Posts by CAIRO.

★ - Some of Cairo's ideas when it came to giving out weekly tasks were to give ones to people that were a little out of their comfort zone, especially if they were someone who seemed to be on the more introverted side of things. Cairo considered himself to be rather introverted, especially in comparison to certain other figures around the Cartel, but working on breaking out of your shell was always something good, in his eyes. That was why he'd given the task he had to Cosmicshadow.

In addition, Cairo was also rather minimalistic when it came to his preferences in aesthetic. Whereas his father was a man of silks and velvets. Chaise lounges and stained-dark wood. Cairo was far less extravagant. Perhaps he'd gain an appreciation for the dramatic later in life, but that was not right now. "It looks nice," the kitsune complimented as he hobbled in on Cosmicshadow in the middle of her work. Though the assignment had been to decorate the kitchen, Cairo had meant that very loosely. The kitchen wasn't terribly decorated, but more cleaned up. It was typically very dirty (the Cartel had plenty of people who tended towards uncleanliness and, therefore, godliness), so it was nice to have it be gussied up, even if it was still understated in its changes. "Smells nice, too," he'd compliment as he took in a whiff of the flowers and herbs.

★ - Cairo had been reluctant to return back to the blood mark tradition for the second time. It reminded him of bad things. When he had such a vendetta against his father; when he had singed half of his face, when he had acted, quite frankly, inappropriately. The mere thought of the fact that his paw was so far away from Asimov's, and thus Breakout's, their former leader, made him tense up in embarrassment.

However, as the Capo hobbled into the cave, a fair ways behind the others due to a mixture of not wanting to be seen struggling and also the fact that: he was on three legs and covered in bandages and stitches, walking fast was pretty damn hard.

Very little of his worries mattered, however, when it turned out that Asimov had every intent really giving Cairo a run for his money in terms of making a show out of this ritual and acting wildly inappropriate. And he was winning. The injured kitsune had cut far too deep last time, but Asimov had certainly cut deeper. Rather than out of anger, it seemed to be out of a place of bliss. Of mania.

Blinking, Cairo spoke up. "...I-I think I'll sit this one out," he managed. His concussion had gotten somewhat better over the past few days, though it was clear now that he was relapsing back into the searing pain and accompanying speech difficulties. Was it because of Asimov's somewhat shocking display? Was it because he didn't want to infect his paw? Was it because he knew, that if he were to bring a paw up to slice it, he would undoubtedly fall over, onto cracked rips and open wounds and howl out in pain and cry?

Cairo didn't know. Or maybe he did. But, in his blinking, steady, golden eyes, he made a point to show the former.

★ - Even if he hadn't been trusted with hosting the sparring class, at the very least he could do this. That didn't mean that it was enough, or that it had satiated Cairo's desire to do more, but it was a positive aspect he decided it would be better to look at. Or whatever. Regardless, he was still very mad.

Hobbling towards the dining hall, where he figured the division meeting would be best held, Cairo begrudgingly was forced to take many breaks on his walk out of the sheer exhaustion, leaning on walls around corners and behind doors to avoid anyone seeing him in the state he was in.

By the time he had made it to his location, he was completely out of breath, sputtering and wheezing and each and every one of them hurting as his broken ribs crunched and groaned.

"Militia division," the kitsune managed, trying his best to seem as if he were not out of breath in the slightest, with a questionable to negligible amount of success in his attempt. "Gather round. We're hosting a division meeting," he took a seat, allowing one next to him for Yakova, whom Cairo figured would be arriving before he knew it.

★ - Cairo only knew English. There was very little reason for him to know anything else. He did know minimal amounts of Russian through Milkyway's attempt that made much more sense in hindsight, but nowhere near enough to maintain a conversation with people like Asimov and Makariy. Perhaps he would work on that in the future. But, truth be told, he was not willing to do that right now. Constant, performative, physical work was exhausting, he didn't need mental work when nobody could see it.

