Actually It's A Recurring Vghvry Thing

Actually it's a recurring Véghváry thing™

Rozy has no idea about modern slang and their meaning, will misuse/mix them in the worst ways possible. She's slowly losing a grip on newer/evolving Hungarian ones, you can imagine how she is with English.

Karma is extremely confused about most Pride stuff & doesn't understand what 'straight' means in that context. For her it means a respectable, honest person, she knows the 'norm' as heterosexual.

Cindy has absolutely no grip on what considered normal due to her insane level of power. That creating a dress out of stars is an everyday trick for her instead of a whatthefuck how is that even possible?? thing

Raia has no shortcomings. She did, does and will do her research to keep herself ahead of the game, as she always had done so.

“I like this look on ya.” voice thick with satisfaction and heavy with something she couldn't quite describe. Sadism? Desire?

“The currency was mentioned, assassin. Getting a little scattered with all the contracts?” she stabbed oh so melodically and with a hint of cruelty- where does it keep coming from? She was no longer like this, not the way she used to lead dozens, hundreds into the death of their own ego with the right words and actions at the perfect time.

“Ah so we went from Creeps, Criminals to Creatures; congratulations.” ink lips chuckled while she listened; of course she did

Impressive profile so far, proving how the mighty can fall when they meet with someone both skilled and equipped. She wasn't going to deny that. Although Karma didn't feel talkative enough about her work both past and present, how her touch decayed even astral feathers. However the first one mentioned refused to leave her mind.

“Hold the dick measuring contest for a few minutes, I'm curious and want to see something. No, it won't hurt.” Karma refused to elaborate further, their shadows already overlapping. Green vanished from her eyes, leaving behind a gently swirling cloud gray color

Rot. Everywhere. Devoid of life, the ground is also dead, decomposing. Air thick with something ancient and dangerous. The decay feeding a single monolith soaked in old, familiar curse. Bones of the unfortunate thinking about shelter or attempting to end the reign of unseen terror. It was following him now closely, looming over him from behind, hiding in plain slight, staying within reach. A blinding flash but it was only a ruse. Death was here, more suffocating than ever. Too many eyes staring, piercing through soul and hungry, famished. A life saving reflex, each holy bullet finding a damned soul in the cluster of them. Mock retreat. Blessed energy fighting with all consuming decay but slowly overcame, snuffed out. A watch, a medallion gone from the cursed ground, picked up by gloved hands. Nothing changed in the atmosphere nor about the remains of once was a forest. A spin back to the heart of the abyss; all is connected. Eyes and a grin. Aged, ragged brown hair with bone white strands. Eyes staring right at her-

“What the fuck was that” her voice more winded than planned; why did she ask when she knew and felt. Karma being thrown out of a memory has never happened before, nor did it ever show something the other didn't see. And it would've been impossible for him to not notice. Leaving the only possibility that it knew Karma was watching.

“Our shadows overlap. When that happens I can look into memories; only see what you saw, don't feel what you did, don't know what you thought. Just look.” she explained that part hurriedly and not giving a fuck about how intrusive it was to do so without asking

“The dead forest. That's not over.” was she horrified because she recognized her powers or rather, what would happen if she let it run rampant and free as it wanted to since her death? Yet he was immune.

“The watch. You still have it. That's why my passive powers don't hurt you. You carry death in your fucking pocket you fool.”

One mystery solved in a way that raised thousand more questions and just as many concerns.

“Where is that place. I was thrown out of the past when that thing looked at me. At the end when you turned back to the building. I need- I have to go there.”

An airy laugh carried by breeze, or rather by shadow.

“No no Cowboy, I'm talking about criminals.” she whispered into his right ear, the smirk evident in her voice before her body turned into seafoam mist and whirled to his left side

“You're talking about creeps, some asshole who flashed the florist lady, an unlucky bastard caught in the wrong woman, some son of a bitch trying something with the wrong daughter.”

“The real deal, now those end up pissing themselves in the final moments instead of an getting erect. At least when I deal with the problem.”

FOUND IT.

I don't remember where, but I've written that ‘Spiderverse Karma is who canon Striker desperately wants to be, but fails miserably.’

And it's probably the sickest burn I've ever came up with.

The entity grinned, inky abyss where her lips should've been at the reveal in return, not sheathing her guns just yet.

“Excess sin leads to an unnatural spike of deaths. You can imagine how the world wars felt like. I feel it. Every demonic, divine interference, presence and the ones existing in between.”

“Bad experiences with that opening.” she refused to elaborate further, since that incident she started with guns ready and a simple get the fuck out before shooting if the entity didn't comply.

“You leave somewhere else. When you ruined that place too, travel again. I'm not policing where. But if I sense you near Vegas ever again I will kill you without hesitation. Same goes if you touch my horse. That's my word and deal which I will honor.”

His agreement was slightly surprising, it was an extremely small percentage of her encounters where a negotiation could be reached. Keeper of Balance...no, not quite. And the shadows told her Balance exists in form of a cosmic phoenix. She was Death, so it seemed. And for certainly she will be looking into the history of the town to find out exactly who could get this answer out of her.

“In old times, they called me Karma.”

Sin City

Every now and then, Astaroth liked to don a human disguise and take a vacation to the surface. During these vacations, he would travel the world, checking in on the various cults that worshipped him, before settling in one spot for a few days and simply enjoying himself. He never stayed up for too long, lest anyone on Earth or up in Heaven figure out who he was.

A popular spot for him was Las Vegas, the city that gave him the idea to open a casino himself. He loved this city, so full of sin and vice, a true demon's paradise. So many casinos to see, so many other attractions, he never felt like he gave himself enough time for anything.

Today he was at the Mob Museum, somewhere he'd been meaning to visit for many years now. More than a few crime lords whose reach extended to Las Vegas had their blessing from Astaroth; his ability to lead men to treasure was a powerful one, and so often led people here. The blue-haired disguised human was grinning as he browsed the Wall of Mobsters, recognizing plenty of the photographs on the wall, some from reputation, some from meeting them personally.

@deathshadowed

....wishlist kinda?

Actually I would like to write plots when Karma is hired as an assassin after she's fully back in the headhunter business thanks to Striker ( @strikers-saloon ) mansplaining rifles to her. (Obviously there's more to it, but that was among the main things🤣)

Her fame again growing larger than one state, ring in this case; her speed paired with flawless accuracy, her mysterious powers, her horse etc

𝕂𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕒's soundtrack.

Starting off bold, catchy, belonging to someone truly headturning when she walks into the room or rides through town. Then after the first minute the music opens a glimpse behind the adrenaline fueled mask, the first crack. Sharply dropping, mellowing out to a sensitive and soft sensual tone before turning seductive, burningly so, than back to the gentle lull. This time it sounds more...lonely, detached from everything, vulnerable. Aching, as if an outsider was watching the lively saloon from the pouring rain and deciding to ride past. The guitar accenting her never ending drifter lifestyle and exactly how hollow she feels along with adding a touch of danger. And the touch of something not quite right, high, sharp, a little unnerving & full of mystique right before the sorrowful longing. Lingering loss of a wounded soul.