SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Last edited:
One Foot - Another Multiverse SI
- Thread starter Ars Poetica
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy Alt. History
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
That's what I gathered from your post. He seems more like the bumbling detective who only reveals his competence in the final act. Kind of like a one man Mystery Inc minus the van and talking dog with obvious influences from Detective Conan and Booker DeWitt.
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Wasn't what I had in mind, but I like your depiction of him better. Anyway, he was accidentally and somehow killed by his best friend/partner of sort, and revived by the same person.
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
...Shot in the back during a "hunting accident" or friendly fire incident?
I'm assuming the latter if his friend was grieving enough to bring him back.
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Latter. Or other hilarious and accidental ways to die, really. His partner is a bumbling, clumsy idiot.
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
Was his partner a man or a woman? Keep in mind, if the latter, then your detective is now missing his giblets and BFG.
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Last edited:
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
Remember the Knight Interlude with Medusa?
The sex of the physical body of the Knight is dependent on the human who called for the dead spirit. If the victim whose body gets worn like a suit happens to be male, then the Knight comes out as being male. If female, the Knight becomes female. In DGM we've already seen that women can hold positions in the police force, so it's entirely feasible his partner was a woman. In that case, you've got a female Knight with a primarily male personal identity. Otherwise, it's just a man through and through.
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Let's go with female, who still prefers being identified as a male.
Kosjurake
The Wildest of Ronins
- Location
- Tokyo LOCCENT
So, despite the fact that my guy is probably dead, as much as I wish it were otherwise, I went through the hassle of using Saint's Row to create images for him. Because well, I can't draw. Mind you despite being my cameo knight he doesn't look anything like me. (I mean I could have gone for a more direct cameo appearance-wise, but eh. If I go for a second cameo, I'm divided between a more me cameo or one of my Tabletop RPG characters. I have preexisting art of one of said characters so kind of leaning towards them)
Honestly, I'm not 100 percent happy on any of them. The orange isn't quite the right shade of orange, and the mix of blue and orange isn't quite right. But oh well. Also, couldn't decide on a hat type.
Yes, I used Saint's Rows 2-4. I'd have used Saint's Row 1 too if it had ever gotten a PC port.
Yes, I used Saint's Rows 2-4. I'd have used Saint's Row 1 too if it had ever gotten a PC port.
Camellia's (Amazingly Accurate) Rendition of Poe R.R. Acti
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
Hello all! Studying for an exam tomorrow. Not really looking forward to it. Probably won't have time to write much today. So, just in case I don't update at all, I've got two things for you all to enjoy: @Camellia's awesome pic of Poe and a spoiler.
-x-
The day was slightly overcast in Washington D.C. when we finally arrived. This, I thought, was the capital of the United States. This was the center of the Union, the northern half of the country that fought and won at great cost... It was both good and bad to see how universal constants applied here, because even in a world a hundred years in the past and countless universes away, this place looked like shit.
-x-
Huzzah?
-x-
The day was slightly overcast in Washington D.C. when we finally arrived. This, I thought, was the capital of the United States. This was the center of the Union, the northern half of the country that fought and won at great cost... It was both good and bad to see how universal constants applied here, because even in a world a hundred years in the past and countless universes away, this place looked like shit.
-x-
Huzzah?
- Location
- Moon
I just read Partially Kissed Hero. All goddamn 103 chapters of it. Twice. At first I was holding my head from the sheer confusion, rage, and arousal caused from said rage, but then I realized something. I was laughing. So once I finished, I went back and reread it and realized it was the greatest, longest, thickest, hardes- wait, getting off topic... Greatest piece of crack in history. Of ever. Forever. And maybe never. It's so bad, it goes back around to funny, back around to bad, back around to funny so much that this shit becomes an ouroborus of ridiculousness. I see what the author meant when he said folding, spindling, and mutilating the Potterverse. Wow.
This was my reaction... Before I started laughing again.
This was my reaction... Before I started laughing again.
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Another Potter AU fic withan extremely edgy Harry Pot. Y'know, the norm.
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
It becomes really magical when you run it through Gizoogle.
RadioactiveSpoon
Rudimentary creature of blood and flesh
- Location
- Beyond the Black Stump
Picked a random chapter (99) to tranzizzle and the results are astounding.
Highlights!
I "Where do all dat shiznit go?" Aang was, on some level, just up in awe at how tha fuck I was able ta smoke all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Maybe tha pimpin' muthafucka thought dat shiznit was funky, biatch?
----
"Hey!" one of mah thugs snapped at our asses fo' realz. A kid, some boy, was chasin tha three of us, "Thieves muthafucka! Pay fo' yo' chicken!"
----
To his credit, tha pimp was quick on tha uptake. "Well, now you pay!" da perved-out muthafucka snapped at me, "Yo ass owe me scrilla fo' all dat chicken!"
----
"We used ta git hustlas from all over tha place," he lamented, "That chizzled when tha Beifong crew came here."
Halfway all up in scrubbin off a cold-ass lil counta wit minimum suds, I stopped n' turned ta peep him, "Da Beifong crew, you say, biatch? Do tell…" Now dat schmoooove muthafucka had mah interest.
----
"Twelve gold pieces fo' red hommie! Fifteen fo' blue biaaatch! Order now n' git a gangbangin' free commemorative, decoratizzle gauntlet playa!" Hiroshi socked a wall, "It's garbage biaaatch! It's all complete garbage!"
----
That wasn't how tha fuck it worked, a part of me wanted ta say fo' realz. At tha same time, there was a opportunitizzle here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Money shits, biatch? A hood up in desperate need fo' a savior, biatch? Situations like dis was common up in any ghetto, I'd found n' dis gave me a bangin-ass chizzle ta bust a cap up in nuff muthafuckin birdz wit one stone. "Soundz like you need a lil bit of chedda flow…"
----
"Hey!" one of mah thugs snapped at our asses fo' realz. A kid, some boy, was chasin tha three of us, "Thieves muthafucka! Pay fo' yo' chicken!"
----
To his credit, tha pimp was quick on tha uptake. "Well, now you pay!" da perved-out muthafucka snapped at me, "Yo ass owe me scrilla fo' all dat chicken!"
----
"We used ta git hustlas from all over tha place," he lamented, "That chizzled when tha Beifong crew came here."
Halfway all up in scrubbin off a cold-ass lil counta wit minimum suds, I stopped n' turned ta peep him, "Da Beifong crew, you say, biatch? Do tell…" Now dat schmoooove muthafucka had mah interest.
----
"Twelve gold pieces fo' red hommie! Fifteen fo' blue biaaatch! Order now n' git a gangbangin' free commemorative, decoratizzle gauntlet playa!" Hiroshi socked a wall, "It's garbage biaaatch! It's all complete garbage!"
----
That wasn't how tha fuck it worked, a part of me wanted ta say fo' realz. At tha same time, there was a opportunitizzle here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Money shits, biatch? A hood up in desperate need fo' a savior, biatch? Situations like dis was common up in any ghetto, I'd found n' dis gave me a bangin-ass chizzle ta bust a cap up in nuff muthafuckin birdz wit one stone. "Soundz like you need a lil bit of chedda flow…"
Travisplo
The Necromonsieur
Someone needs to run one of the Rider scenes through this, then put it in the thread, stat!
RadioactiveSpoon
Rudimentary creature of blood and flesh
- Location
- Beyond the Black Stump
Ask and ye shall resizzle.
I underestimated how beautiful parts of this would be. The Spirit of Vengizzle rides again.
HE saw tha ghetto wit eyes dat was not eyes yo. HE examined dem playas whoz ass stood before his muthafuckin ass. Da black rot dat was once called a playa had fallen not ta HIS firez of justice yo, but ta concussive force. Da burn of righteousnizz would only follow post-mortem ta ensure vengeizzle up in its purest n' most absolute form was carried out.
Da ghetto saw his ass n' feared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This ghetto, dis battered n' damaged ghetto - dis ghetto dat openly, brazenly mocked his ass wit its darkest denizens dressed up in puritizzle - HE would right tha wrongs before him, every last muthafuckin single one yo. How tha fuck many, HE dared ask his dirty ass up in dauntin realization, how tha fuck nuff had cast aside they innocence fo' tha sake of innocence, biatch? How tha fuck nuff was guilty ta defeat tha guilty?
