manuscripture | ( IC INBOX / BUSINESS CARD )

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( IC INBOX / BUSINESS CARD )

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, ROHAN KISHIBE. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 512.66.730.91 * USER has joined 512.66.730.91 <AUTOMATED REPLY, DO NOT RETURN:> You have reached the inbox of Rohan Kishibe. I am currently away and unable to answer messages. Leave a BRIEF** message with a subject line below. Messages will be replied to in order of importance and subject matter. Advertisements and junk mail will be ignored and blocked from this server.

[ Somewhere around town-- at the bookstore, the Tomoe-Kaname Bakery, attached to posts and notice boards --you find a small white notecard. On it is printed a little message and some numbers in ornate lettering. If you look closely, it reads the following: ]

Rohan Kishibe, Mangaka & Visual Artist
Owner Pro Tempore of Ebony Threads Tailor Shop
Highly Experienced.
Commissions & Advertising For Hire
Pay Negotiable.
Contact At: 512.66.730.91 for inquiries
Castle Lüvchaque - Directly North of Bavan per appointment ONLY.

(( feel free to use this as an action-based prompt too. any random interactions will MOST LIKELY take place in the form of walk-ins at the tailor shop unless it's pre-planned. just drop a starter in here! ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Who in their right mind ASKS why Rohan is doing anything with a book and a pen? What's wrong with him?

His fingers stop flipping the pages, pausing his claw on one like a record scratch. ]

I feel like drawing. [ He deadpans as if Eddie should KNOW that answer already. He can pull these things out of thin air. Be ready. ] Carry on...

[ Rohan's eyes pay less attention to the pooka and more to his paper as he starts to scribble on it to the little story he's being given. It sounds damn near out of something he would write. ]

That sounds pretty badass. [ He chuckles, lifting his eyes briefly from the paper. ] How did you guys and that Roland fellow get around to fulfilling that quest? If you did, that is... [ Contemplative, he taps the pen at his bottom lip. ]

I write stories like that.

Oh, right. [He shakes his head.] Duh.

Well, the thing is...I'm not sure. We made some headway, but yours truly caught a stray bullet before I could see it through to the end. But really, this is the kinda story that needs to be told from the start.

[Eddie sighs, makes himself a little bit more comfortable, his fingers still petting absentmindedly over Rohan's scales.]

I was young, and dumb. Well, younger, and dumber. And I got dragged into the wild world of heroin addiction by my brother Henry. And eventually, that turned into me becoming a drug smuggler for the mob.

[ Oh, if there is anything he likes, it's having his scales petted. The end of his tail-- wherever it is in the labyrinth of quilts is coasting slow and idly like a contented cat. He realizes that this conversation might have a... Lot of weight on it if they're starting from the beginning.

For whatever reason, he pulls his eyes from the page again. ]

Please know that you needn't tell me about anything you don't want to. [ A beat. ] What a colorful lead-in, though. Keep going. [ The mysterious tip of his tail pops up somewhere behind Eddie's shoulder.

Annnnnd it flicks his ear-- to which Rohan laughs a pleasant little laugh. ]

Mm~

[ for once in his life, he wants to listen to someone talk. ]

[Eddie's not about to let up on the petting; it's soothing for him, too. The sleek patterns of Rohan's scales are a good point for him to focus on as he talks. His shoulders shrug gently.]

It's alright. I wanna tell you. So as I was sayin–nnn.

[He doesn't even jump at the touch of Rohan's tail on his ear; to the contrary, his spine goes a little bit liquid as he melts back against the coils beneath him, his ears drooping gently to either side of his little antler nubs.]

Th...that's nice.

[ Whoops. ]

... Are you going to make it there? [ Whereupon he stops the ear-fiddling just in case he has induced a stroke or something he can't fix. And he was just starting to sound cool. ]

You were saying? [ Rohan's book has closed, caught in his one hand between two fingers keeping the page marked with his thumb. Because now he just HAS to exploit an obvious weakness. ] Come now, get that jaw off the floor... [ He says, reeeeaching over now to flit his fingers behind one of those ears. ]

Hm~?

