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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2018 21:11:39 GMT -5
THE LAST OF US an advanced, one-on-one roleplay based off the video game of the same name
genre: action-adventure, drama, survival horror (possibly romance--depends on the characters)
about: in the year 2013, a mutant strain of the Cordyceps fungus is released to the public, which proves to have overwhelmingly negative and infectious properties in humans. nicknamed "the zombie fungus," this pathogen has parasitic and, for lack of a more apt description, zombie-like effects on its host. until recently, its effectiveness has been limited to some species of insects. this roleplay will take place twenty five years after the initial outbreak, in 2038. by this point, most of the world's population, and civilization and infrastructure as we know it, has been destroyed.
the plot: rumor has it that a safe zone, entirely the opposite of the few extremely militarized government quarantine zones that remain, exists on the opposite side of the country. a pair of survivors decides to leave everything behind and try their chances at a better, freer life.
characters: one character will be based off of love, the other off of hate. love: Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs
wip hate: @alias
august decker a blurb will follow at.... some point. requirements - at least 800+ words per reply. i strongly suggest you come close to matching/match my previous replies. - at least two replies a week. constant activity is appreciated but may not be reciprocated on my end. - a willingness to worldbuild, create additional characters as needed to further the plot, and plan out more details.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 7, 2018 16:00:28 GMT -5
anyone interested?
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Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 8, 2018 12:35:28 GMT -5
ahh hello!! I absolutely LOVE the Last of Us and I'd totally be up to follow through with this roleplay with you <:
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Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2018 19:08:23 GMT -5
cool cool. send me a pm and we'll talk about it some more.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 15, 2018 0:43:23 GMT -5
AUGUST DECKER alive & uninjured. greater philadelphia area quarantine zone, 1/? It had been quite some time since he thought about the way things used to be.
The child counselors at these government-run quarantine zones, awful as they were, but bless their hearts for trying to console heartbroken, confused, and most of all, desensitized children, had told them and told them again and again that it wasn't worth their time to dwell on the past. It was just for their better health, they had told him all those decades ago. From what little he could recall from all that he suppressed and tucked away into deep, dark corners that would never see the light of day or attention again, it had something to do with fostering depressive and anxious episodes in the "special kids, like you," who had managed to make it through the first and worst wave alive.
But now he was sitting here, in the cold, on his handout used mattress with mystery stains, in a ransacked apartment that he was so generously given to him by the United States military, slow, floating, warm memories started resurfacing. He couldn't help it. He let himself close his eyes and sigh deeply, breathing in dust of decaying wall matter and wood around him, and thought of a Sunday morning continental breakfast on his old kitchen table. Where did he even live? It didn't even matter. All he could focus on was the glittering display of every food imaginable on that table: eggs, sunny-side-up, pancakes and waffles that were christened with a cascade of golden maple syrup, vibrantly colored fresh fruit, so ripe that they practically begged to be plucked off bushes and vines or wherever the hell strawberries and cantaloupe and pineapple came from--it wasn't even a thought anymore. All washed down with a perfect, sweet glass of orange juice.
That reverie caused him physical pain: a deep, searing throb that struck right through his chest. He hadn't eaten anything like that since--well, before.
In hindsight, August reflected as he lay in bed with a broken heart, they were completely right. If how he felt now was any indication of them knowing what the hell they were talking about, then forget every negative thought he'd ever had about his personal counselor. Their problem was that their audience was a literal bunch of damaged goods, for lack of a more apt description; they were orphaned children who had seen their own parents beaten or killed or eaten alive in front of them while they stood there, helpless, unable to do anything but run in the opposite direction as fast as their pre-pubescent legs could take them. They couldn't rationalize it then, and most of them, himself included, still couldn't justify why they hadn't thrown themselves into the horde or jumped in front of the bullet to spare them from this.
