A day in, and he was already getting antsy.

Complacency didn't sit well with him - hell, inaction didn't sit well with him. Not when he didn't have a big scheme planned out, not when there wasn't a domino of events leading out to him on top. No, he was on the very bottom right now, above the prisoners of war - or lack thereof - but lacking any real power. Sure, he could probably win in a fight against most, but power wasn't true power. The world wasn't kill or be killed, one had to be a bit more ingenious to succeed, to fulfill their goals, and his was a lofty goal indeed. One nation. One world power. No more borders. The words repeated in his mind, a broken record spitting out the true goal of anyone with half a mind, the goal that would lead to a perfect world. A utopia.

But now he had to start from ground one. His scheme was but a sapling, one he had planted and fertilized with the soil of intellect, and one he would have to water with intel, that would grow with his influence. The metaphor felt a little ham-fisted, in his head, as he gathered loose wood, but whatever.

His plan as of right now: gather intel. Gain allies, preferably ones he could control. Gain power. Pull a coup or two. Unite the world into one nation.

He was a king at gathering information, of course. Torturing it out of people was one way, something he excelled at, but you typically didn't stay very buddy-buddy with someone you had just broken emotionally. No, the easiest key to someone's wealth of knowledge was to befriend them. Gain their trust. Sure, they were mostly useless after that, and maintaining those friendships was an exercise less in your ability to tactically manipulate those around you and more an exercise in patience - but the efforts on the surface still stuck.

That was his justification for this campfire, one he set alight as the sun lowered itself, one he sat next to in the dark, grey eyes reflecting the flickering fire. "Gather 'round the campfire," he called, with a small flourish of the stick he was holding telekinetically, "gather around, and tell a story about yourself." With that, he sat down, pulling out one of the knives he had strapped to himself and sharpening said stick with it, to pass the time.

tags - "speech"

▼ I'M NUCLEAR, I'M WILD ▼

Maybe people would say he was a little too eager to talk about himself, but it wasn't really his fault. He was the embodiment of sin, after all, and even though he wasn't Pride, he still had a large ego. With self-deprecating moments in-between, of course. He could recognize that he was an asshole at times, perhaps more often than normal.

Still, he also knew when to shut his trap. Usually. He could easily tell the difference between useless and sensitive information, plus which one to give away at any certain time.

So, an opportunity to talk about himself? A story, no less? Well, that was right up his alley. Greed pads over towards the light of the fire, warmth trailing over his skin where it reached, a small, sharp-toothed grin on his face. The waving flames painted a picture in the blackness of his shades.

He settles down, too, lowering himself down to relax onto his stomach. "Haven't seen your face around much before. Name's Greed, and yours?" a piece of info for a piece of info. It was a fair trade, as far as he was concerned. Now, what story should he tell? He had plenty, gathered over his 200 years of living, and still counting.

"I have plenty. But I'll save you the others and tell you one." he starts. "One time, I met this little midget and his brother. The thing is, though, his brother was just a suit of armor! Like, a soul captured in some armor, y'know? Anyway, I fought the midget for a little while, and then some lady showed up to defend him. I don't hit women, of course, so I refused to fight her. But the bitch was a strong one, she handed my ass to me!" maybe telling a tale where he got beat up wasn't painting himself in a very good light, but at least it would be amusing.

"After all that, Father—er, my creator burned me in a vat of boiling gold. It was a fitting death, but it hurt like a bitch. Him and all my 'siblings' can get fucked." he finishes with an irritated snort, his body heating up at the mere memory. Sometimes he had dreams about it, the pain and loneliness he felt, him against the world. But here he was again, with a second chance to live.

CANNIBAL QUEEN { .:*・°☆ } ——— [size=10pt]info

Next to arrive was Roxanne, well, she only had a few stories to tell and she didn't find any of them to be remotely interesting at all. Aside from that one time she died but she didn't want to dampen the mood with that, she took a seat a little ways from the jaguar that was already telling the tale of how he had his ass handed to him by a woman. She couldn't help but let out a giggle at the sound of that though she turned her gaze over to Ocelot who was holding the meet and greet, she would sit down before she opened her maw to speak "Hello there, my name is Roxanne. Hope ya end up liking it here in the Typhoon," Her gaze turned over towards Greed once he finished his story did she take a deep breath saying with a frown on her face "Well, your dad sounds like a dick. Fuck em, at least here, there's people who love ya." Though her gaze averted from the jaguar seeing now that his story was done, she would have to tell her own "Mine isn't as cool as fighting midgets like Greed but, once I captured a whole whale shark for my niece as a gift. I had to get a bunch of shrimp into a whole ass fishing net, a few of the bastards slid through cause of how much there was. My wings ached so much that day, it felt like I had been flying for hours! Eventually, I saw something big in the water and it was this huge ass juvenile shark, I could've been eaten though thankfully it didn't take an interest to me. Eventually, the whale shark showed up and I coaxed it to the shores so my niece could see them with their own eyes. My brother, former Captain and assface, Pincher, was fine with the gift though his boyfriend at the time, Jacob, wasn't all about that jazz. Me, I didn't care since this was solely for my niece."[shadow=red,left][/shadow]

He nodded his head to all those who appeared, listening to their tales with a vested interest, trying to glean all he could from each. But first, an introduction, as he had not yet met these people: "Howdy. You can call me Revolver, or Shalashaska - 'm new around, but I figured I'd hold a little get together, just to get to know some people a bit better." The smile on his face was genuine enough, but the look in his steely eyes was a little too genial - though whether this was because he was freakishly nice or just pretending to be so would be up to who he was talking to.

