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DoctorRed, looking for Patients! (M/F) (UrbanFantasy)

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DoctorRed

Moon
Joined
Feb 1, 2011
Have a seat, let's take your temperature.


Hey there. I'm DoctorRed, if you didn't notice, and I would love to collect more and more role-plays, obviously. There are things that I love very much and, unfortunately, there are things that I very much do not love, as with all people but as I'm rubbish at both Request Threads and at figuring out what I want completely, I'll try not to waste your time too much. This is really just mindless prattle. The list down there is what you're looking for, if you haven't already scrolled past this. I don't blame you, I do it all the time.


Say 'Ahhhhhhh~'
Things that I will probably be all for.

-I like new and different things, There's nothing I won't try once, and nothing I'm going to absolutely dismissed if it's detrimental to being a partner to someone. I'll try to give some leeway but I expect that it be done for me as well.

-I enjoy romance,and the squishy, messy parts, and I'm not going to fuss that something seems unrealistic or out of place. I'll let you have your fun, but if we make a plot, keep to it, don't discard it for sexy-time. It will ruin my opinion of you, completely. I'd rather have a smut role-play alongside a literate and coherent one to placate someone than derail a role-play for something like that.

-Science Fiction stuff is a guilty pleasure of mine, I really do enjoy that. But seriously.

-If you have something you want to play and you haven't been able to find someone to fulfill; Ask me. I'm sure I'll consider it, so long as it's not something I find uninteresting, and the worst I can say is 'no'. And I rarely do that, either. I'm much more likely to try and convince you to modify it and play it with you, so don't worry too much about it. Honestly, just ask.

Don't Put That In Your Mouth
Seriously. Stop that Shit.
-One-Liners

-Dropping without saying anything. Seriously, I'd tell you.

-I don't really get interested in much of the fan-bases. This is something I'm willing to budge on, but you'd have to really get my jimmies rustled for it. I'm just not nuts about that kind of thing, to be honest.

"Take Two of These ...And Call Me Next Week."

In conclusion, just ask. I'd be delighted to hear it, and if I know someone who would fit the bill better, I'll let you and that person know. If I want it, you'll be the first to know, and we'll talk more about it. Message away, I'm never too busy to talk even if it's about little things. I'm up for anything and looking for everything. When you do message me, which, if you've read this far and not skipped to the samples below, you must be considering, try to save yourself a message; Link me to a sample you want me to see. I'm certainly going to look for them, in your post history, which I wholly expect to see from you as well. Please and thank-you~. <3



AS A REMINDER

These samples below are just favorites, they're not my regular/average posts at all. Don't be intimidated by the length or anything, it's not the standard I want to set, it's just some samples of writing. Some of them aren't even posts, so, yeah!

Please contact me, if you're interested, I'm really easygoing. <3




I'll add some samples and some things I'm looking for in a moment~! <3

Wake up,

Live again, and Discover, Captain Aeron

The dead man stuttered back to life, and it was one of the most painful acts he had ever forced upon his body, more painful ever than there had been, greater than the loss of his left eye and arm, and more so than he could have fathomed the mechanized implants had ever cost his psyche. The man felt his heart shiver with electricity as probes lit the thing up, causing it to quiver and thunder in his ears. Blood started to work, and his lungs, previously empty gasped for air, pulling it down greedily from the fixture over his mouth and nose. The nodes that connected to his body rolled about, their whirring mechanisms working to activate his muscles and body, rousing him from his slumber, bringing his dead body back to life. He opened his right eye to the watery coffin that he'd slept in for what must have been a few years, at least. He never knew. There were ways of knowing, to calculate how old, chronologically, his body truly was, but what did it matter? The world, System, Galaxy and Universe were what you made of them, right?

The fluid in the clear prison he'd placed himself in was draining to his feet, the water He shivered, the newly flowing blood and steady stream of nutrients he was being fed chilled him, but this wasn't his first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He was just going to have to endure it, and learn to handle it. He eyed the console before him blearily in the dark, his eye adjusting slowly to read. He looked at the planet patiently, reading across the description and noting different facts about it. It could have passed for a drunkenly rendered Earth, as far as he could have told anyone, since he'd never seen it, but he supposed it must be similar. Green brown and blue. Whitish clouds. The climates seemed akin to earth in ways, but it was hotter, to some degree. It was good that things were measured in relative ratings as a sidebar, but sometimes he pondered the wisdom in that. Most of the humans had never seen earth when they were awake. Returning meant little, as there was nothing left to be seen. What purpose was there in going to an empty spot in a forgotten solar system? It was just a heap of crust left, the bread gone for centuries.