Cairo knew nothing of his Arcanium heritage, and thus was completely unaware that the language Clove was speaking was one that was connected deeply to the family. Therefore, he was rather confused. It sounded like gibberish to him, really. Nonetheless, any question that could have been asked had already been so, and thus Cairo remained silent, waiting for a response from his aunt.

★ - " BrokenFreedom , could you make a piece of artwork? Painting, sculpture, anything works."

" alexandria. , could you make gift baskets? They can either be for others in the Cartel, or for our allies. You can decide."

★ - Cairo was by no means a great gardener, though he did enjoy it in certain capacities. It did frustrate him that he was not more skilled than he was, but he had grown a few herbs of his own in the past. It had been nice, if not a little time-consuming.

Cairo had made a slight point to avoid sitting directly next to Asimov: the way that his father had been acting recently had really been making him uncomfortable for a number of reasons, including how much he disliked it despite resembling himself.

As the conversation of talking to plants arose, Cairo shakily leaned down to look closer at a plant, his golden eyes shining upon them despite their overall lack of luster as of late. "...I-I suppose there's no point in being rude to them, yeah."

★ - One of the biggest things that had become an issue with Cairo's injuries was eating. Every aspect of it, really. It hurt to swallow, his jaw was frequently tired after chewing; it was a chore to even get to the kitchen and get something to eat. Maneuvering around the mansion was not easy, given how injured Cairo was, and he already spent so much of his day meandering around and doing any job, no matter how small and inconsequential, in order to prove something, seemingly. Frequently, he was far too tired to go down to the kitchen, and thus, he frequently didn't. Cairo had not been eating nearly as much as he should have been recently. The only real time he remembered having a full meal in the past few weeks was what Dee had made that one night.

Truthfully, Cairo was worried that his weight loss would begin to become far too noticeable to brush off, and people would start asking him questions and start worrying about him. Which is what prompted him to make his way to the kitchen, despite how tired he was and the fact that he really did not feel up to doing so.

Unfortunately, he was already exhausted from the trek there, and was therefore having a difficult time opening cabinets, getting food, and the like. He'd had to use his teeth as of late, as standing up on his one hind leg and using his paws would certainly result in him falling over. However, shocker: using your teeth for everything was pretty hard. And thus, cabinets were not staying open or opening nearly wide enough.

After a few attempts, and a few slams of the cabinet shut, a low growl rumbled throughout the kitchen from Cairo's throat, and he began to attempt to pry open the cabinets one more time.

Dee.  

★ - Cairo wasn't quite sure he expected Nyx to do such a thorough job of cleaning out his room. He wasn't quite sure because he didn't think Nyx owned as much stuff as he did. Thus, when encountering the heap of trinkets and tchotchkes, the winged kitsune found himself a little surprised.

"Wow, you... certainly have a lot of things," he commented as he approached the small group. "Or, um, had. I guess," he added, correcting himself. Nyx did seem to be intending to throw these things out, didn't he?

Cairo was particularly surprised because he, himself, had very little in his room. Though, he had occasionally thought of adopting a more lavish aesthetic sense, influenced entirely by a desire to emulate his father's more desirable qualities. Everyone seemed to view Asimov as a monolith, and Cairo hated being viewed as an injured, should-be-bedridden boy in comparison.

★ - When faced with the proposal of a beach day, Cairo had been rather looking forward to it. He'd grown up practically on the beach, and as a result had missed it recently, what with not seeing it every day like he used to. In preparation, he'd gotten dressed in suitable attire; a pair of swim trunks and sandals.

However, as he stood on the beach now, Cairo had found himself standing remarkably far away from the shore, nearby Dee, with a towel wrapped draped over his shoulders and huddling around his torso to shield his remarkably fair skin from the sun beating down. Somewhat ill-advisedly, Cairo had neglected to put on any sunscreen. Despite the fact that he could not really tan. Like at all.