Greed was up first. His was about a fight he had once, which told him many things - that he valued his combat prowess, for one, which was absolutely excellent. That he had experience with the strange, which was good for any soldier. That he had problems with his family, and that he didn't fight girls, both of which weren't good traits, but would be useful regardless. "A fine tale, there - though I'd hope you've learned your lesson. If someone goes picking a fight, you oughta give it to 'em." He said it nicely enough, not a hint of any misplaced aggression in his voice - just a comment on his attitude. After a moment, he added, "Sorry 'bout the rest, though. Especially family - those can be rough. Glad that you've found a place here, though." His eyes glanced from Greed to Roxanne, the second person to join his little hoedown.

"'s not the content of the story, but the way it's told," he said, by way of platitude. That much wasn't a lie (it would be a bit silly to lie about something that small), so he found it easy to work in, as a little endearing belief of his. Roxanne's story told him mainly about how she valued her family above all else - and on top of that, he got an entertaining little tale about a birthday present. That was enough Intel for him, at least - this was an exercise in finding out what people thought of first when asked to tell a story. "A whole whale shark, huh? Damn, now I bet that'd be a sight."

The last was Roan, who - well. He was just a kid. It was hard for him to keep up the mindset of an analytical commander, picking apart those he met to figure out their strengths and weaknesses, when the small one was happily spouting Gaelic and talking about a turtle he found once. Poor kid - Adam could only hope he grew up strong in this world. "And a mighty fine day to you, kid," he said, assuming that the Gaelic meant something along the lines of 'good day' or 'hello.' He listened patiently to the story, watching the kid's eyes flick to his knife, Adam's own eyes watching him carefully, curiously, genuinely. "Well then," he said, at the end of it, "I bet Sammy's glad you took him back to the shore. A fine deed for you to do, Roan, and a nice story - you're pretty good."

Now that everyone's attention was on him, it was his turn to tell a story. "Well, buckle in - this was a fairy tale my father used to tell me." A lie, but a white one, harmless in nature, a second layer to disguise that his story, too, was from his past. He sticks the newly pointy end of his stick in the ground, and begins narrating, floating his knife around near him as if to gesticulate - for the drama, of course.

"Once upon a time, there was a soldier. Now, this soldier wasn't anything special - he was just another body, frankly. Someone not worth a name or anything. But he desperately wanted to be something, you know? And not just any something, he wants to be someone great, someone whose name goes down in history.

Now, this soldier, this nobody, he trundled along for years without a real purpose. Then, one day, he heard there was a wise man near where he was stationed, and this wise man would answer any question accurately - even about the future! - however, you could only ask him one question.

So after some time thinking, he goes to see this wise man, and he asks, 'wise one, please tell me - what is the point of living in this world?' The wise man looks at him, and says, 'Are you sure that is what you want to ask?' Because, y'know, there's no turning back after this. But the soldier nods his head, determined, so the wise man says, 'Very well, I will tell you what you ask; but first, you must perform three tasks.'

'Anything,' the soldier says, 'as long as you tell me what I should do with life.'

'First, you must rise through your ranks. Second, you must gain a name, as only the named can be worthy of meaning. Then, you must find me again where you have never been before, and ask me then.'

The soldier nods immediately - he's unsure of himself, yeah, but he's determined. He'll do anything at this point. So he trains, and he rises through his ranks, just as the wise man said. He becomes a ruthless combatant, and because of this hears that his enemies have given him a name. When he hears this, he's overjoyed, and he realizes that with that his first two tasks are fulfilled. Then, he begins his search for the wise man.

It takes him a year of searching, going to the tops of mountains, sailing to distant islands. As months pass without even a hint of where the man could be, he goes back to where he first meets the wise man for some clues - except the man is there to greet him. The soldier is taken aback at first, and in his anger and surprise, he asks the old man, 'Why are you here? Did you not tell me to find you where I had never been?' The wise man smiles, and says, 'But you have never been here as you are now. You are a new man, now, someone who has gained a name for himself. Now I will tell you what the purpose of life is.

'Life is nothing without an ideology. You must break from society and become your own person with your own philosophy - only then can you enter the true man's world.'"

As soon as he's finished, he sighs. "Story's always stuck with me, even after he passed away. It's a philosophy that I think is important to uphold, y'know?" With a shrug, he picks the stick back up, and returns to whittling away, this time beginning to carve a more intricate design into the improvised shiv. "Just gotta make yourself into something worth being."

tags - "speech"