Their home, long discarded, the humans had taken everything they could, which amounted to a considerable achievement. When the world ended, billions of humans entered into the mass exodus from their home and sought refuge in the stars, their planet dying under their feet rapidly. So they had formed a new system, a method of finding new homes by telescopes and sending the Seeds out to attempt to analyze and cultivate land far away. It took many years, but the human race had a confidence that few could deny in their theories and philosophies. By using the Theory of Relativity, they were able to assume that somewhere out there, the conditions existed/could be created/ would one day occur to make a second earth, another Terra where they could live freely as before.

Seeds were ships designed to begin a new world. A colonies worth of near-inexhaustible, easily amassed energy that would make the trip out to vast reaches, though time often stood in the way of expedited discoveries. As far as the man knew, the Seed was to accomplish his mission, and nothing could be a more sure sign to him than the lone planet he could see, with it's multiple moons circling lazily around it.

Discover.
Explore.
Sample.
Analyze.
Peace.
Cultivate.
Plant Seeds.
Grow.​

Seven simple steps. He hardly needed implants to bear them in mind, or know that they were his ture objective, in everything he did. The mission remained the same, no matter where or when he woke up. A tingling at the base of the skull rose and he felt his eye and left arm flicker to life. He'd lost both of them before becoming a Seed. He'd been working on a space station in the early days, before the Seeds or the Cultvating, and some machinery had gone haywire and ground the arm to dust. Hunks of it had spattered him, coating his body in gore and bone. Some reflexes simply weren't enough. He'd managed to more or less gouge out his own eye in the altercation. Trifling, these days, with modern medicine and prosthetic, it was possible to regrow his eye, but the function had been gone to him. He'd had it replaced with a less-natural but mufti-functioning cyborg eye.

The thing flickered in and out, before emitting a more steady, faint light. It passively set about measuring and analyzing everything he looked upon. With this he was able to access more data than the regular implants that most of his people were now born with. Not that too damn many of them were being born. It was rare to see the population growing, as each of the Seed ship was filled to the brim, carrying a thousand opaque pods. Each one would activate in turn if he should be slain, or if he should find a place to call their home. Time was a luxury for some, but why wait? The hibernating humans they traveled around were what was needed to start society and they had them in abundance.

The man flexed slowly, running his body through a series of self-administered tests to assess his physical condition and ponder if he really felt like he'd been asleep more than a few hours. It always felt more like blinking than sleep, and he never felt fully rested, but at least he didn't feel like he'd died and come back to life by some technological marvel. He loathed it, but it was better to use his youth to his advantage than spend the long years grating through as an old man, simply riding a ship through the vast blackness of space. At least, that would be what he imagined. Who would want to live that way? Some of his trips took fifty years. Could he honestly say that he'd want to spend fifty years waiting only to find that he'd grown old and feeble for a failed opportunity, or a rotten planet?

The man stood now, all six-feet of fit male human, sans one eye and one arm, at age thirty two. He had shaved his head bald and had the hair lazered from his body to keep from wasting his time awake maintaining it. He missed it sometimes, but never regretted it. At his age, time was something he couldn't afford to wast dallying about, right? Probably. Some would say that it was time he start looking to move up, and become a Fruit captain, one of the floating hulks that traveled from Tree with the Seeds, trying to spread them carefully through the universe. It would certainly garner him better implants, but it would be a prison. Even maimed, the captain was more interested in adventure and discovery than he'd ever been in power or authority. Sure, he was his own boss in the sense that he was responsible for his own productivity, but what more was there out here?

The captain of his own ship, and in unfamiliar territory, he left the pod before it finished drying his body and stood before a case, before selecting one of the suits he wore. The only type of garment he owned, not that there was something better. Fitted to his body, the suit fit like a glove and protected him more thoroughly than any sort of thing he'd worn before. The only thing that came off as more durable was the metallic left arm that got suited up anyways. With all the gadgets and tools that the suit came with, it was hard to deny it's careful design and well-made ability to be used as a defense and more importantly, it made his work go more smoothly.

