Xemnas
Posts : 63
Join date : 2009-10-26
Age : 30
Location : The World That Never Was
 |  Subject: Role-play Introductions~  Tue Dec 01, 2009 10:31 pm | |
| By yours truly! I'll just post Kingdom Hearts ones (and maybe one final fantasy one...)
I think there may be swear words in them, but idk. Don't remember.
They're long, so... >U>
And mostly alternate universe (as in still Kingdom Hearts, but situated in a different "universe" where the characters play different roles)
Alternate Universe (City of the Dead) - Demyx
[1967 words]
Adventure. Was that the proper word to describe what was to be an illustrious venture? Surely, what they - mere university students - were going to attempt that no others dared was akin to playing a high-strung, dangerous game of russian roulette. The idea of risking such a "pastime" both appealed and appalled him. After all, not many were intrepid enough to place their lives on the line - or more. It was such reasoning that probably brought his heart beating to a higher rate than it should be at, or that pumped searing adrenaline through his very veins. The prospect of experiencing what no-one had experienced, to feel what no-one had touched, to explore what no-one had challenged themselves to search was that exulting. However, was moxie and impudency enough to get them through this far-fetched, determined undertaking? The answer to that question lay out of reach.
There was one problem. Demyx didn't have any moxie, in even one pinky-finger, to face whatever in hell was in store for them once they reached, as they called it, the City of the Dead. If anything, the blonde would have loved nothing more than to have stayed behind at Hollowe Raine: at least there, he felt entirely secure. But if he had, rest assured that his fellow partners in this "operation" would have hounded on him afterward, if they made it through alive. He definitely wouldn't put it past them. Since he hadn't been in the mood at the time to be badgered about so-called cowardice, he agreed then to tag along with the fair-sized group to get to the bottom of the city's out-of-reach mysteries that just begged for anyone, absolutely anyone to unravel.
They weren't any where close to their destination, and already he was getting nervous and jittery. Heck, staying still for a minute was beyond his capabilities at the moment. Constantly the musician found himself swallowing bile rising in his throat or to throw discombobulated stares out the barely visible window. The raging storm that released all its wrath upon the compact, black utility van was at fault. It was funny, actually, because Demyx didn't recall there even being a furious, wraithe-like thunderstorm as they were preparing for their departure, nor as they all trudged into the vehicle and had gone through a fair distance. Apparently, as you neared the haunting place, the weather changed expeditiously; you didn't have the time to calculate, or to adjust, to the extreme transition between atmospheric conditions. Unless you bothered to scrutinize the weather with care, of course.
Usually, he enjoyed the rain: practically anything to do with water intrigued him. But this rain, that of which felt as if it attacked the van with ferocity equal to that of a rampaging bull, foreshadowed something ominous to come. That implication was enough to run a shiver down Demyx's spine, and the mullet-haired student involuntarily rubbed both shoulders with a hand. It was all he could do without making it too obvious to the others cramped in the vehicle that his fright was slowly rising as they encroached the city's boundary.
Oh, how he was beginning to regret agreeing to this idiotic arrangement. They were liable to get themselves killed if they decided to pursue this any longer. Albeit, he doubted with all his heart that the thought of turning tail was far from everyone's mind, from Roxas' to Axel's to Xaldin's. To hesitate and swerve this utility van around, back to the sanctuary of the university, was like breaking an unspoken confirmation between the lot of them.
As they bounced along the increasingly rough road, Roxas twisted around in his seat to fix them in those large blue iris' of his. "We'd better go ahead and put on our gas masks, our next stop is that city, guys." Demyx exhaled heavily, the knowledge that they were soon to come to their stop making breathing seemingly more difficult. This was going to be disastrous; he just knew it. Or maybe it was only a premonition, but premonitions sometimes came true, did they not? With a hand unconsciously scrubbing through his neatly arranged hair, excluding the few slight strands that lay conspicuously on his forehead, he swiped his own gas mask from the ground, an action parroted by his other colleagues. Hurriedly, he put the uncanny object to his face with a contemptuous grimace. He had never liked anything on his face, and a gas mask didn't change things. However, if it was for protection, he'd gladly wear it.