Besides just the intense wave of longing, and then, hunger that their meager and ever decreasing ration cards couldn't satisfy, that overcame him, a slue of more troubling thoughts followed closely behind. It was only rational from that point to begin thinking about who he would share that dining room table with, and it was obviously his family. All of it was so tough to recall. Of course, he had a mother and a father and--a sister, no, he had two. That's right. But what were their names? What did their voices sound like, and what kinds of things did they say to him and each other? What did they even look like? Why did they even matter, anyway? It wasn't like they quite literally fought any of his battles for him or could do a damn thing around the quarantine zone to put some food in his--
When remembering became too hard, and trying to remember made him angry, he groaned, and got up out of bed abruptly, flinging the sheets off his fully clothed (the young man had learned time and time again that it was always better to play it safe, and sleeping with your boots laced tight was one of those things you just had to do, just in case) body with a flourish. It wasn't until he saw his breaths leaving large, dissipating clouds of vapor in front of him in the chilled air that August realized just how upset he'd become. It alarmed him. Not that his displays of anger were uncommon at all, but the fact that he'd gotten so besides himself, first thing in the morning, over dead people. They might as well be ghosts, or nothing at all, for that matter, since that was truly all they could do for him now.
No sense dwelling on it, he told himself as he shrugged on his backpack, and he then thought of every counselor that had told him that very same thing. His bag felt suspiciously light between his broad shoulders, and August grimaced at the reality and implication of it. He was going to have to get food, and probably some ammunition, too, and the only place where your ration cards made any sense at all was the black market down in the closed-off sections of the BART rapid-transit tunnels. Everyone knew about it, but they all did a fantastic job of hiding its existence from the police, since it was plainly obvious they would shut down that whole complex and highly profitable system with machine guns and without a second thought. But there was always the one main drawback of venturing into uninhabited parts of town, and it never failed to make him apprehensive.
It never scared him enough to not go, though. A good deal was always a good deal and always worth it, no matter how you arrive at it.
- - He reached peak disgust with the United States government on his walk to the part of town where people like himself disappeared.
The scene itself wasn't too uncommon, sad as it was to think so: a young woman had been caught with goods that were clearly from outside the gates, and nobody, under any circumstances, was allowed outside the gates. That was just how it was. It just posed too great a contamination risk for the community as a whole, which, would be totally safe if not for airborne spores and occasional outside venturers like himself that pushed the envelope. Gates only opened for other military trucks that were verified and not infected, or the rare newcomer that didn't know well enough that the door only swings one way in this type of community. Once you were in, no matter how exactly you made it, against your will or not, everyone was trapped.
However, one of the catches about this particular woman and her situation was the fact that she was visibly pregnant. That was an extremely rare sight, and a much-needed one as well, if humanity ever had plans to get back on its feet again. The other thing was that this security guard couldn't get his infection scanning device to work properly; he kept hitting it with the back of his gloved hand and shaking it to try and make the damaged thing do its job. He gave the situation up after a couple more haphazard swats at it, then finally looked up to the watch tower looming above and gave whoever was up there a thumbs-up. Then a gunshot followed, and the woman collapsed. Good thing was, she probably didn't feel a thing and didn't really realize what was happening until the bullet made its way between her eyes, but still.
August felt as if he was the only one that felt as he did on the street sidewalks that day. As with every shooting or detention or public punishment of any kind, foot traffic usually hesitated or stopped where they stood for a few moments to take in what was happening, were briefly enthralled with the situation at hand, then moved on like nothing at all had occurred once somebody died or was handcuffed. Again, it had to do with the internalizing aspect that survivors had mastered at this point, and the young man was well aware that he'd been guilty of doing the same exact thing when a minor infraction caused the taking of an innocent person's life. It only added to the festering brew of hot emotion that stewed in his gut.
But he knew one thing better than he'd known anything at this point in his life, and it was this: he couldn't stay another day in this place.
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Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 16, 2018 9:22:14 GMT -5
Enmei Morizono current status: alive, uninjured, albeit exhausted | location: Philadelphia, PA
He was not made for this world.