Need to hide? Change color. Need to jump? Trust the suit and your implants, it'll work out. Need some food? There was even some supply in it, nutrients he could take from to retain his energy and press on, when his body would have normally failed him. In the ship, and on 'safe mode' the bald man stood carefully into soft boots and felt the whole suit flex and churn slightly around him as it was plugged into his brain and interfaced with him. He shuddered once, and then felt himself grow more comfortable, as if he'd put on an extra skin, one that would be more useful than the tissue he wore beforehand. It was something he was used to, it made him feel...complete. Secure.

The helmet of the suit folded down, to cover the back and sides of his neck, while the rest of his body was encased in what looked to be hard plates mixed with mesh and other substances. It was the best defense, and standard-issue. He found himself flexing in it, marveling at the miraculous thing as he often did before he left the Sleeping Room and stood in the bridge of his ship. He looked down on the planet from space and drew his breath slowly before whistling at it slowly, letting the note fall as he pressed a gloved fingertip to the screen with a clink. Turning, he moved to the walls and looked over the product he was trying so very hard to deliver. Scores of men and women. All of them his allies and friends, his kin. The people he was trying to give a home to. The future hung on his walls, and gazed upon him through their opaque cases, waiting for him to put them where they belonged. To plant.

The ship had already analyzed the planet for a full rotation and mapped out some civilization on the face of it, taken a once-over to the moons it could find from it's position. It seemed interesting and promising. From here he was shown a handful of the indigenous species, creatures who lived there already. He perused the files and catalog, waving his fingers in carefully rehearsed gestures as his eye and implants worked together to show them in his vision, rather than on screens while he read the facts the systems were able to analyze. Only so much the machines would do, else they'd have been able to do all of they're work in probes and drones, but it was... too impersonal. Too methodical. It was a blight, to be caught 'Automating'. What a deplorable act, as having a planet monitored and judged in such a fashion...

Aeron stood on the platform as it lowered him into the bowels of the Seed, to the where his smaller, more versatile ship waited, sitting patiently like a good dog. Whatever those were. He assumed it must be as it was meant to be as he pulled himself up into the ship, using the neuro connectors on his suit to jack in and find himself leaving the main ship and moving to the planet at a measured pace, moving to avoid an orbiting moon with an easy grace before he punched it, his ship hurtling towards the planet with abandon, his excitement getting the better of him, his eyes dancing mentally, thrilled. He made no effort to especially mask his approach, as such a thing would be nothing more than a streak of light across the sky, no more interesting than a shooting star to what he figured were probably primitive creatures regardless.

Maybe they were still the primitive sort who believed that it would be a sign for change, and a new era. They would be right, Aeron thought as he landed his ship in a wooded clearing, before removing his connectors and settling himself into the earth once, before waving it away. The ship took off, leaving him there, alone on an alien planet, watching the ship flicker in the sky past the moon, waiting for his next order. It would come, after a few more steps. No sense leaving a hulking evidence of his presence here until he was ready to make himself known. He stood and stretched in the clearing, letting the helmet fall back over his face and head, obscuring his vision less than it enhanced his sense, drawing in the sweet smells of grass and trees, listening patiently as he rolled his vision along the forest, thrill rising in his heart, causing it to pound as the suit shifted slowly into the dark greens to match, obscuring him from any onlookers at least a bit in the darkness.

For a what seemed thousand years, the spider had slept. It's conception had been in their domain, on the mossy floors of the jungle where the gods had turned their eyes away, letting the terror of life run amok. Arachnid families warred in their trapping and hunting among tribes. Most had died out since those times, but their memories were burned into the eyes of any who had witnessed them.

The slumbering spider in question was one of a bastards' birth. He'd been part of a swarm born out of their tribe had been cast out. Their growth augmented and they became more powerful, but were forced to try and carve out life as their own tribe. Members of the specie that were born into the wild and didn't make it were devoured.

Powers seeped in and when the spiders had matured, fewer of them remained. With their numbers down to eight, they set out to rip apart the brood mother that had dispatched them as young-lings. They struck down their mother and when the clans had formed an alliance to attack the lot of them, they'd fled, centuries past into the human world, where they would encounter fewer of their brothers.