Before long, they appeared to have neared the grisly city. Tugging his long-sleeved, navy blue shirt up to his pale hands, the blonde wiped the obscuring fog from the window to see clearly out if it. Immediately he wished he didn't try to quench his curiosity - the regret burned as did the images in the back of his retinas. The pure destruction, the dilapidation, was too much to bear. It was hard to believe that this area had been of prosperity; during this day of age, it looked beyond poverty. The embellishment it once had, perhaps, been proud to display to its visitors was no more. The City of the Dead was spot-on name-wise, keeping true to its namesake; everything certainly looked dead and quite possibly dying. To Demyx, he was positive that it was safe to say that here was where you were to find the epitome of death and fear at its exaggerated point.
Nurturing the few boldness he had left, the blonde craned his neck to once again look upon what could be seen of the city. Sickening, revolting; it summed the city up. The buildings were but a shadow of their former selves, their frames jutting out in convolutions and bends. If not looked closely at, one might mistaken the structures to be some sort of giant, disfigured skeleton. Feeling his stomach clench painfully, Demyx roved his attention to the cars that lay haphazardly among the streets. Once in a while, he caught fragments of what looked to be scarred bone, sometimes attached to another or left scattered by its lonesome. It was enough to make even the hardiest of men falter in their bravado. Taking in the decaying of plants and the various grasses strewn about the city's premises, or the tenebrous, veiling miasma that overshadowed anything that it touched, mostly low to the ground or in ditches and the gaps between the few trees left, the musician shuddered, ignoring the hairs raising on the back of his neck. Or he struggled to. When you were never gallant in the first place, it was testing and unnerving to be thrust into a situation as the one he was in. The city radiated a spiteful, hating melancholy. Not even a lion could pace through without being scathed in mind.
Having enough of the hulls of rotting vehicles and once dignified buildings, plus the several, full bodies of skeletons (sometimes they were still stuck in a mishapened car, or even piled up on the sidewalk or strewn across grass and road alike), Demyx finally turned away from the window. From inspecting his colleagues, they felt the same way: Marluxia's mouth would tighten whenever he silently stared at plant or tree; Saix would occasionally tear his gaze from a disturbing sight to bring his attention to the sky, or to the floor of the van by his feet; and even Larxene, the fearless, sadistic female of their group, looked stony and uptight. Demyx, for one, didn't blame any of them. He was definitely the most flustered and distressed person in the vehicle.
Ostensibly, Roxas was just as discomposed by the sights all around as he was; though, the other, shorter blonde had a much wider view of everything in front of him than Demyx or anyone else in the back did from their side-windows. Watching Roxas scramble into the somewhat more comfortable atmosphere of the group without detachment, the university student didn't bother to conceal a strained mutter. At least he wasn't the only one scared out of his wits.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed. During the span of, what, forty minutes, he was tuned in to the movements and sounds that everyone made: the cough hidden behind the hand of Xemnas, the cool tapping of fingers on knees from the dispassionate Zexion, the keen whistling (to distract himself from the painful environment around him?) from Xigbar...everything. It was slightly annoying, all this going on, but he found himself gnawing on his lower lip - and it wasn't much better than the commingling noises coming from his comrades.
The excruciating wait was done as their driver eventually reached the drop-off point. It was as if it had stretched to hours thrown on top of hours. But, though the long drive was finally over, it solely meant another beginning, a beginning he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for. If only he could sink in to the very seat itself and not have to fret consistently over his health and well-being in the City of the Dead. Gulping, and numbly massaging his throat as one would do when they were stressed or placating themselves, Demyx lightly bobbed his head in answer to their acquaintance of a driver. How he longed to beg that man to let him stay in the van and endure another drive back to the university. He'd pick a discomforting ride over a deadly, lugubrious city that bespoke suffering any day. It wasn't like he belligerently asked for trouble; trouble always came to him, whether he liked it or not.
Filing out of the van with gratitude - it had been real stuffy in there, anyway - Demyx automatically felt the apocalyptic, hostile environment. Was the city displeased with their trespassing on its malicious grounds? Or was it whatever hid out there in nooks and crannies that cannot be seen by a casual eye? Shuffling his feet with the continuing pressure of ill-boding on what felt like his shoulders themselves, the musical student studied his surroundings meticulously. The buildings had a malignant aura about them, and he wasn't adoring it at all, not when they towered over with their skeletal structure. Obviously, the inanimate objects didn't enjoy their presence, either.
