Welcome to The Duality of Man, an original animanga role-play that features numerous supernatural creatures. Unfortunately, these various species have distanced themselves because of the war that occurred thousands of years ago, plaguing some with eyes that only see their dualism. While others meddle themself with their differences, two groups fight, each attempting to eliminate the other in for their definition of worldly peace. These two groups of the Terror Response Syndicate (TRS) and the Assembly of Phantoms (AP). With individuals fighting merely over their differences, it brings uncertainty to the outcome of this war.
We happily accept all role-players as long as they obey the rules and are capable of meeting our word count of 50. This does include those who are unfamiliar with this style of role-playing. The staff of The Duality of Man are willing to happily help those who are new to the role-playing world so they feel comfortable on site. Feel free to message the staff if you need help, they can be found here or in the site Discord and will gladly answer questions alongside calm concerns. If you have any suggestions we would love to hear them; guests may use the support board as a suggestion area as well. Should you decide to join, may I say welcome to the site and we all hope you enjoy your time here.
Yours Truely,
The Staff
season
Summer 2022
Heat has broken through into a glorious summer. The snow has entirely dried through the spring, leaving to the brilliance of the warmer months. Terror activity has risen as people are brought out of their homes, leaving the TRS in a position of consistent work. Each are attempting to maintain victory in the endless struggle for power.
With April, an activity check has arrived for members to do! Please post on the AC and tag all your accounts, including WIPs and OOC accounts. Failure to post on this AC will result in your accounts being marked inactive or deleted. Please note, due to a late start, the due date for this check has been adjusted for one time and one time only.
left alone, trapped in uncertainty. can anyone love me? anybody at all? or am I destined to be alone?
❧
Every time obnoxious, disloyal, UNGRATEFUL CHEATING FLORENCE showed his damn face, Russel discovered an itch overtaking him. The manner his cruel ex-boyfriend treated him through their relationship and afterwards was best described as disgraceful. Their relationship turned volatile, transforming into an abusive screaming contest until the day Florence brought home a girl and cheated on him. He remembered throwing out that mattress for something new because of where they decided to commit their filthy actions.
Only a mere few minutes after punching out at work had Russel discovered himself ambushed by his ex-boyfriend. Derogatory comments were exchanged, his former lover fancying the notion of rubbing in about how incredible his recent flings were. IT GROUND THE SEER'S GEARS WHEN HE DID THAT! Anybody who associated himself in a one night stand with the dumbass was hardly somebody Russel wished to hear about. Yet, his ex flaunted everything he did, informing Russel about how awesome life was since they broke up while informing him of his downfalls.
The condescending method he spoke resulted in Russel slamming the car door in his face and returned home. Alas, the annoyed seer would hardly remain in his apartment for long. He hastily changed from his uniform into something different, a plain light-blue shirt and a pair of black slacks. It was a Friday night and the itch suggested him to head down to the local bar and get a few drinks to drown away his sorrows. Hence, he obeyed without a single thought of hesitation filtering through his escape-desperate mind.
Thus after exchanging some cash, he left the taxi, choosing responsibly in case he became hammered from his choice. Fortunately, the bespectacled man could be assured his father would be around to heave him up and drag his sorry butt home. The seer shoved a hand into his pocket as he glanced up at the unlit sign. The words "The Golden Crown" were visible in large letters, the lights inside the plastic sign waiting for the evening. Summer air surrounded Russel as he contemplated his choices to enjoy some alcoholic beverages at the well-known bar.
From the outside he stared at the glass doors, sparing a glance at the outside chalkboard declaring drink specials. His thoughts wandered back to Florence, knowing he craved the opportunity to make him crumble. Unfortunately, the man reigned champion as Russel sighed and pushed open the glass doors. After a long day's work and the addition of his ex-boyfriend's malicious torment, the brunette failed to resist. He approached the counter after opening the door, the stretch of tables filled with a few chattering souls.
A majority of people arrived at bars for enjoyment between friends and conversation while intoxication claimed him, alas, Russel found himself alone. With a soft grumble, the bespectacled man attempted to ignore the oddity in his attendance.
"Can I get a paralyzer?" The bespectacled man requested.
The bartender turned, regarding him for a moment to inspect his age, although, Russel was ahead of him. He fished out his wallet, displaying his ID to assure no troubles. With the existence of some abilities, a meagre glance over could hardly give the information proper identification could. When satisfied, the bartender nodded at him.