Enmei did not have the common buff build that was found in the American survivors around him, a factor that only made him stand out in a crowd more so than usual. And sure, while the muscular body structure that he lacked was a rarity in times like these, he still felt small pangs of jealousy when he was face-to-face with an individual larger than him (a feat pretty easy to accomplish). His smaller size often put him at a disadvantage because while he wanted to provide a helping hand wherever he could, it was difficult for someone of his stature to give the physical assistance that was needed.
Now, Enmei isn't a weakling by any means, his body is just not made for the harsh conditions that is often times requested by manual labor. Sometimes, he is compared to have the structure of a child, even despite his older age.So, he was, more times than not, stuck in the medical bay, given his understanding of human anatomy. Because of the fact that he was in medical school when it began, there's no surprise that his knowledge was valued throughout the quarantine. Working alongside the doctors and other individuals with strong medical backgrounds was a rewarding experience within itself, but there was always a small part of Enmei that longed to help out in some other shape or form. And since he could not provide the physical help needed, he found that his desire to aid was fulfilled in other ways: having a smile on his face and a positive attitude in his soul to those needing a little bit of brightness, or at least kindness, in their lives.He learned this through observation, curious eyes drinking in the little details of the civilians that inhabited the quarantine alongside him. Even though rations tended to be thin and strained throughout the population when levels were low, there were the slight few who kept up a positive upkeep, smiling despite the tired lines on their face, mainly in order to boost morale around the quarantine. It was a difficult job to do, especially when surrounded by traumatized children who needed every sense of gentleness they could get (in Enmei's opinion, at least).
This perseverance was what Enmei found himself admiring whenever he was given the opportunity to do so in his free time. It wasn't as if he didn't have a positive attitude of his own, but it was the fact that these individuals tried so endearingly hard despite life kicking them in the ass constantly with one brutal hardship after the other.
If it weren't for the admiration and strong dedication he felt to be like those individuals, Enmei was almost certain he would have given up and stopped trying to survive in the early stages. Truth be told, he was unsure as to how someone like him made it this far and counted his lucky blessings each night to be given the chance to breathe every day. After all, he much preferred to stray away from violence.
❀ ❀ ❀ Enmei was born as a single child in the bustling city of Osaka, home to 2.7 billion of his countrymen. Of course, he was certain those numbers have dwindled down to the slight hundreds, or maybe even less, ever since it occurred. There was always the hope that his people were surviving in better conditions when compared to those in America, given the fact that the nation was ahead of its times, but he had doubts that Japan was prospering in a more efficient manner, especially given the lack of communication between countries.
If his mind wandered to thoughts of his home country, then his brain would soon grow bored and start to trickle down to begin thinking of Enmei's family, a path that he avoided taking as much as possible.
His parents made the decision to travel to America when he was barely 4 years of age, in hopes of achieving what every immigrant family wanted: the "American Dream." While they didn't achieve great riches and fame they believed they would accomplish, the Morizono family managed to live a comfortable life. It wasn't as hard for Enmei as it was for his parents to adjust to American customs; they even clung stubbornly to most of the Japanese culture even on foreign soil. At a young age, he found his parents to be entirely embarrassing for wanting to hold on to their customs so strongly despite being hundreds of miles away, only understanding their attempts to preserve their culture's livelihood at an older point in his life. Thinking about his family only made Enmei's heart start to hurt, so he tended to push those thoughts to the back crevices of his mind, only allowing them to have the spotlight on his more lonelier days. It was best to focus on the present, especially with so many injuries and tasks at hand. However, he was always curious, wondering as to where they were at the present time. Where they safe? Healthy? Did they find a quarantine zone somewhere? Or did they fall victim to the virus themselves, preying on the living? Whatever the case was, Enmei wished desperately that they weren't suffering. He couldn't bear to know if they were in agony, so he supposed it was both a blessing and a curse that they were separated. ❀ ❀ ❀ Running a hand down his face, Enmei wrinkled his nose in disgust at the trail of filth that lingered with his touch. He always found a major importance on cleanliness and personal hygiene, both before and after it took place. And it was always good to be sterile when working with patients, not wanting to risk transferring infection, so he did try his best in an attempt to stay clean and free of dirt as much as he possibly could, a feat that tended to be almost impossible in a world such as this. Alas, that didn't stop him from trying, and he had the goal in mind to wash his face with some water at least, swinging his legs over the mattress he had been given as he attempted to wake up.