He didn't notice the van leave them all behind to mumble amongst themselves about what action they should partake in now that they had made it this far, and it wasn't until an ear-splitting shriek rent the air that Demyx jumped, abstaining from allowing a yelp to escape past his lips. What kind of horror could produce such a bone-grinding, deafening, frenetic-inducing screech? He had never heard the likes of it, and he hoped against hope that he would never have to bear listening to it again. Ultimately, the keening, blood-curdling sound died away into the farthest reaches of the city, and the blonde made a sign of the cross in a lethargic manner. The blood was still drained from his face; it was painfully clear as day.
Finding the means to form a coherent sentence or, in actuality, to find the use of his vocal cords, Demyx cleared his throat dryly and groaned. "Never again do I want to hear that..." Inhaling with demanding labor, he quietly agreed to Roxas' statement. He was right all along; the moment they stepped foot on the asphalt, the menacing haunt of the city had become...disquieted, maybe vexed to the point of unaccountable anger.
If there was one thing he was sure of, despite all the indefinite tales they had heard of here and thoroughly about the enigmatic, prowling monster, or whatever delved within, it was this: if there had ever been an event that he needed or wanted fortitude, it would be now.
Alternate Universe - Demyx
[923 words]
Only one thing mattered to the blonde, and it was simple enough; school was out. He was free, nothing much else to it. Of course, the few days before graduating from the high school had really got him freaked out. Would he embarrass himself, would he do the wrong things – or would he do something completely apocalyptic to ruin the event? Though those fears had been short-lived, and he’d lived. Quite a surprise to him it had been, but back then, he hadn’t complained. You took it or left it.
Even with high school long behind him, by nearly a month to be exact, there was still one problem: college. What would he do about that? He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do in life, much less what college he’d like to enroll in, not to mention his parents were no help in the matter whenever he tried to get some suggestions. It was either, “Do whatever you want” or, “Make your own decision.” So far, he had given up on them and so wallowed in indecision. There were plenty of colleges in Radiant Garden, but what one? What one was right for him?
To take his mind off things after the first week, he had figured that, well, getting a job was a good start. After all, plenty of guys his age had jobs, right? Even the younger ones had one of some sort; he’d seen them around. Though it was no surprise that he had managed to get himself in hot water with a few jobs already. What could he say? He attracted trouble like light to the flies. The fact that he wasn’t the most coordinated person in the world probably contributed quite a bit to his frequent job losses. After his last incident, one could safely say that he had put jobs out of his mind for a while. A long while.
Now it was three weeks in, and Demyx had just about had it. Shutting himself up in his room had gotten boring exceedingly fast and trying to read a book for more than ten minutes was, easily put, impossible. He wasn’t a book person; but that didn’t make him an idiot. Did it? Well, whatever it made him, all he cared about was getting his hands on something or sit somewhere excite-worthy that would actually loosen the grip of boredom and stress off his mind, seeing as his house didn’t cut it. He didn’t really give a damn where; a park, a store with huge sale going on, anything.
Leaving a hurriedly scribbled note on the counter to let his parents know he was out and about (they always had to know where he was at; it got rather annoying after a while) he bounded out the front door, happy to be in fresh air for once. He had been getting worried about himself turning into a vampire. Thank god that didn’t seem to be true, otherwise he’d be a pile of smoking ashes on the ground. Convinced he wasn’t going to burn in agony from the sun’s rays if he took another step forward, the blonde went on his way through the town, scrutinizing every little shop or building meticulously. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, truth be told. He only hoped something would, oh, pop out at him. Catch his attention or the like.
With a half hour gone by faster than he could blink an eye, the mullet-haired teen dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. This was useless; Radiant Garden was, well, boring. For a moment he contemplated on turning right around and heading back from where he came; playing his instrument sounded like his best bet so far. However, now that he stopped to think for a second, he was getting awfully hungry; thirsty even. It wouldn’t hurt to get a bite to eat.
Instantly the cheerful teen spotted a shabby café nearby; apparently the closest one to him. Not giving the café’s name a single glance, he timidly entered the small diner. The first thing to pull at his attention was another male, shorter, but definitely around his age. And, come to think of it, he looked familiar. Taking time to ponder on this, it came to him. This emo-looking guy was one of the top students at his prior school; on top of nearly everything. It had astounded Demyx when he had learned of the male’s marks. But it amazed him more that he’d find the genius here at an ordinary diner of all places. Plus, from closer inspection, the blonde could see that the grey-haired teen worked here. Surprises on top of surprises today.