A clean, new world, something new to defile. A young creature to devour.

Many years past and eight of the spiders set out. At first, they were together, but more often they would overlap on one another and it would cause minor conflict and strife. With an agreement to convene every now and again and share the build up of power and new developments, they set out, striking out on their own and finally, the monsters of another world were given the chance to develop individually. Each of them plotting to devour the others when they would finally return. The deception of a spider is rivaled only by their cunning and patience. So they would wait, and prepare to destroy one another.

The first time they met, eight arrived, and eight departed. This would be the final time. The time apart had changed the monsters into different reflections of the same thing. In the same way their ancestors had, they were becoming so different and so alike, they remained largely the same, but distinctly changed. Like monsters, their shape and form was malleable, something to be changed on a whim. They evolved and changed, flourished and withered as though they were a race unto themselves each. They hunted one another in the shadows and in a only a few days, the four weakest were devoured. Four spiders remained, the four most cunning and powerful, they spread even farther away from one another.

The years were long, but the spider who had recently awoken rose to a world where man had ruled, the creatures that were the gods' playthings. He studied them from afar, carefully moving along their boundaries, straying seldom into view and walking along the edges of their civilization. In time the physical body he'd accrued had become massive, an epic monstrosity, but the humans seemed to have become adept at finding him. He had to start casting off some of his mass and reduce a bit of his physical size, the size falling down to a human size. It was at this size, the first time a human was lost at the time that he'd had a wonderful idea.

Watching other tribes as a young critter, he'd seen other spiders adopt the skin of others. It was bizarre and grotesque. A demeaning and pride less act of devouring the innards of another creatures and taking on its' persona and skin in a way that would cause many to lose themselves in the falsity. It was awkward at first, rather than shed a skin he was adhering it to his own carapace, He'd placed the face where it should go. His body contorted and stretched until he'd finally fit; it'd taken a few tries and the skin had torn a few times, but finally, the spider was a man, at least on the outside.

He lived for a long time, devouring and becoming new people, rising in ranks and stepping back to obscure the trail of bodies that he devoured and became. It was centuries before one of his brothers found him again and recognized him early on, lashing out during a weak point. They wounded one another, the humans around them dead or dismembered by their battle as the monsters fought and struggled, the larger one full of power but clumsy,the smaller nimble, but weakened by his slightness and lack of size. The two were at odds before the larger cast the other down into a pit, where he stole the skin of a king and stood above the bleeding brother.

With their last gazes, a newborn king with devils hearts beneath sealed his brother in a vault below, where for a thousand years, no one would happen upon, where the spider would become smaller, more frail as it devoured the small creature that would come. But even the rodents and refuse would become fewer and fewer still, as time passed. He was a monster, but it was hard for him to do much with only a hunk of his power and strength remaining to him. He wept and wailed, raged and roared against his earthen cage, but to no avail. Slowly, he turned inside himself and rested, his body diminishing to the size he'd been born to, no more than a hand to a body as he waited, and bided his time. He plotted his revenge, killing the insects and rodents in a lethargic manner, waiting to be released, so he could return to his rampage and claim vengeance on his brother.

He sat patiently, reared up on his tail as he watched the darkness, his long tongue flicking out to smell there air patiently, watching for the elevator. Sometimes when it shivered down it's housing it came here, to him and he was able to see one of the few people who came to visit him and care for him. The man-snake was a curious creature and often found himself watching the elevator when he had copious amounts of free time and found himself tired of his normal activities.

In his 'den' he had the comforts that might have been found in the outer world. Lately he'd taken very much to stretching out his long and cool body against the delicious warmth of the electric blankets and reading from the shelves that he worked through every day, studying different sciences and even some fiction as he enjoyed his time alone. Loneliness was nothing new to him and he filled the time with studying and learning, just as his father had instructed him, setting him to the task of learning more and more about medical supplies and techniques, and even some biology. He was a creature who fed largely on knowledge and even more largely on the hunks of meat that he was given once a month to digest. He often found himself relishing them and even studying the meat before he ate it, but hunger often stole that away from him.

