Not Honest: An Original RPG

endlsobsession @ 07:10 pm: Who: Irie and OPEN
Where: Brent, near Neasden Temple.
When: Tuesday, afternoon.


Irie was drawn to the temple in a way few others would have been. The simple connection the building presented to her home left her longing, weary of her life among the mortal. In truth she felt worse for wear, her weapons left home and her heart no longer truly feeling up to the 'good fight' anymore.

This was the results of a champion long from home. The comforts of her life dragged at her, and the mundane existence that humans led was...taxing. Still, she had comrades here. It was a small comfort to be near her kind, but yet she still felt empty. A deep void that drove a wedge between the loyal and the wavering.

If you hear me, she wondered softly, starting up the steps to the magnificent building, give me the strength...

She needed to focus on her duties, not on the one creature she loathed...and yet was almost afraid to kill. That was what it was, wasn't it? Why her blade never could fall on him? Fear? An intangible, unmistakable taint on her heart that made so little sense it frightened her more.

And to top it off, an angel was found just the other night, badly injured and dying. She'd taken the scroll, if only for safe keeping, but there was little she could do with it. The script was ancient, a text she had never learned, and scholars of the mortal realm posed a pressing problem. How did one address the questions they might, assuming they could read it, come up with?

And what was so important about the scroll that Knights of Order would lash out at one of their God's heavenly messengers? It all left such a better taste on her lips.

Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, irieaga moonshadow, open, phineas caldwell

outlawangel @ 10:55 pm: It’s motherfucking booze time.
WHO: Phineas and OPEN
WHERE: The Black Drum
WHEN: Early evening

He actually really shouldn’t be here. It’s beneath him. It’s not fitting for his kind. And it’s not like anyone won’t ever know because, c’mon, he knows more than anyone that someone is always watching.

But that dumb song is right. Sometimes you just want to go where everyone knows your name.

‘Phineas.’

‘Yep,’ he says, settling down warily on a stool.

He comes here too much. The bartender doesn’t even ask what he wants anymore. They have this little skit they play out every time, with the man getting him a whiskey and Phineas promising aloud to drink only one and drink it slowly. And the barkeep just dries a glass and shakes his head.

He shouldn’t be here. He should be out looking for something constructive to do, someone to help. God knows there are plenty of them out there.

But he doesn’t understand people anymore. They have changed so much over the past century, withdrawing into themselves, going through the day without so much as a smile or spoken courtesy to another, not their families, not their friends, not a stranger and espically not a stranger in a derby hat. And they’ve all got these stupid little things on their ears that they talk into and you can’t tell if their insane or not!

But there is one person who’s always consistent.

Jack Daniels.

Despite keeping his resolution to sip his whiskey slowly, he doesn’t take long for him to start feeling jovial.

His eyes sweep the room in search of someone to bother with his good mood.

Tags: alassandro deluca, open, phineas caldwell