May all your Bacon Burn [Closed]

A complicated robbery goes up in flames, literally.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Xavier Zhirune
Posts: 90
Joined: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:00 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
Location: On Tour
: Not all that glitters be ging. Some 'f it's me.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Muse
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Sun Mar 10, 2019 11:26 am

Mercucianno Residence
very LATE at NIGHT on OPHUS the 3rd, 2718

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The actual decision had been shamefully easier than Xavier thought it would be, the pale musician not at all taking kindly to being so spurned, to being so easily dismissed. Besides, the clocking galdor was obviously rolling in coin—the way Elias burned through alcohol, cigarettes, long nights, and concords revealed he had no concept of money and no need for it anyway. If caught on another late night after what appeared to be his habitual mind-numbing debauchery as if that's all the jent existed for, then this breaking and entering would be a clocking walk in the proverbial park.

The albino wick was not a casual burglar. They were a planner on land as much as they were a planner in the air—many pirates made a living taking advantage of unexpected opportunities, but Xav was a creature who carefully created their own success by observation and meticulous design. Mister Mercucianno lived in a tired old cul de sac without the risk of nosey neighbors. Even if the man had neighbors—who would ever want to check in on such a self-absorbed ersehole anyway?

Gods, were they still mad at him? Had they even wanted anything from him, anyway? It wasn't like sleeping with galdori was ever particularly pleasurable, so used to their own gratification that they hardly considered who they shared their bed with to be worthy of enjoyment unless it was incidental. Surely, no matter how handsome or curiously damaged Eli had been, the song would have been the same tune—discordant and disappointing.

There was something about the damn jent that had caught their attention, that had strummed chords Xav otherwise kept to themselves. Airships had triggered anger. There was a past that was hurting, festering, hidden inside Elias, beneath his hatcher-may-care, drunk-before-noon facade.

It was better this way, the willowy Gioran reminded themselves, tugging up their hood and slipping from the main thoroughfare toward a side street that led to the now-familiar cul de sac, that would lead them through the abandoned park instead of straight up to the estate's front door. Dressed in all back, snug layers instead of flowing fabrics, Xavier had tied their moonkissed hair back in a tight bun and bundled their collection of burglary tools into a small bag slung over their shoulder in a larger satchel for shoving expensive goodies into.

The Mercucianno residence appeared to have enough expensive goodies within its dark, hollow walls to at least get the albino wick to the harbor, Lee in tow. It was bitter cold out and the strong wind would have stolen the breath of all but the hardiest of Anaxi, but thankfully the lithe creature was Gioran and while this cold stung their pigmentless skin while they huddled in the hedgerow that wasn't well-manicured but wasn't particularly cared about, either. Elias put on a showy exterior, even in his home, but it was obvious that he'd let everything fall into disarray if it weren't for his ridiculously loyal servants.

Gods. Why did passives allow themselves to be such footstools to galdori?

The very thought twisted inside the halfbreed, thoughts of their passive mother exiled from her home and sent on some deadly pilgrimage, thoughts of their passive mother being denied her own son because of his heritage, churning deep within Xavier's mind, dull ache of longing and hurt and betrayal becoming a sharp, stinging pain.

This was why stealing from galdori was right. Because they clocking deserved it.

Ignorant erseholes.

They'd come back two nights in a row, enduring the wind and the Ophus chill that dipped far below freezing, coating everything in frost. They'd learned that Elias kept to no schedule, leaving his servants to do whatever they could, and gods, they must have been tired. The front door was a temptation, considering unless the galdor brought someone home, he probably didn't receive any guests, and if the poor passives were busy dealing with the wasted, wild man was in need of their attention, they'd be as far away from the albino wick's entrance as they could be.

They'd decided to stick to the lower floor, not wanting to risk upstairs at all, having committed to memory the other rooms in the downstairs from their slow entrance and even slower, frustrated exit. Making their way to the porch in well-practiced silence like some lithe feline, Xavier carefully removed their lock-picking set from their bag and set to work, whispering a few phrases of Monite in a cloud of heated breath, ensuring their silence and improving their sense of hearing with a tingling of warmth beneath their pigmentless skin.

Once they'd made short, easy work of a poorly kept lock—what did galdori need them for anyway? Oh, right, crafty creatures like themselves—lithe fingers in snug black leather gloves slowly opened the door, reaching out with their magically-enhanced senses and taking advantage of their Spokes'-trusted silence, violet gaze peering into the ruddy glow of a phosphor-lit foyer and scanning down the hall.