Tentatively he went up to the other, unsure of what to say for a wild second. All that popped up in his head was greeting him, so naturally, he did. Plastering a genuine smile on his face with the greatest sincerity he could muster right then and there, Demyx addressed Zexion, if a bit timidly. “Hey, weren’t you one of those top students at our high school? Can’t believe you’re actually working here.” Realizing that may have been a bad slip up, the blonde waved his hands apologetically as if Zexion would punch him out. Obviously it was not to be expected, but still. You could never be too careful. “Er, sorry. Probably not the best thing to say.”
Alternate Universe (Post-Apocalypse thing) - Xemnas
[1615]
Whispers and rumours.
He had grown accustomed to such things over the widespread years, learning to pick the false from the true. However, what seemed to be only yesterday, he had actually been stumped on a certain one which appeared to be on the tongues of everyone at Cambridge. "They say there'll be another world war," a desolate man had claimed as he had taken his usual walk through the park. Of course, he ignored it. Too absurd, and not to mention too soon, for yet another manifestation of man's anger and greed. Though, as much as he tried to pretend that these bouts of gossip were just a minority and would soon die out, he couldn't deny that it was becoming the exact opposite.
If it was merely a rumour, well, wouldn't it have died out by now? Xemnas couldn't say. But it began to annoy him to the point that he couldn't decipher the legit information from the illegit, as it pestered him day in and day out. Say it was bound to happen. What then?
And it did happen. Boston was mercilessly bombed from what everyone said was out of the blue, and the city was left to dilapidation and despair. Most surrounding cities suffered from an aftermath, but luckily that said aftermath was nothing compared to the brutal assault taken by the large city. He had foolishly thought that was the end of it, the "pièce de résistance," if you would. Of course, it was not.
Something unheard of had came from those ruins which were once Boston; almost like a hell, as anyone would tell you. An unusual form, but still categorized as a hell by many who had seen it and survived to tell the tale. People, quite quickly, had begun to call them either two things, depending on the "symptoms." There were the Infected, and then there were the Possessed.
It was after these beings became so frequent and rapidly known as deadly that he knew he had to get out of Cambridge. The same signs that were often told again and again on the news were showing up there as well, if slowly. And when Xemnas heard of the Gary Refuge, well, he figured that it must be better off than the place he was at then.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Where had the days gone? It felt both forever and not too long ago that Boston had been severely bombed. He wasn't sorry to see the end of Cambridge – his years spent there weren't what he would name memorable. But then again, the Gary Refuge wasn't any better. It wasn't as much a sanctuary as it was a death trap, to tell the truth. Although it had been advertised as a safe haven from the Infected and Possessed, and it was for about a week, it wasn't. Apparently, the parasitic disease had crept upon the refuge, and here and there you could see people beginning to succumb to the sickness that was known for its wildfire spread.
He took advantage of this.
Whenever he spotted a civilian with the first signs of the dangerous disease, he made it his prerogative to keep tabs on them, if only to learn a few things about these Infected, and those often known as "half-Infected." Typically, he kept his distance for two reasons, pretending to do casual things while he fixed a studious eye: one, if it truly were symptoms of the disease, he wasn't too keen on being suddenly attacked because he was within close proximity of the suspect. Two, he didn't want to make it look he was stalking the person.
From these studies and contemplations, he had learned a few things – at least things about the Infected. Close examination itself often foretold if the person was beginning to become overcome by the infectious disease. If skin seemed paler than deemed usual, or if a sort of white "film" developed over the eyes, you could bet your life that they were slowly but surely becoming one of them. As well, as he found worth noting, the diseases' grasp on the mental state varied, and it took longer to gain control with some than others.
Then there was the behaviour. All emotions that made a human /human/ suddenly subdued, or at most. When it came to a fully Infected, on the verge of Possessed, there was no signs of compassion, instead replaced with this mutual, bestial desire to wreck havoc and pain. There was no hope for people like that, as far as he could tell. On the other hand, people who were just half infected raged a battle within themselves. It was obvious, what with the way they reacted with others. They were generally unpredictable as well, undergoing sudden fits and a fondness for attacking anyone in sight. Unlike the Infected, the half-Infected could stop themselves, pound down that demon inside and become normal again, if looking a bit haunted and confused afterward.
That was what he had observed and deduced during his unwholesome time at the Gary Refuge, and he was glad for the information. It was better some knowledge than nothing about what was supposed to be the unknown.
