Welcome to Gaia! ::

If she pried deep and thorough enough, she’d discover portions of his history along with his identity via his memories. She’d likely also observe that unlike typical human mind, the preternatural build of his doesn’t take eighty milliseconds to send nor receive messages to the nervous system, and by extension the body. She’d see the traumatic experience that is his entire life however incomplete. Though lucky she’d see bits pertaining to espionage, and the dismantling of a dangerous, interdimensional organization rife with advanced tech and anti-magic properties. He unknowingly held and did less than half the heavy lifting, though he rightfully claimed vengeance on his dead brother’s name. Andrew Cross.

Sad, perhaps he used to be. An ignorant fool, often. Despite his seemingly lackluster intellect and his mediocre at best capabilities, for some reason he was here. Alive and kicking! From magic to advanced tech, to aliens, and interdimensional beings; this Meta has sampled a plethora of lethal experiences and lived to tell the tale. Most of which he was assumedly and validly the underdog. The same way she witnessed how he overwhelmed the punk at the bar, despite the obvious first impressions that the punk should have been able to wipe the floor with him.

As she steps, he watches her shamelessly, even licking his lips and winking if she catches him admiring her physique. Whether he truly realized the gravitas of danger he resides within, Tzak “The Ripper” Bishop has earned his right time and time again to laugh in the face of danger. So long as he breathed, he’d argue he had the gumption to back that s**t up! The lady delivers an ultimatum, and the snirtling Meta can’t help but be himself. Though he tries to compromise by meeting her in the middle figuratively.

”I’m sayin’! I’m tryin’t’see’wha’tha’belike,” he jests with a wide, s**t-eating grin seen clearly throughout his eyes.

He chuckles at his own humor, thoroughly tickled even at the precipice of his own demise. When his laughter subsides with his bloodshot, blue-hazel gaze finds her once more and he refreshes his grin. Another snicker escaped him despite his urge to speak.

”Why don’ y’ come ‘ave a seat an’ tell m’all’bout’et. Y’can keep degradin’ me while y’do’et too! Not usually my type, but f’you? I’m willin’ t’make an ‘xception,” he says, glancing to the masked man briefly before returning his gaze to his would-be captor.

Perhaps age had brought wisdom to spare them both his infamous aggression, or perhaps it was simply because she had the pleasure of being a female. Where he was from, there's an old saying that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. He was an old dog alright, though one that retains a bite reminiscent of his prime and refuses to just rest. If she needed capable hands as a means to an end he was an invaluable asset. Though if she needed the perfect pawn to control, she had her work cut out for her as far as breaking him to heel was concerned.

Of course, if he had it his way, they could both just as easily obtain what they wanted.

Emperor Hybrid senses something is wrong "Kanna get out of there"

Kanna jumps out of the plants mouth and gets her clothes back on "What the blazes is that" Get's out her Dragon Blade

Emperor Hybrid gets out his Masamune "It seems to be some kind of Venus Flytrap"

Going through the mind of the sitting head on the wall that was the lady's focus for the moment. Choosing to do this clean and give each catch her attention, one at a time. She looked for facts. His skills and his facts, like places and person, or positioned. All things of value that can be taken. The lady had to be bothered by the waste of his feeling and emotions. Sure, emotion had a time and a place but were a waste of time. Can hurt the one feeling it's judgment. Also slow down progress and accomplishing. No one learn emotion. She grew frustrated and annoyed and he was wasting her time this his weakness and frivolous negative emotions and traumatic experience. At least such organizations were knowledge and a nice start. What she thought was dangerous and not dangerous was up to interpretation. "Why can fight seem like they never happen. Where are the prizes?" She kept digging through, with the head's discomfort.


"Why does there have to be too many a helpless mind. The minds that lack intellect. Or vision and especially lacking in potential?" These question that clearly were from one so lacking. Coming here and did not even bother to fully immerse in the proper tongue.

Almost ready to take him apart a little more. The only thing that stopped her was one huge fact. She is not home. She hates home and the rules and customs that govern. Specially when home she has is stuck in a middle rank of the upper class. No real power, and nothing would save her if she spoke up. Enough rank and power of titles, all she had to do was look at someone or nod. All those who she out ranked would make who ever be punished properly under the law.

She was more then only so simply put, a would-be captor. A foreigners who's noble and a witch who for the moment was playing a game that only she knew the rules and no one knew on this continent. She would control what pieces take a turn on this large unseen game board. Worse, what seemed to not yet be realized. What game pieces she might want to hide else where to keep from playing on the game. Only she could stand on every part of the game. No one even was thinking about when they might each pass go, or if she might say sorry. Put those she took back to their start.

Having full dominance or control over any being walking around was the last thing on her mind. Any longer lingering acquaintance was more like an anchor and map to tracking her next location. Keeping any pawn around was a sign of weakness.

The compromise seems to be enough. At least for her warped way of looking at what she calls logic. Having a sense of right and wrong, few seem to agree with it. Far fewer have her level of honor; a kind of very cruel honesty. Watching the other male. Having brought the masked man here, the lady felt she should show some trust. "On my honor, your words can be spoken. Your thought will be valued. This head, will the moment be taken? Or should this question be put till later. My time is still mine for the moment. There feel no need to rush. The head will not be going anywhere."




((Hope that it is OK, that I should post.

I can do a rap sheet for the lady next time. She's has a Criminal Record too.))

The pair walking the old ruins share words. These forgotten paths now had 2 walking them. The pair seeing the multiple direction, seems to have made a choice? Being about to pick one of those, to leave this room of bubbling liquid.

