thought of this fellow working in the restaurant behind him. Swivelling back around Dee produced the carved mermaid, waiting for the lady to finish serving a customer before motioning to her. “Say, would you know anyone who would buy this pretty little thing?”. She looked at it within Dee's hands and her eyes widened, “Wow that is lovely young man, how much would you sell it for?” knowing he had the ladies attention and how quickly she made an offer Dee had the feeling he had done well with the carving. Even the people a few seats away had leant in to get a closer look so he hid it back away. “I'll have to check around a little more, thank you for the orange juice.” leaving the stall he hauled the hammer up onto his shoulder and started to look at other stalls, looking for some better wood.

[Vio]

"D-Dosko1?" the merchant stammered, his little eyes practically doubling in size as he stared towards Sheridan Reese, then casting them to the top. For a moment, he said nothing, staring at the logo of the garment. To the young clothier, the difference was as plain as day, but to less experienced eyes it was probably near impossible to see. Such was the depth of the ruse used by the knock-off clothing brand. From what he knew, Dosko1 Panda had lingered on the market for quite some years now, using the easily created illusion of a famous brand name to sell its wares to the public. While it was a shameful method of earning custom, it had certainly worked, but one could not fault the quality of these less expensive articles simply because they rode on the back of an altogether larger name. A lot of work was being put into them, the weave and the seams and the stitching. But, like the brand that it stuck so closely to, it was still very expensive for what it was.

"What? Well, in that case I'll sell it cheaper! How does sixty five-hundred beri grab you?" Again the salesman tried to offer a price that could be considered more affordable, but Mister Reese was not having any of it. As far as the travelling tailor was concerned, he would rather buy the fabrics and weave his own wardrobe, or else just stick to the simpler and easily afforded items of clothing that the common person was more than happy with. Brands and monetary value meant nothing to him. What defining an outfit was not the total cost, nor the names that you were essentially paying to advertise, but the quality of the garments themselves. What good was a shirt that lost its colours after a few washes? What good was a hat that did not protect one's head from the sun? The finest of fashionistas could always make even the cheapest of choices look exceptional!

"I'm sorry, sir. But, I-" He started to reply, maintaining his manners, but was quickly cut off by the vendor yet again.

"Sixty!" he interrupted, leaning forwards and shaking the shirt as if trying to draw attention to it. Clearly he was more concerned with selling his wares, which was somewhat suspicious of him. Had he known it was a fake? Or, did he just want to get rid of it now that discovery had been made? Did he even care it was a rip off? Probably not. He seemed intent on getting a good price for it, not so much caring for the fact that should have been rather obvious by this point in time.

"Sir." Sheridan exclaimed, trying and apparently failing to incorporate a stern tone into his light voice. This side of him rarely manifested and, to be entirely honest with himself, the youth did not like having to bring it out. This was an honest salesman, definitely not the wealthiest or financially stable of people by the simplicity of his stall, and all he was doing was trying to make some money. Unfortunately, the person he was so intent of selling the knock-off to had no interest in buying anything, especially not with a brand name splashed across it. That was, quite literally, not his style.

"I don't want to buy it," he continued, struggling to maintain eye contact with the merchant for much longer than a few seconds at a time. It was not that the man was intimidating in any way. Rather, the clothier was avoiding meeting his eye to avoid generating any social friction or intensity. The kind that drove potential customers away. This was also why he had refused to raise his voice too much; to prevent drawing too much unwanted attention. Commerce was not the easiest of businesses to maintain, especially in the midst of the Golden Age of Piracy, but it was certainly one of the most widely spread and important aspects of life. How much of the population relied on trade to survive? An enormous percentage. Competition was hot. Always. New companies formed and collapsed on a near daily basis, while some would persevere through the harshest of economical downfalls, only to rise from the ashes as if they were a brand new company.

Poor man. I bet he had no clue that it was a phony... Sympathy flowing through the youngster's thoughts like a river through a forest, Sherry gave a polite bow and farewell to the shopkeeper as he turned about and stuffed the false Panda under the stall, away from prying eyes. Though what the young lad did not see as he turned to leave was the merchant replacing it with a baby blue version of the original, and also Dosko1 Panda. Anything for a quick buck, eh? Anyway. The next order of business was to find a fabric stall, or something similar, from which he could purchase some good materials. Different Blues had different specialties when it came to the materials industry, with the East Blue being a forefront for fabrics such as cotton, silk and velvet. Unfortunately, his knowledge did not extend much further than that, but the young Mister Reese did know of some smaller clothing brands of the West Blue, who specialised in leather jackets and boots and denim wear. In fact his very own choice of trousers were of West Blue origin. Or, at least, the materials were.