What stopped his ass from salivatin all up in tha thought of beatin tha livin shiznit outta dem was his thugged-out lil' physical incapabilitizzle ta do so.
"Guilty…" HIS lyrics was as tha gravel beneath HIS feet, "Guilty…!" whispers dat echoed from horizizzle ta horizizzle such dat dis ghetto would hear dem wild-ass muthafuckas. "Guilty dawwwwg! Guilty dawwwwg! Guilty!" It shouldn't done been possible fo' all kindsa muthafuckin ta be here at once. Dat shiznit was worthy of weeping, they sins. Dat shiznit was worthy of praising, they courage. "GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY!" Silence passed between HE n' tha fucked up scionz of dude, "ALL OF YOU ARE GUILTY."
Da first battle from tha destroyerz of all dat was phat came from one far up in tha back yo. His rifle dat fired juice of emerald soared all up in tha air n' uselessly splashed off HIS face, drippin ta tha earth n' scaldin it briefly before evidence of its existence was erased up in a funky-ass blanket of flame.
HE stepped forward.
This one whoz ass was tha defender of all dat was phat n' punisher of all certainly evil, tha illest judge, did not bother wit tha formalitizzle of wincing. Da act would feign weaknizz n' give hope ta these fools. They was as unworthy of dat hope as they was unworthy of HIS drawin entertainment from they suffering.
…Well, maybe not tha latter.
To fight dem individually would be a waste of time. Never let it be holla'd dat tha Spirit of Vengeizzle lacked tha capacitizzle ta delegate. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Swingin HIS arms forth ta part tha sea of white-dressed fools before him, his schmoooove ass cleansed they Ridez of sin - lockin they occupants up in like pigs n' roastin dem wild-ass muthafuckas.
These freshly smoked up vehiclez turned on they ballaz immediately.
Dat shiznit was as though these monstas up in tha skinz of playa was made of glass, so vulnerable was they ta his wild lil' fuckin every last muthafuckin action. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. One of they Rides turned ta pulp a pair of hustlin soldiers, fleein from his wrath fo' realz. Another ordered a cold-ass lil cry of retreat - retreat.
HE would not let dem run. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. HIS voice was rappin once more, demandin a unleashin of juice upon these heinous thangs. Da Djinn found exception up in HIS actions. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch would be dealt wit next.
[[RIDE: GRAND KING!!]]
Da command was given, tha swordz shifted they shape yo. HE called upon tha ghetto once belongin ta tha blackened, rotten thang n' twisted dis freshly smoked up Ride ta betta suit HIS needz yo. HE altered it, fused n' combined it wit HIS juice n' tha juice dat was rightfully HIS ta command.
[[SWORD - WORLD - SWORD]]
[[BECOME THE KEY TO OPEN THE DOOR; TWIST THE KEY AND OPEN THY SOUL]]
[[HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN MODE: GO]]
Da ghetto shifted as was necessary, becomin a empty plane of infinitizzle stretchin up in all directions n' composed of burnt stone monoliths dat had been toppled ta they sides yo. High, high above dem all was a train station ta nowhere up in particular; pristine up in its condizzle when compared ta tha fucked up earth they stood upon far below. Dat shiznit was tha sun up in its purity.
This was tha purest expression of all dat was HE n' HIS host made manifest by HIS will wit tha juice rightfully fronted from dat which played dat shit. Da Rides, still turned on they forma wielders, turned whatever weapons was available ta dem ta betta annihilate dem playas whoz ass came here.
Hell n' tha fires deep within was expressed up in lead n' blackened steel as one such Ride suspended up in tha air by spinnin swords, turned its firearm upon a unsuspectin soldier of false good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude whoz ass had committed sin could not persist beneath tha righteous barrage.
What a funky-ass bare fraction of a ghetto dis was, so lil of dat shiznit was bein used fo' what tha fuck dat shiznit was always meant ta be used fo' yo. HE observed tha Djinn uselessly chantin ta warp realitizzle ta its whims n' denied her n' shit. With steps towardz tha heaven high above imagined clouds, tha Rider stood behind her n' struck wit pimped outa might than dat thugged-out biiiatch could resist.
Bitch faded all up in his strike, lettin it hit air as dat dunkadelic hoe turned upon his ass a silver tool n' pulled its trigger n' shit. Da blast of juice fired knocked back HIS head wit pimped out force, nearly dislodgin HIS jaw. But dis was a weapon designed ta fight thangs dat was not HE whoz ass was tha just n' truly fair.
HIS head tilted back down, HIS jaw set itself, HE howled as his body shifted ta betta suit dis environment n' embraced HIS bestial powers fully. With HIS swordz havin become tha ghetto round them, fused wit tha ghetto within HIM, HIS fingertips became as hooks n' lashed wildly all up in tha Djinn whoz ass attempted ta vanish.
Certainly, dat thugged-out biiiatch could delay her punishment. Certainly, dat thugged-out biiiatch could let HIS strikes pass all up in her n' shit. But dat thugged-out biiiatch could not escape from tha ghetto dat was not tha ghetto outside. This was HIS ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! These was HIS rulez yo. Her voice was rappin ta his ass as though distant, "How?" she asked, "You're a pimp son! That… That should have blown yo' head off!"
A pimp, biatch? Biatch thought HE whoz ass was tha entitizzle representin burnin vengeizzle a mere poltergeist, biatch? HE was no phantazzle yo. HE was a spirit of revenge biaaatch! HE was tha judge of godz n' devils muthafucka! Dude was tha emperor of his fuckin lil' domain n' she, compared ta that, was but a lowly peasant up in tha court of everlastin fire.
Bitch tried ta grant her own wish ta disappear HIM yo. HE denied her n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch tried ta grant her own wish ta disappear HIM yo. HE refused her n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch tried a third time yo. HE found her n' struck her down ta tha earth far below dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo. HE floated down ta her fucked up form on bricks lifted high by bricks below them, supportin his fuckin lil' descent ta tha fucked up ground.
In desperation, she expended her juice at his ass - all dat dat freaky freaky biatch had ta expend was launched up in a thugged-out desperate bid fo' safety yo. HIS win fell tha fuck down n' swung out, straight-up dispellin tha final n' desperate strike. With either hand now free, he grasped her neck n' lifted her muthafuckin ass.
Bitch disappeared once more, fadin from tha ghetto up in a attempt ta stay tha fuck away from her - no! Biatch was within HIM, had entered HIS form unjustly n' acted ta usurp control! Rides once under HIS domain collapsed or blew up like a muthafucka wit a sudden release of force, further devastatin tha numberz of tha white breakerz of tha innocent yo. HIS concentration was straight-up upon tha one within HIS form.
[[SWORD - GRAND - SWORD]]
[[OPERATE THE ENGINE OF DESTINY; CONDUCT A SYMPHONY OF DEFEAT]]
[[DUAL WIELD MODE: GO]]
Da ghetto, as it was, did not fade. Well shiiiit, it only shattered as HIS focus was placed elsewhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Swordz rocked up once mo' up in handz no longer boastin extended hooks. Da guilty soldiers dressed as tha pure reorganized theyselves ta strike at his ass as distant figures only now flew further n' shit. One among dem two was guilty.
And yet, dat one was pathetic up in his wild lil' freakadelic guilt. These thangs before HIM… they was dem playas whoz ass needed ta suffer n' shit. They was tha ones most worthy of HIS attention. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Another dizzle fo' dat one dat gots away, all other targets required mo' time.
-x-
HE reassumed control of all tha remainin Rides dat hadn't been destroyed, even dem dat didn't originally belong ta tha fools HE now battled n' once mo' set dem loose on tha skanky, weak souls dat thought they could escape wit they actions unpunished. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They believed they was up in tha right. They was oh, so wrong. Wrong.
Roarin fires encased they lines as they desperately tried ta find ways ta arrive without they vehiclez yo. HIS limitation was not tha Ride but tha proximity, they soon discovered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This only meant mo' exhausted soldiers would arrive all up in tha edgez of HIS awarenizz before acquirin HIS undivided attention.