[VERY QUICKLY CLEARING HIS THROAT...]

Yeah, yeah, I'm just. I wasn't expecting that.

[His ears are Sensitive. He can't help it. He chuckles, and lets himself lean into those fingers on his ears.]

Hhhah. So like I was sayin', I started smuggling drugs. I was on my way back to the States from...Bermuda? Barbados? One of those. So much shit has happened in between now and then. And suddenly, there's this voice in my head. Some guy's voice.

[ He nods as Eddie continues on, eventually letting his ear-scratches wane in favor of opening his book again and working on that doodle. The wandering bit of tail goes as languid as Eddie has, draping across his lap. ]

Bermuda and Barbados are in relative distance of each other. I will give it a pass. [ And yet still act pompous about geographical coordination. It takes the place of the snide remark about head-based voices. There's a saving grace here. ]

And what did it say?

Gee, thanks....Bahamas. It was the Bahamas. Anyway.

[He's at once disappointed that the hand stops petting his ears, and relieved because it means he can actually concentrate on his story again.]

This voice, it kept calling me Prisoner. And it told me it needed help. Honestly, I thought I was losin' my fucking mind. Thought the heroin was finally doing me in.

Fascinating.

[ It is. Promise. He's just.

Trying not to be

the way he is.

And he's a little late to the game on it. ]

So... You were a drug-smuggling junkie wrapped up in what presumably was a Mob operation-- shame that it wasn't a cartel if you were floating around thereabouts... [ Annnnd page-flip. ]

Fun...Very fun... [ He stops-- Everything he's doing and just turns his eyes up from the paper. AHEM. ]

Go on.

Right. Yeah, that about sums it up. [Eddie chuckles; Rohan sounds so enthusiastic about it. He guesses it's best that his shady past isn't a turn-off, though that would be awfully rich coming from Rohan, honestly.

He tilts his chin up, trying to see what Rohan is working on, but before he can see, the page is flipped. Damn.]

Anyway. [His fingers run across Rohan's scales in soft, slow zig-zags.] As it turns out, the voice was Roland. And the way he got in my head was through a door in the middle of a Goddamn beach. And he needed me to come through the door to join him on his quest, but first I had to clear customs with several pounds of cocaine taped under my arms.

[ Rohan flips between the two pages. He stops after the cocaine bit. ]

You haven't even gotten to the tip of the iceberg and this is already the most ridiculous story I have ever heard, Eddie. [ The way he says it at least sounds decently natured. ] I can appreciate a person as rich with experience as you.

That's my favorite kind of person. I can really sink my teeth into the endless underbelly of whatever is going on in your pretty little head. [ He taps the side of his own temple with the spine of the book. ] What I wouldn't give to open up your face and read it for myself.

[ Romantic???? ]

I know. It's a lot. Just you wait.

[Rohan's words should be unnerving; they should have Eddie jumping out of his skin. But despite prior experience, he trusts Rohan. He doesn't hear a threat in his voice. He hears desire. And desire is a damn good motivator.]

Yeah? [Eddie tilts his face up to look at Rohan.] Too bad we gotta do this the regular way.

[ That's one way to put it. ]

That just means that I want to hear you talk some more. [ Rohan takes that as his cue to leeeean in close and finally flash what it is he has been drawing: An artsy, contemplative portrait of the pooka, going on about his life but in a wordless still with his eyes averted elsewhere-- most likely at the window. Just a simple thing that isn't too packed with movement like he usually does.

It's a cute little portrait done the way it should be, demure and quiet. ]

It gives me excuses to put more of that mug of yours on paper.

Well, lucky for you, I can talk all day and night.

[Eddie Dean could talk the Devil himself into setting himself on fire. How many times had he heard that growing up?

His eyebrows raise, clearly impressed, at the miniature of himself on the page. Eddie lets out a low whistle.]

That's incredible. [And incredibly flattering, to be honest. He grins.] So anyway. We go into the john on the plane and he takes my stash back through the door with him. By this point, the flight attendants had cottoned on that there was something off about me. But the thing is, even though I had fuckin' track marks all over my arm, and even though I had tape burns and a knife cut on my torso, the airport security assholes couldn't find shit on me. They had no choice but to let me go.

Mmhm. [ And Rohan Kishibe could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves.

He nonchalantly sets the book in Eddie's lap. If he chooses to thumb through it, he will find all kinds of pictures on the pages. Some of his friends, some of the girls, some of Jotaro, and some of Eddie himself.

The naga's scales slowly draw over every part of him that they are touching until the person-half is settled behind Eddie and Rohan's chin is on his shoulder, arms draped lazily forward over his hips to lie on either side. ]

So lucky too. My, my.

[They really are quite the pair, aren't they?

Eddie finds himself with a lapful of Rohan's sketchbook, and of course he immediately opens it up to flip through it. Some faces are familiar, some he's never seen before. But the drawings of himself get the most interest, and he flips through the pages almost reverently. His mind is only half-focused, though, because suddenly he's got Rohan's torso pressed against his back. Letting the cover fall shut, he glances up over his shoulder, his pink nose twitching as it catches Rohan's scent much more closely now.]

...Yeah, it was a close call. They wanted so badly to arrest me, but there's only so many times you can do a cavity search on a guy. [Haha. Gross.]

Anyway, after that I had to head back to Brooklyn and try to figure out how to get my shit back before the big boss caught wind of anything going wrong. The feds were tailing me, of course, but so were a couple of the boss's goons. They plucked me up out of the street, with not a single clue that I had a Gunslinger along for the ride.

[ Rohan's arms do the rest of the work, opening the book again in Eddie's lap and idly turning the pages for him to peer at his own work.

Some of them are so old. No artist likes looking at their old shit. No matter how consistent it is. ]

What is it that a Gunslinger does exactly?

Uh...it's kinda like a vigilante, Old West-style policeman. A Gunslinger's job is to, I guess, keep order and uphold justice. Roland is the last real Gunslinger, see. So that's why his quest is so important. He's the only one who can do it.

[His breathing slows noticeably. This is the part of the story he doesn't like to think about.]

Anyway. They were basically holdin' my brother for ransom, banking on me to be unreliable. The whole thing...it turned into a shootout. And you already know how that story ends.

[ Does he know how it ends--

Oh. Right. He sure does. ]

Ah... Now it makes sense. [ What 'it' is doesn't come up explicitly because--like Eddie said --he already knows. ] For what it is worth, outside of that... I still think it's a badass title.

[Eddie chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through his chest and back. He's more than happy to move right past the topic.]

It is, isn't it? Anyway, after that, I didn't have much choice but to follow Roland back through the door, and suddenly I was on the world's worst fuckin' beach. No food for miles, except these awful fuckin' mutant lobsters that had already taken two of Roland's fingers before I got there. Permanently ruined my taste for seafood.

We have our own mutant lobsters here.

[ FUN FACT... ]

I even know of a mer-lobster. Ridiculous looking thing, that. [ Fitting that he can't stand the mer-lobster either. ]

You should draw something in this, Eddie. [ He taps at an empty page with a claw. ]

So I've heard. That's why I stayed the fuck away from the beach when I was a mer, honestly. [He did not need to be fucking with any more mutated sea life.

He glances down at the empty page, and then raises an eyebrow up at Rohan.]

Me? Aw, I'm no good, I'll just mess up your nice sketchbook.

[ Sorry, pal. He's already slipping him the pen... or pencil... or whatever he produces from thin air again. Is it the same one he was using? WHO KNOWS. ]

No, no. I insist.

[ HOWEVER. ]

You were a mer? [ ahahahahahahahaaaaaa~ ]

[Great now he has to be responsible for this pencil.]

You asked for it. [He thinks for a moment, and then puts pencil to paper and begins to sketch. He's really not bad. With some practice he could be okay. He's aways been more of a whittler, though. Drawing, again, was too girly for Henry to put up with it.]

Yeah. For the first year I was here, actually.

I was for a little while by choice.

[ He shuts his eyes so Eddie doesn't have to worry about Pressure. ]

What were you?

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