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elizabethospeaks · 1 year

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Evil boy Nar for the OC meme

Full Name: Narcyz Vasiliev Grey Gender and Sexuality: Genderfluid, homosexual Pronouns: He/him Ethnicity/Species: Incubus Birthplace and Birthdate: Poland, unknown Guilty Pleasures: Doesn't feel guilty about Indulging in Pleasures as he's a bit of a hedonist, but does enjoy dates dipped in chocolate. Food is probably the only thing he gets guilty about. Phobias: He doesn't really have phobias persay? But he has fears of failure, ugliness (his own), being outed, losing his power/influence over his 'turf' What They Would Be Famous For: His power and influence? Nar avoids the limelight for that exact reason though; he keeps himself under the radar - the minute you're famous people are gunning for what you have. He doesn't even spend extravagantly to hide his wealth and is probably more likely to bury gold in the woods somewhere than have anyone know exactly what he has. What They Would Get Arrested For: Losing his temper and comitting GBH or destruction of property. If he didn't bribe or charm the arresting officer OC You Ship Them With: Tygo and @moosethren's Kherus OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Take your pick. He's a moody, ruthless bastard, in theory he could piss anyone off enough 😂 Probably Niraisa if i was forced to pick Favorite Movie/Book Genre:

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: 'Happy Endings'. 😂 Nar just prefers stories with a bit of grit. Flawed characters wherein their flaws are obvious, actually affect the narrative and others around them etc. Hubris, tragedies, heroes/protagonists failing despite love and their best efforts. LBR he's rooting for the villains and anti-heroes. He loves Wuthering Heights and Frankenstein. Talents and/or Powers: He's a skilled witch and a talented pianist alongside his incubus abilities. Why Someone Might Love Them: He's passionate and dedicated when a cause takes his interest, a fierce defender of the people he cares about. Spiritual and insightful, intelligent, knowledgeable. Funny too in a sarcastic way. Why Someone Might Hate Them: He's ruthless and often selfish, self absorbed. Bossy and judgemental. A mean streak, cruel, bad tempered, aloof. How They Change: Narcy eventually learns to be less self absorbed; with him you just have to pay attention to what he actually does, not what he says. He learns to be more open with people and lower his walls; eventually to the point of loving someone romantically and letting them love him in return Why You Love Them: All of the above

#thank u dear <3 #Answered Asks #My OCs #Narcyz the Incubus #answering for his western verse because I'm still clowning for him #Long Post

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ibroughtthisonmyselfpixels · 7 years

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Part 1: The Legal Team

In which Castor Erkens deals with a pink-haired lawyer

“Goodness me... you've gotten yourself into a doozy of a predicament, haven't you, Mx Erkens?”

“You can say that again.”

Fortunately for cer, Skylar refrains from actually repeating the statement; ce strongly suspects the client at the table isn't in the mood for jokes, judging by the tension in their eyes as they look around. Perhaps it's that very environment that's putting them at unease? Much of Khryushkov Offices' staff has a policy of 'opaque walls, transparent service'... that is, rooms with no windows, or indeed many light sources of any kind. Comrade Nicolay's logic is that it's easier to convince people to sign up with his little pigs when there are no external distractions. Skylar's logic is that ce won't burn up from the Hidden Springs sun.

Oh, but he's overcomplicating it. Castor is doubtless used to rooms lit only by one source, be it spotlight or lantern. It's much more likely the charge is what weighs on them – manslaughter's a heavy burden to bear.

“I mean, just look at what you've got stacked against you,” he continues, rifling through his case notes for part-revision and part-dramatic-effect. At least he can see in these conditions, even if they can't. “One minute you're on stage, on top of the world in front of hundreds – no, closer to thousands, I think you said. And the next minute Mr McClendon is being whisked away by Death himself? And you're the only one who touched him in the meantime? By standing on him?”

They tense in their seat, one hand tight on their other shoulder in a pitiful attempt at self-protection. “Yeah, I know, we went over that. You don't hafta repeat it.”

“I do, Mx Erkens. I couldn't believe it otherwise. We've never had anything quite like it, such a public death; not in all my years. Any other attorney would call it an open and shut case in seconds!”

“Good thing you're not any other attorney then, are you, Seward?”

“Indeed.” Ce grins, and cer fangs run hot under the skin of the mouth... has ce drank today yet? Ce can't recall. “And, do correct me if I'm wrong, comrade, but I believe that's the reason you sought me out? Because you knew that all too well.”

“Me and pretty much everyone else I talked to 'bout this. Second I started mentioning needing a lawyer, your name came recommended right away,” they confess. “Said you were the only one who stood a chance of making this – ” they sweep their arm across, as though all of their sins are contained in this office – “y'know – salvageable.”

“And salvage it I shall. It's simply a question of what to use in your defence, and what this will mean for you. Pre-existing conditions, for instance... Were you to know Mr McClendon had a weak stomach and constitution?”

Or a collapsed lung, perhaps?

He steeples his fingers, focusing on the pressing together of fingerprints, telltale fingerprints, rather than the thought. Their hands clasp, an imperfect mirror of the action.

“Well, there was that waiver everyone had to sign, but he didn't give the specifics on that--”

“There we go then! A non-disclosure of life-threatening conditions. He held back what could have saved him--”

“He also didn't know I was gonna call him up for the Human Bridge. Never thought – either of us, we didn't think we'd need to clarify that.”