"Vodka or tequila?" They asked, offering the choice.
"Vodka."
With those words, the bartender began mixing the drink. He grabbed the necessary ingredients and began pouring them into the class with some ice. Once finished, they turned to offer the drink, expecting payment from the bespectacled man. Quickly, Russel grabbed some cash. He waited for a moment to gather his change before leaving the main counter to sit at one of the booth tables. Carefully, he brought the drink to his lips, taking a small sip to prepare him for the upcoming intoxication.
[attr="class","bgtk-lyric2"]back street fight is looking for trouble
[attr="class","bgtk-post"]
The bachelor life wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, really. Long periods of lonesomeness was especially harsh for a familiar with an isolation phobia. A cold bed and quiet solitude were two things that Bell absolutely detested. Not that he would ever admit to it, but the two seemed to be going hand in hand as of late. Like a bird without wings, roosters were a pathetic cockerel if they lacked a hen or a flock to look after. [break][break] One after another, the familiar would lose women like it was going out of style. Perhaps it was his impudent nature and clinginess that pushed the females away? Bell did have an abrasive air to him after all. Either you loved him or you hated him, though most would be partial to the latter. Those who were either strong or stupid enough to stick around him, and wade through the bullshit, would get a taste of the familiar’s affectionate, clingy side. (Though, clingy would be a drastic understatement.) Bell was akin to a walking glue stick at times, who would adhere himself to any woman he truly fancied. It might just have been a part of being a familiar, a rooster, or even both that caused his sort of unhealthy obsessive behavior. Regardless of his tender feelings, most did not appreciate being followed around and herded like a damn chicken in a flock. Relationships were usually cut short anyway, as most had a hard time sticking around after a one-night stand due to his crowing habits. Surly, it would be a pain in the ass getting woken up, bright and early, by the guy you brought home the night before. This, among other things, was why he was still a sad, single bird. [break][break] Bell couldn’t hold a relationship to save his life. [break][break] It wasn’t until his recent run-in with a raccoon shifter named Lyra, that Bell all but gave up in his ventures of finding a hen. She was the perfect woman, with a cute face, nice ass, and a good sense of humor. He honestly enjoyed the short time he spent with her, and even considered her to be house hen material. Needless to say, Bell had major heart eyes for the brunette beauty. It was a shame the shifter’s kindness was a farce. She used his gracious and ingenuous nature to gain access to a high-end home. Essentially, he would have been an accessory to the crime she committed if he didn’t help bring her in. His livelihood had been on the line, and all because of a pretty face. Lyra drained the familiar of his optimism, like a vampire, she sucked him dry. He was still hurting from the situation, and like any wounded animal, he set off to lick his wounds. [break][break] He needed a drink. Something that burned long enough to melt his lingering thoughts and insecurities. If getting plastered was what he was after, Bell knew he needed to head to The Golden Crown to satisfy his craving for booze and blissful forgetfulness. [break][break] It was still early in the evening, Bell wasn’t too surprised the bar had yet to reach fully capacity. Surly, the coming hours would bring out the night owls and booze hounds that would creep out of the woodwork to reclaim their stomping grounds. As soon as Bell approached the bar, the bartender gave him a dubious look. Bell knew what the gentleman was about to ask for, this certainly wasn't his first rodeo. The rooster was one hundred and eight years old, but still had to show an ID. What was this world coming to? Bell could recall a time when they didn’t want anyone drinking whatsoever, but that was a long, long time ago. While giving the bartender a flippant wave, he commented, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Keep your fuckin’ pants on.” After fishing his ID out of his wallet he waved it in front of him obnoxiously before spouting, “I bet I look like I crawled right out of an egg, huh?” [break][break] Two shots of tequila later and Bell could always feel a buzz coming on. He wasn't a strong drinker by any means. A low tolerance for alcohol was his Achilles heel. It wasn’t until he ordered something with a little less of a kick that he spotted a familiar face amidst the bar goers. Bell couldn’t quite place where he’d seen the somber gentleman before, but he’d definitely seen him somewhere. Out of all the people in the bar, his sharp eyes narrowed in on him like a hawk to prey. The familiar could see it in his eyes, that painful look of loneliness. [break][break] Bell was by no means a solitary animal. In times of desperation, he would play nice with a male counterpart. Thankfully, alcohol had entered the equation, making his more animalistic half go quiet for the time being. No more pecking, scratching, crowing or frustrated squawking, just nice, calm, silence. Maybe now he could actually hold a conversation with another male without wanting to fight him? [break][break] Bell sauntered over to the table with his new drink in hand. After flashing the man an ear to ear grin he said, “You look like you’re down for the count there, bud.” Without so much as waiting for an answer, Bell helped himself to the seat on the opposite side of the booth. His crimson wings flexed slightly as he got comfortable. This wasn't exactly prime seating for a winged guy like him, but he would make do. Drinking alone wasn’t an option tonight, and this familiar face looked like he could use some company anyway. As they say, birds of a feather drink together! [break][break] “Rough night, huh?”
