Red Ring's [100] Video Game Musings [22% Complete] Upd. [3.28.20]

[Red Ring of Death]

It's been awhile. Guess I'm just one'a those types that... disappears for awhile. It happens XD OKAY okay so to kick off Round... 2-ish? I present to you, er... Rafe. Wait, what? -looks at script- Hhhhuh. It's Rafe so... Here ya go, guys.
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[71.] The True You
[Video Game] Uncharted 4
Rafe Adler [M]
Length [909]
 

She had spent enough time around him by now to know how he operated; sure, the man did have a flair for theatrics and he was a diva but aside from the occasional unexpected move, she had him figured out. Nothing about him really surprised her anymore so when he came stumbling through the door, a mostly-empty bottle of sloshing Scotch whisky clutched in lithe fingers, she casually turned away from the open map on the table centrally placed in the rounded room.

“Rafe?” She asked, leaning against the table and crossing her arms as the man attempted to straighten up. He brushed his unkempt bangs off his brow only for them to sweep back down where they were. He approached her slowly, shakily, every step seeming like the one to be misplaced and send him toppling to the stone floor. She kept her brown eyes on him keenly, nowhere near afraid but still alert nonetheless though if she knew him, and she liked to think she did, she was more worried about what he might do to their map.

He paused for a moment and lifted the bottle only to lower it again and his blue eyes, bright sharpness dulled by the watery effect of alcohol, found Nadine’s face and he gave her a brief, lopsided grin. “Hey babe.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re drunk.” He took more steps forward and she pulled away from the table, starting to pace around him slowly until the two were circling each other; it was almost like a dance when he was drunk which, to be fair, wasn’t very often. She stepped carefully but not lightly – all she had to do was wear him down.

“I’m… frustrated.” He replied. She did wonder how he managed to sound so coherent and clear even when he was struggling to stand up straight but she didn’t question things like that at times like these. “We’ve been here for seven days and no progress has been made.”

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” She asked rather patiently. “When you aren’t drowning in whisky?” He snorted as if the suggestion was a stupid one and lifted the hand holding the bottle to point to her but instead of giving a sarcastic, possibly subtly threatening retort, his mouth hung open for a moment.

“Hhi’TCHh!” The sneeze seemed to catch him off guard more than her as it seemed to shake his foundation and he took a small step back to steady himself. Nadine paused in her movement when he did, continuing to watch him though she had a better idea of just how drunk he was.

“So that’s a ‘yes’ right?” She couldn’t help but reply dryly; she was expecting something much more difficult than this.

“D-don’t test me, girl,” Rafe replied slowly, emptily, the waver in his voice now prevalent and no sooner had he finished his sentence that his breath shuddered and he doubled over, his free hand on his knee while the other hand did everything it could to keep a sweaty grip on the neck of the bottle. “H’ITZHh! Hh’KTChh! Hh hhH’IZHhuh!” They were timely, like a newspaper press effortlessly shoving copy after copy through the conveyor belt, yet sounded exhausted; Nadine couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been tipped over the acceptable alcohol content for the body.

She sighed as her dark eyes softened ever-so-slightly as Rafe looked as though he were about to curl up and hurl all over the floor, his face deciding whether it was more nauseated, irritated at everything or giddy from the buzz. The mercenary, as certain as she could be that she could handle this situation, wordlessly approached the drunk man and put a hand on his back supportively. “C’mon, we can talk about this tomorrow,” She said softly.

He started to object, straightening up as if someone poked him on the spine. “No, I can—we’re talking about this tonight,” He replied adamantly, looking sideways at her with no intention or ability to follow through. She paused and waited for anything else he might’ve wanted to say but when nothing came out except for another sneeze, followed by another, she pat him on the back and started to turn him around to lead to his room. “I’m frustrated.” He repeated, voice still surly and clear. “I’m just… frustrated.”

“I know,” Nadine assured calmly as she led him through the halls, glaring at anyone they passed who found themselves staring; well, THIS wasn't gonna ruin her image.

“I just want to win.”

“I know.” They were almost there, save pausing for another bout of sneezing. She could do that; she was just internally thankful that he wasn’t putting up more of a fight. “We can talk about this tomorrow,” She affirmed, turning down the final hallway until they were at his door. She hadn’t realised she was basically holding him up at this point and unwrapped his arm from around her shoulders, leaning him against the wall. “Get some sleep,” She instructed quietly with a small nod, glancing down at the bottle briefly, contemplating whether or not she wanted to try to get it away from him. He noticed and offered it aloft with that same crooked grin.

“Wanna sip?” He asked. “I think… I’m good.” She quirked her eyebrow again but took the bottle gingerly. He turned and opened the door. “Night, babe.” He looked at her over his shoulder.