His den was a large room away from the place where the elevator led to the floor, the only real access he had to the outside world. Two doctors often checked on him every other day, one early and one late. One tucked him in and the other woke him up gently to have him given a sense of time. Currently it was night, but he'd been pacing about, thinking over what he'd learned before he had curled up over his crimson tail to ponder the thing he'd learned. Did all humans hate deformities, like his? He wanted to ask, to find the answers. But no one had been around since then and it was irksome to wait. He hated waiting more than anything else. He tugged at the shirt he wore, a flimsy cotton thing that covered his waist and had special holes to be cut in for his second set of arms. They were warm things, but sometimes felt kind of restrictive.

The creature was a marvel to behold, his body mostly a length of tail, the red and yellow scales glistening to the light whenever they were touched by it and the rest of his body was that of a man, though for some reason when he'd been born he'd had four arms instead of two. While the pair that joined his natural shoulders were larger than the others, a second set of shoulders were below and gave him a set of slightly smaller arms, and shorter, their length taking them to the tips of his other hands, where they ended, if both arms were hung limply. The effect gave him a soft of second pair of biceps and his shoulder blades seemed to be divided between the pairs of shoulders. His body looked strange to most, but the top half seemed mostly human, save for the eyes.

A red pair of eyes leered through thick locks of yellow and gold hair, peering out upon the elevator shaft as it opened. He was fair despite his terrifying appearance, the pale skin that never had known the kiss of the sun so it remained pale like a corpse and crossed with scars of needles and burns, different medical treatments seemed to have been used on his pale flesh and skin as his lips curled into a curious frown as he looked upon the woman who approached in the darkness. Her silhouette outlined before the elevator snapped shut, he tilted his hair, his darker tongue kissing the air in a swift motion as he smelled her from there, his pupils widening to leer at her while his eyes narrowed to scrutinize her.

He'd raised his head when she'd entered and felt his tail lash about, his body unfurling a little to get extended and then coiling a bit under him as his torso rose to the average human height, leering into the dark with an affable look on his lips. He'd learned it by imitating the doctors who visited him, though his bore no pain like the doctors who usually looked upon him did.

Terror. Panic flooded the man as he finally emerged from the dirt, clawing his way up and sinking to the earth exhausted. His mouth was full of dirt, but he didn't even notice the taste now. The man found himself only half-awake, his body on the cold earth. He'd dug himself up from the ground, leering at the night sky for a few moments. He was dead. Of that there was no arguing. He'd been a man trying to split up three drunks in an alleyway one night and the last had lost his cool and knifed him. He'd laid just like this as his blood pooled around him, and filled his mouth.

So why was he blinking and drawing breath again? He'd felt the blades cut him open, gutting him so... so long ago. His mind reeled and his hands rose, to hold it, though only one answered the call. But he was awake now. Wasn't he? When he saw his hand reaching out, he didn't recognize it. Pale and bloated, the thing was like a claw, gripping at his head, and when he reeled away from it, his slow reflexes not responding well, tufts of hair and rotting flesh came away, to fall on the ground. A horrified moan erupted from his throat, and soon the chorus of his monstrous howling song came roaring back all around him.

The corpses surrounded him, their bodies limping and compensating slowly for their lack of many parts and their addled brains. He licked his lips to look upon them, his new abominations. The zombies stank awfully, but it had been a great and long time since the smell had made his gut twist about and cause him to retch. He was no longer the apprentice, bringing his poor pet back to life, only to be maimed by the creature.

Years ago, in a cellar, he'd had to beat the mad dog down with the human skull he'd used to summon the infernal thing. He still remembered the eyes that seemed so loving in life, turning to burning pits of rage as they turned upon him. He'd walked a long road since then, and worked hard. Now he was a master, and his finger replaced. The skin wasn't the same, and the bones under it were a bit bigger than the rest, wider and darker, but the fingers worked, no matter how fearsome they were. They were hardly the only parts of his body he'd modified with his wicked ways.

Standing among the limping creatures he'd breathed unlife into int he last few hours, the man stood tall. A briefcase lay open at his feet, illuminating his features, reflecting in his darkened eyes. The deep browns glowed eerily as he leered out among the thriving legion that was slowly making its way to him, their bodies broken, his army not so far from him. He was milky pale, his hair curls of light brown that hung about his shoulders, framing the flesh that looked like it spent it's life in the shadows. His body was thin and emaciated, but the frame was clad in thin silken shirts and slacks that clung to his seemingly frail body. He looked as though he might be handsome if he had simply eaten more, or drank in sunlight more often, but it didn't seem to bother him.

