WE WERE REVOLUTIONARY . GIFTS TO ALLIES

  • TAGS. things have been slow, a truth chicagocrimes knows of fairly well. with own leader sickly and recovering, it left her home, these meadowlands rainfed and haunted, bumbling around and pace nothing more than lowly and deathly crawl. she wants to fix that, of course she does; the desire to keep home strong and secure as val heals is strong in woman hell-bent and ambitious. one way to do that is to enforce the bonds of their allies, which at this moment save for a good few are weak and unsure. she aims to fix that.


    wicker baskets lay messily tucked side by side; piles of different herbs and flowers and berries mix together; arts and crafts supplies she's asked for, whisper of curious breath, from members prizing selves on the topic; pieces and bits of clothing; and other gift items like meats tender and cooked by own flames; even a small array of weaponry, daggers and sorts, are settled dear and near her hip. peering out toward the meandering bodies moving about her, throat clearing as announcement dawns tongue tip. "oi, everyone wantin' ta go sightseein' fer a bit, come 'ere"


    as members draw in or tilt heads her way, a wolfish grin that shows all teeth takes to her lips. "yer gonna be makin' yet own gift basket an' sendin' it ta our allies. fun, right? try ta make it ah, what's th' word . . . unique ta th' clan yer visitin'. an' when yer there, chat 'em up a bit, check in, maybe plan out an event or two; don't just drop it off an' vanish." chica's words are short and simple, but she doesn't slack off when it comes to the completion of the task; she doesn't want some half hearted and poorly made gift baskets given to those they want to hold strong bonds with, after all; that reflects badly on them. "an' hell, if yer really inta what they got goin' o'er there, maybe check out our AMBASSADOR PROGRAM; it's in need o' a hand or two." shameless marketing falls from lips, a tongue waxing lyrical scorching and genuine. pulling a basket to her own side, she'll start when everyone gathers.


    ALLIANCES . . .

    SOLARIS KINGDOM

    VOLARY FLIGHTS

    DARK DYNASTY

    THE CARTEL

    THE THUNDERLANDS


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    KIDS WILL BE SKELETONS

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    It was the quiet atmosphere that encouraged Fallon to stay in the Sanctuary when wanderlust nipped at his heels. In his (very) brief experience, it had lived up to its name, providing him shelter and anchoring him down when the wind pushed him onward. It could almost be called a... home, of some sorts, in the way "home" had never been with his mother nor the vast expanse of wilderness between here and her. It was a natural, albeit a bit hasty, progression that Fallon would feel the need to aid this group however he could for offering him somewhere to sleep at night and equality to those around him. This was an extraordinary chance to do so, considering it would feed the desire to explore what sat right outside of the Sanctuary's territory and pursue whatever goal was urging his paws forward. Fallon would arrive at Chica's thunderous beckon, lithe limbs expertly traversing a land he was only vaguely beginning to become familiar with. "Sounds intriguing," Fallon would speak mildly, burgundy gaze wandering the assortment of items Chica had amassed. "I've been meaning to see what's out there, after all." Not a lie, but moreso smalltalk to ease the conversation forward than a full topic of discussion. "I'd love to be of assistance but I'm afraid I can't go alone as I, ah, I don't know where anything is. Yet." It was almost difficult for Fallon to admit, ivory paws kneading the soil beneath him agonizingly slow. For that matter he didn't even know the names of these allies, but he would offer himself (what little of himself he could) to help.

    bending over backwards, never good enough

    AND I KNOW IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT — IT NEVER IS, IS IT?

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  • TAGS. wanderlust. not very often does such a thing raise eyes upon she, this dead girl, death standing. like a tree, she's rooted deep into the livelihood of the sanctuary, whether it's quiet and comforting or festive and outgoing, the living aid the dead or the dead help the living. one could say chica has a hard time letting things go, letting places go.


    her brows lift as forth steps fallon, a newcomer arriving on these borders only few days or so ago, his presence as ghostly and silent as the meadowlands now, fae touched and mystic. quiet is his voice, a river murmur in comparison to that of the woman's own thunderclap and fire crackle presence, something one could learn to appreciate. so the dead girl listens, ears perked. he's never been to the other clans before? "well, shit." comes forth a trickle of own blasphemous tongue, tone decently tame save perhaps the softest of sighs to grace her lips. the hound tips horned head one side in quick thought, "ya want me ta go wit' ya or somethin'? i know where they all are." comes her offer, decently genuine. "or are you just wantin' ta help build some baskets?"

  • Slinking forward on wobbly legs came the nurse, his hollow crimson eyes flashing across the shapes of the two members of the Sanctuary before him. They seemed to be coming off a bit blurry in his eyes but maybe that was his awful vision or the sleep crud in the corners of his eyes. Or maybe that's just what he wanted to tell himself in a weak attempt to remind himself that he was only a bit drunk right now. Nevertheless he would help as he usually, most of the time, always had nothing to do. Taking in the sight of the bleary gift baskets he nodded slowly, "I'll go anywhere, I know where everything is," he spoke quickly, surprisingly so for someone who was on the precipice of being blackout shitfaced.

    BROKEN CIGARETTES AND ⁎⁺˳✧༚ BULLET HOLES

    ONE MORE TO THE CHEST AND I'M ALONE ——– INFO

  • ——————————

    KIDS WILL BE SKELETONS

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    Fallon's throat closed at Chica's initial reaction, a reflexive action at being considered expendable and otherwise useless, if even for the briefest of moments. Her next words soothed his injured pride, although the wound remained swollen. Pristine claws curled downward into the soil before retracting, meeting Chica's gaze after a moment of hesitation where his attention instead lingered on the approaching Latenight. "However I can help," Fallon reiterated in response to her question, lips briefly dipping down into a frown before returning to a neutral state. That was a far cry from a decisive answer. After a heartbeat of silence the serval would speak again: "I can help make baskets, certainly, but if you wouldn't mind a companion I'd like to accompany you and learn where everything is." Latenightpaw's resourcefulness was close to being yet another hit to his fragile sense of pride, sharp teeth holding his tongue firmly in place. He knew better than to let trivial matters affect him, the feline hardly seemed a braggart, but fighting back the inevitable envy was proving to be a bit more difficult than Fallon would prefer. "I should have no problem finding my way around on my own after that," he continued, lurching his thoughts forward and out of the careen of negativity they were quickly getting sucked into.

    bending over backwards, never good enough

    AND I KNOW IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT — IT NEVER IS, IS IT?

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