“…Good night, Rafe.”

[Watercolor Daydreams]

Agh, Uncharted 4. I recently played through it again and it reminded me of this thread, and I was so happy to see it was recently updated.

On 12/8/2017 at 0:09 AM, Red Ring of Death said:

“H’ITZHh! Hh’KTChh! Hh hhH’IZHhuh!” They were timely, like a newspaper press effortlessly shoving copy after copy through the conveyor belt, yet sounded exhausted; Nadine couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been tipped over the acceptable alcohol content for the body.

And oh Rafe. He's so vulnerable in this it makes my heart melt. I especially loved that part. <3

[Red Ring of Death]

Okay soooo THIS is a little nonconventional - this one's gonna be a two-parter with the same overarching story. I suppose it doesn't help that I think I can count on one hand how many people have played this game so I'm sort of breaking a handful of unspoken drabble rules in one - these are both lengthy, too. I don't get it; my stories feel too short and my drabbles are too long. -siiiiiiigh- Also if anyone notices the increase in (things in parentheses), it's because in the game, every move is called a Function() so I thought it'd be a little... I dunno, clever? I'm not very clever.

Oh, also, for those that don't care about world-building, there's no snz in part 1, otherwise known as "Running Away". There is in part 2 tho.
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[13.] Running Away
[Video Game] Transistor
Royce Bracket [M]
Length [980]
 

In retrospect, it could’ve been called a miracle, what divine engagement occurred to assure that all four members sat at the same table while they ‘shared’ a casual dinner. The table itself was rather long for only being for four people, pristine in colour and sharp in shape as it stretched its back across the length of the room comfortably.

On one end sat three members, Grant taking the patriarchal end and the chair with the arm rests as per usual, leaning on one elbow with a gentle smile on his aged face. Sybil chattered and gossiped across the table to Asher, who simultaneously kept his sharp blue eyes on her and fed the sable cat wrapped around his shoulders lazily, pawing for more when he finished what he had been offered.

“…And you should’ve seen what she was wearing, I swear, even in today’s time, it was sooo outdated,” Sybil continued, seemingly pausing just long enough to eat a bite of food or take a quick sip of her drink before launching into another fluttery topic about some person she knew – and she knew a lot of people. Grant, ever the face of the people and resident administrator of Cloudbank, understood the sentiment. Asher less so who, while not intending to disrespect his fellow member of the Camerata, wasn’t entirely on board with the whole “make ourselves known as prevalent social butterflies” idea; he could mingle with the best of them, of course, but unlike Grant who had to make appearances and Sybil who was effectively their conduit to the people (and a “spy” of sorts), he was a little more concerned with maintaining an air of mystery, which busied him most of the time given how often he found himself juggling responsibilities to do so effectively.

“—Listening to me?” Sybil’s sharp voice cut through the thoughts Asher found himself unaware of having and the latter blinked back into reality – or as close to reality as this virtual simulation of a city would allow. They focused back onto Sybil’s bright face as she quirked an eyebrow at him accusingly.

“I was listening,” Grant suggested mildly in his baritone voice, raising his own eyebrows with a half-lidded gaze.

“You’re always listening,” Sybil pouted, leaning back in her tall-backed chair and crossing her arms, giving Asher a mock-pathetic look like a puppy left out in the rain; she never pulled this sort of childish behaviour in public, though Asher wasn’t sure whether it was to his comfort to know how natural she felt in this environment(good) or annoyance because she was like the sister he never had or wanted(bad). “I was telling Asher something super important.”

“You think everything you say is important,” Asher replied before he could really control himself; his tone wasn’t malicious, but rather jesting and with a small smirk.

“Well yeah, because it is.” She said matter-of-factly, giving him a sarcastic shrug. “In any case, I have a public engagement that I think would be beneficial to us in a few days and I was hoping you would join since… well, since we should all be there.”

Before Asher had time to even really process what she had said, there was a very audible scrape of chair legs against the slick floor that came from the other side of the table. The three members glanced over, some(Grant) more alert than others(Sybil). As the table progressed in length, the surface became increasingly covered in papers and graphs, each one written on or scribbled all over, some crinkled into loose balls or folded into irregular patterns but discarded nonetheless. Even further was a compass, what appeared to be a weathered old paper map(a rarity by today’s standards), a half-empty pack of cigarettes, a handful of pencils and a tablet that lay face-down. Centrally-located in the mess though not sitting at the very end of the table(as perhaps that would be just a bit too cliché), was the fourth member of the Camerata, standing and turned at the waist where he caught the back of his chair from toppling over, face obscured by the angle. Awkwardly, he adjusted the chair back to where it was and, keeping his head down, went up and down the length of where the scattered papers were, pulling them in close together and unwrapping the balls until they formed a messy stack.