On his fingers there were many bones that he'd carved into rings, their runes and inscriptions a myriad of symbols and each finger enjoying the grasp of a unique one, though the strangest attire he wore were the skulls he held in each hand.

The case at his feet shone green and bright in the darkness, the ingredients amassed there as they gave off their hideous spell to the creatures, before he slammed it closed with a boot heel. He raised his voice after a while, the darkness that chased the receding light descending upon his new slaves as they groaned out their displeasure, turning their hungry and hateful eyes upon him, but never moving within the circle of bodies he'd laid out. The groundskeeper, the gravedigger, the priest and the whores he'd taken from the town nearby. Their bodies were mangled, their eyes lifeless as their naked bodies shuddered and tried to rise, then fell again. 'Such is the price of true abhorrence,' he reminded himself as he turned his gaze upon the closest structures, where he knew more of the humans lived.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he held in his palms were the pair of skulls, both of which bore a thousand different little engravings as they leered out over the corpses, glaring a bit as they cackled in his fingers. They spoke a bit, a jarring language of dusty vowels and mumbled consonants, but the sounds brought a laugh and a smile to his lips, pulling them back from his teeth. It wasn't long as they conversed amongst the three of them, before he bade the legion of the graveyard to approach the city, their march moving out well past midnight, across fields and yards, smashing and crushing the small obstacles and climbing over what they could, their eyes leering lazily, but their bodies full of hatred and vengeance.

Sitting among the tombstones, the man set about calling those who couldn't move well for themselves or respond well to his commands and pulling them apart patiently, sorting and organizing, leaving the working chunks in a pile and discarding the rest, casting them into an open grave, where he'd shoved the bodies he'd paid for this travesty with. Soon they'd be ripping apart the community of the city to the north, their ravaging unhindered by the autumn wind that blew, the leaves masking their shuffling a bit. A cackle rose up among the ones who could still talk, though many moaned along, or tried to, the monsters hungry for more of the dish they knew best; Death.

War had been declared this night, and soon all the humans nearby would know it, but not for long. Not if the Necromancer could help it. And he was going to, with every ounce of his power, make sure that he cleansed the area of their presence.
 
The Warlock was a man of considerable power. He'd transcended his humanity a little bit every few years since he began to dabble and trifle with arts that were 'beyond his power'. He was growing as a mage, and found himself...relieved. Even if he felt like he was probably shrinking as a human. That was natural, right? Every Warlock he'd ever encountered had been a creature who'd shed the manacles of humanity and discarded it, becoming other things. A race unto themselves. Although, he supposed they were all unique in their way. Maybe what his parents had thought had been right. Maybe he was just an abomination, a mutation. He certainly felt like one sometimes. He'd sworn away his sex drive, and compartmentalized it, shutting his body down carefully to become a better caster and warrior.

He woke from his meditation and blinked away the feeling he'd replaced sleep with. Trancing had always seemed so attractive before he'd started it. Sleep and Dreams were major portals for mortals, where all manner of dark things could slip in. He'd been doing this years, meditating and forming a mental cocoon for a few hours a night, rather than open himself to that. He stretched and bare feet reached the rug of the floor, and he frowned down at the book where he'd left it, sitting open. The glittering runes glared at him, as if annoyed to have been set aside so hastily. He supposed he'd earned it. He snapped the book shut and set it on a shelf in his room, where black and seemingly inky walls held shelves with no backing. Some held strange objects behind shimmering glass, where other racks would come and go in view, dissolving as he cast about. Weapons, and books. Books books books. He wondered sometimes if maybe he would have been a librarian if he hadn't become a monster.

Probably not, his room was more like a fetish collection than any sort of library organization. He supposed he would not be accepted in appearance, either.

On the outside, even, he'd become the avatar of his inner being. Pursuing various types of magic, he'd imbued himself with magic, at his own expense. He supposed some of the scars he could have removed, or even had glamoured. He could have gotten a real eye to replace his lost one, but the artifact that he'd had installed and covered with an eye patch had been something amazing to him. What sense would it make to cast off something so full of power? Tattoos adorned his upper arms and body, crossing him with runes and markings, like a modge-podge of insane ramblings from an occult fanatic. On his left palm bore the Warlocks Trust, his oathmark, and identifier. His right hand was decorated instead with rings and bracelets of varying design and metals.