Rubbing his hands together in a feeble attempt to build up some body warmth, Enmei cursed at his small stature for probably the hundredth time this month. While it certainly had its perks at times, maintaining homeostasis was oftentimes difficult for him in terms of the colder weather, leaving him shivering and chilled to the bone. Rifling through his nearby bag for his scarf with a displeased frown on his face, he wrapped the worn, handmade material around his neck, the fabric devoid of any softness that may have been present in the beginning of its creation. It did little to ease the chill, but he supposed it was better than nothing. After all, he considered himself lucky for even being given the chance to have a scarf, especially in situations like these.
As he started to get moving, he made a mental note to himself to check out the black market at a later time, preferably during the small break he always took in the day, needing a moment away from the gloom that seemed to surround his workplace. He wanted to trade some simple medicines and bandages he stole in order to get some random knick-knacks for the children and other individuals holed up back at the medical bay. He hadn't gotten caught yet by the government assigned guards, mainly because there was a leniency in these stock items when they were all accounted for.
He felt his heartstrings pull whenever he gazed into the forlorn faces of the children especially: some filled with tears and others with blank stares. Either way, he desperately wished to provide some sort of comfort to the younger generation, not knowing how it must feel to be born into a torn up world such as the one they were currently living in. Maybe it didn't mean much, seeing as how they didn't know any better.
Frowning in contempt at the unfair cruelty of it all, Enmei stumbled out of the building and onto the streets, hoisting his bag on his shoulders and heading down the same, beaten path he followed every morning.
❀ ❀ ❀ Enmei didn't know how much longer he would be able to stay in the quarantine, swallowing down the sickening feeling of bile that threatened to come forth as he shakily made his way out of the medical bay and in the direction towards the BART tunnels. It was dangerous to go, he knew that. He really should be paying better attention to his movements as well, in order to not get caught and ruin the entire system for those who relied on the black market to survive. But given his current state, it was difficult for him to snap out of it.
The day started off just like it always did: check on the children, administer the correct doses of medication, take the temperatures of those who seem to have fallen ill with the flu, attempt to administer as many fluids as he was given by the government, the usual schedule he tended to follow. He enjoyed the rhythm of just going through the motions, needing to busy his brain and hands to not think of any worries outside of medicine, facing reality was just too much at times.
He was interrupted, however, halfway through.
Enmei was naive to believe that social status had no standing in harrowing times like these, and was brought face to face of with the continuing injustice of the system when forced to take priority of one patient over the other. It was only because the male had been given a job by the government that deemed him to be superior when compared to Enmei's other patients in his care. He had been ordered to administer the last mix of medicinal dosages to the male, rather than an older woman who had been next in line. It pained him, to follow through with the orders, having to hold the frail female and leading her back to her cot, promising her that if she just kindly held on, she'd be the first to receive her medicine. He didn't even know if she would be able to hold on to the life she was given, he had seen the spark in her eyes slowly start to dull with every passing a day, a sight he wanted to burn out of his mind wherever he witnessed it in each of his patients.
Perhaps if he left this place, he could find somewhere with better guidance, proper medicine, equal treatment of individuals, and even a higher standard of supplies. It was wishful thinking on his part, almost too good to be true, and he was unsure if he would have the heart to leave his patients and everything else behind, if he was even given the opportunity to sneak out. It was a dream, really, but it didn't hurt Enmei to hope...
He had been so lost in his thoughts that he barely recognized his surroundings, only flinching in alarm and immediately perking up when he heard the resounding shot of a gun. His wide eyes took in the fallen body of an individual, no, a pregnant woman. Shock made its way through his body and the bile from before threatened to rise up. He was forced to turn away, choking as a small whimper escaped past his lips. It was difficult for someone like Enmei, someone who had such a warm and open heart, to compartmentalize and put away all the horrendous sights he had seen since it began. He didn't, couldn't understand how those around him just continued to walk, while he remained still, even leaning against a nearby wall to support himself.