The other three continued to stare at him though Sybil was the first to change her expression from mild to rather haughty as he gathered his things in this manner. “Where ya going, Royce?” She asked, her tone not unlike a child knowing that they were being obnoxious but asking questions anyway. He paused for a moment at his name, but brushed her off as he folded the map and placed it atop the stack, followed by the tablet then the compass. “Something I said?” He took the cigarettes, stuffed them in a jacket pocket, pulled the pencils in close and took them into a firm hand. “You’re coming to that gathering, right?” She almost drawled at this point, managing to look down on him even though he was standing. He paused for another moment, still looking away.

“…No.”

He started to head off without another word but even through that reply, the other three members picked up that something was wrong. Sybil bit her lower lip guiltily and Asher gave Grant a quick, intuitive glance with his piercing blue eyes as Grant also got to his feet hastily and followed after the taller man, leaving the remaining two at the table. Asher raised his eyebrows and looked at Sybil, leaning back in his own seat, pursing his lips and stroking the top of his cat’s head.

“Rude.”

“How was I supposed to know? He’s weird, he’s always like that!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in an exasperated motion.
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[16.] Excuses
[Video Game] Transistor
Royce Bracket [M]
Length [1.040]
 

If Grant didn’t know where Royce was going, he certainly would’ve lost the man; the latter had an almost uncanny knack for taking obtuse routes and finding ways around things that seemed illogical – nonconventional.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Grant, who had since found Royce’s back, called as he tried to catch up to him. “Slow down, you know she was just trying to get under your skin.” Though he didn’t stop, Royce did slow down considerably and Grant noticed how the man was carrying himself; normally rather proud, tall and proper but here he seemed as though he were resisting the urge to curl up and put his arms across his abdomen, double over and drop to a crouch where he was. “Royce.”

The taller man did stop at his name a third time, standing stiff in the hall, head down, almost like a dog that had gotten caught breaking a rule. Grant huffed out a breath(Royce also had longer legs so catching and keeping up was something of a chore) and regained his composure, brushing loose strands of fine white hair out of his face. “Royce, talk to me. What’s wrong?” He put a hand on the man’s thin shoulder gently.

“I won’t--  can’t go to Sybil’s engagement.” He finally gave Grant a full sentence and every word was an explanation to the older man; Royce was always quiet, even when Grant first met him 18 years ago, but whereas he always sounded drained and of stilted cadence, now he sounded… threadbare. A carpet unravelling as a cat kneaded the fibers. His voice was thick, carrying disease and mucous buildup, and it was either benign and Royce was over-reacting(which Grant didn’t even know he could do) or dangerous and Royce was doing that thing that self-proclaimed geniuses do and trying to power through it like it weren’t a big deal. Not that Royce was a self-proclaimed genius, mind.

Grant could tell that this was a delicate subject for the mathematician and he let out a calm exhale, internally trying to figure out how best to approach this – Royce wasn’t the easiest person to talk to on a regular basis but topics he wished to avoid proved to be a challenge that most people gave up on after a certain threshold. Grant, however, wasn’t most people. “Can you tell me why?” His tone was almost fatherly in nature; he wasn’t there to make assumptions - that was Sybil’s job.

Royce didn’t reply though he finally shed part of his cold, calculated exoskeleton and gave a useless sniff that turned into a dry, unsatisfying cough, a shovel digging up sand and dumping it on a stone sheet only for a harsh wind to carry it away; repetitious and painful, giving the impression that no matter how many times he could try, it wouldn’t make the feeling go away. Grant couldn’t help but grimace – Royce did his body no favours by smoking like a freight train but that rarely made itself as evident as it was now. “I have… work to do.”

“You always have work to do.” Grant replied patiently. “It’s okay to NOT work constantly.” He had to admit that he was sort of phoning it in with that - objectively speaking, regarding Cloudbank, Royce DID do the most work; while Sybil was planning cocktail parties with the city’s most influential voices, at least at the time of said parties, and Grant was an authority figure with authority, Royce spent hours and days creating algorithms to keep up with the city’s petty, capricious nature. The city didn’t sleep, so Royce tended not to, either, which didn’t really help his situation.

The taller man paused, no doubt searching for a coherent sentence amid all the numbers and words and problems in his head. Grant waited; this was just how Royce was – the opposite of Sybil, now that he thought about it. “There’s something I have to do in Fairview, something I have… to examine.” This was a different excuse certainly, but…

“If you have time to go to Fairview, why don’t you have time to go to Sybil’s engagement?” Grant asked, almost chuckling at this point; he was fine with Royce not attending the engagement (he figured it was a Camerata-relate one so he would politely ask Sybil to postpone it) but while these were pseudo-valid excuses in general, they weren’t specifically why Royce had unceremoniously made a hurried exit as soon as Sybil brought it up.