Typical human. So naïve, so simple. The Nogtail tosses cer head at the nature of it. “Erkens, Erkens, Erkens. You're missing the point. You came to me to prove the truth, didn't you? That your manslaughter wa--” (he stumbles; was that a 'tch' from them? Did he imagine that? Or is it just a leftover memory of Ramavov?) “...was just that, a mistake. Less than that, if we can swing it, much less. And to prove that, we need to highlight the truths that add apples to your orchard, not theirs. Surely you would not come all this way just to be seen pleading guilty to the charge?”

“N-no, but...”

“But nothing. If innocence is our goal, then we can't have you saying even one thing that implicates you. Apart from anything else, what would it do to our reputation? You honor Comrade Nicolay too much with Narcyz' presence and power for us to tar it with a guilty verdict.”

“Adresti.”

Skylar blinks, thrown by the interjection. “What?”

“My stage name's Adresti,” insists Castor, brow furrowed. “It's always been Adresti. Where'd you get Narcyz from?”

Ce thinks, Really? I could've sworn... But ce says, with equal uncertainty, “R-right. Of course. Adresti.”

The brow doesn't lift. “Sorry. Don't mean to nitpick. It's just a – a lot to deal with, all this, you know, and – you're right, my whole career's on the line whatever it's called. My lifeblood, Seward. If I don't find someone who can get this right or if I mess this up, it'll all...” They seem to shrink within themselves, foolish as that sounds. “And that's scary. I'm scared. Scareder than I've ever been with any stunt I've pulled. Is that silly?”

“No, comrade. I understand completely,” he says smoothly. “As I say, it's a near impossible situation for--”

“Exactly. Impossible. Maybe even for you. Yeah, you talk big, but... Are you sure you're willin' to chance me? That you can do everythin' you say you can? Cus if we lose – if I lose – we're both screwed, honor or not, and--”

“Mx Erkens.”

“--however you look at it, the man's dead, and nothing's gonna--”

“Castor.” Ce lilts more firmly now, stopping their near-tirade in its track. “If I wasn't confident that I could save us both from such a fate, you wouldn't be in my office right now. The fear of failure isn't enough to deter me, nor should it be for you. If you are innocent – and you've given me no reason to say otherwise – then I assure you, the time will come where the courts find that your role in Mr McClendon's death was much exaggerated.”

Ce can see their reservations drop partway, as though a shield. “...you sure? You're really sure about our chances?”

“You have my word. All I need is yours, and we can be on our way.”

…There's no reply from Castor for a few seconds. Ce's about to repeat the question – ce knows, ce knows – when ce realizes: their lips are moving, simply with no sound. Why do clients always do this on the cusp of such important decisions? He focuses his once-again blessed eyes in on the murmuring, scans, scans again...

'Sheesh, you even sound like him.'

Perplexity hits. Like him? Like who? The relevance? All the questions coalesce into one simple adverb:

“What?”

“What? … Oh – nothing. Nothing you'd understand.”

They sniffle, rub their face, and the words are lost... but not the clientele. He shakes off the suspicion. As long as that's in place, they can say whatever they want under their breath. “So, we have a deal?”

“I guess we do.” For the first time since they entered the room, their face shows a glimmer of brightening. “Thanks, Skylar. You've got no idea how much of a weight offa my mind this is.”

“Not at all, Mx Erkens, not at all. Now then, ah, if we can settle the simple matter of the retainer fee...”

It's a short train ride back to Midnight Hollow once the preliminaries are done. Castor even has time to sit down for a coffee and a muffin at the local Little Corsican, board the vehicle, and still return before the sun has set in either neighbourhood.

To the casual observer – to those who know nothing of Gingham's death – their troubled expression is plain, but the cause unidentifiable. Someone on their carriage asks if they're okay once or twice; they briefly acknowledge the remark before looking out at the passing cityside again. Those who do know don't ask, simply edging away from the Berry with eyes of red and blue and green, even as they approach the two-story eyesore they call a home and let themselves in, kick aside the third thrown roll of toilet paper that day.

...No one but the reflection on the wall sees their frown turn into a smile as they lock the door, double-lock. No one but Castor knows it's not one of relief.

It's of triumph.

That was so... easy! Almost too easy! A few of the right words in the right ears, a little reverse psychology, and they had that lookalike lawyer wrapped around their finger! With someone like Seward on their side, they have a solid foundation with which to crush the McClendons, not to mention a shield to offset the more inexplicably negative publicity of the matter. All with barely any effort from them... Lordy, if He could see me now, they half-think half-laugh partway up the stairs, He'd be so proud.

Then again, if He could see me, I wouldn't need Seward in the first place... Oh, well. Soon the time will come.

The keypad awaits at the top, as always. Their input is instinctual, a muscle memory: 1-8-9-4-star-star-A. So is the satisfaction at the click of the sliding secret panel, at their second barely-lit corridor that day once it shuts behind, at the slow change of wallpaper from bone white to peppered grey.

Gingham's glasses are the first thing to greet them in that special side room. They're on a pedestal, unpolished, yet intact. It was a pain to sneak them away from the scene of the incident, with all those eyes on them, but – like the deal with Seward – it was worth it.

A murder makes anything worth it.

Behind the glasses, a lucky rabbit's foot or two. Behind those, a single earring, with part of the earlobe still attached. Beside that, an autographed photo of themselves. A clump of hair in alternating pink and blue. A raven sculpture. These and more than these peppering the floor, each a token of a life taken. Each a snuffed out citizen of their own museum, one they, from the comfort of a linen-mix chair and a repurposed computer desk, can survey and rule.

All were, are, and will continue to be amassed to hone their skills, to soothe their patience... until the time comes to fulfill the purpose they were born again for.

To bring the world their glorious, immortal crescendo.

#sims 3 #ts3 #writing #castor erkens #death/#death mention/#they who cannot be escaped

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