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Personal Style
Hatchling dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.17 m
Wingspan
0.25 m
Weight
0.35 kg
Genetics
Flint
Pinstripe
Pinstripe
Coral
Daub
Daub
Sunset
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Fae
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
7
DEF
7
QCK
6
INT
5
VIT
7
MND
5
Biography
BIO FORMATTING TEST RUN NOTHING TO SEE HERE
   
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CASH ; cashion a heretic angel undercover is just a divine parasite. // "I've got a really good feeling about this, you guys." 
 West looks up from the altar and into the face of the priest. It’s his best friend. “Vee,” he says. Vee is still Vee here. He’s always been Vee. Cash has not always been Cash. Here in the memory of a past life, wrists bound on the altar, he is West. Westley. Vee looks undone. They’re both animals backed into different corners of the same cage, unwilling opponents wearing the same color in different places. The Mark of the Arcanist shines from West’s eyes, a death sentence; Vee wears the fuschia magic smeared down his jaw and throat like war paint, but West knows it’s a collar heavy as a velvet tabard. Vee carries the ritual knife white-knuckled in one hand and the eyes of the crowd on his shoulders. West’s never seen the expression on his face before, and he doesn’t know what it means. “Vee, please,” he begs. “Don't.” Vee does. But he doesn’t do it right. lore note: ANGELS wrote:
As loose-cannon divine rejects, angels who learn to control their power make incredible weapons and uncanny prophets. The more impressive ones – the weirder ones – are greatly feared. They owe nothing for their powers, but the weight of so much knowledge is often too heavy for mortals to carry and many of them pay dearly anyway. One way or another.
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They’re barely into the Glitchstrip when headlights latch on to the Bird’s tail.
Cash hums. “Oh, that’s probably bad.”
“What makes you figure?” Guil grits out, his grip on Bethyl’s wheel suddenly white-knuckled. He reaches for the handheld radio hooked onto the vent beside the one built into the dash. “Alright, who’s the joker crawling up your skirt, Vin?”
“Nobody you’d bring home to your mother, I’ll bet. Unless you hated her. Could this jerk turn the brights off maybe?”
“Well,” Cash muses, “maybe not so bad.” Which is about when a second rig slinks up their starboard side, an instantly recognizable low-rider with a cyan glow radiating from under the hood.
“Never mind,” he says.
“Look Cash, there’s your girlfriend. It’s like she can smell you. Was I right or was I right?” Vin says over Guil’s cussing. “Nobody you’d bring home to your mother.”
Guil’s eyes narrow to slits when Vee throws a fist above his head in front of them, and they roll to a stop for a bike parked directly in their headlights. It’s a bright off-roader that probably weighs a quarter of what Vee’s chrome number does, and the rider’s face is covered by a mask shaped like a bird skull. They’re leaning on the handlebars like nobody’s car and nobody’s god could move them. “Are you kidding?” Guil tells Vin. “If the Plaguebringer decides she wants Sickspence for keeps I’ll send him with a fruit basket and a bow on his damn head.”
A car door slams behind them, and Vee dismounts his bike. Guil chucks the radio on the seat between them in exasperation and continues muttering darkly to himself as he punches out of the truck. “Not all so bad, actually,” Cash decides quietly as he follows suit, but he’s not sure Guil hears him.