It appeared quiet, most of the lights dimmed for the very late hour it was. Hopefully, everyone was asleep. Even if they weren't, the albino wick was prepared, unwilling to actually harm anyone physically but quick with their casting should they need to stun a would be raise of alarm in order to make a quick getaway.

Once they were sure they were alone, they carefully closed the door behind them and began to creep toward the dining room, ready to pilfer the obvious easy marks—silver tableware, heavy but always reliable when it came to producing a bit of coin when pawned. Crystal was too fragile for this operation, but Xav had spied some other expensive curiosities in that sitting room—especially that box. Even if it was heavy, the moonlit larcenist sure did hope it had some priceless, expensive heirlooms inside waiting for a good sale. They'd make their way their slowly, however, wanting to pause in a few other downstairs rooms and riffle through desks and bookshelves, hunting for whatever could be worth a few more concords.

If poor Elias was wasted upstairs? Well, that just meant Xavier had at least an hour to themselves. It wasn't like the jent would be waking up from whatever self-destructive stupor he put himself into alone, anyway. Ersehole.


⟡ ☾° ⟡

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Elias Mercucianno
Posts: 51
Joined: Wed Jan 30, 2019 6:21 am
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Raksha
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Tue Mar 12, 2019 8:12 am

3rd Ophus, 2718
ELI's MOST GLORIOUS ESTATE | THAT TIME WHEN ALL DRUNKS NEED TO PEE
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It was true, Doris and Henrick were as far from Elias as they could be this night, removing themselves from the estate itself to the small servants house at the back of the estate. Away, safe and protected, from their young masters self destructive tenancies. Of course, Doris set her watch to check on him, every hour by the hour. But it was past the hour now, and she wasn’t due back for at least forty minutes.

Forty minutes was enough, regardless.

Elias woke fitfully, images of burnt corpses and violent orange glowing flames bright in his mind. Laying in a tangle of sheets, he gasped awake, staring at the ceiling for a moment, trying to find his bearings in the darkness of late night and early morning.

“Fucking hell.” He muttered, throwing back the sheets and swinging bare legs out of bed. He desperately needed to pee and Gods he could use a cigarette, but by Hurte’s Flaming Grace he was still so clocking tispy. Reaching with a groping hand for clothing that had been discarded so carelessly earlier in the night, he found a pair of beige pants, standing wobbily and fasting them with a wince and he looked around the room for a shirt. He found one, salmon in color, throwing it around his shoulders and slipping arms into the sleeves, uncaring about buttons or shoes. Patting down the pants he found his cigarettes and his coin-purse, of which only one was worth the effort.

“Mmm…is it too early for bacon? Maybe.” He muttered to himself, stumbling from the bedroom into the hallway. Dragging fingers along the dark painted wall, Eli found the bathroom, unfastening his pants and relieving himself, letting his eyes close and leaning against the wall slightly. What time was it even? Too early, but he was too awake to just go back to bed yet. Finishing off, washing his hands and leaving the room, he gripped the banister of the stairs with a grasping hand and followed it down onto the first floor, clicking his fingers to light the cigarette with a ringing in his head. Fucking mona, protesting his casting like some clingy wench in heat.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Eli squinted at the darkness and rubbed his hand through his dark mussed curls, spliff between his lips. Maybe Doris had left something for him to eat in the kitchen. Turning from his path towards the sitting room, the Bastian made his way through the house into the back where the kitchen was housed. He dumped himself at the table, taking a drag of the cigarette and looking around.

Fruit? No. Too sweet and light for this hour.

Sweet roll? Ugh, so much honey. Nope.

Cheese? It could work?

Reaching for a small yellow wheel sitting beside a half cut loaf of bread and a bowl of butter, Elias cut himself a few slices, nibbling on it as he sat in the dark. Green-gold eyes scanned the table, finding a bottle of what might be wine. Reaching far across the work space, he groped for the bottle, nearly knocking it over with his fingertips before grabbing it. Tugging the cork with his teeth and spitting it across the room, the galdor took a deep draught, grimacing at the taste before taking a drag on his spliff.