They was weakenin theyselves ta desperately fight they own Rides n' HE whoz ass controlled dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They further weakened theyselves by tryin ta stop HIM fo' realz. A field of juice was suddenly projected from four directions ta enclose HE whoz ass was tha avatar of fiery justice yo. HE stepped forth ta break all up in tha barrier presented ta HIM, sheathang HIS swordz n' clappin HIS handz ta draw forth tha juice desperately bein used ta try ta contain HIS glory.
All dat juice was drawn tha fuck into HIS form n' busted out up in a massive, concussive wave of force dat overturned tha ground itself as a wave of black tar liquefied towardz dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They screamed as they boiled up in tha aftermath of his bangin radiance.
Coffinz of white fell tha fuck from tha sky, diggin theyselves kinda tha fuck into tha ground as a playa who- GUILTYGUILTYGUILTYGUILTYGUILTY - what tha fuck was dis thang dat fronted itself tha lil hustla of Adam, biatch? What was dis vile soldier without a war?! How tha fuck dare they, biatch? HOW DARE THEY?!
Those coffins opened ta reveal they occupants, innocent weapons without they will. Were they so depraved dat they would lead dem playas whoz ass had not sinned ta fight fo' dem all up in tha behest of they top billin sinner, biatch? Were they so twisted dat dis monsta would not only be allowed ta live n' breathe n' fight n' bust a cap up in yo, but further brang ta battle dem playas whoz ass had not committed evil?!
They would all take a thugged-out dirt nap.
HE roared as his schmoooove ass charged they leader, win burstin flames behind HIM as da perved-out muthafucka stepped n' jettisoned towardz tha thang called ABLE fo' realz. A liquid white substizzle fuckin started ta wrap itself round HIS grill ta form tha construct necessary ta do as HE would. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! If dis thang perished rightfully, it would only escape.
There was no escape fo' dis thang dat could be permitted.
Innocent soldiers stood up in HIS path n' attempted ta stop HIM wit reflexes, skill n' strength far beyond what tha fuck would be expected of they forms yo. HE dodged these strikes n' only moved past dem ta battle tha commander whoz ass laughed at his thugged-out attempts yo. HE heard tha jeers n' laughta as HIS mask formed.
Grill wide, tore free tha armz of tha one whoz ass was least innocent of all n' wrapped jaws round its head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! HE chewed all up in not ta bite flesh or bone or muscle or nerve or blood - HE would rip free tha ass of dis thang n' smoke it, churn its essence all up in a engine of destruction as made by tha thang of three flutes.
HE delighted up in hearin dis sadistic creature scream up in sufferin as HE was picked apart by tha impossibly massive internalized spirit, n' I aint talkin bout no muthafuckin Jack Daniels neither. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da mask crumbled as HE turned ta survey HIS next opponents, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da innocent would certainly stand up in HIS path n' prevent HIM from-
A hand touched HIS chest belongin ta a playa whoz ass journeyed as HIS host done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "We'll deal wit you later." HE felt tha ghetto shrink as HE vanished from creation n' rocked up far, far away up in a place dat could only be called cold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! In anger n' defiance, he roared furiously. None could hear his muthafuckin ass.
Da ghetto saw his ass n' feared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This ghetto, dis battered n' damaged ghetto - dis ghetto dat openly, brazenly mocked his ass wit its darkest denizens dressed up in puritizzle - HE would right tha wrongs before him, every last muthafuckin single one yo. How tha fuck many, HE dared ask his dirty ass up in dauntin realization, how tha fuck nuff had cast aside they innocence fo' tha sake of innocence, biatch? How tha fuck nuff was guilty ta defeat tha guilty?
What stopped his ass from salivatin all up in tha thought of beatin tha livin shiznit outta dem was his thugged-out lil' physical incapabilitizzle ta do so.
"Guilty…" HIS lyrics was as tha gravel beneath HIS feet, "Guilty…!" whispers dat echoed from horizizzle ta horizizzle such dat dis ghetto would hear dem wild-ass muthafuckas. "Guilty dawwwwg! Guilty dawwwwg! Guilty!" It shouldn't done been possible fo' all kindsa muthafuckin ta be here at once. Dat shiznit was worthy of weeping, they sins. Dat shiznit was worthy of praising, they courage. "GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY!" Silence passed between HE n' tha fucked up scionz of dude, "ALL OF YOU ARE GUILTY."
Da first battle from tha destroyerz of all dat was phat came from one far up in tha back yo. His rifle dat fired juice of emerald soared all up in tha air n' uselessly splashed off HIS face, drippin ta tha earth n' scaldin it briefly before evidence of its existence was erased up in a funky-ass blanket of flame.
HE stepped forward.
This one whoz ass was tha defender of all dat was phat n' punisher of all certainly evil, tha illest judge, did not bother wit tha formalitizzle of wincing. Da act would feign weaknizz n' give hope ta these fools. They was as unworthy of dat hope as they was unworthy of HIS drawin entertainment from they suffering.
…Well, maybe not tha latter.
To fight dem individually would be a waste of time. Never let it be holla'd dat tha Spirit of Vengeizzle lacked tha capacitizzle ta delegate. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Swingin HIS arms forth ta part tha sea of white-dressed fools before him, his schmoooove ass cleansed they Ridez of sin - lockin they occupants up in like pigs n' roastin dem wild-ass muthafuckas.
These freshly smoked up vehiclez turned on they ballaz immediately.
Dat shiznit was as though these monstas up in tha skinz of playa was made of glass, so vulnerable was they ta his wild lil' fuckin every last muthafuckin action. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. One of they Rides turned ta pulp a pair of hustlin soldiers, fleein from his wrath fo' realz. Another ordered a cold-ass lil cry of retreat - retreat.
HE would not let dem run. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. HIS voice was rappin once more, demandin a unleashin of juice upon these heinous thangs. Da Djinn found exception up in HIS actions. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch would be dealt wit next.
[[RIDE: GRAND KING!!]]
Da command was given, tha swordz shifted they shape yo. HE called upon tha ghetto once belongin ta tha blackened, rotten thang n' twisted dis freshly smoked up Ride ta betta suit HIS needz yo. HE altered it, fused n' combined it wit HIS juice n' tha juice dat was rightfully HIS ta command.
[[SWORD - WORLD - SWORD]]
[[BECOME THE KEY TO OPEN THE DOOR; TWIST THE KEY AND OPEN THY SOUL]]
[[HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN MODE: GO]]
Da ghetto shifted as was necessary, becomin a empty plane of infinitizzle stretchin up in all directions n' composed of burnt stone monoliths dat had been toppled ta they sides yo. High, high above dem all was a train station ta nowhere up in particular; pristine up in its condizzle when compared ta tha fucked up earth they stood upon far below. Dat shiznit was tha sun up in its purity.
This was tha purest expression of all dat was HE n' HIS host made manifest by HIS will wit tha juice rightfully fronted from dat which played dat shit. Da Rides, still turned on they forma wielders, turned whatever weapons was available ta dem ta betta annihilate dem playas whoz ass came here.
Hell n' tha fires deep within was expressed up in lead n' blackened steel as one such Ride suspended up in tha air by spinnin swords, turned its firearm upon a unsuspectin soldier of false good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude whoz ass had committed sin could not persist beneath tha righteous barrage.
What a funky-ass bare fraction of a ghetto dis was, so lil of dat shiznit was bein used fo' what tha fuck dat shiznit was always meant ta be used fo' yo. HE observed tha Djinn uselessly chantin ta warp realitizzle ta its whims n' denied her n' shit. With steps towardz tha heaven high above imagined clouds, tha Rider stood behind her n' struck wit pimped outa might than dat thugged-out biiiatch could resist.
Bitch faded all up in his strike, lettin it hit air as dat dunkadelic hoe turned upon his ass a silver tool n' pulled its trigger n' shit. Da blast of juice fired knocked back HIS head wit pimped out force, nearly dislodgin HIS jaw. But dis was a weapon designed ta fight thangs dat was not HE whoz ass was tha just n' truly fair.