He had to adjust his gaze, not wanting to stare at the fallen body, and took in a figure that, similar to him, seemed affected by the current scene at hand. At least there was someone else here triggered by the events, much to Enmei's surprise. This thought was what pushed him to remove himself from the wall, shaken but stable. If there were others who realized the cruelties of this place, then perhaps he wasn't alone in his thoughts of desiring to leave.
With this in mind, Enmei came to the conclusion that it was time for him to go. He really couldn't survive on his own, but he preferred it greatly when compared to the alternative: stay and continue to watch cruel injustices occur.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 20, 2018 2:41:59 GMT -5
AUGUST DECKER alive & uninjured. greater philadelphia area quarantine zone, 1/? The man had just resolved to resume his walk to the public transit tunnels, having drawn in a breath to steel himself and set his emotions straight once more from the interruption, when he suddenly became keenly aware of another pair of eyes focused on him.
It was a sort of sixth sense that he'd developed quite well in the aftermath of this fallen world; August picked up subtle cues and relied on his instincts much more than a man like him would have decades ago, before any of this had gone down, simply because it was what one had to do in order to stay alive, at the absolute least. He privately felt that he was more than just the normal amount of perceptive, though; the man could predict a bad turn of events like one can feel the onset of a migraine, or how when birds begin grounding their flights in the wake of an impending rainstorm. He always had a knack for looking in just the right places to find a can of preserves in practically mint condition, pristine and untouched, or a pack of batteries that hadn't yet been corroded, without a cabinet door falling off and alerting whatever or whoever lay in the audible radius to his presence--which, he couldn't quite say the same about some people he'd shared his time with in the past.
So, all that being said, August always felt somewhat reluctant to attribute his success--all twenty fingers and toes, both eyes with intact vision, all four limbs, a strangely large and healthy build for someone like himself, with limited access to real, good food, and only a few bullet and knife slash scars to boast about--to just luck alone. He had always been good at that all the intangibles involved in surviving somewhere comfortably. It made his decision to sneak out from the quarantine zone much easier to make, given he had a near flawless track record for being on his own in the past. This run to the black market would be an extensive, preparatory one. After emptying himself of most of his ration cards, he'd generously donate the rest to a gracious old man that worked the game meat stand, retire to his apartment, and then slip out undetected, unbothered, and unburdened during the cover of night.
But, the source of the gaze he felt boring into his back didn't play well with his budding paranoia for his plan, which was, appropriate and very deserving of some degree of anxiety: just leaving the quarantine zone wasn't an easy feat for anyone, himself or any experienced outdoorsman or woman included, with government security and all the unknown dangers of the closed-off part of the city included. Now, he just didn't feel comfortable enough standing on this street corner to let the situation press on any longer.
The man who had been, in all truth, just casually observing him, was a bit of a spectacle in the current population demographic. Any average person, whether on the road or in a place like this, was moderately tall and lean, but the sinewy kind of lean that said without words that said person is, was, or had been a fighter, and had some visible aspect of athleticism that helped them get to where they were today. August couldn't say the same thing for this person. He looked like he'd just been teleported in from a college or a fashion magazine or music video from not too long ago, with delicate limbs and a thin build that didn't quite support a lifestyle like today's. The man would have ignored him completely and proceeded onward if not for the emblem that was embroidered on the right side of his chest.
That bright red cross said one thing, and it said so as loudly as the stark juxtaposition of the bright bloody thread against a nearly spotless white shirt looked: this man worked for the government, and, more specifically, the medical care division of it. August couldn't help but grimace at it, not quite out of any anger, but more disappointment and exasperation. It was common knowledge that the hospitals and clinics were as corrupt as a body could be. Patients were frequently turned away for having illnesses they thought weren't serious enough or too expensive and resource-heavy to treat appropriately, and profiling was common, always preferring the more apt survivors that graced those doors. Albeit, children were always treated well, rare and valuable as they were, but it wasn't quite enough to make up for the coughing and miserable fifty and sixty year old men and women who couldn't get a drop of cough syrup, nevermind a doctor's glance in their direction.