Cairo had not been expecting the water to be as dirty as it was, and was thus more than reluctant to go for a swim, unlike Colette. The beach he used to live on was not the cleanest place in the world by a country mile, but this had to be far worse, he reasoned. "Uh, I may join later...?" he called out, voice perhaps a touch too soft to actually be heard by Colette. Oh well. Couldn't be helped.

★ - " colette , could you grow some plants and herbs and then put them throughout the mansion? he figured it would help spruce up the place, and certainly make it smell nicer.

★ - Freezing up the moment he felt another person's hand on his back, Cairo's eyes darted to the side and downwards toward his father. It was a little strange, the amalgamation of traits he had gotten from his parents. Though he shared hair and eye color and a lot of facial features with Aleksei, Cairo certainly had not inherited his height. Were Cairo to have somewhat better posture, he'd end up roughly half a foot taller than his father. In addition, Cairo was also far paler and far thinner than his father was, probably weighing multiple tens of pounds less than the shorter man, resulting in a somewhat jarring appearance of two very similar faces on two very disparate bodies.

"D-Dad—" Cairo spoke up, though immediately stopped as he realized that Aleksei had gone off to go talk to Dee underneath the umbrella. Truth be told, Cairo wanted to go underneath the umbrella, too, it was so hot out. But now with his thirty-something father in what was practically hot pants turning it into a place of debauchery with another thirty-something man, he resigned himself to standing out the rays of the sun.

Cheeks burning red from a mixture of the heat and embarrassment, "I don't want to swim," he grumbled, clutching the towel around his torso even firmer.

★ - Cairo's attempts were quickly cut short with a shout from a voice that he was quite unable to identify at first. Recoiling with a short, clipped yip, his jaw dropped open and a final slam of the cabinet reverberated throughout the kitchen.

Cairo was truly a terrible cook, and had only been looking for something ready-to-eat, but was encountered with perhaps one of the best chefs he'd ever met: Dee (not that he had a terrible amount of competition in Cairo's rather small world, but it was the principle of the matter). While the canine was a rather new addition to the Cartel as of late, his dinner and hosting skills had already made something of a lasting impression on the group, and thus Cairo as a whole.

Turning to face and look down at Dee, Cairo's face broke into something of surprise and embarrassment. "Ah... uh... um, sorry," he blurted, finding himself at something of a loss for words. Though he nonetheless wanted to prove and insist that he was beyond capable when it came to doing things (despite that being a lie), Cairo felt that Dee's tone required him to be comparatively more submissive. Dee was his elder, and also had a position of power in the kitchen, in Cairo's mind, so he was inclined to listen to him in this capacity.

"I-I was just... looking for something to eat. I was hungry. N-Nothing in particular, though," he swallowed, wincing slightly at the pain that followed in his chest. "And n-no, I didn't think you were, um," a pause. "Too short," Cairo finished, noticing more and more how much larger he was than the host. It had never really occurred to Cairo that he was as tall as he was, but he supposed that yes, he was tall. He'd simply never thought about it too much.

Cairo had no intentions of talking about his injuries or where he got them or what had happened or why he was acting the way he did. Anything that allowed him to get what he wanted to be done done with as little questions asked as possible was what he wanted. Any question about his state or his behavior would likely be met poorly by the winged hybrid.

//no no not at all! its perfectly fine lol

★ - Cairo knew next to nothing about Ivoria other than that they were allies to the Cartel. Honestly, he did feel a little bad that he wasn't more knowledgable about the group, but he'd been pretty busy as of late, and they seemed relatively new in comparison to other places around Agrelos.

Hobbling over to great the ambassadors, the injured kitsune dipped his head in a show of respect. "Hello, I am Cairo, the head of the Militia division, here," he greeted, doing his best to keep his tone professional and even. "I hope you'll forgive my appearance at the moment," he added, figuring it was better to address how injured and patched up he was rather than simply leave it unspoken.

"I'm sure our leader will be here very soon."

