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originally posted in:The New Dojo
1/28/2018 6:49:39 AM
15
[b][u]A Man On A Bench | Dojoville[/u][/b]
[spoiler]Open for simple interaction, don't expect anything too crazy I guess. This post has ambiguous details for a reason, so I can use whichever character of mine I feel could use more development.[/spoiler]
There was a man on a bench who was waiting.
He was expecting something to happen. After all, the place around him was abuzz with life. The Dojo, as he came to discover, saturated itself with all sorts of events and happenings. Their infamous duels ranged from simple sparring matches, to spectacles in VR, to deities some would even consider gods creating another landmass with their scuffle.
Not that he believed in gods or God in the first place. He had other things that demanded his attention over faith.
Raising his forearm, he looked at his watch. It had only been a few minutes since he sat down, and he still maintained his peace. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was up for debate.
After all, with such an abundant amount of events, anything could happen to him. At least, that's what he was told by his acquaintance at the Cleaners.
So there he sat. And there he waited.
English
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A few more minutes had passed and soon enough he had gotten a visitor. Unlike most inhabitants of the Dojo, he seemed relatively normal enough. A finely dressed man in a sharp, 3-piece suit that had been recently pressed. It was the color of cream, with a matching shirt and trousers held up by a brown leather belt. His hair was a platinum blonde, let loose to the collar of his shirt, parted from his face which showed off his stark blue eyes. The only strange part was the burnt skin that occasionally peeked out from the left sleeve of the suit. He seemed composed, a sense of peace within him. A rarity for those who knew the man personally. The man had decided to sit at the bench with the other man, almost ignoring his being as he thought about something.
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"Sharp suit, blondie, not looking like he's strapped seven ways to Sunday..." The man gave a sardonic chuckle. "Looks like you're the guy. When kings die," While he lowered his voice slightly, it was surprising to see someone who initiated the Valravyn salutation so openly. It seemed like he didn't care too much for discretion. He waited for Sam to finish the code phrase. While he loathed the need for secrecy, it was protocol, and he didn't need base getting on his ass again for "unauthorized contact" or whatever they came up with. He was a simpler man, cut straight and simple. He got his job done. A comfortable aviator jacket covered most of his body, with normal fitted jeans that gave his legs some flexibility. Slate grey eyes peered back at Sam, carved between sun-weathered skin; the trademark of an outdoorsman. He didn't seem too old, maybe approaching his mid-thirties or so.
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Samuel had faltered for a second, though it felt like minutes to him before giving a response. A hushed one at that. "Ravens rise." He was not expecting anyone to arrive to Tatakai besides the already known Hawkwind, which he had been briefed on. His eyes looked towards the man, curious on what was going to happen. Clasping his hands together as he asked the man his question. "So tell me, what brings you to this сеsspit of hatred and violence?"
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Samuel was met with an amused expression. "Cesspit? Right on that. Hatred? Eh, folk 'round here seem too caught up in their own shit to actually hate. But violence?" Another mean laugh. "Boy oh boy, this place is chock-full of that. Militaries unregulated and stacked here by the dozen, people doing whatever they want... this place is a boiling pot. And whatever asshole is in charge around here forgot to take off the lid." He patted the tactical holster that was strapped around his body. There was a slightly curved sheathe that looked like a machete's housing, although no handle protruded from it. Only a decently thick metal ring. "Arioch Blaine. I already know who you are, so no need to worry about being polite. After all, we're in the rudest place imaginable. Perfect for someone like me." Another anomaly in habit. He lacked the passionate hatred of most of Farcon's men in his tone when he talked about the Dojo.