Seeing the red made August bold. He raised an eyebrow at the demure figure not too far from him, shifting the backpack to a more firm position on his shoulder. "Can I help you with something?" He asked flatly, expression cold.
His worry lingered in the back of his mind, though, as the man began to consider the implications of every word he'd just said and the person he said it to. Who knew what kind of administrative power this figure in front of him carried? For all August knew, this man could be the head of some department that would never see him or anyone associated with him so long as their doors were open. Perhaps, he had an in with the guards, and they would begin to watch him much more closely until he slipped up and they found something to publicly gun him down for. Things like that happening after a brush with any kind of authority weren't entirely out of the question, either, which justified, and then went on to feed, his subtle paranoia that brewed in his empty stomach and tight throat.
Something about this clinic worker, however, told him that he wasn't necessarily someone to fear about his life as a consequence of, but one could never really be sure. The man's gut was agitated, but overall calm and cool about the situation, so he did his best to stave off any lingering extra anxiety. It wasn't like he'd been explicitly or obviously rude to him; that was simply the way New Yorkers spoke, and every paper the government had on him proved that he was born and then, however briefly, raised there. So it was nothing too personal, but nothing too revealing or incriminating on his end. At least, he hoped.
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Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Sept 3, 2018 21:11:08 GMT -5
Enmei Morizono current status: alive, uninjured, embarrassed | location: Philadelphia, PA
He had been so lost in his thoughts of escaping this nightmare dressed as a daydream, of attempting to survive and make a life of his own outside these walls, that he hadn't paid attention to what he had been looking at while his brain wandered.
This was a common experience with Enmei: drifting off in his ever-so-bountiful thoughts while absentmindedly staring at nothing in particular; often startling those who had managed to stray into his field of vision. Those who walked into his peripheral vision almost always came to the conclusion that they were his newfound target of interest (this was never the case, obviously), which often got him into trouble with the strangers that were around him for the day (they always found him odd). He never saw what exactly was wrong with his mindless staring, but he never exactly had the nerve to speak up for himself. Was he harming anyone? Not to his knowledge. He tried his best to reign in this odd quirk of his, not having much difficulty when both his hands and mind were busy. This was just another reason as to why he worked at the medical bay. Besides the fact that he enjoyed helping out those around them to the best of his abilities (though it remained difficult with the corruption that loitered in the building), distracting himself in the medical field gave little time for his brain to wander around and make him seem like a disjointed mess. It would just become a bit of an issue when he was bored out of his mind and left to his thoughts in the peace and serenity. But, given the situation and the state of the world they were currently living in, he didn't have much time to be on his own (which wasn't a bad thing, to be perfectly honest).
Enmei was brought back to reality when a gruff, disdainful voice entered his thoughts, one that was clearly not his own (at least that much was certain). He blinked repeatedly in his confusion as he moved to adjust his line of sight, which brought his attention briefly away from the task at hand (again) and to the fact that he had unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Tears that apparently were left lost and forgotten about as he daydreamed about a better life far away from the hell he was in (sure, he was in a safe place, but was it really safe if it was diseased with negativity and dishonesty?).
Upon remembering the tears, they finally started to fall and he had to look away from both the stranger and the woman that lay a few feet away, choosing to look at the sky briefly as he hurriedly attempted to wipe them away. It was hard to do so, seeing as how with every tear he brushed away with his sleeve, two more would take its place. His Mother always said that he had a heart much too big and much too pure for this world, and Enmei was starting to believe those words. He knew that he was a bit of a weak link and didn't want to appear as such in front of this stranger (he probably was anyway). If it weren't for his medical knowledge, he was certain that he would just be a liability at the quarantine zone.
