There has always been a part of him that’s wanted to be adored. A desire to be given expectations and go beyond them. Praise. All he’s ever really wanted was that feeling of achievement, the success of ambition, the reaping of praise. Of course, it doesn’t mean he loves attention. He’s always enjoyed standing out on top, glistening above the rest, but he’s never been a social butterfly. Bakugou simply can’t understand it. And yet here he is, walking towards his metaphorical podium to give out weekly tasks for The Typhoon. The ground wavers in front of him, mind still groggy from the aftereffects of his overdosing. His body aches. Suddenly, the distribution of energy and weight that has become familiar to him in this bipedal form has become a distribution of agony, crawling down his joints towards his feet. But, containing far too much pride within his faulty system, the reaver refuses to show it. He has little need to allow others to pity or ridicule him. All he wants is to ascend, become more than he was destined to be.

The ragdoll steps out into the open, his fire-tail waving behind him as smoke dissipates into the air. As usual, the male smells of burnt metals from his work in his own forge. Day after day, he continues to practice. The crisp sound of clangs is all too familiar to him, the sound is echoing. Somedays, it brings him comfort to know the world hasn’t changed. And yet it is Bakugou who is changing. The way he perceives sound, hears it, is different. He knows only an agony that refuses to let go of him. It morphs him. He is suddenly aware of his own organs working within his subconscious, churning and moving. Sometimes it’s as if they switch places. He can tell from the way his own cells tremor against each other, unable to stay still. His lungs are where his stomach is, his stomach is where his liver is… He can’t stand it but still he moves on, tries his best to ignore the burning pain that consumes him, constantly gnawing every fibre in his body. No one has noticed anything but the pain upon his face, the pain he forgets to hide.

”Come ‘ere if you extras want a weekly task,” the reaver calls out, ending his words with an unintentional snarl. He avoids expression his signature scowl, but the feeling is intoxicating. He’s drunk off this feeling of pain, spinning and unable to feel any stillness in his body. It’s as though he’s moving. To the eyes of an outsider, Bakugou is merely standing there with a look of displeasure and waiting for his crewmates to appear and receive orders.

Luca didn't necessarily lust after power, although it would be a lie if he said that he didn't like holding it over people. The power he liked was temporary- winning battles, having people all bound up and at his mercy. Nothing like a high position or anything else that came with major responsibilities. He was lazy, hedonistic, and wanted to spend his time indulging in the pleasures of life rather than running around in a constant state of stress like Pincher and Goldie. Luca did want to be adored though. He always told himself that it was unlikely, that he was too filthy and disgusting to truly be loved, but that didn't stop him from craving it. Even a simple glance in his direction could cause his heart to flutter, his teeth coming down to pinch his lower lip as a wave of pleasure washed over him. Was he attention starved? Quite possibly. Was it still pathetic? Absolutely.

"Can I have as task?" Luca asked as he joined the crowd, tilting his head slightly as he fixed his good eye on Bakugou. The ragdoll was always surrounded by the smell of burning metal. It reminded Luca of blood a little, and he had to fight back the subtle crinkle of his nose.

A horrible feeling was to be insignificant, realise one's insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe, float about within an endless abyss of nothingness. To close one's eyes and not exist within one's own subconscious. He never really understood the whole idea of a God, to encourage a humility and yet believe that God's eyes were looking upon them. It is a selfish perspective. If there was truly a powerful being who created all, the universe and the stars, why would all eyes be on them? Perhaps it is why he's always desired this attention, the limelight, to be showered in glory and be considered a star - a great, shining ball of energy that cannot be ignored or overlook. No longer can he be a mere speck in a void, a mere decimal within the chasms of time. His life can't simply stop at zero, everything can't just lead to null or a dead end. Bakugou is content with just being liked or appreciated, but he knows it is not in his nature for it. For the universe has decided his character, to be unpleasant and unloved, always falling into a bottomless well of emotion and rage. Fear. He could never stoop that low to wish to be feared or hated, and yet it happens. Somehow it always happens no matter the universe he breathed in, the plane of existence he dared to exist within.

It is his friend who reaches him first, always there to defend and look out for him. The red fur of his friend appearing in the corner of his tired eyes is a calming sight, reassuring the male of life's numbers, material possessions. He blinks, returning the grin with a slight quiver of his lips. He's still in pain but seeing Eijirou made it feel as though he could breathe a little easier, as if his lungs were once again enlightened of their purpose. A task, a task for Eijirou. The ragdoll, perhaps being rather protective, doesn't want to give him any task which may result in an injury. At least...not yet, not until he was certain the male could be safe and protected. " [member=1530]Kirishima[/member] ," the reaver begins, adjusting his posture to one that seemed more authoritative for his current task. Pah, he doesn't even known what authority is. He listens to those he respects, not those who happened to hold some title over their head. "I want you to make a public veggie patch - put whatever herbs, vegetables or even fruits you want to grow. Maybe even survey some members for what they usually use in their cookin' or some shit." Seems foolproof enough to him and, well, fresh produce is always interesting to see and many Typhooners took up cooking or baking as their hobbies. It would be nice to offer something free-to-use.