As he scanned the vicinity for signs of a stall or store that sold such useful twill and tan, the effeminate fellow's eyes settled upon something truly disturbing. Had the cold hands of fear not grabbed his shoulders so quickly, Sheridan would have quickly ran for the hills, but a lack of attention to what was behind him had cost the tailor that chance. It was all he could do move his head, muscles tensed and solid as if an unnatural ice had just formed within their own sinew. It was a person. A really tall person, around a foot taller than himself - which wasn't saying all that much given how short Sherry was. But if anything, the height only served to add to the intimidating factors that made this dark-skinned human rather... inhuman. A dark face marked with bone-white paint, the eyes left blackened and the jaw without decoration. Upon his head rested a tall black top hat, protruding from beneath the brim of which were two horns of hair. A black jacket and trousers accompanied the headgear, all of which seemed rather clean and shiny, yet still as inky as the night sky. No shirt? No shirt. That was odd. The skull motif was obvious, however, and was probably what made the man seem the most frightening of all.

Sheridan did nothing. He just stood there, brown eyes locked with those of the approaching gentleman, uncertain of what to say or do...

SPOILER: Click to show

Sorry for the wait, guys! Between a lack of muse and illness, I've been struggling. Took my three days to write this one up...

[Swooce]

    Vrock was ecstatic. Behind his yellow eyes, gears were turning in his head. Indeed, right now he shoving all the irons straight into the fire. All sorts of scenarios played in his head, vivid images dancing in his skull as to what he would do to that pretty face. In one hand he gripped the grilled squid, almost like a lure he would use this piece of meat to get himself another piece of meat.

    In what seemed almost like an instant, Vrock slithered his way next to the small "girl", bringing his arm around "her" shoulder and bringing "her" close in, "Well, 'ello d'erre gal... waas a pretti ting lik'' yoou doin' 'ere...? Dis place, it t'aint right fo' som'ting lik' you ta' be 'ere..." Vrock said, a low growl coming from his throat as he spoke. 

    He handed the squid to the "girl", smiling a toothy grin as he examined "her" flesh, "Feelin' peckish, lov? 'Ere, try som' squed, al' soft, an' chewy, an' tenda'..." Vrock was practically purring at this point as he handed the "girl" the squid, the low growl quickly climbing upward as he continued sizing "her" up. 

    Being the gentleman he was, it was only natural he examined "her" wears for "her". He took a quick glance at "her" form, his eyes tracing "her" slim body. Not much in the way of curves, but there were things that made up for this. Her frame was good, lean and built for dexterity... she'd need that for the things he had in store. Her skin, from what he could tell, had a silky smooth appearance to it, something he'd love to feel for himself. Her face was something akin to an angel, "Straight down fro'm hevan and down ta' hel'," he thought. 

    His grin only got wider as he spoke to the "girl", "Now den', intraductions, names Vrock. Papa Vrock," he said, putting the emphasis on the Vs, drawling out the Rs, and putting the emphass on the "K" sounds.

    "Sweet ting lik' ju' gots ta' have a nam' befitting o' der' stature... Raven...? Naw, dond't seem right... Sherry? Ju' remind me off a Sherry... Tel' me 'm right." He said, pulling "her" in until "she" was practically forced to rub up against him. 


OOC Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable... just trying to establish character here...



     

    
        

[Vio]

Panicked fear clawing at every inch of his mind, freezing the cogs of thought and generally jamming any attempt at speech or logical assumption, there was no denying that Sheridan Reese was utterly afraid of what was happening. Every inch of his body wanted to move - to sprint far, far from this place - but, to his dismay, his brain just was not going to allow that to happen. Nor, it seemed, was the overly intimidating individual. A dark arm was suddenly upon him, wrapped around his shoulders like an oppressive and weighty iron chain, further shackling the feminine fellow to the spot. As if mental issues were not enough, even the physical realm seemed to have betrayed him all of a sudden. Still, that did not change the fact that events were taking a very strange and unpredictable turn.