Tanned fingers ran through silver-grey hair, the owner narrowing his eyes at passersby, almost suspiciously. You could never be too careful, even in the Gary Refuge. After all the increases of Infected activity, it was hard not to glance at every one with a diligent eye, to wonder if they, too, would soon find themselves caught in the frightening disease now known to all.
He had left his tent to get fresh air into his system and, admittedly, to moniter nearly anyone who even remotely displayed a feverish symptom with hawk-like ordinance. So far, he hadn't located a single one. Maybe it was finally dying down, somewhat. Though it didn't matter – the horrors weren't going to end. Even if they were gone for now, for the most part, they would assuredly come again. This disease was worse than roaches in an apartment. And he'd dealt with those before: not a fun activity. They just didn't die.
His contemplation was broken as panic evidently broke out around him. Xemnas blinked questioningly, at a loss as to why everyone was scrambling over another in a desperate attemot to get away from something. Facing the opposite direction that they were all heading, he could see why. How he had not noticed this man, so obviously half-infected, was beyond him. How he could miss that blue hair of his was out of reach as well. But it didn't mean anything now. The man had stopped his feverish chase of the crowd, and was now staring at him, of all people to hone in on.
Every part of his body was screaming at him, to run, to hide, to simply get away from the threat, but he couldn't move, despite what his instincts shrieked at him. Xemnas wasn't one to give into fright, to cower at horror movies, or even to feel remorse for actions that he had committed most of the time. It just wasn't him. Though now, he was safe to say that, yes, he was scared. Who wouldn't be scared if some insane person was staring at you, deliberating whether or not he should attack you?
Without a doubt the man had decided to go for him. As the half-Infected ran at him, he stumbled back, his legs finally finding the strength to move. Fortunately for him, the blue-haired man, when he lunged, had jerked himself away and was now clutching at his head, staggering. Now was probably the best time to run as fast he could, but before that could be properly processed, the man was at him again. Stars flashed in his head as a wild punch caught him the face, leaving him dazed and sprawled on his back. That wasn't expected.
Seeing a kick aimed at him through his out-of-focus vision, Xemnas rolled out of the way, barely escaping a good trounce. He figured, or hoped, that would be the last of his problems with this half-Infected as he backed away. Although, when he looked closer, he could clearly see that the man wasn't merely leaving him alone; instead, he was grabbing a steel pipe. His first question of the day: why in hell was there a steel pipe lying around, as if appropriately placed for this unwelcome encounter?
He wasn't sure if the heavens were actually smiling down on him for once; whatever it was, the man dropped the steel pipe and quit his advancing, confusion entering his features. Seemed like the man had managed to gain a foothold in his mind just in the nick of time. Realizing he was holding his breath, Xemnas exhaled heavily, shakily getting to his feet and furtively sidestepping away from the crazed individual. Out of all days, he left his revolver in the tent (personally, after all this chaos running amuck in the world, he found a nice, reliable gun came dreadfully handy in a lot of situations.)
"Enough's enough, I should think," Xemnas intoned under his breath, hiding his need to get out of the so-called refuge by calmly walking away from the man that had just tried to maim him to the point of a bloody mess; although, he couldn't help but massage the area of his face which stung and throbbed like no tomorrow. He supposed he might as well be grateful that he got through with an injury he could hardly call fatal.
In-game (FF7 - DoC) - Azul the Cerulean
[1186 words]
The only sound that could be heard within the cell was the steady, persistent drumming of fingers against a solid surface. Despite the calm that the figure who owned those fingers radiated, anger hid below the surface. It ached and pained him, begging to be howled for the world to hear. Azul the Cerulean, losing to Vincent Valentine? Preposterous!
No, now that he thought about it, the fact of losing to the Chaos-bearing man wasn't the issue here. The issue was that he had completely and utterly failed at what he had seen as a challenge. A protective barrier hadn't been enough; that was blown to smithereens within moments of their actually confronting face-to-face. Not to mention brute strength and a fucking tank's cannon hadn't cut it, either. Perhaps he should have gone Arch Azul on Valentine.
Then they would have seen who really was the stronger of the two.
He grit his teeth then, just managing to hold onto a shred of detached quiescence. Being one who would rather rush into the head of battle and take out any rage on unsuspecting opponents, keeping this level of tranquility, though it teetered on the edge of bursting into uncontrollable fury of being contained in such a puny cell, was next to impossible; but he managed. As big and blunderous as he may appear to the untrained eye, he was not derived of all self-control and self-discipline. Acting as an animal was beneath him; conquering hindering emotion was but another thing he strived to accomplish besides defeating all those who opposed him.
