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"Yeah. What did you have in mind?" "Put all that guy's weight on me then throw him the hell out of this store." Simple, easy, efficient. And in the cases of most people, something that would probably be quite painful on the bones when they suddenly weighed two whole people. Knocking on a piece of exoskeleton to make the point, Kiburi added "If you're worried it might hurt me, don't. I'm a tough girl." And if this guy electrocuted everyone? Kiburi wasn't sure. But there was only one way to find out, wasn't there? With the plan in motion, Kiburi ran - not much of a runner though she may have been - toward the scene of the action. If only this guy was made of fire instead of lightning. Kiburi would throw a bucket of water over his head and call it a day. But against a lightning guy, that seemed like a bad move. "I don't mind burning off a few calories fightin' you mooks! It'll just make me hungrier!" Right, her attention was now on the students. Exactly as planned. "Right. Go gettem K..." Uh-oh. He left. To get the civilians out of here. That was definitely the smart move, but now there were no additional students left between Toshiko and this monster woman. "Keika?" There were still the other two boys up there, but she would have liked to have someone more directly between Toshiko and her target. Luckily, Akuma and Hane seemed to have thee situation up there handled, insofar as fighting the woman went. Akuma wrapped a tentacle around the lady's neck, and upon further inspection, she could see Hane was up to something to. Namely, leaping into one of the checkout counters so he could bounce off it with his Quirk, allowing him to propel himself like a human cannonball at the lady's legs. "If you were that hungry, you could just ask for a dinner date!" He exclaimed. "How's tonight at nine sound?" "Let me know if I can get in on a slice of that pie too!" The woman glanced behind her, holding an arm out to her side to signal for this child not to interfere. "This is my business, not yours." Which in turn brought her attention to those tacky and frankly embarrassing "ads" plastered around the place. "Mhmm... I get it now." With a new level of disdain her in eyes, the woman turned her attention back to the man across the shattered counter. She put one foot down on his knee, and clarified "You can clearly afford to hire these models to pose in skimpy outfits holding office supplies. Or if they're stock images, you can afford commercial liscences for them. That money's coming from somewhere, right? Either you used my loan for this sad display instead of improving your store, or you got the money elsewhere and are simply witholding my payment." Her foot raised up, then was promptly slammed down. Miyu and the others nearby could hear the distinct sound of bones snapping as the shopkeep howled in pain. "Shameful. Truly shameful. I'm starting to think it would be better if I just took the entire store." The woman glanced behind her again, to the Hairo students that had gathered here. "Wouldn't you say so, children?"

Shiny Objects(WIP)

『I hate this and all of you 』

Carry on...

