SMALL LIVES (Murder, open)

[MirrorEdge]

//permission given to powerplay, and Thea is gonna be found trying to 'stop' the bleeding
"Hey, Roy." Thea chirped, seeming in much better spirits lately, as she continued, pale blue eyes settled on the melanistic bobcat, "How strong are your beliefs?"

She had made up her mind shortly after Suite's death, and to be honest, the opportunity to confirm her beliefs were right, that she hadn't been wrong all this time, couldn't be better than this.

Even those searching for a new start couldn't escape their past, not if it was stained with enough blood, and that seemed to be the case here. No matter how hard you tried, there were always whispers, whether they be rumor or truth, of the crimes somebody committed. Normally, Thea didn't care, but for some reason, these rumors had been something that lit a fire in Thea, something that she couldn't ignore. It was a name she immediately associated with her own losses, but for the life of her, couldn't figure out why.

The point was, it was a perfect opportunity to both confirm her own beliefs, and that he was a murderer. This was what they called justice, right? It made perfect sense to Thea, who had shifted into her domestic cat body, to make it more believable. She couldn't have the clawmarks be leopard-sized, now, could she?

Before Roy could open his mouth, she teleported, claws unsheathed as she materialized right in front of him, that old smile of hers back, before claws pierced the surprisingly-delicate skin on Roy's throat, and teleporting away as a few droplets of blood hit her paw, pale blue optics settling on Roy's dying form with a hardened expression as her form slowly grew to that of a familiar leopard. "Sorry, Roy. But I have to prove I'm right. Say hi to the others for me, kay?" She gave him one last grin as the life finally left the male, as if it would reassure him he died for a good cause, before stepping in the pool of blood slowly surrounding his body, and beginning to stain the streambed he was next to, a patch of chestnut and cream fur falling to the ground next to the bobcat, and she quickly placed large paws clumsily against his neck, the look of sorrow almost genuine, as she called, panic in her voice, "HELP! Guys! It's Roy! He needs help!"

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[Roy Mustang]

track with a dead roy

[ONISION.]

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ONISION M.F.
FIREBALL && ASCENDANTS
6 MONTHS OLD
TAGS

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[div style="width: 310px; font-family: verdana; color: #B07224; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px"]BROKEN, RUINED, DEAD.

Murder.

Something that Oni had experienced on his own terms at one point. After all, he had murdered a clan mate when he was starved of blood. That was also the day that he had awakened his werewolf genetics. Murder, gore, blood. Everything was so familiar, but also unfamiliar to the male felidae. He didn't quite understand why they had to kill to survive, why the vampires like him had to drink blood to survive.

But he did know that he couldn't live without it. While it was the only food he could eat and keep down, it still drove him crazy. The smell of blood was something he had to keep himself away from, but this was unavoidable. A single cold blue optic searched his surroundings before his enhanced senses zeroed in on the faint smell of fresh blood. His mouth watered, his legs aching as he moved them faster than thought could process beforehand.

When he arrive at the scene, he was met with the sight of Roy Mustang, bleeding and dead on the ground before Thea. His eye widened, and Onision had to resist the urge to sing his jaws into the fresh corpse before him. He hadn't gotten any control over his vampire urges either, this was really shitty. The smell was amazing..

No. He couldn't go after the corpse of his buddy group's leader. No. He was a good friend of Margaery and Suite's, too. "What happened?" Growled Onision as he covered his nose with a paw, trying not to inhale the scent of blood. Instinctively, his fangs extended at the sight of it, but Oni couldn't allow any more than that.

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© MADI

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 55%; font-family: georgia; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: 0px;"]Quelque chose de mauvais se soit passée ici, Imperia thinks as she races toward the bloody scene, responding to Thea's frantic cry. Something horrible, indeed.

Yes, Roy is obviously dying on the creek bed, his aura fading with every drop of blood that flows from his open wound. He is dying, a sight which deeply upsets Imperia, but there is something more. Something that she cannot quite explain. Ever since the Maker blessed her with the Sight, the former cleric has been experiencing many instances of knowing, and yet not knowing. A nuance of fact. A hint of knowledge. Perhaps a sprinkle of foresight which defies all logic and can only lie in the realm of the supernatural. It can only be described as a thread, a string, tied around her soul and every so often, something (or someone) tugs her in a specific direction. Usually it is to take care of someone ill or injured.

