the crown prince
masculine
twenty-eight
may 20
hammerlocke, galar
heterosexual
archaeologist
aqua/ex-admin
born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes
TAG WITH @oslo
Remiel Calcifet
the festival of northern lights [m]
POSTED ON Jan 26, 2020 6:23:30 GMT
ROYAL Royalty is wasted on those who don't achieve definition in conflict and build their own legacy. NOTES
a gaggle of nervous laughter and sweat on the brow | The ball drops, bouncing on the floor several times before rolling out of view somewhere beneath the display.
The vendor appears equal parts baffled and insulted by the strange woman's words. Remiel, on the other hand, calmly sets the gun down on the counter before turning to Isra. "Brilliant." He utters, holding out his hand as a summons for his attentive Sinistea to place itself in his palm. Turning back to their host, he continues. "Let's see what's behind the curtain, then." He speaks, the teacup glowing a malevolent purple as it sat in his palm.
"I-I... I don't know what you're both going on about! Sounds like a couple of sore losers to me!"
There's a disconcerting pause... then, without warning, a chill seems to occupy the stall. One could be forgiven for having trouble designating the source of this intense aura, as it seems to emanate from both the Sinistea and its master as one whole. Isra, with her hand on the gentleman's back, would be able to feel the depth of it closer than anyone else. Just before the violent act it predicted came to pass, however, an Espeon sauntered out from behind the red curtains of the stall. Dirty and dull-eyed (uncommon for one of its species), the psychic cat loyally took its place besides its trainer before sitting.
The man snarled angrily as she looked up at him. He raised his foot and readied it backward for a kick. "You dumb bi— ACK!" Just as the Espeon flinched away from the strike, the man's unsuccessful kick would suddenly swing him upwards until he was left dangling upside-down in the air, kept aloft by the Sinistea's ghostly power.
"It would appear like the lady wins," Remiel nonchalantly states, observing the man's futile efforts to break free of the Sinistea's supernatural hold. "But here's the thing, Mr. Mickey," The man appears visibly shocked by the fact that the black-haired royal knows his true name. Remiel notices this and leans forward, his hands resting idly in his pockets. "All I want is for you to pay what you owe: to our mutual benefactors and Miss Nightingale here. Understood?" He concludes.
Despite the blood rushing to his head, and the dizziness that comes with it, their host suddenly adopts an expression of remorse and clasps his hands together pleadingly. A far cry from his irate behavior earlier.
"Y-Yes, of course! You tell them I'll have the money by tonight, and that I promise! A-As for the lady, p-please! Take any prize you want!"
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MADE BY VEL OF GS + WW ······················m6EVD09t
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