The mathematician was quiet again, save the rasped breathing Grant could carefully hear and he was certain that he could only hear it because Royce was letting him. “…It’s a virus.” He finally concluded, relinquishing in that same emotionless tone though Grant knew Royce had just crossed over a personal hurdle. “I’m sure you can… guess of what.” He turned his head to give Grant a look at his face at this point and the older man saw the features painted over Royce; eyes that held exhaustion instead of intense ambition, pale skin, pronounced nose brushed red and chapped. A look that mixed nauseous irritation and the faint sound of wires shorting out.

Grant’s expression softened more and he gave Royce a pat on the back supportively. He opened his mouth to say something but a soft noise stopped him, a soft ‘’tss!’ that he could’ve sworn came from somewhere else had he not had a hand on Royce’s shoulder as it trembled for a second. A pause, followed by another sound almost equivalent in softness but just a little more tired, if that was possible. Royce sniffed again and Grant could see his thick eyebrows knotting in the middle, no doubt from frustration and possibly a little embarrassment – the architect hated being put on the spot.

“Get some rest, Royce,” He nodded, taking his hand off of the man’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to Sybil. Just let me know when you’re feeling better.” He gave the younger man a smile before respectfully turning and sparing him further internal humiliation. As he walked away, he could hear a third kittenish sneeze from Royce, followed by a fourth and he couldn’t help but applaud the man for keeping it together so succinctly in the dining room.

[Red Ring of Death]

I had to tweak one of the themes up just a little because I couldn't find one to suit THIS particular drabble. I was gonna just stick it in here as an "extra" but for now, it'll stick with this. Also... no one can say I strictly stick to one method. I was curious to see just how far out of my "comfort zone" I could step. Never was one to back down from a challenge.
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[68.] Unsettling
[Video Game] Grand Theft Auto V
Trevor Philips [M]
Length [933]
 

"You're fucking disgusting."

"Aw, I'm glad you think so highly of me, pumpkin." The latter replied with a snort and spit another collection of phlegm and saliva with a thin vein of blood giving it that little bit of colour into the dead grass for what certainly wasn’t the first and most likely wasn’t gonna be the last time as the two walked down the cracked sidewalk in the cold air.

"What kinda friend would I be if I didn't tell you how I felt about you?"

"The kind that ditches then lies to people for ten fuckin' years."

"Jesus Christ, again? Are you… EVER gonna let that go?"

"I might. Gimme ten years." The snide jab was followed by a string of hacking, but dry coughs though Trevor still managed to gather enough saliva to spit again. Michael glanced sideways at his train wreck of an acquaintance, feeling his eyebrows knitting with a mixture of disgust and concern, and took a generous step away from the other man.

"Is that how long it's gonna take for you to kick this... this?" He gestured to Trevor's figure; it was hard to tell from a first glance given that Trevor's appearance generally hovered between 'lazy' and 'publicly unacceptable' because of his "devil-may-care" attitude about it  but even underneath the drug-induced lesions, sores and discoloured skin, under the bruises from a forgotten night drunk, there was a nasty head cold practically screaming to be recognized... and it kind of reminded Michael about how Trevor himself was; gross, a pain in the ass for everyone involved, and there was no way to get rid of him.

Trevor paused in their walk, looking down at Michael and scoffing. "'This'?" He gestured to himself in a similar manner as how Michael had. "'THIS' is one hundred percent genu-ine--"

"Mess?"

"GRIEF, Michael. Jesus, I try to open up to you and you call me names." An audible shiver worked its way up the thinner man's back and he coughed out a cloud of condensation. The cough turned into a wet sniffle that got promoted to a hitch in his breath and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the man walking uncomfortably close behind them to almost ram into him. He swerved and swore something exactly along the lines of 'watch where you're going, fuckface!'

"YOU watch where I'm-- Huh'CKhaugh! --going, ASSWIPE!" The sneeze itself was loud, obnoxious and sounded decidedly more like a cough, definitely through the mouth though it wasn't as though his upper lip was dry. Michael glanced over at his taller friend, fists clenched and teeth bared as he sloppily wiped his nose on the back of his knuckles in a state of heightened aggression though he wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or just because of how he was. It was probably a mix of both at this point.

The guy, surprising both of them, turned and gave a belittling smile. "Or you could just not stop in the middle of the sidewalk like some goddamn selfish-ass motherfucker! People are walkin', here!" Only a few seconds were allowed to pass before Trevor’s balled fist swung up and collided with the guys jaw sharply, knocking the guy back and he toppled over onto his rear with an audible grunt of pain. Trevor started to make a move in to jump on top of the guy and keep beating but a firm hand on his shoulder from Michael stopped him for a reason he couldn’t quite figure out.