HIS head tilted back down, HIS jaw set itself, HE howled as his body shifted ta betta suit dis environment n' embraced HIS bestial powers fully. With HIS swordz havin become tha ghetto round them, fused wit tha ghetto within HIM, HIS fingertips became as hooks n' lashed wildly all up in tha Djinn whoz ass attempted ta vanish.
Certainly, dat thugged-out biiiatch could delay her punishment. Certainly, dat thugged-out biiiatch could let HIS strikes pass all up in her n' shit. But dat thugged-out biiiatch could not escape from tha ghetto dat was not tha ghetto outside. This was HIS ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! These was HIS rulez yo. Her voice was rappin ta his ass as though distant, "How?" she asked, "You're a pimp son! That… That should have blown yo' head off!"
A pimp, biatch? Biatch thought HE whoz ass was tha entitizzle representin burnin vengeizzle a mere poltergeist, biatch? HE was no phantazzle yo. HE was a spirit of revenge biaaatch! HE was tha judge of godz n' devils muthafucka! Dude was tha emperor of his fuckin lil' domain n' she, compared ta that, was but a lowly peasant up in tha court of everlastin fire.
Bitch tried ta grant her own wish ta disappear HIM yo. HE denied her n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch tried ta grant her own wish ta disappear HIM yo. HE refused her n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch tried a third time yo. HE found her n' struck her down ta tha earth far below dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo. HE floated down ta her fucked up form on bricks lifted high by bricks below them, supportin his fuckin lil' descent ta tha fucked up ground.
In desperation, she expended her juice at his ass - all dat dat freaky freaky biatch had ta expend was launched up in a thugged-out desperate bid fo' safety yo. HIS win fell tha fuck down n' swung out, straight-up dispellin tha final n' desperate strike. With either hand now free, he grasped her neck n' lifted her muthafuckin ass.
Bitch disappeared once more, fadin from tha ghetto up in a attempt ta stay tha fuck away from her - no! Biatch was within HIM, had entered HIS form unjustly n' acted ta usurp control! Rides once under HIS domain collapsed or blew up like a muthafucka wit a sudden release of force, further devastatin tha numberz of tha white breakerz of tha innocent yo. HIS concentration was straight-up upon tha one within HIS form.
[[SWORD - GRAND - SWORD]]
[[OPERATE THE ENGINE OF DESTINY; CONDUCT A SYMPHONY OF DEFEAT]]
[[DUAL WIELD MODE: GO]]
Da ghetto, as it was, did not fade. Well shiiiit, it only shattered as HIS focus was placed elsewhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Swordz rocked up once mo' up in handz no longer boastin extended hooks. Da guilty soldiers dressed as tha pure reorganized theyselves ta strike at his ass as distant figures only now flew further n' shit. One among dem two was guilty.
And yet, dat one was pathetic up in his wild lil' freakadelic guilt. These thangs before HIM… they was dem playas whoz ass needed ta suffer n' shit. They was tha ones most worthy of HIS attention. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Another dizzle fo' dat one dat gots away, all other targets required mo' time.
-x-
HE reassumed control of all tha remainin Rides dat hadn't been destroyed, even dem dat didn't originally belong ta tha fools HE now battled n' once mo' set dem loose on tha skanky, weak souls dat thought they could escape wit they actions unpunished. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They believed they was up in tha right. They was oh, so wrong. Wrong.
Roarin fires encased they lines as they desperately tried ta find ways ta arrive without they vehiclez yo. HIS limitation was not tha Ride but tha proximity, they soon discovered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This only meant mo' exhausted soldiers would arrive all up in tha edgez of HIS awarenizz before acquirin HIS undivided attention.
They was weakenin theyselves ta desperately fight they own Rides n' HE whoz ass controlled dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They further weakened theyselves by tryin ta stop HIM fo' realz. A field of juice was suddenly projected from four directions ta enclose HE whoz ass was tha avatar of fiery justice yo. HE stepped forth ta break all up in tha barrier presented ta HIM, sheathang HIS swordz n' clappin HIS handz ta draw forth tha juice desperately bein used ta try ta contain HIS glory.
All dat juice was drawn tha fuck into HIS form n' busted out up in a massive, concussive wave of force dat overturned tha ground itself as a wave of black tar liquefied towardz dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They screamed as they boiled up in tha aftermath of his bangin radiance.
Coffinz of white fell tha fuck from tha sky, diggin theyselves kinda tha fuck into tha ground as a playa who- GUILTYGUILTYGUILTYGUILTYGUILTY - what tha fuck was dis thang dat fronted itself tha lil hustla of Adam, biatch? What was dis vile soldier without a war?! How tha fuck dare they, biatch? HOW DARE THEY?!
Those coffins opened ta reveal they occupants, innocent weapons without they will. Were they so depraved dat they would lead dem playas whoz ass had not sinned ta fight fo' dem all up in tha behest of they top billin sinner, biatch? Were they so twisted dat dis monsta would not only be allowed ta live n' breathe n' fight n' bust a cap up in yo, but further brang ta battle dem playas whoz ass had not committed evil?!
They would all take a thugged-out dirt nap.
HE roared as his schmoooove ass charged they leader, win burstin flames behind HIM as da perved-out muthafucka stepped n' jettisoned towardz tha thang called ABLE fo' realz. A liquid white substizzle fuckin started ta wrap itself round HIS grill ta form tha construct necessary ta do as HE would. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! If dis thang perished rightfully, it would only escape.
There was no escape fo' dis thang dat could be permitted.
Innocent soldiers stood up in HIS path n' attempted ta stop HIM wit reflexes, skill n' strength far beyond what tha fuck would be expected of they forms yo. HE dodged these strikes n' only moved past dem ta battle tha commander whoz ass laughed at his thugged-out attempts yo. HE heard tha jeers n' laughta as HIS mask formed.
Grill wide, tore free tha armz of tha one whoz ass was least innocent of all n' wrapped jaws round its head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! HE chewed all up in not ta bite flesh or bone or muscle or nerve or blood - HE would rip free tha ass of dis thang n' smoke it, churn its essence all up in a engine of destruction as made by tha thang of three flutes.
HE delighted up in hearin dis sadistic creature scream up in sufferin as HE was picked apart by tha impossibly massive internalized spirit, n' I aint talkin bout no muthafuckin Jack Daniels neither. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da mask crumbled as HE turned ta survey HIS next opponents, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da innocent would certainly stand up in HIS path n' prevent HIM from-
A hand touched HIS chest belongin ta a playa whoz ass journeyed as HIS host done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "We'll deal wit you later." HE felt tha ghetto shrink as HE vanished from creation n' rocked up far, far away up in a place dat could only be called cold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! In anger n' defiance, he roared furiously. None could hear his muthafuckin ass.
Last edited:
SoothingCoffee
Umumumu
- Location
- The Library
Ooh, that's both terrifying and kinky.
Chapter 206
Ars Poetica
ULTIMA RATIO NEMO OBLIGATUR
- Location
- The Kingdom of Fiore
- Pronouns
- He / Him / His
Oh wow it took a while to get this up! Fucking poetry quizzes, am I right?
-x-
"When we get there, I'm expecting a greeting," my voice was the only one in the caboose, "I need you three to be on your best behavior," I was wagging my finger at the young Exorcists. They glared at me as though I'd spoken some sort of profound and profane offense. "And Marika…" I gave her a thumbs-up, "Keep being you."
"Of course, sir." She nodded.
"Another thing, before I forget…" I'd been keeping a chipper tone for the most part, indulging in mock seriousness. Though I was expecting a large crowd waiting for me, I didn't think it would be that hard to deal with. I'd faced the worst in people… mostly… I could deal with a crowd of northerners agitated at my plan and presence. "What, ah," I paused, "What have the Knights been doing?"
Marika blinked, surprised. Then her face evolved into an expression of abject shock. "You… you can't hear us?" she paled, "I see… that explains a lot, actually."
"So there was a communication problem," Daisya snorted, "What about it?"
"You don't understand," she was quick to correct him. "Just as the Earl is connected to every Akuma he makes, my Grand King is connected to all his Knights. When we stopped receiving signals from him, we assumed he was either unconscious or…"
"Dead?" I asked, "Deceased? Decaying? Some other miscellaneous "D" word that means I wasn't among the living?" Hesitantly, Marika nodded. "Well, in that case, reports of my death have been… Well, technically, I'm part-dead from a certain point of view, but still. I am alive." I was just a little fuzzy on what the rules were for someone who primarily used abilities that belonged in the hands of creatures from the afterlife.