Finally facing the direction in which the voice was coming from once he was certain that his tears had stopped falling, his brows furrowed in slight confusion at the figure before him. At first, he had just thought that perhaps he was going crazy and was hearing voices in his head, voices that certainly did not belong to him or come from his own voice box. Seeing as how zombie-like creatures could exist in a perfectly normal world such as theirs, it shouldn't be too surprising that it was possible for him to start hearing things as his mental state began to disintegrate.
At least, that was a reasonable enough explanation for Enmei.
However, as he took in the figure before him, pink started to color his cheeks and his eyes widened albeit a bit slightly. Upon realizing that the owner of the said voice was the same individual he was staring at only moments ago, he swore internally. He probably seemed like some sort of creeper, didn't he? No wonder that the other seemed as if he was ready to tell Enmei off and give him the word-beating of a lifetime. Or maybe even a physical beating, but he really hoped that wasn't an option. The other was much bigger than him, in both stature and muscle capacity, and Enmei was certain that he wouldn't make it out unscathed if he got into a fight (besides, he wasn't much of a fighter and would just curl into a ball and cry pathetically, similar to what he used to do back in his early years when he was bullied by the neighborhood kids for being a foreigner).
Biting his lip as he hurried to come up with some sort of response that didn't make him seem like the oddity that many of the inhabitants of this quarantine zone thought him to be, he fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket before making the decision to apologize. After all, he was the one who was staring strangely at the other before him. Did he not focus his attention elsewhere before his brain wandered?
That must be the case, seeing as how the stranger seemed pretty annoyed.
Bending his body slightly into a half bow as a means of displaying his apologies after pushing away from the wall, Enmei made sure that his face was directed toward the ground in the submissive manner that was commonly found in the traditional way of apologizing in the Japanese culture. "I apologize, I didn't mean to stare and be so rude." He spoke lightly, words soft and hesitant, almost as if he was worried that if he spoke too loud it would only enrage the other further. "You were just a better... distraction to look at, rather than what had just happened to that poor woman only moments ago. I have no issues with you, if that's what you wanted to confront me about, I do know how much the people here despise any sort of authority and wish to challenge it any chance they can get." His smile was forlorn as he gestured to the small symbol on his jacket, noticing how the stranger in front of him seemed to glance at it every so often as he spoke.
"I'm Enmei, by the way, Enmei Morizono. It may seem weird that I'm introducing myself in a situation such as this, but I suppose it isn't such a bad thing? After all, if it's any compensation, please use my name to get out of any issues you may face with these," he gestured to the guards loitering around, a small frown making its way on to his features as he watched one approach the fallen woman, almost immediately turning his attention back to the stranger in front of him, "trashy individuals who claim they're protecting us. I know it isn't much and you may scoff at any sort of assistance from someone such as myself, but saying that you need to see me is sure to get your hide out of trouble. If you do get into any trouble at all, I'm not instigating that someone such as yourself argues with the law often!" He hurriedly added, not wanting to be on the other's bad side anymore than he already was.
"I try to do as much as I can to assist the people that live here in this caged up area. It feels more like to a zoo to me, in my opinion, rather than a quarantine zone. Walls? 'Guards' checking up on you continuously, similar to zookeepers? Limited feeding times? Choice selection of what prized 'animal' gets the best healthcare and resources?"
He trailed off with his final sentence, words fading away from the tip of his tongue upon realizing that he was just rambling incessantly, and bowed once more, cheeks darkening even more. "I'm probably taking up your time, aren't I? I apologize again, I did not mean to rant." He sat upright once again, looking away shamefully, embarrassed at how carried away he got. It wasn't so often that he had the chance to speak his mind, especially when working with his uptight colleagues every day. The individual before him seemed as if he wasn't going to rat Enmei out, or so he hoped, and maybe if luck was on his side, perhaps the stranger would agree with a few of his ideas.
Enmei was always one for friends and while he pretty much had none, perhaps he found a new acquaintance in the stranger standing before him, no matter how many differences laid before them.
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