★ - Cairo had taken to pretending to be asleep; long, bony limbs taking up much of a white couch near the wall. Pillow over his face, the young man pretended as if he could hear nothing around him. Having caught his father more than once on... we'll say adult apps on his phone in the span of the road trip alone, Cairo was not terribly interested in seeing that again. He didn't need to see anymore shirtless pictures of his dad, or pictures of his dad in front of cars, or pictures of his dad in front of some gigantic house peeking over his shoulder.

Were someone to pay close attention to Cairo, they would likely be able to tell that he was not truly asleep. He was doing a rather poor job of it, and honestly wasn't trying terribly hard. However, he knew Aleksei wasn't looking terribly close, and wanted to avoid any questions about the aux cord or seeing him on his phone again.

Slighting out a slight groan, Cairo opened his eyes and stared into the pillow. At nothing.

★ - Though he had lived with his other father, Aleksei, for quite some time now, it was still rather hard to grasp to Cairo just how wealthy he was. Like... scarily wealthy. It seemed that whatever his father wanted, he could buy without any afterthought whatsoever. It was reflected in his houses (note the plural), his dress, his decoration, his tastes, his belongings, his everything. It was quite a far cry from his more... granola upbringings in a southern Californian artist's colony. Though, that did not necessarily mean that this felt less like a home. He'd always felt rather out of place in the artist's colony, because he was a rather poor artist in every sense of the word.

However, being constantly recognized as the son of a halfway-to-billionaire would get rather old, and Cairo had never been very materialistic, so he constantly dressed himself down. Not that he dressed like a hobo, but he didn't wear the Supreme and Gucci and Balenciaga that he one-hundred percent had the access to given his father's wealth. He just dressed like an average young man. However, his resemblance to aforementioned uber-rich Aleksei in his face shape, structure, and features was rather undeniable, so it tended to happen regardless. It didn't help that they ended up having practically the same hairstyle and color. But Cairo liked his hair, so he wasn't going to change it even if it could help him get less pictures taken of him.

One thing that was starkly different from his father, though, was physique. Aleksei was rich, and therefore had plenty of time to spend working out in well-stocked, expensive, nice gyms. Cairo was a student, and spent much of his time studying and doing homework, and was frequently too tired to do any working out after hand. Despite being in the range of six-one, six-two, Cairo probably hovered around a hundred-thirty pounds, soaking wet. He was very thin. Aleksei was by no means like, a bodybuilder, but he was certainly muscular. Aleksei was also tanned, and Cairo seemed to remain lily white no matter what he did, which also prompted a tiny bit of jealousy from the student.

Cairo didn't necessarily have a problem with being as thin as he was, but he always figured that it would probably be better to put on some weight sooner or later. Not having a problem with it did not necessarily mean he enjoyed being really skinny (he didn't terribly). And, he figured that he clearly shared genes with Aleksei, so maybe doing so would not be terribly difficult. Right?

However, as he took the elevator down to the private gym, Cairo found himself completely lost. There were so many machines—of course there were, even if Aleksei didn't use them, he could buy them, so why not—and a rack with more weights than he considered terribly necessary.

"...Oh god," Cairo mumbled under his breath, turning his eyes to the ground. He didn't even know where to start. This was embarrassing, he thought to himself.

ASIMOV  

★ - The exclamation from Sir Pentious may have been surprising to Cairo, but Asimov's reaction had been downright shocking. Though he understood where Asimov was coming from, Cairo could never imagine himself saying that. Cairo, at the end of the day could not help but compare himself to his father.

He shifted somewhat awkwardly on his front two paws as he stood, being careful to not fall down given his poor balance. Did he say something? Did he leave? Did he do some other unspecified third option?

However, when Batterychicken arrived and gave his congratulationz to the basilisks, Cairo decided he would do the same.

"Congratulations," he said softly, a somewhat awkward, though partially genuine smile on his face as he did his best to pretend what had just happened did not.