"Technically," Noise raised an eyebrow in my general direction.
"Exactly; I'm glad you understand!" I clapped my hands for him.
He frowned, "I really don't."
"That's okay, too!" I laughed, "Because I have no idea, either!" Another bout of false cheer, another painfully forced chuckle, and I suddenly slouched and rested my head in one palm. "…Fuck." Mood swings were, in many ways, a semi-alien concept to me. I was used to feeling very consistent throughout most of my journey. If I felt happy, I'd feel happy for a good long while unless something interrupted that. If I was sad, then I'd be fucking depressed.
I considered asking Medusa if the seal on my soul was starting to affect my emotional state before deciding otherwise. If I started getting royally pissed off at minor things, then I'd ask for some direct help with that. For now, I didn't want to bother her with something that I felt I could handle myself. Feeling happiness or sadness was perfectly natural and I knew how to cope with both.
At the moment, it was just another little thing I had to get used to – no different than being a jackal-fawk-human chimera thing, or a homunculus, or a host of the Ghost Rider, or… well, I'd gotten used to bigger things by now was the point. So, with a deep breath, I forced myself to think deeply about the situation at hand.
My Knights could not communicate with me. Until now, I'd been thinking about this from the perspective of their leader. But from the perspective of my Knights, what had happened? The individual who served as their rock had disappeared for several hours, during which they had no idea if he was dead or alive. The general consensus must have been stress, probably terror.
"Okay, Marika," I looked to her, "Until physical channels of communication can be established," phones, probably – telegraph machines, maybe, "Or until another Knight shows up, you get to be my main means of communication with everyone."
She nodded, "Understood, sir. I will do my best to convey any important messages you have, sir."
"Great. Because I need you to convey an order for me," and the sooner this order was worked with, the better. We were a few hours away from our destination. Hopefully, someone would be able to respond in that time. "And one more thing," before I forgot, "How are the kids doing? Danny? Sam? Tuck?"
"…The King's Disciples?" What. No. Stop.
"Please don't call them that."
"It would be wrong not to, as they in many ways act as your children–"
"What an interesting line of thought please tell me how they're doing." My voice was a high monotone, my eye wide, and my smile plastered onto my face. "That's all I ask."
Marika nodded, "Yes, sir. Danny has recently shown signs of an improved condition," oh thank god, "Tucker is currently pushing for rights reforms – last night, a pair of Knights intercepted a trio of hooded men aiming to harm him," oh what the fuck, "Sam and Jazz's aqueduct and gardening project is currently proceeding on schedule. Will that be all, sir?"
"…Yeah. All that's left is the order," I regarded the three Exorcists, "If you want, you can go up a few cars and see how everyone else on the train is doing. You don't need to stay back here and, uh, they're probably serving lunch." It was a not-so-subtle way of telling them to screw off for a short while.
Noise took the hint, nudging Daisya as he slowly stepped out of the caboose. "Right, right," Daisya waved at me as he stepped out, "Just don't blow up the train, alright Mister Poe?" I gave no promises. Kanda glared at me even as he exited – what a little bundle of perpetual scorn.
My head turned away from the door, "Well then, today's knightly order is as follows…"
-x-
The day was slightly overcast in Washington D.C. when we finally arrived. This, I thought, was the capital of the United States. This was the center of the Union, the norther half of the country that fought and won at great cost… It was both good and bad to see how universal constants applied here, because even in a world a century in the past and several universes away, this place looked like shit.
But it was mildly entertaining shit as, with great fanfare, the doors on the side of the passenger car of the Pineapple Express opened. One by one, the civilians stepped out. Each of them represented various companies or former territories and states, each had a case to plead, and they had all come representing their people. This was as much their moment as it was mine. It would have been wrong not to let them off first.
When I finally stepped outside, Marika right ahead of me, it was to a scene of chaos. It appeared that the universal constants of Washington D.C. included an angry mob of protestors. On either side of the station and even on the platform, civilians waving picket signs were held back by lines of policemen and soldiers.
My ear twitched and I could hear someone picking up a rock to throw it before they had a chance to. Thankfully, someone right behind him nudged his back just so and screwed up his balance. As he tumbled and swore, it was like watching dominos take effect. And the people who fell just stood and started shouting at each other.
The situation was dissolving too quickly for my tastes. So, I did the only thing I could. The crowd of people was shouting too loud for me to be heard… well, then I'd just have to catch their attention. Normally, I'd consider just jumping on top of the station and manipulating sound to shout at everyone beneath me… but since my injuries made that mostly impossible, I settled for a different approach.
I reached into my fannypack of holding and pulled out my Amestrian standard flare gun. Pointing up, I pulled the trigger. There was a loud, high pitched whine and the sound of chemistry hissing to life as a crimson flare shot high above me. Smoke fell from the top barrel, drifting all around me before being blown to the side. The crowd was silent.
And then I realized that I'd just fired a gun in the middle of a crowd of furious protestors. "Ars," I heard Medusa speak to me, "Why?" I had no response. "Why…" her palm collided with her face, "That… why would you do that?!"
Before I could speak, someone shouted on one side as someone on the opposite side threw a rock at me. The police here were stretched too thin to protect everyone and, before I could try speaking the people started shouting and charging. The line of officers and soldiers barely held as several troops started rushing from the center of the platform up.
Men and women in uniform covered dignitaries with their own bodies where necessary. They couldn't afford another war, and letting these people come to harm would only ensure it happened. One woman in particular, dressed in the uniform of the Pinkertons and wearing a long coat above that, moved past startled police and soldiers like it was second nature to her.
"Grand King Poe?" she addressed me as a brick flew just behind her head, "Please come with me."
I wasn't about to say no.
-x-
This was not the rattiest hotel in the capital. It was actually pretty nice. My only objection was that some prick on the second floor had fucked up the entire building's rudimentary plumbing. So if I wanted to go to the bathroom, I'd have to walk across the street and ask if the restaurant allowed a non-paying customer to use the facilities. I wasn't optimistic about the answer.
Not to mention the fact that the mob had moved from the station to forming outside the hotel. The police were breaking it up, but that was to minimal success. At least my room number hadn't been leaked.
And the food was good! Some of the best chicken I'd had in weeks was on the plate in front of me and I wasn't about to let it go uneaten. Munching on it happily, I wondered where Tiedoll's disciples had gone. I hadn't seen the Exorcists since we'd been separated in the crowd that formed much earlier, but I was fairly confident they'd find their way here.
From across the table, the Pinkerton woman calmly sipped a mug of coffee while Marika sat to my left. The right seat of the square table was empty – the guest who should have been sitting in it, a guard with a stern look on his face, was standing at attention next to the nearest door.
With our departure, the crowd outside, on, and around the station slowly dispersed. Agents of the U.S. government were able to directly confirm that I'd brought the gold. The thing that was taking them the most time was assessing the value of the gold, its purity, and the sheer amount… but I was fairly confident that I'd upheld my end of the tentative bargain. Just bringing this much should have been enough.
Until all those details were confirmed, though, we'd be stuck with tall, dark, and angry. "Don't mind him," the woman said, "He's my partner." Another sip of the coffee and she put down the mug. "So… Grand King Poe, why haven't you contacted us?"
"Huh?" I stared, "You're a Knight?" My eye went wide as I looked to Marika, "How is there a Knight this far north?" Weren't they mostly constrained to the former Confederacy at the moment? For their influence to have spread so far seemed almost impossible to me… actually, no, I could see it. Assuming they spread their numbers in just the right way, it was doable. But in this time frame it still struck me as a surprise.
"Your ability transfers," Marika explained helpfully. "Sir."
"My…" Konso. Konso transfers to Knights. I think I already knew that, but hearing it from her made it seem all too real. Of course they were able to reach so far north, they were converting Akuma as they went and spreading ever-faster as a result. I could only imagine how infuriated the Earl must have been to know that so many of his Akuma were being saved from his service. It almost brought a smile to my face. There was, however, one last detail. "What about the, uh, the last cry?"