The man himself was large and tall, not the usual sizes for a warlock, which often ended up being a diminutive man, old and graying. This warlock was large and cut from the same block of meat a lot of men his age were. Well, his 'age'. He was strong and meaty. His body cut from hard work, and not a gym, he'd been built by effort and not repetition. It made him a bit stronger, if a little less attractive than some. He had scars to help him with that anyways. His eye had been torn violently out, and left a spattering scar across his right side, where he'd covered the 'gap' with a patch. The other eye of the man was grey, and plain. His head was shaved bald, but beard allowed to grow scruffy and thick, in dark curls. He scratched at it with a jingling of his hand as he stood in the center of his tiny 'room'. He felt the familiar chill enter his body as he looked around, eyes darkening.

He stretched and dressed himself, tugging on slacks and a button-down, muted and dull colors, the fedora he'd kept from his previous life resting upon his bald crown. He carefully slid on the button-down and tie, then the jacket that had been such a treat when he'd purchased it. He adjusted it once or twice as he crossed the threshold and stepped out onto the floor where he always did, frowning down at the space around him as the quivering reality he kept his room in disappeared. Sometimes, Detective R. Dolores wished he had a 'real' room, not some make-shift magic that he kept with him. He wondered sometimes what sleep felt like, and if he missed it. Being Normal, that is. Would he ever go back? Could he?

He doubted it. Normal people weren't almost forty-year old warlocks Virgins who looked like they were only thirty, covered in runes where they didn't show below his elbows. He did have a few who peeked above the collar of his shirts. He stood in his office, stepping out of the tiny space that he'd created and stood behind his desk, passing a careful eye over the room, slowly taking it all in, before deciding everything looked undisturbed to him and seating himself to listen to the messages on his machine.

The dark wreathed the man who stood for a moment, where he felt the night pressing in. It was like terror, seeping into the room, the small closet where he'd taken up refuge for a little while. Well, not a little while. Time just seemed to stretch on and on for him when he couldn't see. Maybe it was a 'people' thing. He supposed there was some truth to that, somewhere. Some message. Some universal one-ness, that he just hadn't puzzled out.

Or maybe the dark was just his anti-thesis, and he'd spent his whole life bathed in the sunlight of life and the land. That's a thing, right? The detective grunted at his musings and wondered idly how many people went insane after a short period of time in a small room with the dark and their thoughts. The closet he'd crept into only ten minutes ago seemed to shrink when he pondered on it, but he didn't turn on the light or do anything to lighten the area. It wasn't as if he couldn't see, or couldn't tell that the musty coats surrounding them were old and needed tossed, or put into storage. Maybe museums. It was the darkness as a presence.

The thought of darkness plagued him, and he wondered to himself what it was that made his life so complicated when involved in the darkness. In deception. He supposed it was simply, as they say, 'what it was'. The man was one of what his people had called a Touched, and it meant a different thing pending on where you went. Some of his people were tribesmen who revered the Touched as Holy, or Champions. Hunters, sometimes. Some considered them a bad omen, and burned those who wouldn't settle, and become medicine men. He dragged his tongue across his teeth in irritation at the thought before trying to come back to himself. It was close, now.

Movement outside the closet caught his eye and he watched the shadows flicker across the gap at the door and he tensed, his body coiling and preparing, waiting for the rest to come. A loud noise came next, a skittering that seemed to echo and shudder. Almost like a soundtrack that just wasn't quite in tune with the video of a movie. The detective snarled and flung the door open wide, his hands moving quickly into action. Bathed in the dim light, now he faced what he'd been waiting for for all of the ten minutes he'd had to actually hide.

Darts flew from his fingertips before nimble hands plunged into his coat to retrieve more and make coloful blurs of the metal bolts flying from his fingertips as he snarled, his dark eyes glittering in the low light as he latched on to his target. The Spider.

The spider made a loud noise, and raised up a pair of it's too-long legs and faced down the Detective, but it was already half-collapsing against itself, half-raised legs already sagging and deflating as it wheezed. Iron and Silver punctured the body and what looked like steaming tar oozed from its wounds. Mandibles flexed and the remaining sets of too-human eyes fixed on the man who had burst from a closet at the very start of it's hunt. It screeched its fury again, and tried to scuttle forward, flicking bristles from limbs erratically.

