I Was Actually Thinking About Target Practice It Was Only A Half Joke

“I was actually thinking about target practice” it was only a half joke

The atmosphere somber and calm, a combination never thought possible between them since they crossed paths. For some reason, Karma wanted to preserve it. Let it linger a little longer. Silence was something she was perhaps too familiar with, more than content with letting him talk.

“I don't and even if I wanted to, can't put you in a box. Maybe there isn't a...large one for you but more smaller ones. Don't think that's a bad thing.” Karma said carefully, taking into account all that was said, the actual meaning of the celebration. No wonder he felt this way.

Society's judgments were also among the things she never understood and didn't even want to. So feeble, fleeting ways to waste already short lives.

“I think-” maybe she shouldn't. But...he opened up too, genuinely.

“I think I loved a man once.” she needed to sit for this, the admission already feeling like a raw wound further deepened

“It wasn't like in the tales, he wasn't a good man, it wasn't even supposed to happen and I never...never said it to him. Of course neither did he to me.” a shaky intake of breath, ivory strands of hair pushed back perhaps a bit too aggressively “Yet he made me feel like no one could. And I killed him.”

Karma remembered that day so sharply, amost as if more than a century hadn't passed since. The fear. The rage. The silent then hysterical pleas. The vast emptiness after which never left.

“He came to me gravely wounded. How he tracked me in that state is still a mystery. He wanted- wanted me to do it. I couldn't, could've never but he forced my hand. Knew I wouldn't have done it in self defense, of course he knew. Then with his last strength smiled and said ‘Now you're able to kill anyone.’ ” she recited, shoulders tense as a bowstring pulled tight. And how right he was.

Karma didn't speak about how he knew her before she got her famous scar. How they were rivals in the same business of death. The way his eyes looked like an exotic predator's. How his features softened when he smiled genuinely or let those sharp contours of his face relax. That he saved her horse after she was poisoned and he came to her on that dusk for that favor to be returned. How she tracked down the ones who wounded him and murdered both with utmost drawn out cruelty. And now how she was contemplating shooting the man who occasionally reminded her of him sitting next to her.

“Which box does this put me in?”

@deathshadowed asked:

“Wanna crash the parade or party with me?”

The offer perhaps somewhat surprising from the always calculative hunter preferring the shadows instead the loud crowd. “It's been a while for me...y'know, I wasn't really invited to any events in life either. Had fun with mariachis mostly. Which was of course almost a sin worthy of a hanging at that time.” a pause after the brief reminiscence, continuing with a more hushed tone “Those colored things, pins, scarves, do you pick which color combination you like or goes with your outfit? Or what's with that?”

The offer had Striker stunned for a moment, not having expected her of all people to suggest going or hanging out together because of it. It had him feel calmer, at least seen by her, weird as it may sound, it was nice to be given a choice.

"I appreciate the offer, but it'd not be the same, but I'd rather hang out instead of partyin', can't say I have a mood fittin' for celebrating." He'd let out a long sigh, putting his knife down, having been keeping himself busy with sharpening it in a sort of meditation style, it helped him calm down.

"I don't know what colors I'd have, not sure what most of them mean, not sure if they have one for how I work." He'd stare at the dagger before starting to clean the blade from the light dirt from the polishing stone, starting to work it over with a damp cloth before going on a leather strap to remove the burr. "I know they mean freedom to them… Freedom to express themselves without anyone looking down or thinking less of them for it… It's something a lot of people have had to keep hidden in fear of being hurt, by the community, family, work… Airing out what's been kept inside is important, and I hope to get to do that one day once I find out what I am."

Finishing up the knife, he'd slide its sheath on his belt, looking winded as if he had just forgotten to breathe. "I'm just tired of being who people see me as and putting me in a box, or in the case of the parade, pushing me away from the boxes and having no idea about myself."

Send a 🎧 and I will put my music on shuffle, then write a starter based on a lyric from the first song that plays

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.

high pain tolerance starters

“[Name], you’re bleeding.”

“How long has it been like that?”

“Did you dislocate a finger?”

“You’re slurring.”

“They say you almost died. You left it that late.”

“You’re snapping. Headache again?”

“You’re in a bad mood. Are you in pain?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Hey, why are you walking like that?”

“That’s a lot of swelling.”

“Where did you get that bruise?”

“Whose blood is that?”

“When you say your pain’s ‘4 out of 10′, that’s a normal person’s ‘8 out of 10′. We’re going to the hospital.”

“How did you not notice?!”

“If it hurts, it hurts.”

“I know you can manage it, you just don’t *have* to.”

“Holy shit, how long have you had this?!”

“[Name]? [Name]! Hey!”

“We’re a team. You need to tell me about this sort of thing.”

“That’s … a lot of blood, is that - oh, fuck.”

“Hey! Hey! Stay awake, okay? Stay awake.”

“It would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.”

“You can’t keep hiding this stuff.”

“I need to be able to trust you to tell me when you’re hurt.”

Silent as marble, she had to get used to such title herself.

“I didn't say where to go, only to away. And the why is because I feel imbalance. Too much evil influence outweighing good. Life cannot flourish.” curt explanation soon followed by ire laced words “I'm a drifter. Go wherever I'm called or feel like. Don't think yourself so highly. You aren't special when it comes to personal visits. Mortals, divine and demonic; all the same at the end. And don't even bring God into this. Give even less shit about him and ‘his ways’ than I do about you.” the spark of the old fire long thought dead flared viciously in acid green glare

Karma didn't dignify that with an another reply. Unnatural darkness rolled into the room like a tidal wave, the ivory haired woman dissolving into black mist with green tints. Faster than any eye could follow, the shade whirled into the center of the room accompanied by the ever growing undechiperable whispers of the abyss. Lights suffocated, glass shattered, portraits dissolved, rot eating away the rich burgundy tapestry.

The shadows formed her body again, this time with revolvers already in hand, crosshair scar glowing seafoam green.

“I don't like repeating myself.”

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

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