Marika seemed confused at first, but understanding quickly dawned on her. "That? Most of the time, Akuma frequent areas that are either full of people or areas where there are very few people. In the former case, we can spot them and draw them away from crowds. In the latter, we act. There have been more rumors about banshees throughout the area since we've been doing this, but…"
I nodded, "Ah, I see. Anything else?"
"Knights such as me have the same ability to convert Akuma into Knights that you do," the Pinkerton agent explained. "And while the Knights we create are not initially as strong as the Knights you create, they slowly grow into their power over time."
I nodded, "Well that's good to know. But, uh, why didn't I know about all of that?"
"You weren't thinking about it," Marika provided yet another answer, "And, with all due respect sir, you are awful at multitasking and micromanaging." I frowned, "Absolutely awful." My frown deepened, "Complete trash."
"Is this for the hair comment?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir." Her smile was the picture of sweetness.
My eye twitched. "Well…" I breathed, "On that note… the meeting with the president is officially tomorrow! So, before I head in, miss…?" I looked to the Pinkerton Knight. She frowned, looking away embarrassedly.
"Grant Knightley." She said to me, "And I am a man."
Absolute silence. My eye slowly went down to her chest. "Uh…" my eye went up again. "You sure about that?"
Her blush intensified, "I assure you, I am a man."
"See," my tongue clicked, "That, ah… I'm not about to criticize your life decisions, it's just…"
"I didn't make this choice. I am a man. That is who I am," her blush reached an apex, "And stop staring at my chest you sick fuck." Her glare could have eroded holes in mountains. I just shrugged it off. Olivier was scarier.
But since there was no point to further infuriating her, I just let it be. Raising my hands to placate her – him – I adopted a calming tone, "Fine, fine," and tried changing the subject, "Are there any politicians who'll be present I should be wary of?"
Her – his – blush faded as Grant pulled out a list. "Several; you can look over this yourself when you have the time, but most notably we have reason to believe the governor of Texas will be here by tomorrow with a small envoy of bodyguards."
"Oh. That guy," I sighed, "You haven't, uh," I made a rough gesture with my hands. "You know, done the thing?"
"We haven't been able to get close enough to perform Konso, no. Hopefully, we'll have a chance to do that during your meeting with the president."
I nodded, "Good news all around then, I guess." A thought occurred, "And who is president at the moment?"
Surprise flickered across his face, "You… don't know?"
A shrug, "I haven't asked."
Marika stared at me, "…My god you're terrible at this, sir."
I made to respond to the jab but before I could, Grant was already speaking. "The previous president was assassinated several months ago, so you will be speaking with his immediate replacement."
"Alright…" I frowned, "Just give me a quick rundown. Who was the last guy, what exactly happened to him, and who's his replacement?"
Grant frowned, "The previous president was our nineteenth, Clement Vallandigham. He gained popularity in the polls following significant Union casualties in the battle for Copper Hill, but lost popularity following his declared intent to break the country into four sections and increase the presidential term to six years from four." I had no idea who that was or what that was. Fucking alternate histories… "After being shot from a balcony and killed from the fall, his Vice President took the stage. The man is actually very young, twenty-four to be precise. There was controversy about his age, but he handled the recent New York market crash exceedingly well and he's doing a remarkable job in the polls so far."
"Just give me a name."
"Well, before he was officially put in office on February the fourteenth, he was Conrad "The Comedian" Vantino for his supposed sense of humor." She pulled a rolled up newspaper out and passed it to me, "After becoming president, he ran with that and changed his name."
I frowned, unfurling the paper in question and nearly dropped the thing in shock. The headline, the picture, everything about it made sense but clearly didn't. The universe was still here, wasn't it? So why was this happening? How was this possible? Everything had to be erased for him to exist, unless this was just the problem with alternate realities… I had no words, because there were no words to say.
My eye rolled across the top of the paper once more, still wide in shock and awe.
-x-
One Foot on the Platform
OR: One Foot on the Train
End-206
-x-
"When we get there, I'm expecting a greeting," my voice was the only one in the caboose, "I need you three to be on your best behavior," I was wagging my finger at the young Exorcists. They glared at me as though I'd spoken some sort of profound and profane offense. "And Marika…" I gave her a thumbs-up, "Keep being you."
"Of course, sir." She nodded.
"Another thing, before I forget…" I'd been keeping a chipper tone for the most part, indulging in mock seriousness. Though I was expecting a large crowd waiting for me, I didn't think it would be that hard to deal with. I'd faced the worst in people… mostly… I could deal with a crowd of northerners agitated at my plan and presence. "What, ah," I paused, "What have the Knights been doing?"
Marika blinked, surprised. Then her face evolved into an expression of abject shock. "You… you can't hear us?" she paled, "I see… that explains a lot, actually."
"So there was a communication problem," Daisya snorted, "What about it?"
"You don't understand," she was quick to correct him. "Just as the Earl is connected to every Akuma he makes, my Grand King is connected to all his Knights. When we stopped receiving signals from him, we assumed he was either unconscious or…"
"Dead?" I asked, "Deceased? Decaying? Some other miscellaneous "D" word that means I wasn't among the living?" Hesitantly, Marika nodded. "Well, in that case, reports of my death have been… Well, technically, I'm part-dead from a certain point of view, but still. I am alive." I was just a little fuzzy on what the rules were for someone who primarily used abilities that belonged in the hands of creatures from the afterlife.
"Technically," Noise raised an eyebrow in my general direction.
"Exactly; I'm glad you understand!" I clapped my hands for him.
He frowned, "I really don't."
"That's okay, too!" I laughed, "Because I have no idea, either!" Another bout of false cheer, another painfully forced chuckle, and I suddenly slouched and rested my head in one palm. "…Fuck." Mood swings were, in many ways, a semi-alien concept to me. I was used to feeling very consistent throughout most of my journey. If I felt happy, I'd feel happy for a good long while unless something interrupted that. If I was sad, then I'd be fucking depressed.
I considered asking Medusa if the seal on my soul was starting to affect my emotional state before deciding otherwise. If I started getting royally pissed off at minor things, then I'd ask for some direct help with that. For now, I didn't want to bother her with something that I felt I could handle myself. Feeling happiness or sadness was perfectly natural and I knew how to cope with both.
At the moment, it was just another little thing I had to get used to – no different than being a jackal-fawk-human chimera thing, or a homunculus, or a host of the Ghost Rider, or… well, I'd gotten used to bigger things by now was the point. So, with a deep breath, I forced myself to think deeply about the situation at hand.
My Knights could not communicate with me. Until now, I'd been thinking about this from the perspective of their leader. But from the perspective of my Knights, what had happened? The individual who served as their rock had disappeared for several hours, during which they had no idea if he was dead or alive. The general consensus must have been stress, probably terror.
"Okay, Marika," I looked to her, "Until physical channels of communication can be established," phones, probably – telegraph machines, maybe, "Or until another Knight shows up, you get to be my main means of communication with everyone."
She nodded, "Understood, sir. I will do my best to convey any important messages you have, sir."
"Great. Because I need you to convey an order for me," and the sooner this order was worked with, the better. We were a few hours away from our destination. Hopefully, someone would be able to respond in that time. "And one more thing," before I forgot, "How are the kids doing? Danny? Sam? Tuck?"
"…The King's Disciples?" What. No. Stop.
"Please don't call them that."
"It would be wrong not to, as they in many ways act as your children–"
"What an interesting line of thought please tell me how they're doing." My voice was a high monotone, my eye wide, and my smile plastered onto my face. "That's all I ask."
Marika nodded, "Yes, sir. Danny has recently shown signs of an improved condition," oh thank god, "Tucker is currently pushing for rights reforms – last night, a pair of Knights intercepted a trio of hooded men aiming to harm him," oh what the fuck, "Sam and Jazz's aqueduct and gardening project is currently proceeding on schedule. Will that be all, sir?"
"…Yeah. All that's left is the order," I regarded the three Exorcists, "If you want, you can go up a few cars and see how everyone else on the train is doing. You don't need to stay back here and, uh, they're probably serving lunch." It was a not-so-subtle way of telling them to screw off for a short while.
