[Kimmie Loxley]

WORD COUNT: 525

Total:             525

TAGGED: Fluffy

A night meant for entertainment, fun, excitement and cutting loose ever so slightly, had turned into somewhat of a boring snoozefest, unfortunately. So the Wind Shear bar was having a little event running, where some of the tables were dedicated to playing different bar games. Some were playing dice games, some were playing cards, some were playing darts down at the end. Then, after agreeing upon the games played and the specific rules used, bets happened. Typically over who paid for the alcohol, though on occasion more interesting things happened. The concept itself had seemed fairly interesting, yet the execution lacked a bit of finesse. At first, Kimmie's pressence alone had been intimidating enough to scare some people off, meaning that for the first few rounds the girl was simply chilling there, by herself, enjoying the drinks which she ordered for herself. Then, about halfway through the evening, came the second wave. At this point, because Kimmie looked the way that she did, the ones approaching her had garnered the collective idea of making deals with the devil. As such, the bets that they suggested and offered were far too extreme. Also far too specific and soul damning to be mentioned on a PG-13 forum by name. It had resulted in a sharp series of shutdowns, with the bets only getting more riddiculous as the ones approaching her had gotten the idea that the bets needed to be more extreme to garner her attention, when in fact it had been the opposite. Eventually, this lead to the third and final state, with Kimmie being left to sit at a table by herself, looking mainly at magical videos on the scroll, while attempting to imitate them with a deck of cards. Then spending a little time trying to stack dice for another game. Neither of the attempts were very successful.


The bar was nothing overly fancy. It was a place where you could expect not to get mugged in the first five seconds. The likelihood of getting your drink spiked to be dragged home for a chance encounter seemed about average, thus the girl was not going to be accepting any kind of drinks from strangers either. The night only had a few hours left at best, with the place slowly starting to clear out. Kimmie was sitting at a table nearer the corner, a stack of misturned cards on the table in front of her. Dice were scattered as well, after a failed attempt at dice stacking. There was a light blush on her cheeks, as she played with a straw between her fingers, slowly gyrating it around in the glass, knocking aside icecubes. Unfortunately, these kind of failed nights were more often the norm than the exception. It sorta came with the territory of giving off an intimidating pressence, while simultaneously looking like a bad bitch.


Still, it would be nice to have just a little bit of fun for the evening. Just a little bit of excitement so that the whole venture wasn't going to end in a disappointing fashion. Anything, literally anything, so long as it wouldn't endanger her.

[Flynn Gwyrdd]

The capital was a weird experience so far.

Flynn wasn’t sure what he expected when coming to Haven, but it really wasn’t what had actually happened. He was assigned to Class Green, and the training was about as rough as he thought it would be. He had barely gotten there and it took most of his willpower to continue going through some of those marathon sessions, but what had really surprised him was the fact that almost no matter where he went on campus after classes were over there was a list of second years itching to beat him up. It was like some sort of weird hazing ritual.

There was the short, crippled girl who berated him and called him a coward for not wanting to fight with her, there was this angry purple haired umbrella girl who also called him names, there was this weird fox faunus who kept trying to get him to buy weapons or something, and there was this weird white-haired tall guy who followed him around for a while muttering under his breath really creepily something about Grimm. All in all, not a great experience.

He had tried to socialize with the ones who didn’t seem fully dedicated to trying to beat up random people, but that went less than stellar as well. There was this Class Blue guy with red hair who set up some house party which was bring your own beer, which was fine, but halfway through he rounded up all the drinks and skipped off into the night like some sort of booze bandit. Flynn wasn’t in poverty or anything but like, come on dude. There’s no need for that sort of behavior.

Given that many of the rest of the people he tried to interact with were aloof in the extreme, he had taken to just going out by himself to enjoy himself and go to different places and try some new things. Being a teenager with newfound freedom from his parents and former social structure and thrust into a big city, he did what any unattended man would do and partied it up in his free time because why not? What was the point of working so hard during the weekdays if you didn’t get to enjoy yourself on the weeknights and weekends? If you never even tried to not hate yourself, you would just bottle it all up until you exploded.

