April 27, 2015

Mach puttered about his apartment cleaning it and at the same time setting it up to look the part of a bachelors pad. It was quite the effort to make a place both well cleaned and having that run down appearance all at once but it was an illusion the schmooze was doing well to maintain. It helped that he had some never used pizza boxes he'd bought from a few of the local pizzerias as well as a few washed out liquor bottles he could use as 'decorative pieces' to help sell the image. Why did he have to keep such an impression up" To keep folks like Serah, Sarai, and Cinder from trusting him as a dependable, settleable sort of guy of course. A grand farce to help keep folks just at bay for their own protection....though it was one that the schmooze was finding to be tested more and more often as of late.

Shaking the lingering thoughts from his mind he'd pull out the last few containers from the cupboard that sat over his fridge. He hadn't really gone through all the stuff left over in the place when he'd moved in back in January, the thought that all of it was from a lineage of dead hunters sort of morbid and unnerving. Of course that just meant that there was more of it to deal with now that he was in the midst of spring cleaning! Not that he had much reason to dispose of the stuff so long as it was functional knowing full well he was going to be kicking it someday too and probably leaving more crap behind in the government owned apartment for the next poor sod to deal with.

Opening up one of those brought down casserole dishes his blue eye blue gaze snapped to the small, dark object that lay within. A cringing squint as he investigated the item had him breathing a sigh of relief when it turned out to be a small flash disk rather than some form of roach as was his initial fear. But then again he wasn't exactly sure why there would be some random flash drive hidden in a dish in the cabinet. Plucking the sliver of metal up he wandered now to this office, a tap given to the touchscreen of the large military terminal sitting in the corner so as it awoke before he shoved the disk into one of the machines many slots. The system ran its malware and encryption check before allowing him to explore the drive, a number of document and video files located within and separated into different date folders though in the root was a video titled 'WATCH_ME_FIRST_I MEAN_IT'. The hunter had half a mind to click into one of the other folders and watch something else first just to be contradictory but the little green glow at the bottom right of the screen showing that the drive was Tanga military encrypted gave his glib nature pause. With a sigh Mach settled into his chair as he double tapped on the file, the video player loading before suddenly starting to playback the video:

A man who looks to be in his mid-thirties with russet brown hair that falls in easy coils about olive, angular cut features fiddles about the frame slightly adjusting the pitch while occasionally looking back at something hidden behind. Indecipherable grumbles escape the man as drab olive green eyes speckled with streaks of dull gold look just off the screen, the glow of a little LCD display shimmering off his gaze before finally he nods in approval. Stepping back now the rest of the man's figure comes into focus, his form lean with wiry muscles conditioned for speed. A white muscle tee showcased the black tribal tattoos interlaced with colorfully contrasting flowers which ran down each arm from shoulder to wrist; the shirt tucking neatly into black creased slacks which fell well tailored down his legs and over the steal toed boots that he wore. He backed up until finally the back of his legs hit the leather armchair that awaited him, his form sitting down easily as he adjusted to make himself comfortable, fingers tenting before him as elbows pushed into the armrests. A quick smile was flashed to the camera before the man cleared his throat obviously ready to start speaking. "So....if you're watching this video, then I must be dead." This was stated frankly with little inflection one way or another, olive gaze set blandly in focus. "Well....that's a given I suppose since you're here. And if I'm watching this video again than for fucks sake just put it back and leave it until you kick it jackass!" The man tsked at himself as his right leg lifted to rest atop the left leveling it parallel to the ground. "Sorry you, just covering all my bases yeah"

Anyway, I guess by now you've sort of guessed who I am, shoulda at least ran across my name in the relief report and seen it on the mailbox downstairs though I doubt we've actually met. So yeah, I'm Captain Orwell Danub, Class A3 3B 1C hunter better known as Shark." A pause is taken as those fingers unlace so as to offer a friendly wave to the camera. "Hellooo. So yeah....I was the last schmuck that was 'stationed' out here though I'm sure by now even you can tell what this place really is for folks like us. I can't even feel a fire and ice elementalist double dogging my prick anymore." A wry chuckle escaped the man, his humor soar as those fingers tented before him once more.