[Dirty Diana] Character Name: Patricia Lawrence Alias: Pat, Pattie Age: 27 Appearance: Patricia is a Jamaican woman with robust, beautiful dark skin. Her hair is fashioned in short dreadlocks, but she could grow it out if she chose to. She stands at five feet and ten inches, a bit on the taller side. She has a thin, athletic frame, a small bust, with strong, muscular legs, toned arms and an almost perfect core. She has perky, full lips that compliment her naturally brown eyes. Personality: Patricia is a very traditional woman with most things. She is firm in her beliefs and isn't one to back down from them. She doesn't believe in complacency or making other people feel comfortable. She's bold and very forward. She knows what she wants and she will take the appropriate channels to reach her goals. With that being said, she's also very kind. She has a big heart, but she won't allow her kindness to be mistaken for weakness. She puts her own passions and pursuits above others, and she values her life greatly. She understands what a losing battle looks like, and she also understands opportunity to strike. History: Born in Kingston, Jamaica, Patricia left her homeland at the young age of four. Her parents were seeking business and lifestyle changes in America. Their destination was New York, and they eventually settled in the Bronx. They had very little idea what America would be like, but stories of "the land of opportunity" convinced them to take a chance. Patricia's father, Adio Lawrence, opened a small bodega just a few blocks from their newly rented apartment. Her mother, Raeni Lawrence, was a seamstress and dress maker. This small family of three did their best to make a living in New York, but their lives were anything but easy. Adio and Raeni faced regular discrimination. They did their best to shield Patricia from it, but it wasn't a simple task. Even securing their residence in their rundown apartment was an absolute battle. As Patricia grew older, she started to notice things. The looks she would get from strangers when she walked up and down the street. The mean words she would have thrown at her because of her hair. It became apparent that people hated her for simply being... her. But this did not dissuade the young Patricia. She had two heroes she looked up to, and they were very strong. Raeni taught Patricia to be proud of her skin, her hair, her style, and her culture. She taught Patricia that she was not less than another man or woman because of these things. She emboldened Patricia to believe in herself and to carry the weight of being black with dignity, not remorse. Those lessons have always stuck with Patricia. Raeni encouraged Patricia to find a hobby. Something that she could pour herself into that would let her push away the worries of the world. That was when Patricia discovered the art of ballet. It was what she was meant for. From the age of seven, Patricia began to mimic the dancers she would see in posters plastered around the city. At age nine, she found a willing teacher who took her under her wing. At age twelve, Patricia went onto stage for the first time. By age fifteen, she had experienced ballet on and off stage and she was becoming a household name in her apartment complex. And at age twenty, Patricia had her first solo piece in a major performance. One year prior, in her next major performance, tragedy struck when Patricia lost her father. He was the victim of a racially charged stop by police officers. He was carrying groceries out of his own bodega, when he was accused of stealing from a local business. He refused to comply to an unjust request. The police beat him to death and left him on the sidewalk. Patricia dedicated every dance after that to her father, as she does to this day. Now, six years later, Patricia is still dancing. She has become a well known performer in the Bronx and she seeks to make a name for herself all throughout New York. She hopes to use her talents to take her mother out of the Bronx and establish themselves elsewhere so that they can live as they please. Stand Information: Name: 『 Dirty Diana 』 Stand Type: Close Range Appearance: Diana does not have a face or torso. Rather, she is a pair of toned, ethereal dancer's arms and legs that are projected. The feet of both legs are wearing ballet shoes. Both legs are also wearing ballet tights. Both arms are bare. Abilities: Diana has a range of ten meters. Both legs and arms are projected on command and are in perfect sync with the user's body. Stats: Destructive Power - B Speed - B Range - D Persistence - A Potential - B

Top hats are nice, right? Since you were the only one to post, I spent two hours on it. But at least I did it within a day as opposed to a month, right?

Is that a JoJo?