By the time Flynn got to the Wind Shear, he wasn’t entirely sober. He wasn’t piss drunk, either, but he had a healthy buzz that was enough to make him more bold than he normally would be. Dressed in a black leather jacket with a plain white tee underneath and dark blue denim jeans to go along with some garden variety all-terrain running shoes he looked like any normal member of society – not bringing weapons because what kind of actual weirdo would bring weapons to a bar?

Each bar had a gimmick around these parts, and hazel eyes scanned the room looking for the Wind Shear’s. It was a game event, where people sat at tables and played games with stipulations of their choosing and junk – and it looked like the bar had all sorts of games up and running as well. That sounded like fun, frankly, so he scanned the bar looking for empty spots on tables. The first one he saw had some dirty looking dude sitting there, so pass. Second one had some college-aged dude he didn’t recognize in some tropical shirt, pass. Third one had an old guy passed out and drooling on the table, pass. Fourth one had a woman with her face so far in her scroll her nose was almost touching it and typing furiously, pass. And the fifth had a pretty pinkette sitting alone. Looking through his options one more time, there was really only one choice.

Sauntering over with confidence only a buzz can give, Flynn slid onto the chair facing the pinkette and extended his hand over the table. “Hello! My name is Flynn.” he offered, tone friendly and happy to be there. “If you’re up for it, I think we could start with something basic. Loser buys winner next round of drinks, winner chooses what, based on a game of…”

There was a pause, then, and a visible glance around the room because he hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. He hadn’t actually checked to see what games were open and weren’t swarmed with people and suggested the very first thing he saw open. “Air hockey.”

Nailed it.

SPOILER: Click to show

763 words.

763 total words.

[Kimmie Loxley]

WORD COUNT: 616

Total:             1141

TAGGED: Fluffy

Stretching lazily, the girl looked at her drink. It was almost emptying. If no one had arrived by the time that she ran dry on alcohol, then tonight would be categorized as another failure, and Kimmie would look into going home. Cutting one's losses while ahead, as later out in the night, probability of good encounters dropped dramatically, while the risk of running into someone crazy skyrocketed. Risk versus reward asessment, yes sir. Eyes scanned the area, when the red crossed jaded emeralds fell upon him. Already by a first glance, he seemed different than the others. Rather than having looked to Kimmie multiple times, gathering up the courage to go over and fire off that awful awkward joke, he began marching over practically immediately. Confidence in his step, determination in his stride. It was something the pinkette noticed immediately, just from the atmosphere he produced. Beyond just his mannerisms, his whole getup was also significantly different. Tilting her head curiously to the side by a few degrees, as if to view him from a different angle, she couldn't quite place the origin of him. Could be some kind of mercenary, capable enough to not mind standing out, or unknown enough that no one would bat an eye at his pressence. Could be one of those Hunter types, which meant he was either a noble soul, or more likely from her own experiences, a complete and utter selfish weirdo douchebag type. However, that was almost immediately cleared up. 

Eyes widened with a soft shock as the young man slid into the chair, extended his hand openly and introduced himself.  This was potentially the closest to a regular interaction Kimmie had had in weeks. The shock soon dissipated from her expression, as her lips curled up into a devious smile. The corner of her fangs poking just below the luciousness, as she calmly, elegantly and very much in control of the situation, extended her own to greet him. Name was spoken back, clear, borderline sultry.  Unlike many of the females around, she was completely fine with being overtly feminine, without the need to be slutty. "Kimmie Loxley." He would notice that, besides having skin as soft and smooth as silk with nails trimmed to obsessive perfection, she gave a rather firm squeeze when introducing herself. Almost menacingly, or unsettlingly. The whole atmosphere around her was a strange one, like she wanted him to know, that he was walking head first into an ambush. Even so, the trap was alluring with such glittering, aromatic and beautiful prizes...