left alone, trapped in uncertainty. can anyone love me? anybody at all? or am I destined to be alone?
❧
Russet eyes stared through his spectacles at the paralyzer as he placed it back onto the table. Thoughts swirled inside of Russel's head as his interaction with his ex-boyfriend haunted him. An annoyed grumble breached his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to shove away any thoughts of fuckface Florence. His elbows propped onto the table, fingers slinking into his hair while his palms remained stationed on his temples. He felt frustrated about his situation and upset over the memories of the past that stuck.
Footsteps approached, but Russel ignored them in hopes of banishing the despicable thoughts of his accursed ex. He revelled in his thoughts, distracted until a voice popped the bubble of focus. A confused hmm rose from his closed lips as his eyes slowly fluttered open, hands leaving his temple. The brunette's eyes shifting, meeting the face of a blond stranger with vaguely familiar traits had approached the table. The words the stranger stated failed to be caught, however, Russel assumed it was something along the lines of taking a seat.
The bespectacled man raised a brow, wondering if the blond was a random bar flirt, not that the brunette would complain. Sometimes a playful conversation could allow Russel to heal for a few moments and escape those depressive thoughts. Though, instead of flirtatious banter as he hoped, the man mentioned a rough night. A sigh left his lips as he nodded at the stranger.
"Yeah... I saw my ex today and," an extensive, annoyed groan left his lips as he leaned back against the booth's rest. "He really downed my mood... I'm not into him anymore, but... just the breakup and how he acts, it just makes dealing with him a fucking nightmare."
The bespectacled man's arms laid flat on the table, left below and right on top as he adjusted his position to be closer to the table.
"Anyways, what brings you here?" Russel inquired.
Reciprocating conversational interest was the correct move, furthermore, Russel would cling to anything to steal him away from these twisted thoughts. He craved the possibility of freedom, thus, he would leech onto the blond-haired man for the escape he searched for. Another small sip was taken of his alcoholic beverage, allowing the intoxicating beverage to further enter his system.
[attr="class","bgtk-lyric2"]back street fight is looking for trouble
[attr="class","bgtk-post"]
Bell waited patiently for the gentleman to speak. The blonde’s golden eyes held a hint of placid curiosity as he took a few more sips of his drink; the burn felt nice. Slowly, but surely, the beverage began to work its magic into the rooster’s veins. When Bell entered the bar he was on edge, like an anxious chicken in the middle of a dog kennel. But now, his personality had taken a turn for the better, and all thanks to a little liquid courage. The shots he took before he sat down only helped to speed up the process. [break][break] An ex? Upon hearing that very word, Bell’s thoughts crept back to his old master. Trish was the closest thing he had to a real ex. The era of long-lasting relationships died along with her. If it wasn't for her breaking his contract they would still be together. While under the influence of the server's choice and a few shots, Bell wasn’t nearly as sensitive to subjects that would otherwise ruffle his feathers. He remained unusually quiet and listened intently to the man’s brief explanation of his nightmare of an ex. Clearly, the poor man was anything but jovial about the situation. It seemed to have hit him hard; Bell actually felt bad for him. “Sounds rough, buddy.” The tipsiness Bell experienced was the catalyst for him to show pity for a man he would have otherwise ignored. If he were sober he surely would have a different reaction to his issue. [break][break] “You know...” Bell flashed a cheeky grin and leaned forward. “If they are giving you grief you can always find a way to get back at them. This rooster knows a few tricks when it comes to revenge.” [break][break] “Me?” Bell’s wings drooped slightly as he leaned back in his seat. Did he really want to tell this man that he had absolutely no luck with the hens? Every woman he’d run into lately either ditched him outright or hurt him in some way. Sure, this man spilled his guts, but the rooster wasn't too keen on reciprocating. There was, however, some truth to Bell’s words when he said, “You and I are in the same boat...in a way.” There was some somber undertones to his voice as he spoke. His gaze soon fell and rested on the half empty beverage in front of him. Before the rooster knew it, he was talking again. The chatty fowl just couldn't hold it back. Words came pouring out his mouth like an endless stream. “You think you know a woman, then she turns around and gives you a hot frying pan to the fuckin' face.” A low growl crept past his lips. “She wasn’t just some hussy either, but like, end game material, y’know? She was funny and good-looking. S-She even laughed at my jokes!” Bell couldn't work up the gumption to look his company in the eye as he continued. “I think she was someone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.” [break][break] “Too bad she turned out to be a fuckin' bitch...”