”I ain’t f**’n helpless ‘r stupid toots,” he rebuts with a chuckle just shy of guffaw. ”I jus’ don’ give a ******** irascible Meta wasn’t necessarily a man of reason, though he was a man of principals. Actions speak louder than words, money talks, and bullshit walks. Diving intimately enough into his memories provides a clearer image than his vague impression. The only time he’d ever been helpless was when he chose to shoulder his burdens alone, and the only time he’d been stupid was when he’d been conned into The Giver’s employ.

Perhaps she’d heard of The Giver, Dexter being his real name. He was an infamous figure headquartered in Durem, and his syndicate was one that reigned for years prior to and during Lito’s tenure. He started as a Repo Man, and sometimes filled in as a Demolitionist. However, Lito was also the leader of his own criminal enterprise, albeit one smaller than the likes Dexter possessed. By the time it was all said and done, Bishop with the help of one of his brothers (Saint) and his only sister Jay not only dismantled the top of Dexter’s set up, but they effectively removed Dexter from the streets entirely.

In the wake of Dexter’s impromptu retirement, The Styx assimilated the remains and moved on to the next rival corporation. The Caduceus Corporation. Though that endeavor ended in Bishop’s certain victory and acquisition of the rival corporation, fate had it that he’d reached the point in his life that he’d become a father. That’s the calmest gap in his memories; the time spent in seclusion raising his family. Though when his wife passed and his son matured, he returned to old habits. Which leads him to the prior memory of him avenging his brother, by way of helping dismantle a third intergalactic or interdimensional organization.

These were not the feats of a helpless moron; these were attributed to the opposite, though he wouldn’t fight to convince her of his value. He was more interested in her value. What could she do for him? Nothing in life was free, and he knows exactly how priceless his life is. If she wanted to find the right man for the job, she’d captured a wild dog. If she wanted the right mind, there was a good chance she had found it in him whether she realized it. Albeit impressed by the likes of PTSD, some semblance of psychosis, and his lifelong Intermittent Explosive Disorder.

As he said he wasn’t helpless nor stupid, though he is unstable.

”Th’ problem ain’t dat you don’ like playin’ games, you jus’ like runnin’ dat s**t. Le’me paint a clear’r pictcha’ f’ya, I’m a f**’n nobody. Spare da’ specifics, but pitch t’ me straight wha’da’f** ya’ want, an’ I’ll tell ya’ if ya’ picked da wrong dog f’da fight. While ya’ at it how ‘bout ya’ tell me wha’s innit f’me,” he says, his narrow, blue-hazel gaze affixed on her.

Perhaps she’d notice he wasn’t smiling as widely, and he was no longer laughing. That brawl at the bar took more out of him than he’d ever admit, and the high he harbored earlier dwindles despite the mixture of alcohol running through his blood. Lito was something akin to a timed explosive, albeit one with emotions. The more sober he becomes, the less hospitable and cooperative he will prove to be. He could be the prize she seeks, though he was just as likely to become more than she bargained for.

Should she manage to stir his wrath prematurely or without aiming it away from herself, she’d swiftly become the victim thereof. Bishop is a hardly contained, raging bull. Was this matador proficient enough to escape the horns?

The mystery of these rooms that were left in the old ruin for who knows how long. The place did not see many feet who advance through. As the male and female did seem to not be deterred. No one ever once lived there was left to see the pair. Or learn it seemed for the moment, it was the male who picked a direction. Showing the female by pointing and by vocalizing it.

Each of the 3 or 4 opening that were visible to the eye might lead to no peril. At least the pair had a logic to why they were moving to this next door. As good as any. The male was trusting his nose. Having the smell of smoke from back the way they came.

The room they chose had a plant like smell and proved deadly to some kinds of organic life forms. Who was to say foul might not turn out to be fair. And the void with out any lingering smells wafting to the pair could leave to something more pleasant or even fun. Every room in the old ruins had some amount of decay had tree branches grow in from where walls were cracked. every tree leaf could fall off the branch to be on the old stone floors.

No one this should look scary enough to make creatures want to run back to a more populated area.



((So, you did not edit which of the multiple path? Which door was picked? Leaving short post. I know you've been waiting. Like I had PMed. Not been feeling well. Do something more detailed for deeper plot next time.
Hope that you've been OK and having a nice summer.))

Listening as she heard, this head is talk with vulgar words. Meaning she has really set him off. "Angry the biggest sign of fear. That means weakness. The clinging to emotion gives everything away." Maybe not being realized yet. The lady was hold fast to her honor and principals.

Having taken a scroll through the mind of the heads so far. With more to go. The male had some to show. No she did not know the story. A traveler and sometimes a schollar, it was looked through for clues.

Not getting more then bits of what the male spoke. She comments over some of the words "A test of how well one paints? Could be debated." Not being sure her self. Art reminds her to much of time wasted away when back home.

Having made an empty space for her learning of the bar throw down. All the man seem to be doing through her eye was prolong the space. She would vanish with out a trace. Having left people in far worse containers. His body still moves and his head still talks. The lady was actually hunted nearly everywhere she went for those she takes and are never seen again. Left stuck as some lifeless object or an animal for slaughter that someone might eat. Or simply turned to stone. The lady had no plans yet. Maybe everyone but this male knew it.

At last making a comment. "Does a small prize at the end need to be added to the show. Still so little that has been demonstrated. What if those walls were also brought here. Be a waste to this location, to change the decor. Personally broken and dead has a feel of respectable. Don't worry do one is to be left behind, yet. What color would is that heart beating within your body? That might have a need."




(( ))