“It’s okay, T.” Michael dissuaded his violent friend. “Yo bud,” He now addressed the guy on the ground, cradling his bloody jaw in his hand, moaning quietly with strings of expletives slurring out through a hole in his mouth that once housed a tooth. “I recommend a doctor’s visit.” Trevor snorted with that sneer he did, still managing to feel victorious.

“ I’m contagious, biiiitch.” The taller man concluded dryly with a pronounced sniff, spitting more discoloured phlegm at the guy, who recoiled and rolled over to start to get to his feet. Michael guided Trevor away from the guy as the latter examined his knuckles. “Damn, he cut me.” He held up his fist, glistening with saliva, snot and now a new shine of blood that leaked out of a jag in the skin.

“You gave him the plague,” Michael replied with a scoff. “Just ease up a little, alright? It’s just a guy. C’mon, I still owe you that beer.” He motioned to keep going as Trevor popped his neck with one more glare down at the guy, turning to sulk behind Michael with another messy swipe at his red nose. He opened his mouth and lifted a hand pointedly as if ready to unleash a string of retorts and arbitrary insults but shook his head and looked down at the ground.

“Fuckin’… whatever.” The hint of resignation was enough to tell Michael that this conversation was over until Trevor decided to bring up an inconvenient moment and he was satisfied to let it go. Michael paused in his walk as Trevor irritably shouldered past him but the latter soon stopped and Michael saw his head raise briefly as if to look at the sky before sharply bringing it back down, both looking and sounding reminiscent of a gavel on a sound block. “EhS’HCKAEHh!” Didn’t bother to cover his mouth or seem discreet in any sense. As usual. He snorted and spit more green and red fluid out.

Michael shook his head with a grimace on his face and walked after him. “You’re fuckin’ disgusting.”

[Red Ring of Death]

So this guy's been on my to-do list ever since I first joined this site but I only got inspired enough in light of the Detroit: Become Human stuff (and Connor's on the way, I'm trying not to make my writing seem like I'm just copying other people because that certainly isn't my intention). What can I say, I like socially awkward investigators.
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[63.] Cold Embrace
[Video Game]
Norman Jayden [M]
Length [884]
 

“God-DAMMIT!” Blake yelled for what felt like the thousandth time that day as he and his reluctant partner trudged up the stairs from the sprawling subway below. It felt like it had been a string of defeats; Nathaniel wasn’t their guy, Korda wasn’t their guy, Blake had to get physically violent to coerce information out of Mars’ psychiatrist then not only do they find out that Mars had an accomplice but they got away. There were only hours left before Shaun Mars would drown and the unseen timer was making Blake more outwardly irritable while Norman kept his anxious determination subdued for now. It didn’t help that while Blake was cursing and stomping around, Norman had a thought driven by intuition and information that Ethan Mars wasn’t their guy.

“—we might’ve caught him if you hadn’t been fuckin’ around while I chased after them!” Blake’s loud voice was brought to the forefront of Norman’s mind and the latter glanced over and glared at Blake briefly with narrow blue eyes before breaking eye contact and lowering his head subconsciously against the downpour they were now standing in. “I told you to stay in the car,” Blake continued. “But nooo you just HAD to come with me, then it turns out it doesn’t matter because we STILL didn’t catch ‘em!” Blake huffed, not bothering to be covert at all about how upset he was, causing passersby to glance over and stare at the duo. Norman decided to ignore his partner and continued to walk away from the subway entrance, one hand reaching up to tenderly touch the bruising around his eye where he got a pipe to the face by Korda. He had a rough day; he was sore, his face hurt, he got a chicken thrown at him and he knew he was fighting off two issues at once between the ARI, Triptocaine and a budding cold he had picked up the night he arrived in Pennsylvania and was trying his best to stave off, knowing that adrenaline was his main medicine at the moment.

“Hey Jayden,” Blake called, half-jogging to catch up to him and Norman groaned to himself, wondering how long he was going to be bullied by Blake this time before eventually losing interest. “Got anything to say about that? You pitch a bitch fit every time I try to get some useful information then when we finally have our guy, you pussy out during the chase?” Norman’s patience was running out and he stopped so suddenly that Blake almost ran into him.

“You were ahead of me so why didn’t YOU catch him?” Norman snapped, turning on his heel and getting in Blake’s face for once, for the first time since they got paired together. “What, first you’re scared of some religious nut holding a cross then you can’t even catch up to two people limping down an escalator? Why don’t you try to actually contribute next time instead of throwing your weight around and physically threatening people who could provide us with useful information?”  He was leaving off the parts where it was him who actually pursued the guy at the market and how he had told the police force what he had learned but the immediate conflict was Blake being mad that Norman hadn’t ‘pulled his weight’.