"So yeah....sorry for you. But I will say, there is a helluva lot of fun to be had here so long as you're not of high moral standing....mind not that I figure you would be since you were dumped out here, but still. Lot of parties, lot booze, lot of gambling, lot of women of easy persuasion....a right hedonists paradise friend ripe for the enjoyment. Sure the works a little harder thanks to all the damn magical types running around but when ain't it hard yeah' And other than some folks who are leery about some past mass hysteric mage hunt governance or some such no one will look at you twice for what you are! No little bitches calling you freak behind your back, no having to make friendly with smug, self righteous normies, no worries of friends being shamed hanging or screwing around with you, none of that! So yeah....you were probably going to die anyway but this ain't so bad a place to see yourself off in. " Well, I hope you're not somehow delusional into thinking that you had a shot of actually making it to retirement. Know the last few hunters before me were all about in the same boat so I don't reckon they'd stir up the formula by sending fresh, healthy meat out here....though if you are I hate to say but you're probably a guinea pig for some madsci's inter-dimensional experiment....sorry." A sharp snerk escaped the man before a lazy chuckle rolled along with that dark humor.

"But enough about the introductions and shit shooting, yeah' Lets get to the good bit - the owed. I bet you're already familiar with such, sort of like the 'right of namesake' and 'the last story' sort of traditions we screwy lot practice. Believe me, mine is much better than Stonewall before me....jackass wanted me to complete his scale model of the Bristle Crios and portal the fucker back home to his brother! Had all these pictures and pieces and I had to figure out how to put it together and fix my fuck ups and....well, you get the point, wasn't my cup o' joe. Course this probably ain't yours either but tuff shit yeah' So there's an orphanage down in Old Temple ran by a fine ass piece of good called The Wayward Children of the Nexus." Form shifts as the man pulls a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket, one of the cancer sticks popped up between his lips without pausing his words. "It's a decent sized place for dealing with children sort of picked up and dropped here by the big, magical snarl that governs this place. I....got a thing for it." Shark's voice comes to a halt as his gaze shifts off to the side, expression stiffening some before whatever thought his pushed aside. Fingers undaunted from what thoughts played in the hunter had moved to pluck a book of matchs from his pocket. One ripped out and struck just as his attention turned back to the camera. A few puffs would see a softly glowing cherry at the end of the cigarette, the match held up now to the soldiers gaze. A moment passes before the flame flared up, consuming the remainder of the match stick rendering it black and crumbling as Danub gives the camera a wry grin.

"Pretty neat parlor trick yeah' Anyway, what I want from you is to raise some money for it....I don't care how so long as it won't bring the orphanage any trouble yeah' Maybe run something at the Beltane festival that roles around in May around here, folks tend to be real generous during that time." A drag is taken before leaving the man in a roll of ashen gray smoke, his expression contemplative. "It's for a good cause so you should feel good about it and do it repeatedly until, you know." A little slice motion across his neck with a sly chuckle that died down with another puff from that cigarette. "Maybe....maybe you can do a dead guy another solid and let....tell Melody....shit, just tell her I'm sorry....for croaking. I know it ain't really your concern and that it's sorta against 'the game' but....yeah....this place....it has a way of making you think. All these nosy fuckers pushing themselves in you're business, not knowing what kind of freak you are, just seeing you as..." The man fell silent as he took another drag from his cigarette, olive gaze watching the tip of his cigarette for a long moment. A somber expression settles upon those angular features before finally a self-depreciating smirk crosses him as he addresses the camera once more.

"Well, you'll see. Or have seen I guess, depending how dedicated a cleaner you are....or crappy a hunter. Anyway....I've left a few more letters and stuff hidden around here as long as some from previous hunters. Sort of like an easter egg hunt of knowledge....expect you to add your own in good time. Chronicle a worthless life for more worthless lives to see before they end....it's a balls stupid notion but....but it's comforting, you know" To know we're leaving behind something more than just a bunch of pissed off marks, pissed off friends, and pissed off lovers. That something is being passed on....or something like that. Fuck, maybe I've just been drinking too much trying to feel it....or trying to get past the heebie jeebies of making a letter for someone after my final hunt."

A dry smirk as the man settles back, another drag taken from his cigarette as a grin curls upon his features. "So guess that's it for this video but I wanted to try something. Play a little game, yeah' Got my namesake for gambling after all...gambling for coin, gambling for women, gambling for thrills, gambling for life and death....real aggressive sort. Sooooo, I thought I'd take a stab at who you are! I've taken the liberty of doing a little research for giggles on this and I think I narrowed down the choices to a few of us really stupid bastards. Let's see how I do, yeah' Who I think will be the next hunter of Rhydin is either: Brell "Tuner" Ornell, Donald "Burner" Ildansek, or Eli "Mach' Turner....so, how'd I do?"

A sly grin curled on the man as he stood from his seat with a grunt, a puff taken from the cigarette as he approached the camera. The image blurs as the camera works to correct for the sudden change in focal point before it finally settles upon a close up of a drab olive eye. "Welcome to Rhydin friend, have a blast, yeah?" A chuckle is heard before the video cuts out.