Even so, as he actually suggested an entertaining passtime, the mood shifted a little. From trying to amuse herself by being alluring, yet dangerous, causing confusion in those that approached her... she had shifted priorities. Now she was more than content enjoying a game of air hockey, with a bet to follow that wasn't as outlandish as getting a pair of signed panties. The tone in her voice shifted to one of clear irony. Attempting to make it clear that she was lying, with the intent of having humor as the side effect. Hopefully, by the heavens, he wouldn't be so dense as to not catch on.  Grabbing the glass with the remainder of her drink, she slowly got to her feet. "...Why, most certainly. Though I will have you know,  Flynn, I come from a long line of air-hockey champions! You'll get a serious run for your money, for I have played this game soooo many times..." 

Perhaps he'd catch on that she had never played air hockey before and take a little mercy. Perhaps not. Either case would be amusing to her. One tragically amusing, the other genuinely amusing.

[Flynn Gwyrdd]

Flynn was a bit dense, but not to the degree to miss such a grandiose overstatement. Social interactions were hard, and frankly he was still getting used to dealing with people who weren’t just comic over exaggerations of what actual people were like. Sanctum was a great school, but the people who were there didn’t exactly fit the definition of normal. There were the overachievers who saw themselves as being the next great hero and did their best to act the part, the normal group, and then the slackers who kind of made slacking their entire social identity and went really over the top with it in the same way that the chronic overachievers did. It wasn’t enough to just be regular lazy, they had to be flamboyantly and aggressively lazy. Interacting with people like that for years did a number on his ability to deal with normal interactions, so he appreciated when someone went over the top obvious in cues like Kimmie just did.

If this was how she normally acted, it was something that Flynn was used to dealing with. Plus, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for someone to put up airs when they were out and about in public. Nobody led with the bad parts of themselves, and it made sense to exaggerate the good parts. It was the same reason why Flynn got a buzz before going into most big social gatherings, because sober he’d be just a tad bit too anxious to do things like this with half as much confidence. He would’ve waffled before walking over much longer, to the point of it being blindingly obvious to anyone watching and been more hesitant in introductions.

“Don’t worry about it. Air hockey is super easy. All you need to do is find the… uh… I don’t know what it’s called but the circular thing with the handle that sticks straight up under your side of the table.” he started enthusiastically, mostly because it was a really simple game that was super easy for anyone to pick up. Getting up and walking over at the same time was just a short walk, and soon they’d be off to the races.

“The puck should probably be on your side as well. Just this big old red dish shaped thing, and the goal is to hit that into the other person’s goal. It looks like it’s first to three wins.” That observation was due to the fact that there was a scoreboard above the air hocket rink that had three dots that would be colored in for every score. Master detective work, right there. Truly amazing intuition on display.

It turns out that this particular game required one lien to play for an hour, and Flynn’s side had locked up his handle. Kimmie’s side, however, would have both the puck and the handle free to be taken out for reasons unknown, likely a glitch or something. She’d have a solid twenty to thirty seconds of complete and utter freedom to make an easy goal while Flynn fiddled with his side and unlocked his own handle. The place to insert the lien was a little bit low, so the teenager had to crouch in order to insert the lien and thus didn’t actually have a view of the table itself for several seconds. “Looks like first challenge is getting this thing unstuck.” he’d note, “Shouldn’t take more than a few seconds, though!”

SPOILER: Click to show

576 words.

1339 total words.

[Kimmie Loxley]

WORD COUNT: 487

Total:             1628

TAGGED: Fluffy

The replies from Flynn were fairly promising. It seemed he had enough intellect to hold his own. On top of that, he seemed fairly charming when it came to explaining the game. Naturally, Kimmie knew the basics of air hockey, but appreciated the explanation after her little ironic champion spiel. As the explanation proceeded, the puck was soon on the table. The little striker fit fairly decently into the palm of her hand, though it was ever so slightly too large. Without really thinking much about it, the pinkette gave the puck a nudge with the striker, offering a resounding and very satisfying clicking smack sound. Blinking twice, a little surprised, the puck slid across the hockey board softly spinning. Before heading straight into his goal, as a deeper plastic clank was heard. For the briefest of moments, Kimmie just stood there, looking exceedingly confused. Then it sorta dawned upon her that she had scored, which made her grin softly to herself. Placing a hand on her hip and lightly leaning in over the table, she spoke in the same soft tone as before.