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Edited by Obi-Emp Kenobi: 1/30/2018 8:05:50 AM"Hatred and Violence go hand and hand here. Not too long ago a bounty was posted for one of the more...undesirable people here, not to mention the countless witch hunts in the past. The Dojo has no leader, the only thing closest are 'Sensei's'. A title that is meaningless once you actually encounter them, seeing how none of them could probably teach you or I a thing. Although I feel as if those Trayvens or whoever I was told threaten that leaderless system. The only true way to describe this place is chaos incarnate." He told Arioch with honesty, something that was rare nowadays. Samuel was numbed to it all, something that assisted in his operations on Tatakai compared to those who were new. He held his own hatred for the Dojo, having witnessed the ugly truth about it one too many times. Unlike Arioch he lacked any sort of holster or sheathe that was visible, perhaps he either hidden a weapon very carefully on him or he was skilled enough to handle dojoites. "Judging by what you said it seemed you were expecting me, may I ask what it is?"
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"Boredom. Curiosity. Take your pick, and don't worry, I don't mean either in the context of a live autopsy." There was something else curious about Arioch. He wore a scarf over his lower jaw, its ends neatly tucked into the lapels of his jacket. It looked simple enough, but anyone could see the colours that shifted in changed within it, like a Rorschach diagram. The inky shapes eventually took the form of a sinister demonic curve, giving him a devilish smile. His voice was different as well. It had a hint of a synthetic rasp, like he wore a mask or a respirator beneath the length of scarf. "I suppose you're right about the Dojo," he grunted, "but I guess there's always benefits to chaos. I can fight whoever I want whenever I want in a place like this. An entire city of people like me. Broken crazies looking to kill each other."
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A woman walked by him then, not long after he had been sitting. She was tall, above average, maybe 6"3 by guess. A towering height that was accented by a curved body, the right hourglass proportions to go with her. She had shirt cut hair, slightly messy as a brown mess that reached down to her neck. Although he mostly got a good view from her backside, he did see she had a revolver in a holster on her hip, a bull barrel and a molded grip on it. The rifle in its holster on her back was larger than normal proportions, a nice sheen oak wood used for its body, black metal for the rest. It was a lever action, a sleeker design with a beefed up chamber.
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Deciding that he would be the creator of his own event today, the man looked up and signalled over to the woman. In his waiting, his mind had set to work once more, raising a matter that he decided he needed another's opinion on. "You there, miss!" he called to the passing woman. He looked relatively aged, perhaps around his early thirties. With tanned skin and short, slightly unkept hair, the man didn't look too distinguishable in terms of looks. His gear was a far cry from outlandish as well - typical civilian clothing with an outdoorsman's coat.
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The woman turned around, having jeans and a winter fur coat on. Although her appearance was a sharp contrast to his, slightly tanned skin, cat-like eyes colored a burning, brilliant orange, and oddly enough, a few small and mostly see through scaled on her jaw line. They where in two small clusters lining the back ridge of her jaw, hardly noticeable in the current lighting. Peculiar. She spoke however, snapping him back to reality. "Yeah, what is it?"
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He quickly jogged up to her, keeping decent pace for someone who just leapt off a bench. "I have a question, if you don't mind me asking. It's on a topic I recently just learned of, and the fact of its matter really only struck me today. Would it be any trouble to ask you about it? You seem like enjoyable company." The stranger spoke very matter-of-factly, as if he was just one British accent away from sounding like Dr. Who.
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She gave him a quizzical look then, Rose wasn't one to get involved in ordeals she didn't know, but maybe just this one exception. He seemed nice enough after all. "Sure, whatya need to ask?"
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"Roko's Basilisk," he began, "have you ever heard it? I don't expect much people outside the community it was discovered in to know about it." He kept pace with the slightly-scaled woman, talking as he walked through the Dojo with her. Someone capable of multitasking at the very minimum.
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"No, haven't heard of it. What about it?" What was the thing? She didn't know, as she slowed her pace to allow him to keep up, lost in thought a bit.
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"Well -" he began, but cut himself off soon after, "my apologies, but I must warn you that what I might tell you may put you in danger. It is quite literally a dangerous idea. I suppose I am already in danger with my knowledge of it, but if you refuse, I will understand." A dangerous idea? What did that mean? The intellectual civilian seemed quite sure of what he was saying, including warning the woman before speaking to her further.
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"I've been in a lot of danger before, I can handle it." She let out a sigh, since sadly it was true.