★ - Cairo was more than well acquainted with his father's affinity toward flings. Some weird ass shit happened in the artist's commune, but Asimov was with a new person practically every other day. Though it still made him uncomfortable, Cairo had done his best to react as little as possible and make as little noise as he could whenever he walked in on Asimov and some man or woman making out on the couch.

Honestly, Cairo kind of expected that Asimov was currently doing something fittingly flagrant, so his father honestly didn't need to come and inform him to stay in the gym for the next thirty minutes; he probably would have done so regardless.

Hearing the elevator ding, Cairo turned and saw his father. It was who he expected: Asimov didn't seem like he would let any rando that he brought over to sleep with into his private gym.

Cairo groaned a little bit at his father's joke. "Alright, dad," he replied, frowning. He was truly lost in the gym, so thirty minutes would probably not even be long enough for him to start.

When Asimov came back to ask a further question of his son, Cairo was a little surprised. Sex typically always came first to Asimov. Cairo didn't dislike his father, but just how unabashedly promiscuous and flirty he was could get irritating from time to time. But, it was nice to hear that Asimov was willing to help him, even if it meant keeping his date waiting. Besides, Cairo was certain that whatever type of man it was, he would ne hard-pressed to find any complaints about having to stay in the most unapologetically luxurious house he'd likely ever seen.

"Uh," Cairo swallowed thickly, clearly growing a little embarrassed as his pale skin began to show pink. "I don't know. I've never worked out before," he admitted, crossing his arms somewhat.

★ - In a somewhat uncharacteristic move, Cairo had decided to search out the Narcotics Capo. The two of them had never gotten along terribly well. Cairo didn't like Batterychicken very much, and Batterychicken seemed rather entirely neutral on the kitsune, to him, so there was never really reason for the two of them to ever speak. Even in matters of business, their two jobs found very little overlap. Were Cairo in charge of the nurses, it was possible that such a thing may have been different. But that was not the case.

It didn't take Cairo long in the slightest to find Batterychicken. Even though he (and, consequentially, the rest of the Cartel) had begrudgingly gotten accustomed to the odor that Batterychicken carried with him wherever he went, that did not mean it was not... characteristic. You could easily pick out the smell of the wolf, and thus very easily find Batterychicken from following the trail.

After following the trail, his eyes watering somewhat from the stinging smell of the canine, Cairo eventually came to find Batterychicken, all by his lonesome. Good, Cairo thought. If he were with Asimov, or any other one of his friends, this would not work out in the way Cairo wanted to. He needed to be alone.

"...Batterychicken?" the injured hybrid asked, padding closer to the wolf with a serious look on his face. "I... uh..." he glanced around, somewhat nervous. "...I need to ask you something. For something."

★ - Cairo had never been terribly close with the saluki, so he prayed that his interactions with Ghoulian wouldn't be too awkward. Though, at the end of the day, Cairo knew that fell on him. After all, Ghoulian seemed at the very least marginally better at maintaining control of a conversation than the kitsune was.

"Ah, um, yes," Cairo nodded. That wasn't a great first answer, he realized immediately, but it at least gave Ghoulian the indication that he was on the right track with his guesses. "So, um, I grew up with a... doctor... healer... nurse, whatever the word is," he paused. "And I'd help him out, so when I first got here... I was pretty good at herbs and doctor-ing, and all that."

"But I've, um," he let out an awkward laugh, wincing from the accompanying pain that shot through his ribcage. "I've kind of... fallen out of practice. I haven't done anything with them in a while. Also, my dad—uh, my dad I grew up with, the doctor, not Asimov—didn't really teach me advanced herb usage. I was mostly just an assistant," he titled his head. "And I was, uh, pretty young," he supposed he still was pretty young, but he was even younger back when he had lived with Milkyway.

"So, I was wondering if you could help me learn and relearn some stuff about herbs, yeah," Ghoulian as a member of the Nurse division, so he knew that he could trust him with helping him out in this capacity.