"Okay, that one doesn't count. I think.. At least I didn't mean to cheat..." Kimmie held a short pause, biting her lower lip, waiting for Flynn to get up to the table and be ready. "..Good to know I can actually score, though! Hehe.." Offering a warm smile, she reached behind her head to begin gathering the pink locks into a ponytail. Tightening it with a hairband,so it wouldn't get into her eyes or otherwise tangled as they played, she seemed fairly ready for this challenge. Only thing that remained, was deciding on precisely how to settle this bet. "So how about it? Each betting round is first to three points, loser buys alcohol for both?... I believe I can afford three rounds at least." Kimmie said with a soft grin, not checking her pockets for how much money she had. The tone in which she spoke not hinting nor implying that she was broke, her body language not implying that money was an issue, more so that she wasn't willing to lose more than three games in a row. That is, even if the reality was her being broke, it wasn't something she wanted the world around her to know. Image was, afterall, fairly important. Having money and being competent was part of image. Swishing the striker around on the surface of the hockey board, Kimmie was feeling rather okay about this. It was fun, engaging and ultimately not something which she would get hurt or endangered by playing. That is, unless Flynn was somehow capable of striking the puck with the force of a gorilla, sending it flying up from the board so it could smack her in the face.

Of course, he was too much of a gentleman to hit the puck with such force.
Right?

[Flynn Gwyrdd]

“Don’t worry about it. If anything, you’ll need the advantage! Those rules sound good for me.” he responded, chipper and confident in his own chances of winning despite the setback of being down 0-1 right off the bat.

This confidence lasted about sixty seconds, which is about how much time that it took for Kimmie to score twice more and win 3-0. “Okay, okay. I underestimated you that time, but this time the gloves are coming off.” he’d say, honestly a bit surprised… mostly because he was trying to win. He bought the next round of drinks, of course, and settled in for round two.

Flynn lasted longer the second go around, but the outcome was the same. Kimmie scored three times, and Flynn scored zero. Instead of focusing on offense like the first game, he had focused on defense… but his opponent had managed to do bouncing shots against the walls of the air hockey table and get in behind his striker multiple times. “You know, now I’m not even sure you were joking. Am I getting sharked here?” he asked after the second loss, gamely ordering another round of drinks. He had definitely heard of pool sharks who pretended to be bad at games to suddenly turn into a pro when money was on the line, but the teenager had definitely never heard of air hockey sharks. “I didn’t even know air hockey championships were a thing!”

Now that winning was off the table, he was chattier in general. The second round he did nothing but concentrate and try to win and failed miserably, so the third round he was just going to play the game in the background and let the chips fall as they may. “So what brings you to the capital, Kimmie?” he’d ask as he put the puck in play… and basically immediately get scored on. He took a swig of his rum and coke before putting the puck back on the table and whacking it back into play. “Kind of a crazy time to be around, what with plant-based terrorists and video game consoles with chicken chambers.”

Honestly, who the hell came up with that idea? The thought to include a chicken chamber to cook fried chicken in a video game console was absurd, like… wouldn’t it just get the entire thing dirty with grease and stray bits of chicken? How would you even clean it since you couldn’t just wash it like normal dishes because all of the electronic parts? Who decided that fried chicken was necessary to a modern gaming experience in the first place? How did the console get hot enough to actually fry chicken without damaging any of the internal parts? So many questions, and not a lot of answers.

Oh, and the pumpkin terrorist was a thing too. It really was a crazy time to move to the city, even though he had largely been away from all the fuckery except for the White Nights Festival so far.

SPOILER: Click to show

506 words.

1845 total words.