"Well, 'ello d'erre gal," growled the grotesque skull-face through lips and teeth, his accent impossible to place. It was certain that, having only recently begun to journey across the waves, Mister Reese was not aware of the highly variable uses of language that the world had to offer. But that, of course, was the least of his worries. His frozen and fearful thoughts cared naught for the way in which this looming shadow spoke. Instead, his brain was hard at work presenting as many possible scenarios - most of which involved his inevitable death - as it could, interspersing them with glimpses of times past; both happy and sad. However, as the figure continued to speak, one thing was becoming painfully obvious. A common misunderstanding that, on several occasions, had somehow managed to drag the boy by his ankles and into trouble. Said common misunderstanding was...

I- I'm not a girl... If only his mouth would repeat those words, then maybe things would be better. But alas, the risk of current events turning sour only served to make Sherry tense up further. No sound would escape his lips, no glimmer of thought in his wide chocolate eyes, not even an action that would express what he was feeling. This was certainly an issue that he needed to overcome at some point, but for now this inexplicably potent fear of those that seemed even remotely intimidating was the only thing that held back the lad from being sociable to all. Suddenly with a squid of the grilled variety offered to him, the delicate digits of one hand simply went with the flow, taking a hold of the stick upon which the sea creature had been skewered.

...Why do you betray me, hand? Why? Fighting an obviously losing battle within the walls of ones own mind was not the kind of thing you wanted to do when threatened, was it? A shame, it was, that the quivering clothier was forced to do just that. Dark eyes he could feel upon him, sizing up his sleek and slender physique, analysing his every detail. One part of him wanted to scream, but even trying he knew his lungs would feel empty, the breath stolen from him at the very moment he attempted it. Shallow breathing, quite rapid to match the thundering beat of his heart against his ribs, was doing him no favours. It was apparent that this 'Papa Vrrrrock' (give or take a few R's) was not as observant as he may have thought himself to be, failing to notice the fact that his prey was no princess. Or, perhaps, it was nothing more than the fact that the youth's feminine form was a tad more exquisite than even his siblings'.

"Ju' remind me off a Sherry... Tel' me 'm right?" Asked the man in the top hat. Well, asked was probably not the right term for his predictions, for the frightening fellow was right on the money with his guess. It was almost as if he knew it, but the brown-haired boy was pretty certain that he had never met this man before. God knows he would remember a face as terrifying as that.

"Uh- Uh-huh!" Stammering out a confirmation through an unwanted need to do so, the trembling tailor once more found his body doing what he did not want to do, but that was a good sign. It meant that the initial shock was starting to fade away, but there was no denying the fact that terror would persist long into the future. The future. Did he even have a future? What horrible things was this evil entity planning behind those sickly yellow eyes of his? What demonic thoughts was he having? Sherry dared not to consider that. Actually, that brief moment of consideration as he was pulled closer was enough to snap him out of his panicked state and make a rare stand. Dropping the grilled squid to the floor, he placed the palms of both hands against the shirtless chest and pushed with all his might, breaking free of the figure's clutches and the icy grip of fear and fright. Inhaling deeply, he steadied his mind and body, but found himself unable to look back into Vrock's eyes.

"I- I'm not... I'm not a..." Quietly mumbling as he stood there, unable to get much more than a few words out, Sheridan struggled to make eye contact. Instead, his gaze lingered upon the fallen morsel and its dark grilled streaks, the subtle scent of its cooked flesh still filling his nostrils. For a second he closed his eyes, and that second almost felt like a life time as he composed himself. With another deep breath, his back straightened and he stood as tall as he could, swallowing the bitterness of his fear as he opened his eyes and once more locked gaze with the ominous offender. And then he spoke those simple words that took so long to come out; "Sorry, but... Y-you've misunderstood, s-sir... I... I'm not a girl!"

SPOILER: Click to show

Sorry for the massive wait, but it seems Daizai has vanished? Well, we can continue this thread without him, anyway, as he hasn't firmly rooted himself into the plot.

Also, no worries about getting into character, just don't take it too far!

Papa Vrock (550000)
Sheridan Reese (ff99ff)