Only then did the monster of a man take pause in his thoughts to truly observe the containment cell that he had been so unceremoniously been thrown into; unconscious at that. The shame was almost too much to bear. To think he had been rendered senseless and inanimate enough to be physically shoved inside a chamber!
Right now, he needed to punch something. Absolutely anything he could make do, and the wall beside him was looking awfully inviting. So, flexing his fingers and rolling a shoulder, the giant slammed a fist into that oh-so enticing wall, leaving a dent that even had him shaking his hand ever so slightly afterward. Eyeing the bit of damage he had done to the WRO's insignificant, sad excuse for a holding cell, Azul grunted in barely consummate satisfaction. He could have done better; fuck, he could break out of this cell with the ease of a tiger disemboweling its prey. The only thing that kept him back from doing just that was simple; this was the perfect opportunity to stop and think, even though he was loathe to do it. Not that he was all action and no thoughts to said action. He would, more or less, like to think right on his feet in the thick of an adrenaline rush instead of stepping back to get into a complex, contemplative thinking process. That took much too long. However, he was safe to say that he knew when to do either.
"It's too bad this is tiring me." He casually ran a hand over the metal walls, feeling their contour and texture. If he was able to nearly punch a bloody hole in this shitty piece of metal, why, what was stopping him from tearing this cell apart; from width and from length? It was an appealing thought, annihilating one of the WRO's cells and leaving it as ripped, tattered ribbons for them to pick up and clean. By then, he would be long gone and would find himself in front of Vincent once again.When that time came, rest assured that he would emerge the victor, the black-haired man losing much more than he had earlier. It wasn't as if self-pride was a thing that, when lost, became unattainable. Though picking up the pieces to reclaim that pride - and even honour - might be a long and arduous task, he was willing to take large strides to get to it; and the Valentine character would be the first step to obtaining them.
Of course, getting them back only equaled half his motive, the first and foremost being that Weiss, the immaculate, unsullied Weiss, had ordered that Valentine be tracked down for his Protomateria and, if given the chance, killed. Azul was more than keen on obeying the orders of Weiss the Immaculate, unless he purposely wanted to displease the near-to holy leader of the Underground - and he lived to appease the white-haired being.
With this all in mind, Azul the Cerulean ran thick fingers through blue hair as he allowed a placid sigh to escape his lips. Preparing himself mentally and physically for the transformation he was soon going to incur, he tensed his muscles and cleared his mind, all breathing coming to a standstill. In a matter of seconds the Cerulean one tossed back his head, an inhuman roar issuing from his throat as skin numbed and crawled and blood began to broil. Close enough to breaking point, Azul hissed through tightly clenched teeth. Rapidly he began morphing into an entirely different entity that the Tsviets had quickly become accustomed to: bone shifted and warped, becoming larger to fit the needs of a colossal and heavy behemoth; face structure twisted and elongated into that of a padded, nearly canine-like snout and head while rigidly curved horns became present; the body lengthened, fleshy skin swiftly subdued and replaced with that of armor plating; fingers stretched and fingernails turned into that of blunt claws while a plated tail grew and hair became more dense and coarse.
As painful as the transformation was in the beginning, the ending felt so liberating, so impressive. There was many a time where he nearly lost himself, so drunk with power that he usually experienced. Deliberate control over such authoritive competency was easy to come by now that he used this form a number of times. Remembering the earlier times, when the transformation was so raw and uncontrollable, almost brought a wolfish smile to his beastly face.
Now as Arch Azul, the holding cell could barely withhold him; in the confinement, there was no such thing as space, what with his bulking presence taking up everything. Baring shearing, bone-crushing teeth, Azul dug newly attained claws in the metal of the smallish room. To this form, the material was as fragile as that of moths' wings, and the gratification that he took in that was overbearing; maybe to the point that it was unhealthy. But that didn't matter to him, not when bestial instincts were more prominent then ever before and often grasped a foothold in his mind. Effortlessly he tore that wall apart, a deep rumbling that could pass as laughter resounding as alarms started their warning pealing, roughly deafening him for their close proximity and clamorous ringing.
Narrowing slitted eyes, Azul really did smile then, displaying the rows of tinted yellow canines that flashed in a dangerous glint.
He was coming for Vincent, and the gunslinger had better brace himself for a tidal wave soon to come. | |
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