Noise took the hint, nudging Daisya as he slowly stepped out of the caboose. "Right, right," Daisya waved at me as he stepped out, "Just don't blow up the train, alright Mister Poe?" I gave no promises. Kanda glared at me even as he exited – what a little bundle of perpetual scorn.
My head turned away from the door, "Well then, today's knightly order is as follows…"
-x-
The day was slightly overcast in Washington D.C. when we finally arrived. This, I thought, was the capital of the United States. This was the center of the Union, the norther half of the country that fought and won at great cost… It was both good and bad to see how universal constants applied here, because even in a world a century in the past and several universes away, this place looked like shit.
But it was mildly entertaining shit as, with great fanfare, the doors on the side of the passenger car of the Pineapple Express opened. One by one, the civilians stepped out. Each of them represented various companies or former territories and states, each had a case to plead, and they had all come representing their people. This was as much their moment as it was mine. It would have been wrong not to let them off first.
When I finally stepped outside, Marika right ahead of me, it was to a scene of chaos. It appeared that the universal constants of Washington D.C. included an angry mob of protestors. On either side of the station and even on the platform, civilians waving picket signs were held back by lines of policemen and soldiers.
My ear twitched and I could hear someone picking up a rock to throw it before they had a chance to. Thankfully, someone right behind him nudged his back just so and screwed up his balance. As he tumbled and swore, it was like watching dominos take effect. And the people who fell just stood and started shouting at each other.
The situation was dissolving too quickly for my tastes. So, I did the only thing I could. The crowd of people was shouting too loud for me to be heard… well, then I'd just have to catch their attention. Normally, I'd consider just jumping on top of the station and manipulating sound to shout at everyone beneath me… but since my injuries made that mostly impossible, I settled for a different approach.
I reached into my fannypack of holding and pulled out my Amestrian standard flare gun. Pointing up, I pulled the trigger. There was a loud, high pitched whine and the sound of chemistry hissing to life as a crimson flare shot high above me. Smoke fell from the top barrel, drifting all around me before being blown to the side. The crowd was silent.
And then I realized that I'd just fired a gun in the middle of a crowd of furious protestors. "Ars," I heard Medusa speak to me, "Why?" I had no response. "Why…" her palm collided with her face, "That… why would you do that?!"
Before I could speak, someone shouted on one side as someone on the opposite side threw a rock at me. The police here were stretched too thin to protect everyone and, before I could try speaking the people started shouting and charging. The line of officers and soldiers barely held as several troops started rushing from the center of the platform up.
Men and women in uniform covered dignitaries with their own bodies where necessary. They couldn't afford another war, and letting these people come to harm would only ensure it happened. One woman in particular, dressed in the uniform of the Pinkertons and wearing a long coat above that, moved past startled police and soldiers like it was second nature to her.
"Grand King Poe?" she addressed me as a brick flew just behind her head, "Please come with me."
I wasn't about to say no.
-x-
This was not the rattiest hotel in the capital. It was actually pretty nice. My only objection was that some prick on the second floor had fucked up the entire building's rudimentary plumbing. So if I wanted to go to the bathroom, I'd have to walk across the street and ask if the restaurant allowed a non-paying customer to use the facilities. I wasn't optimistic about the answer.
Not to mention the fact that the mob had moved from the station to forming outside the hotel. The police were breaking it up, but that was to minimal success. At least my room number hadn't been leaked.
And the food was good! Some of the best chicken I'd had in weeks was on the plate in front of me and I wasn't about to let it go uneaten. Munching on it happily, I wondered where Tiedoll's disciples had gone. I hadn't seen the Exorcists since we'd been separated in the crowd that formed much earlier, but I was fairly confident they'd find their way here.
From across the table, the Pinkerton woman calmly sipped a mug of coffee while Marika sat to my left. The right seat of the square table was empty – the guest who should have been sitting in it, a guard with a stern look on his face, was standing at attention next to the nearest door.
With our departure, the crowd outside, on, and around the station slowly dispersed. Agents of the U.S. government were able to directly confirm that I'd brought the gold. The thing that was taking them the most time was assessing the value of the gold, its purity, and the sheer amount… but I was fairly confident that I'd upheld my end of the tentative bargain. Just bringing this much should have been enough.
Until all those details were confirmed, though, we'd be stuck with tall, dark, and angry. "Don't mind him," the woman said, "He's my partner." Another sip of the coffee and she put down the mug. "So… Grand King Poe, why haven't you contacted us?"
"Huh?" I stared, "You're a Knight?" My eye went wide as I looked to Marika, "How is there a Knight this far north?" Weren't they mostly constrained to the former Confederacy at the moment? For their influence to have spread so far seemed almost impossible to me… actually, no, I could see it. Assuming they spread their numbers in just the right way, it was doable. But in this time frame it still struck me as a surprise.
"Your ability transfers," Marika explained helpfully. "Sir."
"My…" Konso. Konso transfers to Knights. I think I already knew that, but hearing it from her made it seem all too real. Of course they were able to reach so far north, they were converting Akuma as they went and spreading ever-faster as a result. I could only imagine how infuriated the Earl must have been to know that so many of his Akuma were being saved from his service. It almost brought a smile to my face. There was, however, one last detail. "What about the, uh, the last cry?"
Marika seemed confused at first, but understanding quickly dawned on her. "That? Most of the time, Akuma frequent areas that are either full of people or areas where there are very few people. In the former case, we can spot them and draw them away from crowds. In the latter, we act. There have been more rumors about banshees throughout the area since we've been doing this, but…"
I nodded, "Ah, I see. Anything else?"
"Knights such as me have the same ability to convert Akuma into Knights that you do," the Pinkerton agent explained. "And while the Knights we create are not initially as strong as the Knights you create, they slowly grow into their power over time."
I nodded, "Well that's good to know. But, uh, why didn't I know about all of that?"
"You weren't thinking about it," Marika provided yet another answer, "And, with all due respect sir, you are awful at multitasking and micromanaging." I frowned, "Absolutely awful." My frown deepened, "Complete trash."
"Is this for the hair comment?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir." Her smile was the picture of sweetness.
My eye twitched. "Well…" I breathed, "On that note… the meeting with the president is officially tomorrow! So, before I head in, miss…?" I looked to the Pinkerton Knight. She frowned, looking away embarrassedly.
"Grant Knightley." She said to me, "And I am a man."
Absolute silence. My eye slowly went down to her chest. "Uh…" my eye went up again. "You sure about that?"
Her blush intensified, "I assure you, I am a man."
"See," my tongue clicked, "That, ah… I'm not about to criticize your life decisions, it's just…"
"I didn't make this choice. I am a man. That is who I am," her blush reached an apex, "And stop staring at my chest you sick fuck." Her glare could have eroded holes in mountains. I just shrugged it off. Olivier was scarier.
But since there was no point to further infuriating her, I just let it be. Raising my hands to placate her – him – I adopted a calming tone, "Fine, fine," and tried changing the subject, "Are there any politicians who'll be present I should be wary of?"
Her – his – blush faded as Grant pulled out a list. "Several; you can look over this yourself when you have the time, but most notably we have reason to believe the governor of Texas will be here by tomorrow with a small envoy of bodyguards."
"Oh. That guy," I sighed, "You haven't, uh," I made a rough gesture with my hands. "You know, done the thing?"
"We haven't been able to get close enough to perform Konso, no. Hopefully, we'll have a chance to do that during your meeting with the president."
I nodded, "Good news all around then, I guess." A thought occurred, "And who is president at the moment?"
Surprise flickered across his face, "You… don't know?"
A shrug, "I haven't asked."
Marika stared at me, "…My god you're terrible at this, sir."
I made to respond to the jab but before I could, Grant was already speaking. "The previous president was assassinated several months ago, so you will be speaking with his immediate replacement."
"Alright…" I frowned, "Just give me a quick rundown. Who was the last guy, what exactly happened to him, and who's his replacement?"
