crrp | shopping district ;


She’s set her sights on her targets and she’s running at breakneck speeds.

Annie hated going out of her apartment especially on days like these where the people are suddenly all out from their homes and in the town. Up and down the street were people crowding in shops and stalls like flies to a rotten fruit.

On this particularly hot sunny day, Annie forced herself out the comfort of her apartment for her sustenance. She did share her apartment with another person but she doubted he’d be able or willing to cook for her since they were basically strangers with each other.

Annie stops to observe the crowds, her target was smart enough to use the mass of people as some cover. She blows strands of her blonde hair out of her eyes which seems to have stuck on to her forehead due to all the sweat she perspired. Her target was a common change thief who was very lucky to have coaxed the sales lady that he/she was in acquaintance with Annie and vowed to give her the change she had left behind. That thief was either very lucky or very unlucky enough to have stolen from someone like her.

She spots a dart of movement from a corner of the crowds and she begins her hunt again, thats is until her shoulder collides with someone else’s. Annie doesn’t flinch and tries to run after the thief again when the person she collided into utters an angry outburst. She glares at the man she just collided with.



     There’s a sort of intensity about her that manages to stun him for a moment.

     From their collision, Hope has a feeling he shouldn’t doubt her physical ability to back up said intensity. But the fact that Hope has to look down to meet her eyes— his guards are set low. Arms slowly unfreeze from their guarded positions and slump to his side; two or three currency bills have managed to stay within the grasp of his hand, though most of them have since fluttered to the ground around the pair.

     ”I think you know the answer to that," he manages to grind out with narrowed eyes. Though his arms are loose, his shoulders have instinctively tensed up from rising anger.

     He breathes out deeply and forces his shoulders to drop; forces the rising anger to fade.

     ”I sure hope you don’t go around making trouble for other people," he mutters quietly, though meant to be loud enough for her to hear. The passive jab is ended with a light snort as he bends down to pick up one of many fallen bills.

crrp | Moving In [closed]


The papers rustle as the man sitting at the table shuffles them. “In other news,” His voice is slow and deliberate, carefully enunciating every syllable. It is practice for tonight’s show. Only some of what he reports is truly live. The radio on the nearby counter is broadcasting, just loud enough to provide him background music and just quiet enough to not be heard down the hall.

Not that anyone is actually in the hall to be listening. Cecil is currently alone in the apartment, though he has been informed of a pending roommate. Whoever they are and when they will arrive is unknown, as are so many things. The voice continues as its accompanied eyes read down the next paper. The radio’s song finishes, switching to the next without commercial. The situation does not change until halfway through the script the world before his eyes is replaced.

The view is from down the street. Cecil watches as a silver-haired young man makes his way from the sidewalk to the apartment, looking at the door numbers. The door he stops at is numbered with a single digit. Four.

His hands are empty. The papers have fallen to the table, one dragged to the floor by the open window’s breeze. The scene has returned to the dining room. Cecil blinks as he gets up from the chair and collects the papers again. The silver-haired stranger is his roommate, and right outside. The radio host places the once-again-complete script on the table and opens the door before the other has a chance to knock.

“Hello!” A smile and a flourish of his free hand towards the interior. A silent ‘come on in’ as one does not need to actually be voiced. 

     Thankfully the streets are labeled in an semi-organized manner, just enough that Hope is required to ask for guidance only a handful of times. As a block of apartment complexes come into view, he slows his pace and examines their exterior for matching number. The weight of his Hajime Shopping District labeled bag is shifted from right hand to left as he digs into his trouser pocket for the welcome letter.

     ”This one," he mumbles to himself as the numbers match up. A humbling feeling seems to radiate from the exterior of the apartment building. Hope halfheartedly folds the letter and tosses it into the shopping bag in his left. The strain of its weight is starting to burn and he shifts it back to his right, though it doesn’t help very much.

     Instead, he enters the apartment complex to find the appropriate door: Four.

     Just as his left hand comes up to knock, the door is opened and in the threshold stands a peculiar individual about his same height. The shock lingers a moment, having not had enough time to mentally prepare for the encounter. “Hello," he manages to reply - more of an automated response really. And in turn, follows the silent offering’s guide to step inside.