His ears perk when the Captain arrives, sanguine eyes following the dark figure of the mutated demigod who walks towards him. Leader. The concept of it is strange to him but he respects the male's decision, a mused smirk creeping along his light and youthful features. Oh temptations, many temptations. Well, Bakugou has a list in his head of different tasks and deciding to go down the order, he decides to pick one that would perhaps be very out of character for the Captain, maybe even petty or childish. He can't help himself, puffing his chest in a rather daring manner. He's not going to give Pincher any special treatment. No, they were all brothers in binds, all standing on equal grounds. "Sneak into an enemy - or neutral if you want - group and write an ominous message. No context needed, no need to sign. Just a mysterious ominous message," Bakugou says to [member=66]PINCHER[/member] . The idea of the captain sneakily tip toeing into an enemy clan, writing up some childish ghost threat in red ink on a tree, and tip toeing back out was something he wants to see take flight. Maybe the rumours will travel back to them and Bakugou will be able to revel in amusement of that day he gave out this task... or maybe the Captain will give him a look of serious concern and ask for a different one. He doesn't really mind. "If the victims don't know who did it, that'd be a nice bonus."

Caesar, next is Caesar. One thing that has always bothered him about the Officer was how the male acted like a sponge, absorbing everyone's hate until there was none left, none left that there was a mutual tolerance or respect for every other member. Would it so suggest that the dream demon was a force of good? He doesn't think so but there is a kind of admiration he has for the Officer, perhaps because he knew he didn't have to be nice or well liked to be given responsibility within The Typhoon. He was rude for the fun of it. "Okay [member=590]CAESAR CIPHER.[/member] ," the ragdoll says, huffing as he thinks of one. Again, far too many temptations. He doesn't feel like getting on the male's extra bad side, even going so far as to not call the male Pissfur as he usually did, but the opportunity shone to him like the moon - bold, luminous and generous. He can't simply miss the opportunity, can he? "Do a compliments booth and tell everyone how much ya fuckin' love 'em." If it were in his nature, maybe Bakugou's words would be accompanied by a cheeky wink. Unfortunately, it is not. His hosting of weekly tasks only opened an opportunity for Bakugou to be an asshole back, throw a petty task towards the male who was a subject of hate.

Ah, and yet another demon appears. Luca is a different kind of nuisance to the ragdoll, perhaps because he struggled to understand the winged male. He felt...enigmatic to him. It is likely a result of Bakugou caring little for the motives or personalities of his other crewmates. He hardly knows the privateer well enough to form any strong or good opinions, only really noting that the male was spiritually bonded to the likes of Marcellus. Well, he reminds himself, there was that fateful walk with Beck... "Sure [member=1517]Luca[/member] - the tavern's a mess and needs a good mop, maybe even a scrub. Too much booze and other fucked up smells clinging between the flooring and walls. Enjoy cleanin'," the reaver says, retracting his gaze when another spasm strikes his chest, clutching at his sternum as though spectral hands planned to yank his bones away from the reach of his ribs. Karma? Maybe it's a sign, the universe telling him off through his suffering. He doubts it though. No god, no matter how big or small, would ever turn their eyes to punish Bakugou. And this was not even from a narcissistic point of view, it was critical thinking reminding him he had to work for his fame or be yet a beating nanosecond in time and space.

Next is Linux. He doesn't feel a rivalry against the girl. He more or less just thinks she is rather vexing with the way she always tried to lecture him with a high and mighty air. She takes care of her image too much, he thinks. Bakugou, although desiring adoration and approval, finds Linux's methods to be far too artificial - dishonest. He may be an unpleasant feline to be around but the ragdoll is an honest tom. He works hard to hone his skills because he wants to be more than what life has tasked him. But, with personal feelings aside, he knows there should be a detached superiority that separates the two for this moment in time. Bakugou is a task giver, Linux is a task receiver. There should be nothing more because bickering at this time of day is useless. " [member=2095]linux[/member] -" there is a strange hiss at the end sound of her name but no malice can be detected. It is likely a result of his pain, still tugging and pulling at him. All he wants is for it to stop. It makes him tired, far too easily tired. "You familiar with the catacombs? I want ya to take a group down there hostin' a tour and tell ghost stories while ya at it. Scare the fuck out of 'em for self-satisfaction." He takes a seat, suddenly remembering another point. "And probably bring a torch with some spare batteries, you'll need it." Another thing Linux could do was bring a camera to take a photo of everyone's horrified faces if she wanted. Hmph, well, it will be up to her.