Grant frowned, "The previous president was our nineteenth, Clement Vallandigham. He gained popularity in the polls following significant Union casualties in the battle for Copper Hill, but lost popularity following his declared intent to break the country into four sections and increase the presidential term to six years from four." I had no idea who that was or what that was. Fucking alternate histories… "After being shot from a balcony and killed from the fall, his Vice President took the stage. The man is actually very young, twenty-four to be precise. There was controversy about his age, but he handled the recent New York market crash exceedingly well and he's doing a remarkable job in the polls so far."
"Just give me a name."
"Well, before he was officially put in office on February the fourteenth, he was Conrad "The Comedian" Vantino for his supposed sense of humor." She pulled a rolled up newspaper out and passed it to me, "After becoming president, he ran with that and changed his name."
I frowned, unfurling the paper in question and nearly dropped the thing in shock. The headline, the picture, everything about it made sense but clearly didn't. The universe was still here, wasn't it? So why was this happening? How was this possible? Everything had to be erased for him to exist, unless this was just the problem with alternate realities… I had no words, because there were no words to say.
My eye rolled across the top of the paper once more, still wide in shock and awe.
FUNNY VALENTINE, YOUNGEST PRESIDENT OF OUR UNION!
CAN HE HOLD US TOGETHER OR WILL WE FALL APART?
CAN HE HOLD US TOGETHER OR WILL WE FALL APART?
-x-
One Foot on the Platform
OR: One Foot on the Train
End-206
Last edited:
Krazyfan1
Worrying for the future.
- Location
- Australia
well..
Appearance
D4C has a humanoid form with large, upright horns that somewhat resemble the ears of a leporid; a masked mandible, and a light body, lined by an almost unbroken seam or trim. Under its brow, its eyes appear to emote a cold gaze.
After a late encounter[1] with Gyro Zeppeli, along with Valentine, D4C's appearance changes drastically, losing a layer of its garb/armor/covering, including its horns. Even after Valentine recovers his health, D4C keeps its new form.
Personality
D4C expresses no particular personality. However, representing Valentine's spirit across all dimensions, passing between a number of his bodies and linking each to the "root world" of the Corpse, D4C's abilities lend it peculiar depth.
Abilities
D4C is among the most powerful Stands in existence (next to Enrico Pucci's Made in Heaven and Giorno Giovanna's Gold Experience Requiem). In its default form, it is a close-range Stand with above-average strength and speed. Although still exploring its full potential, Valentine is adept and creative with its powers.
Dimension Hop
Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap allows different parallel worlds/dimensions to co-exist at the same time and/or in the same place. It also allows its user to visit these parallel worlds/dimensions and interact with them. Valentine travels by being closed between two objects, shown first by the use of a door against a wall. Liquid materials, such as water count as objects as well, and even dust or steam.
Valentine can also pull other people or items to other dimensions by forcing them between two objects. Valentine usually performs the latter by slamming a door on them while they are backed against a wall. However, as no two versions of the same person or thing can co-exist in the same dimension, one of them will have to go back into their own. If not, and if they get too close to one another, both will crumble, splitting into Menger sponges before obliteration. This rule does not apply to Valentine himself.
If Funny Valentine becomes injured, he can hop into another dimension and seemingly move his consciousness to the body of that dimension's Funny Valentine. Each dimension's new Valentine seems completely knowledgeable of the previous Valentine's situation or predicament if, for example, in the midst of a desperate battle. D4C might also have a mind of its own as it changes hosts, as a former Valentine host may not realize D4C has switched to a new Valentine. Hopping to a new Valentine, however, nullifies any wounds, making him nearly invincible, since the only way to truly defeat him is to kill him with one blow. Furthermore, he can summon any number of alternate selves to a target dimension in order to outnumber his opponents. These Valentines do not have D4C's of their own however, this Stand seemingly being wholly unique to the 'Root World', the single universe where the Corpse resides.
Love Train
An ability given to Valentine by Lucy's Stand. Her body generates a gap in space that sends misfortune elsewhere, leaving only good fortune. Using D4C, Valentine can enter this space, causing any attack aimed at him to be directed at someone else across the globe. This makes Valentine effectively invincible. It apparently allows him to easily travel along the ground, shown when he pursues Johnny and Gyro under the train tracks, and across a grassy field. Due to Lucy's Stand's ability, objects continuously move closer to her, including trees, signs, and even the oceans. These shifts in position seem to favor Valentine.
Besides being invincible to attacks while within the gap in space, D4C can make even its most insignificant attacks fatal. Any wound would rise up the body and eventually reach a vital spot before dealing damage. A scratch or bite on the finger can become a scratch on the heart.
This ability can only be used a certain distance from Lucy, so if she is moved, then he is forcibly pulled with her. However, gravity is constant for Valentine when he travels between dimensions, making it a power capable of travelling with Valentine that can affect him inside the gap.[2] This keeps him from breaking into pieces and becoming scattered across the different worlds. This power over gravity seems to be utilized by Gyro and Johnny when using the Super Spin.
D4C has a humanoid form with large, upright horns that somewhat resemble the ears of a leporid; a masked mandible, and a light body, lined by an almost unbroken seam or trim. Under its brow, its eyes appear to emote a cold gaze.
After a late encounter[1] with Gyro Zeppeli, along with Valentine, D4C's appearance changes drastically, losing a layer of its garb/armor/covering, including its horns. Even after Valentine recovers his health, D4C keeps its new form.
Personality
D4C expresses no particular personality. However, representing Valentine's spirit across all dimensions, passing between a number of his bodies and linking each to the "root world" of the Corpse, D4C's abilities lend it peculiar depth.
Abilities
D4C is among the most powerful Stands in existence (next to Enrico Pucci's Made in Heaven and Giorno Giovanna's Gold Experience Requiem). In its default form, it is a close-range Stand with above-average strength and speed. Although still exploring its full potential, Valentine is adept and creative with its powers.
Dimension Hop
Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap allows different parallel worlds/dimensions to co-exist at the same time and/or in the same place. It also allows its user to visit these parallel worlds/dimensions and interact with them. Valentine travels by being closed between two objects, shown first by the use of a door against a wall. Liquid materials, such as water count as objects as well, and even dust or steam.
Valentine can also pull other people or items to other dimensions by forcing them between two objects. Valentine usually performs the latter by slamming a door on them while they are backed against a wall. However, as no two versions of the same person or thing can co-exist in the same dimension, one of them will have to go back into their own. If not, and if they get too close to one another, both will crumble, splitting into Menger sponges before obliteration. This rule does not apply to Valentine himself.
If Funny Valentine becomes injured, he can hop into another dimension and seemingly move his consciousness to the body of that dimension's Funny Valentine. Each dimension's new Valentine seems completely knowledgeable of the previous Valentine's situation or predicament if, for example, in the midst of a desperate battle. D4C might also have a mind of its own as it changes hosts, as a former Valentine host may not realize D4C has switched to a new Valentine. Hopping to a new Valentine, however, nullifies any wounds, making him nearly invincible, since the only way to truly defeat him is to kill him with one blow. Furthermore, he can summon any number of alternate selves to a target dimension in order to outnumber his opponents. These Valentines do not have D4C's of their own however, this Stand seemingly being wholly unique to the 'Root World', the single universe where the Corpse resides.
Love Train
An ability given to Valentine by Lucy's Stand. Her body generates a gap in space that sends misfortune elsewhere, leaving only good fortune. Using D4C, Valentine can enter this space, causing any attack aimed at him to be directed at someone else across the globe. This makes Valentine effectively invincible. It apparently allows him to easily travel along the ground, shown when he pursues Johnny and Gyro under the train tracks, and across a grassy field. Due to Lucy's Stand's ability, objects continuously move closer to her, including trees, signs, and even the oceans. These shifts in position seem to favor Valentine.
Besides being invincible to attacks while within the gap in space, D4C can make even its most insignificant attacks fatal. Any wound would rise up the body and eventually reach a vital spot before dealing damage. A scratch or bite on the finger can become a scratch on the heart.
This ability can only be used a certain distance from Lucy, so if she is moved, then he is forcibly pulled with her. However, gravity is constant for Valentine when he travels between dimensions, making it a power capable of travelling with Valentine that can affect him inside the gap.[2] This keeps him from breaking into pieces and becoming scattered across the different worlds. This power over gravity seems to be utilized by Gyro and Johnny when using the Super Spin.
Last edited: