Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


    In Words, Rather Than Fists

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    Shen Woo
    Shen Woo
    Gigabyte

    Gigabyte

    Posts : 116
    Join date : 2018-10-03
    Age : 31
    Location : Stock Pot Inn, Room 236
    Level : 3

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    In Words, Rather Than Fists

    Post by Shen Woo on Sun Nov 25, 2018 11:23 pm

    Time: 12:01 PM
    Date: November 26, 0009

    Damn. When he was wrong, he said he was wrong. And Shen, well, he hadn't realized just how wrong he was, or at least until he had spoken with Kyoko; the wisdom of youth had made the dumbness of adult open up his eyes. He was not one for using Inn stationery though. He wanted to use something a little better than that. Even if it was plain paper or--wait. He had gone to the mall in order to find autumn-themed stationery. Something about the swirl of colorful autumn leaves against a brown background appealed to him as far as doing something for another. Another for whom aesthetic was important as well. After all, he remembered well that Scaramouche was an artist of various arts--performance arts, culinary arts, linguistic arts, and fashion all at once. It suited Scaramouche for Shen to choose something with a sort of aesthetic appeal.

    He set about putting pencil to paper, writing slowly and deliberately, a quiet sort of strength in his bark-brown eyes. As pen scratched paper, leaving words and emotions in their wake, Shen felt a weight settle in his chest, and all at once slowly dissipate. Yeah, this felt right. This was what he needed to send to Scaramouche through the mail. With a deep breath, he would put the letter into the mail.

    "I hope this letter reaches ya well, Scaramouche." He murmured, touching the mailbox quietly.

    A mailman would drive up to bring the letter to the tavern. It wasn't a glorious letter by any means--not that the mailman knew. He just knew that there was a letter for Scaramouche, and that whoever wrote it, whoever this "Shen Woo" guy was, he liked crabs. And apparently that he liked using red ink.

    Scaramouche,

    I know you probably don't wanna see my ugly mug, or hear from me, but when a guy's wrong, he says he's wrong. And I was wrong on so many levels, pal. First, wronging you by ignoring your words, wisdom, and wisecracks during that fight. You didn't deserve to be so carelessly tossed aside like flying buzzsaws, or like my fighting gloves. You're a better guy than that, a guy who deserves a huge-ass thanks for everything he does for others. Which leads me to point two. I should've been more grateful for the fact that you went out of your way to comp something for me at your own business. Your business. Not mine. And considering I'm a guy who eats a lot, well, Scaramouche, you had to comp a lot. And that's not fair to you. Not fair to take a huge 'L' in your profits for that day. So if it's all the same, bill my ass for that if you feel like it. If you don't...well, let me make up for it. Let me know what kind of things you like to eat and drink--I mean, I know coffee but I don't know the rest of your tastes--and I'll make you a meal to remember. Something that puts in the same amount of work you had to put in for my dumb ass.

    I would also like to invite you anywhere you'd like to go in the city, any restaurant or cafe you'd like to go to, or a movie or a musical performance or something, and I'll pay for it. Somewhere you and I can sit and talk like equals, where neither of us have any stake. Where you can leave out if it gets too uncomfortable for you. Where I can step aside to take a breath if I'm starting to get a little too emotional for both of us. Where we can be gentlemen. Pff, dumb of me to say a gangster can be a gentleman huh? Ugh, I'm rambling on paper and if you're annoyed, I'm sorry.

    But, I'd like to finish by repeating, cause it bears repeating. I was wrong. I was wrong, I was unappreciative and rude, and most of all, I was the biggest goddamn idiot this side of Portal City and Shanghai both. And since I'm wrong, I apologize, and I hope to try to make it right. I understand if you'd prefer we don't hang anymore. That happens, and it's within your right to wanna protect yourself from shit like this happening again. Ain't my place to tell you what to do, you're your own bot. Just know, I understand no matter what you choose.

    With honest apologies,
    Yuhua "Shen Woo" Wu
    Universal NPC
    Universal NPC
    Non-Player Character

    Non-Player Character

    Posts : 935
    Join date : 2009-12-09
    Level : ??

    Re: In Words, Rather Than Fists

    Post by Universal NPC on Mon Nov 26, 2018 1:34 pm

    That was bad. But hey, don't take my word for it.

    "...That was bad." Take his!

    It wasn't everyday Collins had the fortune (or misfortune) of watching a shitstorm in the works, but when he did... The nosy gargoyle got into other people's mail, read whatever hypocritical drivel someone literally put pen-to-paper, and felt his already infinitesimal faith in life dwindle that much more. He crinkled his stony face and expressed visible disgust. "Letters... Why is it always letters?" It's like people wanted to proudly display their glaring incompetence. The ground suddenly trembled and Collin let loose a quiet sigh. Three... Two...

    "What about letters, lil' buddy?"

    Ugh, here they go.

    "...Please don't call me that."

    "Oh, sorry, sorry. Won't be doin' that ag - hey, is that Scaramouche's mail!? What'cha doin' with that, Collins? You ain't supposed to be readin' that! Is your name Scaramouche!?"

    MmmmMMMMMM...

    A bout of grabby hands ensued as Boon, bless his demon heart, tried valiantly to wrest the letter from his coworker's speckled clutches. If their boss saw them reading his mail, and without his explicit permission, they were gonna get the hose again! Anything but the hose! Alas, it was to no avail, for the gargoyle was more squirrelly than he seemed. With a flap of his wings, Collins created distance between himself and the much larger brute. "Will you quit being a nuisance?" he growled, lips curled in a toothy sneer. "Yes, I know it's his letter. And yes, I'm reading it. Use that thick melon of yours; I'm scouting the circumstances to prevent yet another unnecessary disaster! Do you honestly want a second Veskur situation on our hands?" Now that was a name Boon hadn't heard in a long time.

    "Golly, when ya put it like that..." he muttered softly, looking at a saddened loss for words.

    The gargoyle loudly snorted. "Mhm... Thought so." His glossy eyes then glanced down at the letter folded neatly within his claws, Collins' expression turning pensive. Still plenty sour, but at least his sneer had vanished. "I don't know what happened, but this does not bode well. We'll have to dispose of it."

    Boon scratched beneath one of his horns. "Why, what's it say?" he asked.

    "Hmph... Stupid things, mostly. It's an apology, but one that reeks of cowardice."

    "So... wait! I thought the point of an apology was to express remorse for one's wrongdoin'?"

    "Correct, but they are usually sincere. This one isn't."

    "...Oh."

    Yeeeeah, now Boon could see why letting their boss (technically bosses) get wind of this troublesome thing was catastrophic. He rubbed his chin and ultimately nodded, "Agreed, let's torch it. I'll get the lighter fluid!" Collins was already headed for the backdoor. "And I'll make the pit. Grab a few logs while you're bumbling around in here, too."

    "Sure, will that be cedar or oak?"

    Fuck.
    Scaramouche
    Scaramouche
    Terabyte

    Terabyte

    Posts : 342
    Join date : 2017-04-08
    Age : 32
    Location : Wherever a certain furball is!
    Level : 15

    Character Sheet
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    Re: In Words, Rather Than Fists

    Post by Scaramouche on Mon Nov 26, 2018 3:05 pm

    Gotta hand it to the boys: when they went sniffing for trouble, it certainly found 'em. Under normal conditions, Scaramouche would have squawked to the highest of heavens and chased his nosy employees right out of the tavern, brandishing a rolled up newspaper or squirt bottle. As of now, however... The android merely looked between Boon and Collins, neither wracked with anger or beside himself with distress. Hell, Scaramouche didn't even shout, just stood there with a mildly unpleasant look of indifference on his face. Metal fingers beckoned the gargoyle to come hither. "Give it here," he simply demanded.

    Collins, being typical Collins, of course had other ideas. The stony bartender clutched the letter close to his chest and expressed... hesitation. "With all due respect, I do not think - " He never got to finish.

    "Leave that to me." The leveled response succeeded in silencing Collins' muzzle and he obeyed, though uneasily, with his boss' request. Hushed, he glanced down at the letter one last time before placing it carefully atop the robot's awaiting palm.

    "It's from - "

    "I know who it's from, thank you."

    "..."

    "..."

    A stifling quiet filled the back kitchen, the three of them standing adrift in the sea of palpable tension; a terrible, terrible fate. There should be some comfort, no? "Hm..." Scaramouche creased the letter between his fingertips and let his optics roam. "That'll be all, boys. Kindly go back to your posts and keep up the good work." Sometimes the best policy wasn't honesty - and, in this unique instance, it was better to look the other way than to create a needless stink. The robot tipped his head in direction to the kitchen entrance, "Dismissed."

    Boon was a lovable oaf, but even he wasn't stupid. The bigger demon very quickly vacated the kitchen and didn't look back, undoubtedly relieved to have avoided punishment for meddling in affairs beyond him. Collins, though...

    The two artificial constructs locked eyes, neither uttering a word despite a great many things needing to be said.

    "...Right." Collins was the first to break eye contact, knowing where his place lied. He sniffed to clear his nostrils and politely walked away, wings folded neatly against his back. "Back to work, then." The gargoyle knew better than to ask questions or poke the sleeping bear; that's how one got iced, and he very much enjoyed living, thank you.  

    In any event, the boys had returned to their duties and now Scaramouche was free to read his letter in peace.

    Good.

    But not here. There was too much noise here. Too many distractions, too many fond memories, too many things that were delicate and loving and irreplaceable. That is why, his mind having been made, Scaramouche turned to the backdoor and exited the tavern with nary a sound. There was no fuss. There was no declaration of his departure. The android quietly closed the door and would not return until later this evening, his body swallowed by the forest.

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    Re: In Words, Rather Than Fists

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      Current date/time is Wed Jan 23, 2019 7:57 pm