The screen flashed back from the fullscreen of black back to the video player GUI as the video ended leaving Mach sitting in quiet contemplation. Blue eyes blue simply stared at the remaining directories of videos and files before he closed out the root folder feeling oddly done with this for the moment. Turning slowly in the swivel of his chair Mach just stared off into space as he let everything settle and process. A few minutes would pass before finally a wry smirk pulled on him. "Eli 'Mach' Turner eh....bastard.?

With a groan of chair the man rose to his feet, his steps leading him off through the living room and out the door of his apartment as he pulled out his phone, the words ' Wayward Children of the Nexus' swiped into the direction search function as he locked the door behind.

March 25, 2016

A soft sigh rolled away from Wren as he sat back with a creak from that keyboard, legs holding stalwart against the leather bound chairs inclination to spin. A symptom likely arisen due to the lineage of others who'd used this terminal before him and spent no small amount of time spinning absently in thought or procrastination over whatever task they had been trying to accomplish. In his case the former was the aim of his mild frustrations though he felt no desire to be spun and lulled into a false sense of a better mood. No, he thought better whenever he was certain of the facts laid ugly and bare before him, devoid of emotion or attachment though such seemed to be of little aid to the man now....not when faced with the facts as these.

Letting his umber gaze cast lazily over the main screen of the multi-monitor terminal he made note of the file he'd placed up in the corner labeled 'Eli Mach Turner'. It was a taunting puzzle to say the least, a wicked cache of information gathered by the schmooze....the man's shadow folder. Hunters were, by the life they lead, a paranoid and observant lot that learned to take and store whatever information or insights they could glean on others as though squirrels hording nuts for a coming winter. Information on informants, assets, blackmail, illegal activities, so on and so forth down to nasty little thoughts or insights about friends, enemies, lovers, or loved ones alike were fodder for such depositories. It was highly valuable to anyone in the business of secrets and highly dangerous to anyone who may well be contained within.

And while the schmooze was not above collecting such information he was, as was good practice, careful about the handling of such. The file was a massive, multilayered encrypted archive with several dummy pockets and embedded script that could wipe out the sensitive data were one to try and crack the nut directly. And, of course, it had several different unlock options where provided keys could cause the archive to implode outright or else lead one to junk information stored precisely to keep people away from what was really contained within. Wren had one of those keys, provided to him from Mach so as to unlock and 'see' what was inside that folder though really such just lead to a folder full of photos of his many acquaintances in candid fashion.

It was a mockery and made the man all the more interested in finding what was hidden inside but then he couldn't force Mach into giving him the 'correct' passkey that could very well just be a kill key instead and he none the wiser until the archive was finishing up it's burn. So, little by little, the hunter plucked his way through the several terabytes of data left behind by the previous hunter in that terminal, looking for some hint that he could use to try and crack the encryption or tease a passcode out from the fool. It was a daunting task given how much of the data was useless junk of photos; stored browser data; 'cultural study materials' in the form of enough pirated mass media to sail a literal yacht upon; and forms, documents, or personally created media following no less than one hundred and three different naming conventions none of which were followed with any regularity. It was a rabbit hole he had been plumbing for the past month since he'd found that shadow cache and even now he felt no closer to making any headway with this than when the bastard had given him that 'key' while obviously smiling over the phone. An infuriating situation to be sure, outwitted by such a lesser man as that worthless schmooze that couldn't even handle the tempting wiles of a place like Rhy'Din for even one year before getting their ass shot off! But despite what dim views he held about the man Wren couldn't fault him for at least showing proper caution at in regards to protecting sensitive information.

Clicking into the sub-folder labeled 'PPROJnCRAP1737' that he'd been investigating for the past week he scrolled down to the last place he'd left off (a seventeen minute long video of Lt. Turner juggling to various degrees of success a menagerie of cocktail making tools and bottles) and continued the search. A document of recipes with ratings, a list of ingredients labeled 'love', 'no-like', or 'hate', a few videos of him playing the same song....in general it was the sort of hodge podge that Wren had come to expect out of the other. An annoying collection that was either too obtuse or too ingrained in personal meaning about everything under the sun that was of interest to the other hunter, a vignette of a life burning bright till it invariably snuffed out. Closing out of a document for different cat sweaters and local purchasable cat anesthetic that can be administered via blow dart he paused on the next title up for review: a video with the dubious file name 'EndHnSRawDEC2015'. Reclining a little in his chair he double clicked the file, loading it up on the terminal in fullscreen format:

Scraping and muffled ruffling filled the audio as mottled darkness obscured the view, possible garbled words mixed with the discordant sounds but there was no way to discern what was being said. This chaos until the screen washed out in muted blobs of scenery and movement with some figure shrinking back as the world shifted and shuffled with a faint mechanical whir. It took a few moments for the scene to come into a rough focus which continued to shift and shutter as brights and darks normalized with edges growing ever sharper across the view. The scenery that came into focus was well known as the drab backdrop of the U.T.R.A. owned apartment, in particular the back wall of the living room with a wood and green felt covered poker table that sat beneath a large colonial pivot window which acted as the perch for the lone figure in the frame.