The eyes fixed on the man who stood tall for a human and slender. He'd worn the same thing he usually wore, the suit and tie with his matching hat. He'd pulled the brim low to shield his face ab it from he bristles, though it was not much help. Now in the dim light from the street, he stood in his full height, no longer hindered by the old clothes of the discarded. His fingers slowed and he felt heat seep into his wrists where the bristles had sunk into him.

Grunting, he drew back and slammed the closet door shut, bathing again in darkness. A few moments passed as the scrabbling grew frantic, and weaker. Thumping noises were heard, and a few more of the barbed hairs slapped against the door and fell away. He grunted as he jerked the fine hairs from his body, his tanned flesh crying out in protest as he cleaned himself, waiting for a few more minutes. It had taken a lot of tracking to hunt this thing down and stop it, and it was worth too much money for him to screw it up now by letting himself get carried away. He checked his darts carefully and adjusted his vest, and hung his coat up. After pushing the old clothes aside, of course. As an afterthought, he pulled off the fedora and brushed bristles off of that and hung it in the closet.

A low moaning had begun to spill from the hall, where the Spider-demon lay dying. It had changed back into it's human shape, but it meant little to the Detective. Attractive, all and all, she had a shapely body and the red tattoo that looked almost like an hourglass on her hip was hard not to like. But it had the same meaning in the occult world as it did in the animal kingdom.

Standing over it while she died, the light seemed to pour back into the world while the inky tar steamed and boiled on the hard wooden floors. The figure that had erupted from the closet and rained death down in Iron and Silver stood above the pathetic creature now. Black hair mixed with the inky blood among shadows, and the woman who lay there, gurgled up at him. He narrowed dark eyes at her from where he stood, and drew back his hand, revealing the final blow before ending the creature that had been on his streets for a few days already and claimed a few more lives than he had wanted it to. A final noise erupted before the weeping and groaning subsided, noises that he had almost not heard at all while stalking closer.

He lifted the motionless head and tucked it neatly into a sack and then into a rectangular case, before straightening. He'd rolled up his sleeves carefully and moved to the sink of the desolate apartment to wash up. He'd had to step gingerly over dried-up husks and torn up webbing where he'd arrived earlier. He turned all of the lights on in the apartment, the case safely nearby. Hours would have to be spent here, cleaning up the eggs that were planted in the dried-up husks nearby, where the victims lay, safely encased in sealed cocoons. He looked at them dispassionately as he dried his hands on a towel and laid it what little clean counter he could.

The man stood tall, at around six-five, a tower of a man, but he was more slender than stout. He found his body to be lanky and long. He stood carefully in his well-manicured clothes and stepped gingerly to keep from dirtying nice boots where he didn't have to as he moved through the apartment. The monster had killed seven or eight in the time it'd been loose, seducing men and bringing them to her nest. He wondered idly how many heads she'd really eaten, in her long life. Too many. At that, he finally shuddered and shook his head before setting about the work. Hours later he would leave with the case and retrieve his coat and hat, return to the van and leave the rest of the mess behind. So long as the eggs were gone, it wasn't a big deal, though the barbs had begun to really cause a bit of a rash on his arms and wrists, where he'd been struck the most.

The Touched man was the detective here in the city, but not the police-kind. He didn't have the same.. resume as a police officer might want to submit to any sort of official. For one, he was from the reservation, here near the capitol. And for two, not a lot of the supernatural got dealt with in a 'by-the-books' way. Besides, when you were an 'Indian' , and talked like an cowboy, people seemed to accept that you were either wiser or crazier than they were. Too many cowboy movies, probably. That made the detective grin a little, baring his teeth at the moonlight.


I'm really craving some kind of occult grimdark modern role-play, Urban Fantasy, with some action and violence, some undertones of sex, maybe sex later, but a lot of Noir-styled detective biznuss. Someone liberate me~? <3
 
Hi! Your interests line up with mine, from the sound of it. I'd love to try something out.

I'm a veteran roleplayer but new to the site, so I'll have to follow your lead - where do we go from here?
 
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