     From a first view, the set-up of the apartment is warm. It feels like a mix between hot chocolate and freshly brewed coffee, and Hope certainly doesn’t mind the idea. Though temperature wise, it is a bit chillier than Hope is adjusted to. Thankfully his multi-layered uniform has provided a good amount of insulation — not that he understands why he’s wearing a uniform in the first place.

     ”Um," right, introductions. After placing the shopping bag gently on the floor, Hope extends his right arm out, hand tilted in a downward diagonal in expectation of a handshake. "Hope Estheim, it’s nice to meet you.

They’re not people. They’re targets.

crrp | shopping district ;

       It’s a busy busy place. People bustling here and there - it kind of reminds him of something.

A blurred image of a silver-haired silhouette and a floating yellow object.

       Hope’s attempt at clearing the thought only results in the intensifying of his already throbbing headache. Platinum blonde eyebrows furrow together as he’s pushed with the crowd headed east. He had spotted a particular device in a stall, but has since lost sight of it. With the effort he’s taken to not become crushed between the two lanes of buyers, he’s given up on going back to check. An itching forms in the back of his throat. The pollution in the air is rougher here than he is used to, it seems. He coughs into a ball fist, doing his best to avoid spreading microscopic germs to the other visitors that are practically up against his sides. After several minutes more of following the crowd, he somehow makes it to a less crowded street adjacent. Instead of self-built store stalls, the street is lined with glass-front shops with neon signs flashing from inside.

       His footsteps slow to a stop as he gazes about the pedestrian shopping district. His gloved hand reaches into his back-pocket to pull out several folded colored bills. “I wonder how much this really is," he mumbles to himself as he adds up the numbers labeled on them. As he does so, a force shoves his shoulder so that he stumbles forward— "Hey!" His outburst is laced with surprise more-so than the intended anger.

by Masashi Hamauzu + 5,639 plays



crrp | the beginning ;

     Hope wasn’t exactly afraid — after all, memory loss didn’t leave much for missing — but as another strangled cry rumbles closer, Hope’s heart definitely beats a little faster.

     His sea-foam hues are glued to the hallway windows of his booth as his mind attempts to figure out why he’s on this train and where it’s headed. Just as the panicked footsteps sound the loudest, he tears his gaze away from the windows to the floor. A flash of colors momentarily replace red plaisy carpet of the train hallway. Though the rushing individual passes him within seconds, they leave behind a swirl of chaos-filled air behind them. As if an ambulance without the healing capacity.

     And he feels himself exhaling the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Unfocused eyes stare at gloved palms and his mind continues to accelerate.

     He might be just a little bit afraid. 


Reblog this if it’s ok for my muse to send texts to your muse, even if they’ve never interacted. Some really great friendships start with the wrong numbers after all..

Reblog if it’s ok to tag you in RP ideas I think you might like


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Happy Halloween!
↳{Lightning, the werewolf / Serah, the necromancer / Fang, the Dragon / Hope, the fashionable vampire / Vanille, the weeping angel / Noel, the black mage / Snow, the pirate / Sazh, the Frankenstein}

It had been a rough week. Oh if only you knew: The finishing touches of his latest research paper. The draft for an upcoming one. Not to mention the multiple presentations and interviews for the funding required for such extensive testing. In all honesty, he had thought hiring a secretary could help with time management, but his disappointment in the work ethics of the few he had dared to hire only made his mood sour more. Hope was surprised he had the energy to pull off the perfect researcher facade in front of Academia’s wealthiest Executives when his mind felt so much like looming fog.

He had decided to take a detour that evening. Craving something other than the emptiness of his new home, Hope had stamped with determination a destination for his evening. Something simple, but enough to ease the work worries that threatened to overwhelm him.

This evening he found himself wandering into a local bar; pretty low-key area and he had been there before with co-workers. Risks were set to a minimum, but he ordered a scotch anyways. 

"Sure thing. On the Rocks?"

"Nah. Just Neat." He adds, while taking a seat next to the only other person in the bar.