Such is the case now. But as she kneels beside Roy's prone figure, whispering "Stay with me" beneath her breath, Peri glimpses an unusual sight from out of the corner of her eye. Thea. A child. A little girl with lots of energy. The youth who summoned her here and is now trying to stop Roy's bleeding. That Thea, whose aura is stained a terrible, inky black. Not the darkness of night, no, but one which is cursed and foreboding.

Imperia nearly questions it, her maw opening, the words balancing at the tip of her tongue--she shuts it with a snap; changing her mind. For now, she must focus on attempting to save Roy's life. The child can wait. "Stay with me, Roy," she repeats, using her telekinesis to retrieve the necessary herbs and tools to close the wound and stop the bleeding. But it's all in vain. She knows this even as crimson fluid stains the soft grey of her paws, and supplies are strewn about as she secures dressings on the wound. His aura is fading, and fast. By the time Peri does what she can, Roy's last ounce of life is ebbing away.

[MirrorEdge]

"I... I don't know. I just heard splashing, and smelled blood. I thought it was something injured, and I could kill it. I didn't e-expect to find this." Thea's voice caught in the end, and even her usually-indifferent tone had sadness laced in it, and a few tears came to her eyes, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe as a response to this act she had committed? She didn't know. All she knew was it had to be done, right? Right. "I don't know. I saw something his s-size run." Paws now stained with blood, both from her crime and her attempts to cover up who was the real culprit, she stepped back, watching Peri through glassy eyes.

Of course, it was to be expected Thea was less affected by this than other members. She still hadn't fully grasped the feelings that came with experiencing the death of somebody, by her own hand, no less.

It wasn't that she liked it, no, she really had no preference. Just had to reinforce those beliefs.

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[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]And yet another was to fall within the realm of the Ascendants. Only this time, in the place of some sort of joint peaceful demise, it was a quite brutal slaughter. A classic tale of small-town murder.

Roy Mustang, huh? Well, that was just a goddamn pity, but in this case there was little emotion that exuded from the demon. Yet his form was still forlorn, still weary, still cold and almost lifeless as he made his way over upon hearing Thea's panicked screams. Three deaths in one week, eh? Damn, that was likely a new record for any group he had ever been in. First Suiteheart, then Margaery, and now Roy. And though he couldn't bring himself to muster the slightest emotion, there was something brewing within him: a trace of worry, perhaps mingled with a mere sliver of fear. He could never escape mindless slaughter, no matter where he would turn. It was strange, for a monster as his breed to be so put off by a gruesome death, but in this case everything felt so...off. This world felt so ripe, so pure, so much cleaner than any other place Zjarr had ever traveled to. And this Roy guy? Well, he seemed like a decent fellow, maybe an honest guy. Who would have a bone to pick with him?

Well, it seemed as if there was a bit of evidence pointing as to who killed the unlucky old sap. The wolf stepped forward and gingerly leaned over to pluck his metal claws at fine traces of fur that were deposited close to Roy's bloodied and battered corpse. Good thing my DNA won't be on this. Heh, maybe I could be an ol' detective with this body...or an assassin. Maybe. Worthless rambles aside, the observer brought the fur closer to his hues, squinting to get a better view. Chestnut and cream fur, though the texture of it was difficult to make out, what with his forelimbs being mere prosthetics and all.

Carefully Zjarr would hover over Imperia so not as to disrupt her attempts, his unnaturally heterochromatic hues fixated upon the throat wound. "I saw something his s-size run," said Thea. And judging by the claw marks, that seemed to certainly be a case. "So we're lookin' at a cat with chestnut 'n' cream fur," the canine remarked, leaning back and switching his gaze to the shaken-up leopard. "Y'said you saw the perpetrator take off? Well, there might be some scent trails, in that case. Eh, do ya remember which direction that might be, Thea?" The thick stench of blood and death overpowered just about any other scent out there, thus making it a tad difficult for him to pick up anything now. But if Thea gave him a place to start, maybe he could get a little closer. He was not a medic, and he was not particularly close to Roy. As such, he could keep himself on the ground, looking for any clues to find the bloodthirsty fuck who claimed the bobcat's life for their own. Bringing the guy some justice was the least he could do.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼

[MirrorEdge]

"The stream. H-he was getting out of the stream." She said, continuing to stare, claws digging into the bloodstained grass, confirming that yes, Roy was dead. She felt almost nothing, because he hadn't been strong. Not in her eyes.