left alone, trapped in uncertainty. can anyone love me? anybody at all? or am I destined to be alone?
❧
Perhaps too eager to vent his frustrations, Russel discovered his depressive mood mingling with the soft boil of an anger pot. Escapism was the ever-sought goal of his bar venture. He plunged into the chatter filled bar suspecting a lonesome brooding until the blond approached him. Although, hidden beneath his bitter words regarding his ex-boyfriend was a masked appreciation for the stranger's companionship. Another individual was a distraction from the regular bar scene, giving Russel an excuse to be focused on something else.
Around their pity-party brigade were people dawning broad smiles as alcohol traveled like electricity through their veins. Wild party people with intentions of flirting through the night. Otherwise, there were the avid sports watchers shouting at the television as though the teams could hear them. Yet, every person inside the Golden Crown happier than Russel could be ignored by the blond's intervention. A peculiar concept to grant a silent thanks to, however, the forensic seer required a distraction over than the ice-cold drink dripping condensation over his hands.
The comment which left his companion's lips resulted in a gentle sigh followed by a head nod. Delving into the details of their breakup was a messier topic, one Russel preferred avoiding. Between the cheating and blatant abuse, it only caused people's blood to boil and the conversation to devolve into endless ranting and raving. Honestly, the seer wished to mellow down, even if the male was somebody, he assumed, prone to flirting. The man was a moment saver, a soft laugh leaving Russel's closed lips as he smiled at his companion.
"I'm not worried about that. I got the apartment, so I argue I got revenge already," he stated with a soft sense of pride.
The words were promptly punctuated with the ferrying of his drink to his lips. The returned question prompted a reaction from his companion. His wings dropped, although, Russel could easily assume what the expression behind the action was. Perhaps disappointment or some sort of sorrow related to the returned question. The start of the answer summoned an understanding to Russel's eyes as his expression dropped into a slight frown. The vexation of dealing with those burnt bridges was always a travesty.
The somberness of his companion's voice spoke volumes about the topic at hand. Perhaps they were birds of a feather, flocking at the same table out of pure coincidence. He listened to the man's story, a sympathy entering his brown eyes. There were instances Florence abused him, thus he could comprehend the sorrows of being hit by a person you loved. The feeling of somehow ending up in a relationship with somebody who excreted volatility and hatred.
"That's... harsh. I'm sorry that happened to you," his sympathetic emotions voiced. "At least you're away from her now. You don't deserve that shit."
He genuinely felt for the misfortunes the blond injured. The sense of betrayal mingling in with endless pain, both mental and physical... It always took its tolls. There were instances after his harsh breakup with Florence where Russel found himself crying and mopping... Fortunately, his father assured he would survive by providing him comfort and reassurance. Alas, the scars covered his brain and brought about ill-effects. Trust was a trait hard to come by, especially in serious relationships. Negative habits consumed him and in the end, he was a broken shell of the man he used to be.
He bruised into cynicism and came out unstable in intimate relationships. He struggled to express emotions or lend the person even an ounce of deserved trust... He was broken.
596 words ● @bell No worries! I can always wait! c:
[attr="class","bgtk-lyric2"]back street fight is looking for trouble
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The potent sting of alcohol lit up his veins like hot coals. Bell was a little over halfway through his drink when the sensation hit him hard, pushing his lightweight ass into the realm of absolute intoxication. As he took yet another sip, the bar chatter around him began to fall back to incoherent mumbles and white noise. His fellow depressed cohort was the only thing really keeping his attention. His voice was crystal clear. Everything else seemed to fizzle out of existence, almost as if the bar itself had been swallowed by a black hole; leaving the two of them, their drinks, and the table to linger in the remaining void. Honestly, Bell wasn’t the type to handle hammering down shot after shot though he’d sure as hell try. [break][break] Such was the story of his life; trying desperately to chase that high that he once felt but would always manage to fall short of victory. It did not matter what he did. The universe was playing that carrot on a stick trick with him, dangling his hopes just out of reach, and then laughing as he desperately scrambled for it. At times, he would manage to brush it with his fingertips, though he’d never be able to fully grasp it. Success, happiness, purpose - it was always just one step ahead of him. [break][break] Bell’s attention was captured by his company’s voice. What kind of revenge is that? Bell thought with a tip of his head, though thankfully he chose not to comment harshly. The man seemed so proud of his accomplishment, and with his inner animal silent, he wasn’t pushed to take that victory from him. Bell’s flavor of revenge was a bit more sour. "Well, If you say so." [break][break] Bell could feel his cheeks flush when the man responded to his woes. His golden eyes remained unwavering on his beverage. The brunette didn’t know a damn thing about him, and yet, he was being so kind after Bell poured his heart out. Rare. This man was a rare breed. "Oh, yeah?" Finally, gaining the will to look up, Bell would respond with a simple, “Thanks.” He forced a weak smile, his face glowing red like his feathers. [break][break] The rooster would then attempt to lighten the mood. “All doom and gloom aside…” The previous question that had popped up earlier reared its ugly head once more. Bell just couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen this man before. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar, but I can't place where I've seen you.”
left alone, trapped in uncertainty. can anyone love me? anybody at all? or am I destined to be alone?
❧
Every precious drop of escapism in a glass was valued by the trouble-burdened seer. The world around him ebbed away, seemingly growing faint, however, it lacked haste. At most, Russel was only finished a meagre part of his drink and was never considered light weight. He paced himself well, furthermore, the young seer enjoyed the occasional mingle at a bar or at home self-indulgence. Nonetheless, when the overwhelming weight of life burdened his shoulders, options felt limited. The easy option existed in his hands as they gentle held the condescensation-covered glass.
The cold sensations trickled over his fingers, alas, the focus remained naught. Rather, the seer's hazel eyes fixated on the blond-haired man who joined him. His winged acquaintance already proved better than stewing thoughts of a crueller man. Eventually, his hands firmed around the glass. Another, a longer sip of alcohol graced the bespectacled man's lips, allowing the drink to burn down his throat. He wished for the buzzed sensation brought on by the non-lethal liquid poison; to become impaired and relaxed by the toxic drink.
The glass softly clinked against the table, a hand retreating from the cool surface to wipe away the residue from Russel's chilled upper lip. As the man vaguely validating his revenge method, Russel gave a soft, somewhat dismissive shrug. He effectively threw Florence out and it made the bespectacled man feel good. Alas, in the aftermath he wished for nothing to do with the twisted cheater. However, the bedroom never felt the same, rather, it contained an atmosphere of constant concern. Remembrance of how he felt required to be cynical...
The gloomy atmosphere of the conversation was steered elsewhere, an intelligent move given the suffocating nature of sorrows. The sheer mention of recognition brought a soft glint to Russel's eyes. There was something familiar about this man and him holding a similar impression proved it. The few locations Russel could think of was the bar or work, his locations of travel limited since the harsh break-up.
"Well," he began with a soft exhale. "I frequent here, but I work at the TRS... that being said it is a lab job. But you look pretty familiar too."
He straightened his back upon his explanation to his acquaintance. While work would seemingly be an unlikely option, the mutual recognition increased the likelihood. Therefore, he placed all possibilities on the table, somewhat curious himself on where the familiarity derived from.
[attr="class","bgtk-lyric2"]back street fight is looking for trouble
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A pleasant, and rather comforting, sensation enveloped Bell’s body as he downed the last of his drink. The warmth that started at his core had extended out, working its way through his arms and legs until it reached the tips of his flight feathers. Bell’s posture soon relaxed as a light blush continued to play upon his cheeks. Flexing his wings slightly, the familiar leaned back against the booth. This was nice. For once in his life, Bell could guard down and relax. Thoughts of Lyra and the situation that had once plagued his mind just moments ago began to slowly fade away. As long as he was in the company of this familiar man, he was going to be okay. It was odd to feel this way, though. Being a rooster (and an ex-cockfighter) he was predisposed to be aggressive toward those of the same-sex. Bell would usually scoff at the idea of playing nice with another male, but alcohol had a way of changing him for the better. [break][break] One, and possibly the only, perk of being a lightweight was how cheap these little outings would be. If he wanted to get messed up and drown his woes in alcohol he could do so without worrying about breaking the bank when it came to paying the tab. [break][break] When the topic of revenge was brought up the man before him shrugged. Hey, whatever floats his boat. Though, more mischievous ideas did come to mind. The familiar would have been more than happy to share a few secrets from the revenge trade, but it seemed his company already had it covered. Pushing the thoughts from his head, he moved onto a new topic. [break][break] He seemed familiar too? “With these two f-fucks, I would hope so.” He motioned a thumb back to his wings. The rooster’s face seemed to light up with excitement as the man before him explained that he worked for the TRS. With an overzealous laugh, Bell’s wings fanned out, nearly knocking into someone walking by their table. (In his drunken-excited haze he didn’t seem to notice.) “I fuc-kin’ knew it!” Leaning forward, he beamed, "I work for the TRS too!" A proud grin soon accompanied the blush on his face. “I work security. I’m sure I've seen you on the cameras.”
left alone, trapped in uncertainty. can anyone love me? anybody at all? or am I destined to be alone?
❧
Intoxication would gradually blurr the world around Russel with every passing second. Through his veins, liquor would hide and infect his tortured mind. Thoughts of Florence required exiling from the forefront of the seer's mind. Each notion needed to be chased back to the crevices of brain, hidden away for another day. Despite the earlier grievances shoved onto him by his ex-boyfriend, Russel finally discovered himself easing. The companionship of the winged man accompanied by the pleasant downing of alcohol lowered the tense emotions.
The dire tones of their initial conversation and shared troubles of the heart soothed Russel. The opportunity to rant and vent out those dastardly emotions was provided at the moment. The seer eased against the backrest, hands hovering over the condensation of the glass tickling his palms. The cold radiation of the glass failed to tickle his hands after downing plenty of the liquid. After their miniature rants in regards to former partners and crushes, the pair seemed to enter a state of semi-calm.
Both were relieved of the tense, unfortunate emotions from what disparaged them. Things gradually shifting into casual regarding their occupation. The stranger stretched out the reddened wings, Russel's eyes flitted. Curiously, he glanced over the blond's impressive wingspan, similarly failing to notice the nearly wing-smacked patron. Suspicions were confirmed as the winged man mentioned mutually being a part of the TRS, specifically involved in the security portion of things. Gradually, the brunette joined the stranger's smile, albeit, with a smaller one.
"Security, eh?" He breathed out the sound. "I work in forensics. So I definitely spend a lot of time around headquarters."
The forensics work in the TRS headquarters was contained on most days. There were exceptions for Assembly or Terror related deaths where they would leave the safety of the main building. Nonetheless, there were likely to be days where Russel passed this stranger. Focused on work and hardly paying attention to his surroundings as he sifted through paper all while walking. The seer adjusted slightly in his seat, shuffle slightly, but keeping himself in relatively the same location. It was merely a minor shift for comfort.
[attr="class","bgtk-lyric2"]back street fight is looking for trouble
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It was nice to take a little vacation from his own thoughts. Sure, he wasn’t sprawled out on a sunny beach resort; being licked by warm waves and surrounded by beautiful hens in skimpy bikinis, but Bell would take what he could get. Soon, bad memories of days past were sucked down a pipeline of forgotten woes as new, happier thoughts filled his mind like a rejuvenating spring. Lyra faded from his mind, and now the rooster familiar was all smiles with his newest companion. [break][break] Bell wasn’t the only one affected by the alluring forgetfulness of their beverages it seemed. His cohort also seemed to be more at peace, though it was hard to tell now that the rooster was getting a full dose of what he came for. He did, however, notice the ease in his company’s body language. This realization only strengthened Bell’s cheerful resolve. Keeping the happy ball rolling would be well worth the effort at this point. [break][break] Now Bell was certain, he'd seen the man on the cameras before. Hell, he might have even walked past him in the hall. “Forensics?” Bell repeated, he had to think about what was being said for a moment. What did the forensics people do again? OH! Now he remembered! “Ah, you’re one of the blood-boys, huh?” Bell gave a rather obnoxious laugh, one that ended with a snort. “That’s what we call you guys up in the security room.” The rooster and his co-workers had little pet names for people who worked in certain sections of the TRS building. Looking at cameras all day did get dull after a while, they would always fill the time with a little fun, if they could. [break][break] “It must be interesting looking at guts all day-OH! I’m curious! W-What is the nastiest thing you’ve ever come across?” Bell leaned forward with an enthusiastic grin and eyes widened. He stared at his companion, starry-eyed, like a child eager for their parents to read them a bedtime story, or a group of campers around the fire awaiting a scary tale. While under the influence, Bell had yet to realize his question could have been taken rudely. It made him as blunt as ever. Truth be told, in this state, he really did not care. "Give me all the gory details!"
left alone, trapped in uncertainty. can anyone love me? anybody at all? or am I destined to be alone?
❧
Eased off by the nectar of alcohol, Russel leaned comfortably against the plush backrest of the leather booth seats. The bespectacled man's eyes were fixated onto the companion of his booth. Granting attention to the varying passing faces and bar chatter blurred into a complete impossibility. Rather, Russel's attention span required fixation on a single individual, a sole conversation. Anything further and the brunette risked getting lost amidst the sea of spoken words, a conversation journeyer lost in the Aether.
Momentarily, he considered fetching another drink to solidify his numbing state, however, his drunken mind decided to wait for a conversational gap. On the fortunate side, thoughts of Florence drifted away with the inability to focus on a multitude of concepts. Placed into a buzzed state, Russel was pleasantly pacified while not being inebriated of complete forgetfulness of ideals. Astonishment briefly flickered in the brown hues of Russel's optic at the nickname Bell claimed security gave the TRS forensics team.
Though in his impaired state, Russel's mind avoided commenting on the peculiar name, instead, a nod of acknowledgement acted as the response. Whatever security referred to the team as hardly mattered to the head of forensics at the present moment. Alcohol spoked in his mind, insisting the name does not matter. Why should he care about it? Unexpectedly, the winged man leaned in with a child's joy over the gruesome details of his crimes. The messed up things he witnessed when examining scenes and bodies to create conclusions.
Alas, a eased off Russel took no second thoughts about the enthusiastic request. In a moment of perhaps ignorance and forgetting the sensibilities of others, the head forensic thoughts churned.
"Well... seeing someone obliterated by a brute is among the worse, some have literally been crushed before. Not a pretty sight," Russel commented casually. "They are... mangled, bloody and hardly recognizable."
After years working in the forensics unit, stated the alcohol censored details to the security guard. However, censored from intoxication or not, one could easily imagine the gut-wrenching scene. The thought would be inevitably disturbing to anyone not desensitized, morbidly curious or inebriated from the affects of alcohol. Nothing about the imagery led to sunshine and rainbows, instead, twisting one's gut and leaving bile gathering in the lower regions of their throat. Death at the hands of the Assembly of Phantoms was always cruel after all.
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The skin is created by Wolf of Adoxography and Gangnam Style. The thread and conversation remodels are by Kagney. The Strange Reality board list, Heal My Soul info center, I Remember Now mini profile and Electric Requiem profile remodel is made by Pharoah Leap. The Who's That Member member list remodel was made by Tictactoe. The Cbox.ws Shoutbox remodel was made by Trinity Blair. All templates used for claims, information sheets, applications, etc are credited to their owners; credits for these can be found in the threads the templates are use on. Images that are used on The Duality of Man are credited to their owners, however, they have been edited by Zac with a few being edited by Chibi Magician. The plot, rules and various other information pieces for The Duality of Man are written by Chibi Magician with the assistence of her co-admins, Finnegan and Dremulf, alongside other unlisted people who were kind enough to give their input. The TRS, AP and face claim were all created by Fleur for specifically the use of TDOM. All plugins used on The Duality of Man are credited to their owners. The templates my members use are credited to their maker, if you find a template that belongs to you, but is uncredited, please speak to Chibi Magician or the member themself. Characters created on The Duality of Man are credited to their owners and should not be used elsewhere without the creator's permission.
Special thanks for the members of TDOM who make suggestions to help make this site better. Even though we can not accept all suggestions, we immensely appreciate it. Thus, we give credit to any additions that you thought of and were later implimented by the staff, because we are glad you give us these excellent ideas.