Dressed in dark slacks, suspenders, and an olive dress shirt worn classily with unbuttoned collar and rolled up sleeves the man in frame sat lazily atop the table with a tumbler of amber in one hand and a slowly burning cigarette clipped between his lips. Rugged features held a wearily stoic expression as they nursed those bad habits apparently waiting for the camera to normalize though from the time stamp in the corner ticking away from "DEC 15 2015 16:38:47" it was obvious this was raw footage that was likely to be cleaned up and edited as Mach was in no hurry to start addressing the camera. Killing that cigarette with one final drag the schmooze chased it's ghost with the last of what was likely alcohol, the glass and smoldering butt set behind them as though to try and hide the vices even as they plucked another cigarette from the pack hidden in their breast pocket. This new sacrifice was caught between lips as a worn down zippo knockoff was claimed from the table and used to light up with a few lazily rolling puffs. Once content with the glowing cherry on end they unceremoniously dumped the lighter back next to them as they hunched forward, settling elbows upon knees as cobalt gaze at long last met the viewers.

"Yo!" A cheeky grin curled across the schmoozes features as they addressed the camera, cigarette tip glowing in the afternoon light that spilled in from the window behind him. "Sooo' guess I'm dead." This statement was made with a levity belying the gravity of such words, the infectious grin and blas" shrug only adding to the inappropriateness of the joke. "Not that this is probably a surprise to you? whoever you end up being. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself."

Taking another drag off his smoke the man straightened up a little, putting on an air of officialness with mock salute and everything. "Lieutenant Elitia Turner, U.T.R.A. mage hunter, trouble maker, and all around swanky guy. Go' went by the handle of Mach. Erm, don't ask, long story and blah blah and stuff, yeah"” Slouching once more the man's expression lost some of that manic glibness taking on a more somber tone as that cigarette was plucked from lips and tapped off over a hopefully hidden ashtray. "So yeah, dead. Sort of the end for everyone sure but hunters in particular whether from being bad at dodging or slow on the draw or just up and getting to it seems like we've got a knack for it." There is a pause as though something just occurred to them. "Well, okay, it's an end for most and sometimes not for a hunter but really, if you find out my dead ass has been reanimated I grant you full permission to crisp fry it. Just ain't right to be pissing about as some husk or doll I reckon."

They shuttered even while speaking of this, another long drag taken and let loose like smog from a dragon rolling from their nostrils. "Anyway, suppose first off I outta welcome you to Rhy"Din, yeah' City of the strange and fantastical, place of dreams and nightmares, den of depravity and toxicity that's made many a purity inspector wet their bed at night. Call it what you will it's actually not so bad once you get used to how cray cray it can be out here. Don't think a lick of thought is put into half the shit that goes down" probably better for the pop sanity that way. Also makes this place oddly alluring to folks like you and I". hunters that is, government made freaks." There was a touch of causticity in his tone at that last word but he simply smiled pleasantly through it. "Not too big on bigotry out here" still some but you find me a place that doesn't have some stupid in it and I'll let you in on the joke that your dead too. Course not that I venture I'd ever end up in a fluffy afterlife after all the hell I raised while living!"

"But yeah, decent place full of decent folk....lot of good folk even, deserving folk. Some of them far better than us lot' but maybe I'm just a little jaded is all. Lot to think on as of late" life and love and family and crap like that, you know what I mean. Or not, guess after my stint they might send a much more humorless sort out here. Hope you're not that way cause seriously you gotta laugh at some of the absurdity of this sorta life or you'll end up a psychopath wearing peoples skins for a hobby." He emoted this with the flick and turns of his wrist carving wispy trails before him in smoke.

"But don't get too cozy and taken in either yeah' Easy to do that here, forget what you outta be and outta hold on to. This place can make you think you don't have to keep your cards to your vest, that you can be what you want but that isn't really any more true here then it is back home. You're judged less, sure....but still judged and as you might come to realize, or maybe I was just slow on the uptake for this but we're a particularly screwy sorta lot beyond the sense and sensibilities of others. So yeah....have fun, and believe me it's pretty easy to do that here, but don't get carried away."