Though it was Norman who got in Blake’s space, Blake somehow got their faces even closer as the two glared at each other for several moments in the rain, Norman standing his ground with steely stillness and Blake shifting from one foot to the other, gnashing his teeth as he tended to do when he couldn’t come up with a good response. Norman was adamant; he had a headache, he felt buzzing in his sinuses and he found himself really hoping that he’d be able to hold his position and not turn away awkwardly to show Blake any weakness, especially with something like a sneeze. Fortunately, that didn’t happen and Blake finally tore his eyes off the FBI agent and shook his head, chewing on his tongue with a scoff. “Whatever. Whatever.” He shrugged and shouldered past Norman roughly and Norman, staggering slightly, turned, his gaze following Blake’s back as the lieutenant waved dismissively. “I’m gonna go get drunk. Have fun doing whatever-the-fuck you do when you aren’t keepin’ me from doing my job.”

Norman kept his eyes on Blake until he was sufficiently far enough away for Norman to loosen up, shoulders falling and he removed himself from the middle of the sidewalk where it was still seemingly pretty busy for a Wednesday night in the rain. A shiver wracked his body and he took a few steps back until he was under some dilapidated awning, providing him with minimal shelter from the bitter, cold rain. He sniffed, but didn’t have much time to prepare when he pitched forward with a hissing ‘Tchshh!’ into hands that were faintly shaking from the weather and the underlying effects of withdrawal. He sniffed, appearing altogether miserable and rather pathetic, and glanced up, trying to think of a good place he could be alone to think, ruminate, stew in his intuition and frustration. Going to get drunk… Maybe he wasn’t going to get drunk, but a bar sounded like the right kind of place.

[Red Ring of Death]

[78.] Change in the Weather
[Video Game] Uncharted 4
Sam Drake [M]
Length [469]


“So you’re gonna be home late again?” Nathan sounded crestfallen, absently scratching his knuckles against the grainy wood of the arm of the worn couch as he pulled his knees up to his chest; he was looking forward to them finally having an evening to just watch a movie together after Sam had been out all week.

“Yeah… sorry,” Sam replied, his voice tinny as it came through Nathan’s old cellphone. “But hey, at least that’s some extra cash, right?” His older brother asked rhetorically as Nathan kept his blue eyes on their bunny-eared television, antennas tweaked just well enough to see the weather patterns the meteorologist was explaining for the next 24 hours. “So there was this one guy…” Nathan’s brow furrowed, Sam’s voice fading from the forefront of his mind as he saw the rolling clumps of colour washing over the area, bathing the screen in green, orange and red – severe storm warning, the third one this week. “…And this jackass gives me fifteen. Can you believe that?”

“You know there’s a severe weather warning, right?” Nathan asked, completely plowing over whatever Sam had been talking about, keeping his eyes glued onto the TV with evident concern; though he knew his brother could take care of himself, it still worried him a little to know that Sam was out in a thunderstorm in a dumpy car with a busted window.

“Really? I couldn’t tell by the torrential downpour outside,” The elder Drake didn’t miss a beat, as if whatever he was saying wasn’t important anymore; Nathan would probably hear the story again later. “Not to alarm you, bro, but my clothes are…” His sentence faltered and Nathan heard the speaker on Sam’s phone get muffled as he heard a very audible “H’enzsh!” Nathan’s heart seemed to sink but he didn’t say anything. A sniff, followed by a “Hhh H’Etzhuh!” then the sound went from muffled back to its original tinny quality. “Soaked. Sorry.” Sam apologized, his tone indicating that he wasn’t, really, but rather that he was just apologizing out of formality. “Anyway, all’a that to say, I’ll call you when I’m on my –snf!- way home, ‘kay?”

Nathan felt a twinge of guilt but just gave a nod that he knew Sam couldn’t see. “Yeah, okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…” What WAS wrong? “Nothing. You better not get me sick,” He teased instead, trying to deflect his insecurities and worry about Sam’s well-being.

“Psht, I ain’t sick.” Sam scoffed over the phone. “’Kay, later.” Without waiting for Nathan to reply, he heard a click as Sam hung up and the younger Drake could tell that the abrupt disconnection was deflection on Sam’s part; the rain mixed with the broken window and the wet clothes was a recipe for sickness and it sounded like Sam had all the ingredients.