It had been hard, these past weeks, to cover up the cracks that let the past seep in. He woke more often than not covered in sweat with his sister’s charred hairless head laying on the airship controls burning in his mind. He’d tried taking more narcotics, drinking more, staying sober far less. It didn’t seem to help as much as it used to, instead he just felt sick and slushy and sad. At one point the galdor figured if he drank enough, he might be able to just drink himself to sleep and never wake up. All it had done is made him vomit on the rug, fall down the stairs and trip into bed. He still woke up the next day however, and spent it hugging the lavatory bowl sporting a massive headache and feeling the worst he was sure he had ever felt.

He deserved to die, and yet, for some fucking reason the Gods kept him alive.

Letting his head rest on his folded arms on the table, Elias groaned, closing his eyes and ignoring the constant hollow ache that filled his chest. He couldn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to be up either. Turning his head to the side, the Bastian watched his cigarette burn down between two fingers, watching the ember creep down the paper towards his hand. When it was finally almost touching his skin, the galdor butted it out on the wooden table top and sat up, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Fuck it..” He growled, looking around and standing up, taking the bottle with him. Shuffling through the house, he drank from the wine as he moved, briefly eying the sitting room as he began to approach the stairs, pausing mid swig.

Was that…was that a person right before Leandrah’s harpsichord.

Rage swelled within the half intoxicated galdor, and he growled in real and tangible anger, field thick with despair and hate and wild unbridled rage.

“Get the fuck away from the box.” He said in a rumble, letting the bottle fall from his hand as he lifted his arm and uttered the monite for Magma, blinded by fury and self loathing. He had no idea who it was yet, but it didn’t matter. Anything, anything else was free game but that box. That was not.

Oh, but no. The mona had decided enough was enough, refusing to bend to the Bastian’s monite commands and lashing out angrily.

Dice ew

SidekickBOTToday at 22:31

@Raksha: `d6` = (1) = 1


There was a sound, not unlike the sharp intake of breath from a hundred people all at once, fast and intense. The air almost sizzled with the tension that came afterwards, angry and hot with the spell. Elias knew almost instantly he had brailed, and yet he didn’t clocking care. Was this finally the end he so deserved? Uncaring, he held his hand out and stubbornly snapped out the rest of the syllables, closing his eyes against the bright flash and being thrown back by the implosion of magic. The air stank of ozone and burning hair, and an intense white-yellow light engulfed the space between the stairs and the sitting room. Eli was thrown back, landing hard on the stairs as his hand seared with pain. The room went black for a few seconds, before he regained his consciousness. Around him, the mona escaped like fearful birds in the presence of a well educated osta.

“Oh Gods…” The Bastian coughed, groaning in pain and rolling onto one side, cradling his burnt and blackened hand. Holy Hurte, that was not okay. His vision wavered and his head hurt like a motherclocker, ears ringing from the sound. Looking away from his hand, gold rimmed eyes looked at the curtains that had caught alight the moment flames had licked their neatly hemmed edges, climbing rapidly with the eagerness of a long lost lover.

The blackened body strewn over the controls.

Lifting himself from the stairs, Eli fell onto hands and knees, weeping as he dragged himself towards the sitting room, ignoring the orange nymphs that licked walls and wooden fixtures. His gaze was focused on one thing, the box that had now fallen to the floor, clasps still tightly shut and black exterior still in tact.

He had to save the harpsichord. No matter the cost.

Intoxicated, struggling with the conscious and unconscious world, the young brunette barley paid attention to who had broken in and tried to take the beautiful artifact, coughing against the smoke as he crawled to the box, tucking it under one arm and rolling on his back with an almost relieved laugh and a smile.

“It’s my time mother, it’s finally my time. I am ready, Hurte cleanse me I am so ready. Bring me to the afterlife. Please. Please?! He slurred, hugging the harpsichord close as flames eagerly danced through his home, the smoke and the flames blurring the present into the past.

“Don’t father, don’t. I could have stayed. I should have stayed. Please…please…take me. Take me.” The broken galdori sobbed, wrapping himself around the wooden instrument and closing his eyes tight. He welcomed death, like the everlasting ending that so desperately wanted him to come with. There was no here, or now. No warm bodies or burning searing pain in his hand. He only saw the blacked face of his sister, the pleading eyes of his mother, the desperation of his father.

There was no more pain, not in the glorious amber glow of the flames.

“Finally.” He said softly, drifting beyond consciousness in his wave of narcotic induced bliss and brailing side effects.
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