Finishing off the second cigarette the schmooze plucked the smoldering butt from their lips and inspected it mildly before pinching the dully glowing ember out between their fingertips without any sort of reaction twitching upon their features. Discarding the extinguished cigarette Mach finally looked back to the camera with a cheery little shrug. "Cause let me tell you we ain't long for this ride. As of this recording I got maybe a couple years left before..." Lips popped as fingers wiggled in a shower of sparks sort of motion which was considered mildly by the hunter. Falling silent they looked down at the table to their side, gaze shifting as if reading something. "Hmm, maybe I'll edit that part out. Seems a little over morbid....little lacking in yuletide cheer..."

Words muttered more for themselves than the audience it seemed as a tired breath was taken while they shifted, hand moving to catch that extinguished and discarded cigarette even as blues lifted to squint at the camera. Relighting it as best they could it seemed they were trying to get into as close a fit position as they'd been prior with the barely smoldering cancer stick clipped once more between their lips. Pausing for a few measure moments they then repeated the motion they'd just performed to extinguish the cigarette with their finger tips with just a flourish more of pageantry.

"Tada~" Snarky little grin now held to them as they completed that pantomime. "See, humor good!" Slumping forward their elbows met knees in a slouch once more as cobalt blues held now to the camera. "But anyway, enough of the pleasantries and crap and on to the goods, yeah' Little tradition we lucky few that get put to pasture out here have, or I guess the tradition all of us share in but since the replacement always follows up after the departed it always falls to the next Rhy"Din hunter by default. So yeah, my favor" sort of a hard thing to think about asking of a potential stranger. Never really had a lot of pass-on-able missions or goals, nothing to remember me by or to leave my mark on things important. Believe me, real brain wringer but I think I've figured about the only thing that's ever mattered to me and lucky you it's something you can keep doing for me!"

The sardonically glib expression faltered, draining into a serious yet peaceful mask held together by a gentle smile. "See, what I want you to do is just to keep the peace here....simple, yeah' Protect the people of this place as you would you or yours. I know that might seem a little stupid since that's sort of part of our mission here to begin with but to me it's always been the main goal because I've....I've laid some roots here I think. Made comrades, made friends, found those that I'd call family, those that I'd lay myself down for, met folks I've loved and lost and love regardless. See....this place just gets in you, makes you care when ought not to." A depreciating smirk escaped them as they sat up now, hands falling to either side so as to support that almost relieved pose lacking the burdened feel that their previous pose spoke of. "For all the warnings I've got to give looks like I'm yet again a shining disclaimer of what not to do' but for this, I don't mind so much. I've always lived for those I care for, about the only thing I've ever been somewhat decent. If I have" had a choice for how I went down I hope it was to protect the peaceful days and innocence of the folks I've grown to care for" even if they're never to know what?s become of my stupid ass?"

Falling silent their gaze lowered taking on a distant look for the tick of several moments before they grew animated once more, moving in an autonomous manner to snag yet another cigarette. This one was clipped between lips and brought to life in contemplative silence which clung to the man as they worked through that coffin nail. After a few minutes they plucked the spent butt from their lips, grinding it out in that hidden ashtray with a tired sigh which matched the raggedness that held to rugged features.

"Ahh fuck it..." Free hand rose to scrub irritated at his mane of brown locks. "Don't think I'm ready to record my goodbyes just yet. Maybe I'll be in better moods for this after the New Years. Get my party on and see if I can funk my way out of this funk and such. Note to self, more mojitos before I try to record another of these" maybe some of Zynn's 'wacky tobaccy' smokes, those seem to at least take the edge off my big wiener-ness." Finishing with that bit of self admonishment Mach finally dismounted from the poker table with a hop. Moving towards the camera faster than it can adjust the picture blurs and scrambles to black though through the muffled shuffling on last bit of dialogue can be heard.

"Hmm....maybe I should mention something about you too, eh Sir Lemon' Would you like a new hunter owner" Would you!" Yes you w-OW! Shit! I'm bleed you damn ornery-"

Wren sat there for a moment processing what he had just saw, stoic contemplation holding to dark hued features. It wasn't often that one got to see what was essentially a last testament from a hunter, particularly when said hunter was still alive. For as much as death loomed in lives of hunters it was something they typically worked to avoid thinking about. Frankly it was surprising to him to see that one like Mach anguished so much over such when it seemed they would be the sort to care little other than who next to bed. A side of the schmooze that he'd not really considered beyond their broken sentimentalism and sappy romaticism.

"Hmm..." Finally giving in to the temptation he leaned back in that chair, letting it swivel back and forth lazily as he thought on this for a good amount of time before getting back to the slog of dissecting that digital vignette of a life.