Wait a minute, something's not quite right; [Open~]
Who: XANXUS and YOU!
What: Mr Grumpypants (or Mr Meanieface, whichever you prefer) is bored and brooding (unusual, right?) around the town.
Where: Everywhere; he's a-wanderin'.
When: Shortly after midday, January 27th
Warnings/Notes: Xanxus' filthy mouth, foul temper, and potential violence, I suppose? On a related note, if Xanxus is likely to want to hit your character, plz to be letting me know how easy this will be for him, how much damage he's likely to take in return, etc etc. I'm contactable by any of these. Also, if somebody wants to call him on stealing their pants, please feel free~ ♥
This place was seriously fucked.
Of course, Xanxus had realised that from the get-go - it was hard to miss - but every passing day just made it more and more clear. All the grinning, cheerful idiots who yapped on about how peaceful and nice the town was made his head hurt. Making the best of a bad situation was one thing; Stockholm Syndrome was something else entirely. As far as he was concerned the whole circumstance was highly suspicious. So many things didn't fit. Xanxus might not have been able to remember a lot of things - his history, people he should have known, his homeland, even just general knowledge - but some things were common sense. Memento Eden stank like an open sewer to him.
However, it seemed that not everybody was as neutrally content here as they professed. Of course everybody resented having their memories stolen from them. Everybody probably wanted to get home. So they snuck about, piecing together their memories one by one as the 'Island Gods' (that was some fucking bullshit, too) deigned to return them. They found hints and pieces of things that pointed to a different puzzle altogether. And then they did...what? Nothing useful, that was for sure. What the fuck good did posting all those supposed journal entries from way-back-when to all the residents do? Big whoop. There was no real action taken. It was frustrating. Not the way Xanxus would have handled it at all. He would have...would have...okay, so he had no goddamn idea what he would have done, because some piece of trash had taken that knowledge from him.
He'd read the shitty piece of paper anyway - yes, and the rest that the mouthy scum with the magic had posted up for them to see - and let the information simmer away in his brain. Amnesia or no, Xanxus was cunning, cynical, and intelligent in a brutal sort of way. He gathered that this Ari bitch was the mayor or whatever of this shithole. How long had she been here? Nobody seemed to know. If they did, they sure as fuck weren't telling him; well, whatever. It didn't matter. But if these things were real and she'd been the first of them...she was definitely somebody Xanxus wanted to have words with.
Easier said than done. That was going to take time and planning.
He'd noticed something else the other day, too, and it was just as disturbing. Apparently some of these rejects had been here before, made it off the island, and somehow had been brought back. Still had their memories taken. But it wasn't just one, to be passed off as a fluke. There were a couple. That was worth remembering. Xanxus stalked through the town aimlessly, restless and annoyed with everything ever, hands stuffed into the pockets of a pair of pants he'd stolen his first day here and suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. He'd been here for nearly two fucking weeks now with no progress to show for it. He had no way to make progress, not while the Powers-That-Be were still drip-feeding him memories and information. The feeling of having no power of his own life pissed him off a little further each day.
Maybe he should go find that useless piece of trash - Squalo, or whatever - and actually talk to him properly after all. Heckling him was all well and fun, but Xanxus didn't want to be stuck here any longer than he damn well had to be. If pretending to be civil or some shit got him out faster, so be it. He'd be fucking civil.
What: Mr Grumpypants (or Mr Meanieface, whichever you prefer) is bored and brooding (unusual, right?) around the town.
Where: Everywhere; he's a-wanderin'.
When: Shortly after midday, January 27th
Warnings/Notes: Xanxus' filthy mouth, foul temper, and potential violence, I suppose? On a related note, if Xanxus is likely to want to hit your character, plz to be letting me know how easy this will be for him, how much damage he's likely to take in return, etc etc. I'm contactable by any of these. Also, if somebody wants to call him on stealing their pants, please feel free~ ♥
This place was seriously fucked.
Of course, Xanxus had realised that from the get-go - it was hard to miss - but every passing day just made it more and more clear. All the grinning, cheerful idiots who yapped on about how peaceful and nice the town was made his head hurt. Making the best of a bad situation was one thing; Stockholm Syndrome was something else entirely. As far as he was concerned the whole circumstance was highly suspicious. So many things didn't fit. Xanxus might not have been able to remember a lot of things - his history, people he should have known, his homeland, even just general knowledge - but some things were common sense. Memento Eden stank like an open sewer to him.
However, it seemed that not everybody was as neutrally content here as they professed. Of course everybody resented having their memories stolen from them. Everybody probably wanted to get home. So they snuck about, piecing together their memories one by one as the 'Island Gods' (that was some fucking bullshit, too) deigned to return them. They found hints and pieces of things that pointed to a different puzzle altogether. And then they did...what? Nothing useful, that was for sure. What the fuck good did posting all those supposed journal entries from way-back-when to all the residents do? Big whoop. There was no real action taken. It was frustrating. Not the way Xanxus would have handled it at all. He would have...would have...okay, so he had no goddamn idea what he would have done, because some piece of trash had taken that knowledge from him.
He'd read the shitty piece of paper anyway - yes, and the rest that the mouthy scum with the magic had posted up for them to see - and let the information simmer away in his brain. Amnesia or no, Xanxus was cunning, cynical, and intelligent in a brutal sort of way. He gathered that this Ari bitch was the mayor or whatever of this shithole. How long had she been here? Nobody seemed to know. If they did, they sure as fuck weren't telling him; well, whatever. It didn't matter. But if these things were real and she'd been the first of them...she was definitely somebody Xanxus wanted to have words with.
Easier said than done. That was going to take time and planning.
He'd noticed something else the other day, too, and it was just as disturbing. Apparently some of these rejects had been here before, made it off the island, and somehow had been brought back. Still had their memories taken. But it wasn't just one, to be passed off as a fluke. There were a couple. That was worth remembering. Xanxus stalked through the town aimlessly, restless and annoyed with everything ever, hands stuffed into the pockets of a pair of pants he'd stolen his first day here and suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. He'd been here for nearly two fucking weeks now with no progress to show for it. He had no way to make progress, not while the Powers-That-Be were still drip-feeding him memories and information. The feeling of having no power of his own life pissed him off a little further each day.
Maybe he should go find that useless piece of trash - Squalo, or whatever - and actually talk to him properly after all. Heckling him was all well and fun, but Xanxus didn't want to be stuck here any longer than he damn well had to be. If pretending to be civil or some shit got him out faster, so be it. He'd be fucking civil.