When The Islands Were Young Dia’s eyes softened at Finn’s question. She’d had her hand raised, ready for another blow across the cheek but instead it slowly drifted down to her side and the water around her calmed. “Like I said when we first met, it was a long time ago,” Dia said. “It would have been just after it became clear that yes, humanity would survive after the apocalypse, just after we agreed on having watchdogs execute our will. Of course, I immediately tried to find one. Most of the gods did. It was especially important to me, though, because what is life without water? How can a world survive without the sea? “Her name was Sarah Rosewater. She was a lot like you. I suppose that’s the point of a watchdog, really. She presented herself before me, and I did not find her devotion lacking. She had an energy to her, much like you do, and a drive to succeed. But she wouldn’t have ‘cannonballed’ into sacred water, or done anything to earn more than a playful jab to the shoulder “Like I said, back then, the biggest fear was running out of water, and that the world would dry up. Dies, my sister, and her watchdog had been trying to help with rainwater, but the constant downpours were causing more problems than they were solving. Obviously. “We weren’t as concerned with worship back then. We just wanted to help. All Sarah thought necessary was an unending spring in places that either had a lot of movement or that would be hard to deliver water shipments to. Galatea has one, and so do many other islands. That’s most of what she did. Aside from the preaching and the service, I mean. It’s not this pool, this was just consecrated with the mother of pearl. But if you go underground -- and there’s a tunnel just outside the city that will take you there -- you can see the remnants of Sarah’s work. “The problem, of course, is that it’s a tourist attraction now. Nobody goes there to praise me or sing the songs of ‘Her Holiness Dia, Mother of the Sea,’ it’s just one of many interesting features, divorced from me in all but name.” Dia raised her hand again for another slap. “You’ve made me wistful. Now, you can either find a way to have Galatea accept the ocean it deserves or, failing that, make them remember just who is keeping them alive.” Emily Awake Emily had said nothing since being led into Myria’s temple, mostly because she’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of it. Myria was not a deity she’d been brought up worshipping outside of the occasional night she’d woken up from a nightmare and had it disappear when she finally fell back asleep. She’d never seen the inside of her temple before, and she only came back down from her wonder when the watchdog motioned for her to remove her shoes before leading her on to a much smaller room for just the two of them. If her situation were less grave, Emily would have said something like, “This isn’t an excuse to proposition me, is it?” But here too, she kept her mouth shut, instead focused on what she wanted to ask. “Breathe deeply and slowly,” the watchdog said. She did so. “Seek her guidance and ask her for answers.” Interlude: Levanna The nerve! After the watchdog walked off so satisfied with himself, Levanna couldn’t find any reason to stay in Dia’s temple any longer. It certainly wouldn’t help in calming her down; despite its soothing palette, the watchdog was still in the building, which meant she couldn’t be. And yet, outside was barely any different. Even after a few deep breaths, the world seemed to only find new ways to aggravate her. The crowd in front of the temple to Taros had been contained, yes, but it had not been significantly diminished. Of all the times to not execute her instructions promptly, why today? Sure, the Taros watchdog had seemed like he was about to take care of it, but that was no excuse. And they still hadn’t found- “Lady Levanna!” A guard interrupted her train of thought, breaking from the group she had summoned earlier to sprint across the square. “Lady Levanna! The watchdogs you sent us to find, we’ve found them!” That was good news at least. Levanna felt her expression soften. “Ah, yes, very good. Have you directed them anywhere or were you waiting for my instruction?” “Well…” The guard scratched the back of their neck. “One is currently occupied in their temple, and the other…” They gestured with their other hand towards, no, just near the crowd to where the young girl stood, watching, waiting. “She was headed to her temple when we spotted her. We weren’t sure if we were supposed to interrupt, but with you here and her there, what are your orders?” “Orders? I would have asked you to escort them to me, but I am already here, so you may consider that task finished. Your other one though, I might suggest moving a bit more quickly on?” The guard nodded and sprinted back to the rest, who moved with a bit more urgency, even if it was still too slow for Levanna’s liking. Levanna didn’t bother managing them further, though. She had watchdogs to corral. She made confident strides over to the girl, who barely moved from her spot, and once she was within earshot, Levanna began to speak. “Oh, you have to forgive me for losing you earlier!” Levanna said, still moving closer as she did so. “We were afraid you had gotten lost and had been looking all over for you. I trust you are well?” Levanna moved even closer. “You’ll also have to forgive us for the commotion, but you must trust that it will be handled with or without your onlooking. In fact, that Taros watchdog just went in there with a whip so I’m sure they’ll all disperse in just a moment.” She got even even closer, and this movement came with an attempt to change the subject. “What did you think of your temple? Was it as grand as you had imagined it?” Emily’s Dream There are so many questions Emily wants to ask, but even the most basic, even something as simple as “What should I know?” sounds silly in her mind. She dreams of a raging storm, thunder echoing