[Red Ring of Death]

First: Do people still play Skyrim? Second: a few details. This isn't my main character, but my backup to do all the opposing things with. He's a Nord (you can make up his appearance however you prefer), he wields a double-handed greatsword, and he's been blind from a very young age. He's never had any allergies that he's known of in the past and he's never seen a mammoth, nor does he really know what they are.
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[66.] Dangerous Territory
[Video Game] Skyrim
Eordyn [M]
Length [965]
 

After standing stupidly in the middle of the forest for what felt like several unnecessary minutes, Eordyn finally decided to just pick a direction and go, stepping carefully and keeping his left hand out while his right rested lightly at his side, ready to draw his great sword. He sort of wished he hadn’t have sold that spellbook on Clairvoyance and that he kept Lydia around to help guide him but he could do it on his own. He wasn’t the type to ask for help, he’d rather stand around looking lost than actually admit to being lost.

But this was fine; sure, he COULD’VE tried to go in a specific direction, listening for signs of activity – a waterwheel, the smell and sound of horse stables, the solid ‘shff’ of metal swords piercing straw dummies – but he was really just in it for the exploration at this point.

He wandered until he felt he was sufficiently out of the forest and he paused for a moment, turning his head in a wide sweep to listen for anything unusual. The sun was setting to his right so he was facing south. That was a good start. Nothing sounded entirely out of the norm, just the buzzing of insects and the vaguely terrifying beat of a dragon’s wings accompanied with their sky-piercing roar in the far distance. He decided to turn towards the sun and kept close to the edge of the forest, simultaneously relieved and yet disappointed that he hadn’t encountered any enemies to fight in at least an hour and he was getting bored.

The wind picked up as the sun got lower to the ground and he would’ve been bothered had he not had thick Nordic blood pumping through his muscled body. Well… at least it wasn’t the temperature but something WAS bothering him as the wind picked up but he couldn’t figure out what it was; it was a scent for sure but it was unfamiliar. An animal, maybe? Eh, whatever it was, it was probably fun to fight so he found himself wandering more resolutely, actually trying to find something now and ignoring that whatever he was looking for might’ve been blocking his sinuses and making his face itch. He swiped at his nose but continued in his quest before almost ramming into a particularly large rock that he wasn’t paying attention to. He stopped shortly and put a hand on the boulder, deciding to look around again. The sun was almost gone now and the environment was shuffling as the wind swept through the branches and thick grass. He heard the crackling of a fire nearby so he decided to explore around that for a few moments. He sniffed vivaciously, turning it into a snort – he could afford to be less than courteous when he was by himself – but realised it might not’ve been the best idea.

“NNnkh!” He barely had enough time to reach up and pinch his nose shut as he stifled a sneeze, a habit his mother tried to dissuade many, many years ago but he picked it up from his father so the habit wasn’t going anywhere. He was dazed for a moment, still caught off-guard at the sneeze which seemed to come out of nowhere, but shook his head and rubbed at his itching nose which was becoming increasingly agitated and agitating. He tried to move on but didn’t get very far before stifling another sneeze and a third that followed right behind that.

He frowned, crossing his milky eyes as if to look at his nose. What was going on? Did he acquire a disease? That must’ve been it. He rolled his eyes as he fished around in his incredibly spacious pockets for one of his totally-not-stolen cure disease potions and downed the small bottle. He paused, expecting to be able to breathe out of his nose shortly but no such feeling came and he scratched his head, puzzled at what was going on.

Then he heard something. It was in the distance but he could tell it was getting louder. It seemed rhythmic, like thunder, but it wasn’t dragon wings. Perhaps subconsciously (including resigning to breathing out of his mouth), he lifted one foot and dropped it when he heard the noise, then lifted the other, then the other until he was essentially marching in place. As the sound got louder, he grew a little tense as the ground itself seemed to shake and decided that maybe he shouldn’t have been there anymore. He turned away from the fire and started to head into the darkness but collided with something massive, warm and very hairy, something that he hadn’t noticed was standing right behind him and something that disagreed with his nose.

“ASCHh!” This sneeze was loud and forceful but one wouldn’t have been able to tell if that was just how his unstifled sneezes were or if it was because he was Dovahkiin. Only the first one got away from him though and he was able to stifle the subsequent three sneezes, each one somehow making his nose itchier than the last. “Ugh,” He groaned and reached out to feel whatever he had run into… and maybe to steady himself as he felt light-headed. He realised really quick that the warm hairy thing in front of him was something alive and going by the low rumble that was emanating from it, it didn’t seem very happy.

The next few moments went by in a rhetorical flash and as he was sent sailing through the air from a forceful trunk batting him with immense force, he rubbed his presumably red nose, keeping in mind that he had no idea what happened but maybe it was best to avoid whatever that was in the future.

