Ensign Basa
Kicked Off My Shoes
Tripped Acid in the Rain
Jacket as a Cape
Umbrella as a Cane
the richest man wears a snatch-less necklace
Cigarette sold coughing. Retching of phlegm being heaved out the throat and spat onto concrete. Groups of bodies loitering on the sides of the road. Moths and other pest bobbing near fuzzy orange shaded circles of light. The flicker of nervous eyeballs as one walks down the street. Souls native to rain and unbothered by the splashing that comes with their steps in the puddles. Banter that grows in waves, then dies down after its climax. Lit windows with black silhouettes occasionally passing by.
The atmosphere feels weighed down, thick with the musk of rain. The humidity that hangs in the air, makes breathing the dank air in, like inhaling warm vapors. An uncomfortable act to those unaccustomed to poverty struck areas. While the summer shower would have done good for most islands, here in the span of the Briss Kingdom where vigilantes purge the streets when they need a bit of spare change, the halt of the pitter patter was the cue to resume criminal activity. The sun itself and all its rays of virtue, jubilance, and whatever other righteous hoopla one could spout about the thing, was swallowed by the horizon of the ink black ocean. Now the moon reigned as the sky's zodiac. Carved into a keen crescent, sharp as a switch blade, it watched over the sinners down below, comfortable in the void of space. A few dark clouds loitered above as well, but for now they had wept enough and waited to see if their display of sympathy would bear fruits and instill a sense of purity in those of the Briss Kingdom. Sadly their accumulated tears only worked to make puddles that gathered the thick blood of dispensable no-names that were tossed in the alleyways. Stepping out of a small tea shop a few others entered to seek refuge from the rain, Alphie let the scent of the sinners stain his clothing. His black boots splashed uncaringly in puddles, the tongue and outer parts of the shoe flowering out a bit, as it wasn't laced up fully, but they remained tight to his feet. The dirt water drops, sprang up to soak into navy blue, nigh black fit pants. He wore a wide open jacket that was composed of two sections, the sleeves and hood, and the torso. The first section was composed of a dark blue, dark grey, and black camouflage pattern, while the torso was just a dark smoky grey. Like usual he had a nice amount of jewelry on him. Three necklaces, two of them just gold chain links, the other a necklace made of red spherical beads all around. Today, Basa's hair was down, letting the messy ends of maroon fall nearly to eye level. His hood was only half pulled on, the tip resting on the crown of his head surreally holding on, as if ready to fall either way at the slightest shift in balance. On his back was a weapon that was beginning to become synonymous with his name to those that did know him. His large cleaver, now with a length of 50 inches rested in a leather sling that strapped diagonally across his bare chest underneath his necklaces. Inside his jacket was his pistol Curtail and across Same-kiri Bocho on his back was Īzasu.
As he proceeded down the road on his way to a bar, he got a lot of looks from the local street rats and rodents alike, but he didn't pay them any mind. Bobbing his head gently to a rhythm only he could hear, would press a few of the syllables out his lips in puffs of air, but they too would be unheard. Not many others walked the streets, most were still inside waiting perhaps another hour in wait for the criminal activity to die down, since it was about to pick up after the rain. Then there were the criminals, but they didn't walk the streets, they mostly just loitered on the road side looking for something to get into.
"Hey, you hear me talking to you!?" Alphie stopped and turned his attention with raised eyebrows to the one that was and had been apparently talking to him. "No I didn't sorry, what'd you say?" The man was getting frustrated rather quickly, Alphie wasn't following the script the usual victim followed. "Give me your swo-" Before he could finish his words however, Basa had already drawn his pistol and put it to the soft underside of the man's jaw. "You're really going to have to speak up, tell me what you said one more time." His visage of cluelessness had shifted to an expression of shameless pleasure derived from the horrified look on the guys face. His adams apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed a trail of saliva hard. "Ch-chill man, it's not worth killing someone over. Please, just relax." Basa's mouth scrunched to the side. "You guys are smarter than I chalked you up to be. . . oh well." He would have just killed the guy anyways on a regular day, but he wasn't looking to draw too much attention to himself, what he had done was already going overboard, but without too many people out and about right now he should be fine. Putting his gun back in the inside of his jacket, he turned around and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, walking towards his destination. Alphie was looking to meet up with some of his cremates from the before he was incarcerated. Having told them about his arrival ahead of time, they agreed to meet at this bar known as the Red Herring, here in the Briss Kingdom.
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