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Sickspence has pulled his rig up behind Vin so closely that Cash couldn’t stick his fist between the Bird’s bumper and Sickspence’s dirty grille. The Rover gang’s fourth set of wheels has a red flood light like a single alien eye mounted to the roof – these guys can’t go anywhere without their own music and mood lighting; Sickspence probably has a mirror ball stashed in his trunk under a pile bones – and Vinnie’s pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes in passive aggressive protest even though it’s night. “Cash! Hell-ooooo baby, I missed you!” The Rover who oozes out of the glowing low-rider is a beautiful woman wearing approximately one third of a dress. It shows off the s-curve of her external magitech spine, and Cash isn’t immune to the fight-or-flight impulse that takes over any sensible creature when a Rover beelines for them, but when Holliwould swoons into his arms with a little aah! sound that would be inappropriate to make in front of children he catches her. If only because the satisfaction of dropping her in the dirt isn’t worth being disemboweled for. He can feel Guil’s eyes roll back in his head. Besides Sickspence and Holliwould there are two more Rovers hanging out of the rig with the flood light who round out the gang’s usual lineup. The only one Cash doesn’t know is Bird Skull, who’s leaning silently against Bethyl’s front tire well. They’re short by Rover standards and tall by all others, and it’s impossible to tell if they run on meat, metal, or magic. |
lore note: ROVERS wrote:
Before the Glitchstrip was the Glitchstrip and Rovers were Rovers, there existed an initiative by collaborating Starfall and Stormland philanthropists to engineer a company of missionaries equipped with the most advanced genetic and magitech modifications available. Embodiments of practically applied science and proactive academia, they were intended to venture to the less civilized territories of the planet and bring advancements in technology and philosophy to the tribes and beasts of the Plagueland, the Jungles, and the icy South. This all ended rather poorly. What’s left of those missionaries are Rovers, and they’ve ruled the Glitchstrip for a hundred years. Where the weak ones have fallen to disrepair, the strong get stronger and progressively more inhuman in the warped, punishing environment of the Strip. Any Rover left who can still stand on two (or three, or four, or eight) legs is assumed to be amoral and violent. The best of the bunch are untrustworthy on a good day, and the worst of them are monstrous. |
Holliwould catches him looking. “Nice, right?” she purrs into his ear. “He’ll mess you up, though.” She’s still got her arms looped over his shoulders despite Cash having shoved his hands in his pockets for safekeeping, but the less he lets on that she gets to him, the faster her interest will flame out.
“Thought you could sneak in the back door, man?” Sickspence is asking Vee. He sounds jolly tonight, which means he’s probably eaten, which is serendipitous for the Fury and a tragedy for somebody else.
Vee snorts and jerks his chin at Bethyl. “Don’t tell me you thought that thing has a stealth mode.”
Sickspence’s laughter booms out of the center of his chest. The spherical tank on top of his shoulders houses what’s left of his head in opalescent liquid, and it serves no functional purpose that Cash can figure. Whatever kind of business he’s running, it’s hidden under his shirt. “Cool, we can make this fast. You're here for what’s going down with the smugglers?”
“We’re here for Dirk,” Vee tells him.
Sickspence makes an amused little sound. “Want an escort?”
“No,” Vee and Guil say in unison. Vee tacks on, “Thank you.”
“That's just too bad. Our guy’ll lead.” Sickspence points at Bird Skull, who pushes off Bethyl, and Holliwould slips away to go fondle that guy instead after smacking a noisy kiss to the bolt of Cash's jaw. As Sickspence heads back to his rig he calls, “Lookin’ good, Vin,” and she hits him with an ice cold, “I know, thanks." When he smacks the Bird’s flank as he passes she hisses like he’d done it to her instead.
When Vee approaches them he points a finger and goes, “Do not start,” before Guil can even open his mouth. “If they know what’s happening, this is the fastest way there.”
While they continue to bicker Cash looks at Bird Skull. He’s back to leaning on his dirt bike, his shadow half a mile long in their headlights. The blank lenses of his mask create the illusion that he’s looking back, even though his face isn’t quite turned. Not all bad, Cash thinks. Out loud he says, “If we follow that guy, we’re good.”
He hadn’t been positive, actually. But once he speaks it, leaves it hanging in the humid air between them, he knows it’s true. That’s how this stuff works. Cash’s head is full: of things that happened in the past; of things happening right now; but mostly of things that could happen. Many of those possibilities aren't his to realize, but finding the ones that are is like pulling a loose thread in a tapestry – except instead of unraveling the picture he pulls it more into focus. He just has to reach out and grab.
“That guy,” Guil deadpans. “Really.”
“Really really,” Cash smiles. He’s suddenly in an excellent mood. He pulls, and pulls, and pulls.
code & assets by archaic #19153
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