renfaire fit test / me when im gonna fucking getcha
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Nyx: Fuck!
Rhys: *flips the table* who the fuck taught him that?
Cassian: how the fuck would I know?
Azriel: calm the fuck down, you both!
Feyre:
Nesta:
Elain:
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For Basimah
Some things happen so fast.
He came out with his blue, raspberry flavored, slushy and box of loaded fries from a some hole in the wall hotdog joint with a logo that reminded him of a clown. Pep in his step.
Paying not a single bit of mind to the distant screech of tires down the block as he found a bench to sit at. Kicking loose a bum Sinner sleeping on it under a few sheafs of newspaper. Off you go. And off they went.
Dusted his spot off with a hand and had a seat. Popping box open with one set of hands and getting gold caps off with another, shortly pocketed. The roar of racing engines was getting closer, but he was busy eating his fries and indulging himself a few happy, quiet, squeaks about it. Though food down here didn't taste like more than a memory of the living world's version, it did still hit all the good brain spots like scratching under a dog's chin.
And drag racing wasn't at all illegal or uncommon.
Had no reason to think otherwise.
Didn't until well after the pain bloomed in his torso and the screaming started. Barely heard the gunshots that proceeded. Automatic gunfire that made Swiss cheese of the bricks and windows behind him--and likely his chest.
Though he didn't exactly have a starkly defined account of the number of holes there. He suspected many more than were good for him.
His vision was tunneling even as he found himself slumped on bench with his head tipped back. Red sky appearing, to him, to be a shade of murky burgundy--too dark and too gray. His first gasp since it happened made fireworks pop off in his vision. (Somewhere he heard breaks.)
A bleated and still functional part of his thoughts not currently overwhelmed by pain wondered if he'd been the target or just collateral. Either option seemed plausible. Drive-bys? They aren't particularly accurate. Only devastating and swift.
He got his answer when a hand yanked him by the open collar of his shit shirt. Some skunk looking Sinner that smirked into his face while driving a shard of some long broken blade into his side. Some tight space between his upper and lower arms. Kidneys? He didn't know what was where in his fucked up anatomy.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Angel steel by the way it had him whiting out each time it lanced into his flesh. Pulling a choked sound each time. There was already blood in his lungs from the mundane bullets that'd gotten in them.
"For Basimah." The Sinner told him, pat his face, and shoved him over to the side onto the bench. Sprinting off back to waiting car that immediately peeled away. Not dumb enough to stick around or dally.
Everyone knew Vox had eyes on Valentino and there was only a slight window of time to exploit in the Overlord's awareness. The job was done.
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Good evening, bats. How's the night been treating you?
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"it's hard to pretend I'm the best!!!" don't pretend, pussy. fucking believe it.
how do you think I think? I AM the best, its just a fact
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Sawyer, how big was your social media before you became an actor?
… * He was big on social media.
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". . . I got beat up." @pipsqueak-the-traveller (For Sweetie Bot cause Mod likes seeing these two interact).
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Honestly, I am not sure. He's still in the hospital drifting in and out... I dont blame you tho.
- Sweetie B.
"I didn't want him to come for me. . . tsk. Who attacked him?"
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@turbotime2crew You should get that checked out.
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its actually very silly that if ur any type of art kid as a teenager everyone is like oh have u thought abt graphic design or advertising. yeah the little emo dude who fills sketchbooks with anime gore all day would be great at making customers buy product.
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felt like being cute and pink today idk
// Personal/non-role play blogs please don’t interact //
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we also have big pigeon (pictured here with hat)
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