[Red Ring of Death]

It's about time I wrote some Ace Attorney. I need to write more in general. I'm not entirely happy with how this one turned out but I'mma just dump it here - I don't think people read my stuff anymore anyway. Er... not that that's a guilt trip or anything lol
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[43.] Nature's Fury
[Video Game] Ace Attorney
Miles Edgeworth [M]
Length [889]
 

“Excuse me for a moment.”

He had to despite his mind telling him that he was far from done investigating the crime scene, that he had to gather every available shred that the police might’ve overlooked but he could feel himself getting stiffer, the mask on his tinted face threatening to crack more and more under the pressure building both in an attempt to save face and in his sinuses. He wasn’t satisfied until he was sufficiently out of view and earshot from anyone else in the vicinity; on average, he wasn’t shy about pulling out the handkerchief to address any misconduct on or around his face in public but Gumshoe was here and had a tendency to fuss over trivial matters. He wasn’t sure if the detective was aware of his chronic pollen allergies but if he wasn’t, Miles vastly preferred to keep it that way.

He sniffled thickly, a grunt getting caught in the webby phlegm in his throat and he knuckled his septum as if that were going to help mitigate the burning itch he felt in his nose that traveled to his red eyes and gave him the sensation of fine hairs gently pricking him here and there. Ugh, just the imagination of it caused his breath to hitch, which he allowed as he held the handkerchief up. He also allowed himself to relax just a moment as his eyes fluttered shut before dipping forward into the handkerchief with a harsh, none-too-quiet “HHrk’CHShh!” which bent him slightly at the waist. He straightened up, keeping his eyes closed and feeling his brow furrow before knitting up again. “EHRK’CHSHuh!” Immediately gratifying as they were, the sneezes did nothing to actually assuage the itch in his sinuses and he blew his nose into the cloth with another, slightly less dignified grunt that could’ve almost been mistaken for a soft whine. The crime scene just *had* to be owned by a woman obsessed with plants, didn’t it.

He stood there for another few seconds, remaining still as if preparing for another spike of irritation when—“Eep! M-Mr. Edgeworth!” He flinched as though someone took a whip to his lower back, standing bolt upright as his muscles tensed. He recognized that voice and turned his head slowly, his expression quickly shifting from mortified to surly as he found himself glaring at one Phoenix Wright and his demure spirit medium. Seeing them near a crime scene aside, he wasn’t in a particular mood to entertain their antics at the moment.

“Wright.” He growled, hoping he was the only one that heard the congestion in his voice. He balled up the kerchief in a fist hurriedly before turning and adjusting his cravat and the collar of his jacket with the other. “Miss Fey.” He addressed them curtly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He asked, resisting the urge to sniff; he had a feeling that would only irritate his sinuses more and he didn’t need to appear this way in front of Wright, of all people.

“We heard angry bear noises so we came to investigate!” Maya answered, perhaps a little enthusiastically but with that energetic conviction she usually carried. “We thought it was a ghost or maybe it was the real murderer!” Phoenix gave her a look.

“Yeah, sorry. We didn’t know it was… you.” He paused and Miles noticed his expression soften. “Are you okay?” This was, no doubt, Phoenix’ empathy showing; the prosecutor liked making jabs at Phoenix’ questionable intelligence but he had known the man long enough to know he was perceptive emotionally and always seemed eternally worried over Miles’ wellbeing for some obtuse reason.

“I’m fine, Wright.” He replied shortly, keeping his reddened eyes on Phoenix. There was an awkward pause, every second of which Miles could feel the itch in his nose becoming more aggressive and he wanted few things more at that moment than to unceremoniously either remove himself from the room or to shove the unwanted visitors out. “Is there something you need or can I go b-back to what I was… doing?” His voice stuttered as he talked and before he could stop himself, he did sniff that time out of instinct. He realised his mistake almost immediately and didn’t excuse himself this time as he turned away from the duo, handkerchief unfurling from his palm as his breath hitched again. “Hhnk’sch! --‘kcsh! . . . HHRK’SCHhn!” He blinked back tears as he kept the cloth to his nose, doing his best to remain as upright as possible but not bothering to face them again.

Fortunately, though his pride was already compromised at this point, he heard Phoenix clear his throat with evident discomfort. “Oh would you look at the time, it’s, uh… well, there’s somewhere else we need to be. What a shame, we’ll see you in court, Edgeworth!” He said quickly, his voice getting more distant, telling the prosecutor that he was calling from the hallway by the end of the hurried sentence. All he heard afterwards was Maya’s occasional protest such as ‘stop pushing’ and ‘hey, what’s the big idea?’ as her voice got quieter. Miles didn’t turn again until he was certain they were gone, blowing his nose into his kerchief again with equally as useless results.

He hated everything at the moment, flowers most of all.