in every direction, a lightning flash anywhere she might have chosen to look. And yet, the downpour doesn’t seem to affect her. Droplets that would have wet her skin do not, instead stopping centimeters, no, millimeters from hitting her and sliding away. Her eyes do not flinch away when a bolt of lightning strikes the ground, and the thunder becomes almost a rhythm she can follow along to. She can feel the presence of Myria’s watchdog, even if she cannot see him. That helps too. Soon, she has her first question, and the world shifts. Emily dreams of a temple. It is not Myria’s temple, nor is it any other one she recognizes, a fact not helped by its ruined state. The altar has been torn asunder, and only the tattered remains of tapestries hang from the walls, fluttering in some unfelt wind. The glassless windows show nothing outside but a dark void. The silence is oppressive. The world rotates for her, she does not move or turn from her spot. There, in the pews, lay dozens of sculptures, all unique, and all of stone. One is a column, with tines sticking out of it, one is a small cylinder lying on its side, chipped three times at the top. And so on, and so on. Emily asks her second question, and the world shifts again. She dreams of a fire, and a crowd around it, all humming (singing?) in unison, except for one, who stands in the middle, next to a fire, holding a piece of the fire aloft. In her hands is a small container, a bucket of sorts, and she can feel its weight. It is full of something -- some sort of liquid, and there is little she can do as she watches it leap from the bucket. The fluid moves in slow motion, oscillating and warping yet always moving forward. But just when it’s about to hit the fire and the figure next to it, Emily wakes up. “Okay,” Emily said. She felt out of breath and needed several before she was able to continue speaking. Her forehead felt a wet sort of clammy, too, and she didn’t need a mirror to know it was peppered with droplets of perspiration. “Okay,” she said again. “I guess, did you make anything out of that? I think I know- I think it helped, but if you have any additional guidance, I would appreciate it.” Homily (The Islands Are Old) Simon laughed, though the laugh quickly turned into a cough, which then grew worse, becoming a series of hacking coughs. His attendants looked worried, though they did nothing to assist him, and eventually, the fit did subside on its own. “The short version, hm?” Simon said. “Do you have places to be? No, it is of no matter. If you insist. “But oh, my dear watchdog, where to start? If I tell you about myself and how I came across my revelations, would you accuse me of wasting your time? Should I just get on with it in such brief words as I can describe them? If I gave you a list of ninety or so theses, numbered and organized, would that assuage your frustration? You have to understand, I am at a loss here. Normally I lead up to all this. But I can tell by the look on your face you would call this stalling too.” He coughed a few times, though this did not into another set of hacks like his last. “Why do the gods exist, do you think, dear watchdog? I will answer this for you: the gods exist because people believe in them. Not just that, the gods exist because people worship them. It’s a symbiotic relationship, don’t you see? The gods keep things in order, and we thank them for it as best we can. This was my first revelation. “My second revelation was this: the world has ended. This is not the world as it should be, irreparably damaged as it is from an apocalypse we surely only used to speak about in myth. And yet…” Another cough. “And yet, here we are. So maybe what I should say is this: the world is ending. It is falling into decay. You intend to bless a sword today -- what do you think will happen to it? Eventually, it will cease being maintained, and it will rust. “People believe this deep down, dear watchdog. If they tell you otherwise, they are liars. All we’re doing is bringing that belief to the forefront of people’s minds. Many find it comforting, actually, and those are the people who beckoned you in today. Some ignore it, and we work ever harder to welcome those people in with open arms. And some…” Simon seemed like he was about to say more, but he drifted off, and the sentence was left uncompleted. The only thing he added that seemed to be in that regard was this: “Belief in oblivion can be a harsh mistress, I suppose.” Simon was wrapping up now. “All we ask for is legitimacy, really. I’ve told the religious council this as well: we just want a temple of our own to worship in. But if you are determined to not host us in yours, I suppose we’ll simply move on.” OOC

Thrown to the ground, Akuma lay in a silent daze for a few moments, until a block of ice shattered on the woman's head. Rolling aside with the momentary distraction, Akuma found himself silently grateful for Toshiko's intervention. Keika was nowhere to be seen, but then neither were the civilians. That was probably a good thing. Probably. Standing up, his tentacles retracted as he caught his breath. She was strong, but he was guessing that her Quirk needed constant fuel to make her that strong. He needed to keep her from fueling up, and to do that they needed to distract her or restrain her. Hopefully, it would work against her once she'd burned enough energy. Glancing down, he saw Toshiko's ice spreading across the floor. That was good-- if they could freeze her, that'd be good. But if she charged Toshiko, she wouldn't have time to do that. Circling around so he was behind her, he threw his hand out and loosed a single tentacle, attempting to wrap it around the villain's throat and coil it onto itself like a noose. Strangulation was a pretty effective method of subduing an enemy-- he'd done it before to great effect. As an afterthought, he made his tentacle's musculature thicker to compensate for his target's superior strength, then pulled to tighten it.