vivalaopenpost (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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bakerstreet2016-08-22 01:27 pm
vivalaopenpost) wrote in bakerstreet2016-08-22 01:27 pm
[She's perfect for the role of needing a guard, but I'd be up for her being the guard too.]
[ He is weak and helpless doctor--]
[OOC: More than likely the one being protected. No smut.]
Edited 2016-08-22 19:09 (UTC)
(OOC: protected)
[Likely to be the one guarded, unless they're with a monster.]
[ I mean, if you need protection from spirits, she's your girl, but otherwise, probably the protected party. ]
He didn't fight like a vampire would.
As a rule, vampires shaped by the Masquerade favored an awe-inspiring burst of speed. A burst of speed that pulls the air out of one's lungs. A glinting blade pressed against soft skin. A heavy, violating grip on one's mind, much like an ice-cold spike driven into the brain. The sort of clean and orderly violence worthy of a career criminal. A show of power and an effort to cement one's reputation among the clans above all else.
The group who corner them on a dark street are no different. Flashy posturing. Harsh words. Nasty laughter. More thugs than monsters from old fairy tales. No doubt a cadre sent by the local Prince, an attempt to intimidate the Council's diplomat into making decisions in their favor. A gruesomely flashy display.
In a fit of arrogance befitting his kind, Aether's sword never leaves the sheath. Its tip meets the largest opponent's solar plexus at the speed of sound, lifting him several feet into the air with a strange sound of a body breaking far too quickly. A backhanded swing to the skull of another target follows. Simple, efficient moves gathered from a hundred cultures across two thousand years, woven together into an art and reinforced by a vampire's natural abilities. A contemplative take on the title of a No Life King.
The fight lasts less than a minute. By the time it ends, Aether is covered in enough blood to make one wonder whether any of it is his own, Liling is decorated with a couple splashes sent by blows that went out of control, and the street itself looks a touch darker, its shadows more rigid and skewed out of place ever since a clawed arm reached out of the dark corner in order to intercept a vampire who attempted to go straight for the mage.
"That was unfortunate." Aether flexes his wrist with enough force to shake the blood off his still sheathed sword, only to return it to his belt--to a spot that could make one wonder how he wasn't yet arrested for carrying weapons. "Are you all right, Firebird?"
[ooc: So with me having vanished on you again, I decided to politely apologize in a tangible way. Brace yourself for a gentle WoD-related tag bomb?]
As a rule, vampires shaped by the Masquerade favored an awe-inspiring burst of speed. A burst of speed that pulls the air out of one's lungs. A glinting blade pressed against soft skin. A heavy, violating grip on one's mind, much like an ice-cold spike driven into the brain. The sort of clean and orderly violence worthy of a career criminal. A show of power and an effort to cement one's reputation among the clans above all else.
The group who corner them on a dark street are no different. Flashy posturing. Harsh words. Nasty laughter. More thugs than monsters from old fairy tales. No doubt a cadre sent by the local Prince, an attempt to intimidate the Council's diplomat into making decisions in their favor. A gruesomely flashy display.
In a fit of arrogance befitting his kind, Aether's sword never leaves the sheath. Its tip meets the largest opponent's solar plexus at the speed of sound, lifting him several feet into the air with a strange sound of a body breaking far too quickly. A backhanded swing to the skull of another target follows. Simple, efficient moves gathered from a hundred cultures across two thousand years, woven together into an art and reinforced by a vampire's natural abilities. A contemplative take on the title of a No Life King.
The fight lasts less than a minute. By the time it ends, Aether is covered in enough blood to make one wonder whether any of it is his own, Liling is decorated with a couple splashes sent by blows that went out of control, and the street itself looks a touch darker, its shadows more rigid and skewed out of place ever since a clawed arm reached out of the dark corner in order to intercept a vampire who attempted to go straight for the mage.
"That was unfortunate." Aether flexes his wrist with enough force to shake the blood off his still sheathed sword, only to return it to his belt--to a spot that could make one wonder how he wasn't yet arrested for carrying weapons. "Are you all right, Firebird?"
[ooc: So with me having vanished on you again, I decided to politely apologize in a tangible way. Brace yourself for a gentle WoD-related tag bomb?]
{ The guard, but of course. }
(OOC: I find it amusing that she would be the protected one)
[Definitely the guarded. Unless it's against a puzzle, of some sort.]
[ can be either--a quiet and doting bodyguard or a kind of bratty guarded. ]
[The protected, although she secretly doesn't need it. Has some healing ability, if you want to go after-protection patch-up angle.]
[Care for a stubborn, reckless street punk who gets stuck in Gensokyo and decides to repay Byakuren's kindnessto him by appointing himself as her unceasingly loyal bodyguard? Comes with a nearly bottomless supply of URT and sincere but badly-failed attempts to conceal his attraction, if left to his own devices!]
( ooc: during the pied piper incident. )
[Either/Or really]
[open to either role.]
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