But it wasn't enough, now, was it? She still felt something, and deep down, it frustrated the girl beyond belief. That she had failed not to care, at least a little bit. Apparently, the tears were proof of that.

She needed more strength.

[b]"I should've gone after him, huh? Instead of trying to stop the bleeding? Should've I, mister?"
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[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

It seemed as if Feyre simply couldn't catch a break when it came to stumbling across blood-splattered scenes. This one was different though, the victim very much motionless and dead as she paused near Zjarr, seemingly unfazed as she contemplated the intricacies of the murder. She was rather useless in this situation, a mere bystander to tragedy who had been beckoned in by the distressed calls of the leopard. Lavender eyes would blink a few times, a mixture of curiosity and inquiry dancing in them before pale lips parted in question. [color=#3f5351]"Do you want me to see if I can find his ghost?" She said it so simply, so easily, as if locating the ghosts of recently dead clanmates was a typical Thursday evening for her. In a sense, it was. She was so in-tune with the afterlife that she often couldn't escape the whispers of the dead, their presences constantly enveloping her. Searching for this Roy Mustang figure wouldn't be too difficult, right?

She did feel bad though, bothered by her inability to feel anything but intrigue towards this situation. Death had never been something final for her, not when she knew of what awaited somebody on the other side. Was she desensitized to the omnipresent force then? She liked to think so, but that didn't make her feel any better. Not after seeing the distress expressed by Imperia and Thea. At least Onision and Zjarr remained relatively neutral, if not angry (in Oni's case), towards the situation, but that fact did little to chase away the doubt that there was something wrong with her. She didn't have time to think about all that, not when she had offered her services and could not fail to deliver. It seemed especially dire in this situation to find the ghost and thus, find the killer.

Justice had to be served.

[tori]

Ah, fuck.

Alex couldn't say he'd ever....agreed with Roy. After all, he typically found himself along a more pacifistic path, while Roy just wasn't one, nor would he ever be. Still, that was no reason to find joy in his death, or think it justified. It was still a miserable thing, to see a member of their own dead, and in such a gruesome fashion as being violently stripped away of their life. Did he fight them first and lose, or did it have no root cause at all?

"Are we safe here?" Were they going to all die here? First there was Marg and Suite, and now Roy. Granted, only Roy fell victim to murder, but the fact still remained that three were dead. And then of course, all those who had gotten injured.

♡♡♡

[BASTILLEPAW]

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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS

BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES

One would be hard pressed to prove that Bastille liked Roy, but the truth was that he did. Sure, the older male was incredibly stubborn and antagonistic, and seemed to take particular joy in telling Bast he was an idiot for this reason or that — but he was right, half the time, possessed a logical knowledge and fierce determination to do his best for his Clan. And he did care, even if he was frankly awful at showing it sometimes, which Bast could appreciate. They might not seem close, but Bastille actually did find that Roy was someone he could and did respect.

Unfortunately, that meant that his usual apathy failed him as he found himself answering yet another desperate call, pale blue gaze blank as it landed on Roy's still form; the ground cracked and splinted under his paws in thin slivers, giving away the sudden jarring shock and dismay that held him immobile for a moment. There were no tears — he so very rarely cried — but he was briefly at a loss for words, his thoughts shifting and adjusting to try to accept this new world reality. It felt wrong.

His voice was tight when he said, low, [b]"May the Stars accept him with grace." The words were both hollow and genuine: Bastille carried no faith himself, except for the general acknowledgement of fate, but he still used the words of the Ascendants to honor their dead and meant it. His stare flickered to Thea, and he studied her silently, analyzing the odd fluctuation in her aura. He supposed witnessing a murder might shake even someone as brazen as her, but it still struct him oddly, somehow.

"We'll have to visit our neighbors," he said, after a moment, "Thea, you'll come with me."

[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST