https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/ Tue, 20 Oct 2026 09:33:37 +0000 MyBB https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=854 Thu, 15 Dec 2022 03:24:37 +0000 Brock O'King]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=854

Another day, another business meeting — held in the middle of the wolf den, of course. But he walks with confidence — arrogance, some might say — flanked by two heavily armed guards that would extinguish themselves in order for him to live longer. He flaunts the cases held by several other of his cohorts, heavy with black metal, containing only the best in which his company can offer. He sees the urchins lurking in the dark, fear in their eyes over trepidation of the small army working its way through the narrow passageways. He has no fear here, enough gunpower to wipe out the entire sector of Stronghold.

Arrogance, indeed, would be a better word for it.

Brock follows the lead of a Jabberwocky he knows — well, knows enough that he can assume he's being brought to his client today, rather than some kind of ambush. He may be a jerk to those that know him, but many hide their distaste behind clenched teeth because of the sheer power he can offer them. And that's exactly how Brock intends to keep his relationship with his clients: at a distance.

He's lead into a small dump of a place — well, dumpy in his standards. At least there's some semblance of seating with a couple couches, and a table in front that the goods can be showed on. He barely even acknowledges the Jabberwocky as they scurry away to fetch their mistress. Brock promptly settles himself into the middle of a couch, the metal cases his men were carrying swiftly placed around him as the rest of his men took up guard behind him. He didn't truly believe he needed their defense from the client he was meeting today but... It kept them busy.

Placing one foot on top of the other on the table in front of him, Brock leans back and promptly lights himself a cigarette as he settles in to wait.

Tag Lilith Delavigne

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Another day, another business meeting — held in the middle of the wolf den, of course. But he walks with confidence — arrogance, some might say — flanked by two heavily armed guards that would extinguish themselves in order for him to live longer. He flaunts the cases held by several other of his cohorts, heavy with black metal, containing only the best in which his company can offer. He sees the urchins lurking in the dark, fear in their eyes over trepidation of the small army working its way through the narrow passageways. He has no fear here, enough gunpower to wipe out the entire sector of Stronghold.

Arrogance, indeed, would be a better word for it.

Brock follows the lead of a Jabberwocky he knows — well, knows enough that he can assume he's being brought to his client today, rather than some kind of ambush. He may be a jerk to those that know him, but many hide their distaste behind clenched teeth because of the sheer power he can offer them. And that's exactly how Brock intends to keep his relationship with his clients: at a distance.

He's lead into a small dump of a place — well, dumpy in his standards. At least there's some semblance of seating with a couple couches, and a table in front that the goods can be showed on. He barely even acknowledges the Jabberwocky as they scurry away to fetch their mistress. Brock promptly settles himself into the middle of a couch, the metal cases his men were carrying swiftly placed around him as the rest of his men took up guard behind him. He didn't truly believe he needed their defense from the client he was meeting today but... It kept them busy.

Placing one foot on top of the other on the table in front of him, Brock leans back and promptly lights himself a cigarette as he settles in to wait.

Tag Lilith Delavigne

]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=594 Sat, 21 Aug 2021 20:24:35 +0000 Étienne Blanchard]]> https://blood-and-bone.silhouette-forums.com/showthread.php?tid=594

CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF DRUGS / DRUG USE

TAG Open Thread for Jabberwockies!
NOTES N/A

He doesn't admit it to anyone — not even those closest to him in Eclipse, not even those that directly ask him — simply because he doesn't want to be viewed as something weak, something to be pitied, all because of a dumb, freak accident. He doesn't want any of that, so when asked how his arm is, he simply grits his teeth through the pain, nods, and says he's fine. After all, who's going to question the words of their Boss?

But Étienne is in pain. For whatever reason, his arm doesn't seem to want to heal, and the more the days slowly tick by, the more he wonders if it's going to cause any lasting damage. The thought stirs some uneasy feelings in him, so rather than doing the sensible thing and going to get help — he instead decides to make the trip inside Stronghold to look for something to... Take the edge off. It's easy enough to get to Stronghold with a borrowed vehicle from Eclipse's garages, and even easier to get inside considering he still has his pass from when he lived in the Inner Citadel.

Laughably easy, really. Hah. If only those Military dogs knew the truth.

He's already texted the man he usually goes to see, and it isn't a far drive from the gates to reach their preferred destination and time. Étienne mostly drives one-handed, his left arm casually slung out the window. The streets aren't crowded — it's dark enough that most sensible people have gone home already. In reality it wasn't the safest time for him to be out either, but with his pistol snug up against the dip of his back, he's armed and ready to deal with any threats.

The engine of his car dies as he gets as far as he can by wheels, and Étienne locks the vehicle as he gets out and heads down one of the winding pathways leading between the buildings of the slums. All he hears is the hollow thud of his boots against the ground — it's so silent, he can practically hear his own breathing vibrating in his ears. It's bothersome. But he's close. Just around this corner—

He pulls up short. That most definitely is not who he was expecting to meet. It's too dark to make out any distinguishable features, but there's no mistaking the dark lump laying at the person's feet: a corpse.

“... Who the hell are you?”

]]>

CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF DRUGS / DRUG USE

TAG Open Thread for Jabberwockies!
NOTES N/A

He doesn't admit it to anyone — not even those closest to him in Eclipse, not even those that directly ask him — simply because he doesn't want to be viewed as something weak, something to be pitied, all because of a dumb, freak accident. He doesn't want any of that, so when asked how his arm is, he simply grits his teeth through the pain, nods, and says he's fine. After all, who's going to question the words of their Boss?

But Étienne is in pain. For whatever reason, his arm doesn't seem to want to heal, and the more the days slowly tick by, the more he wonders if it's going to cause any lasting damage. The thought stirs some uneasy feelings in him, so rather than doing the sensible thing and going to get help — he instead decides to make the trip inside Stronghold to look for something to... Take the edge off. It's easy enough to get to Stronghold with a borrowed vehicle from Eclipse's garages, and even easier to get inside considering he still has his pass from when he lived in the Inner Citadel.

Laughably easy, really. Hah. If only those Military dogs knew the truth.

He's already texted the man he usually goes to see, and it isn't a far drive from the gates to reach their preferred destination and time. Étienne mostly drives one-handed, his left arm casually slung out the window. The streets aren't crowded — it's dark enough that most sensible people have gone home already. In reality it wasn't the safest time for him to be out either, but with his pistol snug up against the dip of his back, he's armed and ready to deal with any threats.

The engine of his car dies as he gets as far as he can by wheels, and Étienne locks the vehicle as he gets out and heads down one of the winding pathways leading between the buildings of the slums. All he hears is the hollow thud of his boots against the ground — it's so silent, he can practically hear his own breathing vibrating in his ears. It's bothersome. But he's close. Just around this corner—

He pulls up short. That most definitely is not who he was expecting to meet. It's too dark to make out any distinguishable features, but there's no mistaking the dark lump laying at the person's feet: a corpse.

“... Who the hell are you?”

]]>