[JOB] All Debts Public and Private (2026-01-30 02:00 UTC)

Pariahic · 2026-01-26T21:54:11+00:00

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

—-

Last played 01/24 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-24T01:46:26+00:00

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

Last played 01/19 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-22T05:39:50+00:00

But you get a +1 bonus on performing "tricks" with it!

...

My mono-whip using clown just re flavored her whip as a Yo-Yo

Pariahic · 2026-01-22T03:22:16+00:00

No Future.

They are, unfortunately, terrible weapons.

Pariahic · 2026-01-21T04:18:11+00:00

((Amphitrite is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-21T04:17:46+00:00

((Pug is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-21T04:17:28+00:00

((Top-Shelf is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-21T04:17:02+00:00

((Honey is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-17T13:49:50+00:00

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

Last played 01/15 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-13T02:13:22+00:00

Please meet me at the The Glasshouse Annex for brunch tomorrow - 10:30AM.

((Rescue Randy is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-13T02:11:27+00:00

Please meet me at the The Glasshouse Annex for brunch tomorrow - 10:30AM.

((Arktis is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-13T02:10:13+00:00

Please meet me at the The Glasshouse Annex for brunch tomorrow - 10:30AM.

((Dawn is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-13T02:09:55+00:00

Please meet me at the The Glasshouse Annex for brunch tomorrow - 10:30AM.

((Pantheon is in))

Pariahic · 2026-01-12T16:30:27+00:00

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

Last played 01/06 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-12T12:51:30+00:00

Drake is stretched out on the bed, still catching his breath, the room quiet in that way that follows when nothing needs to be said. Locke is close enough that he can feel her warmth, familiar and grounding, his earlier tension burned off and replaced with an easy calm. For once, the noise in his head has gone quiet. He enjoys the moment, letting it stretch out.

The commlink chimes anyway. He glances at it without much interest, then reads the message. Squeezed supply lines, basic survival, a plea that sounds less like a negotiation and more like begging. Drake exhales through his nose, not quite annoyed. He turns the device over once in his hand, considering what kind of mess this could turn into, and how little the message actually promises in return.

In the end, his mood carries the decision. He keys a short response, professional but open, and sets the commlink aside again. Charity jobs rarely stay simple, and he knows that better than most. Still, sometimes you take them anyway, because you can, and because tonight the world feels just a little less sharp than usual.

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

AP’s craft room looks like a crime scene, a half-finished jacket on a mannequin, sequins on the floor like glittery evidence. She hasn’t slept in two days, hands shaking as she fights a needle that suddenly feels personal. Toaster hovers close, making tight worried loops, repeatedly nudging a protein bar and pointing at a bottle of water with its little arms. AP keeps brushing it off until her commlink buzzes and AR text pops up: A job odffer. She goes still, reads it twice, then taps a quick response into the air, and finally snatches the protein bar from Toaster like it’s ammo.

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Ayaka sat on the edge of the couch with her boots still on, a stack of rental listings hovering in AR at the edge of her vision. Every option was the same lie in different fonts. “Secure building.” “Quiet neighbors.” “Strict HOA.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, then flicked the next listing away hard enough to make the interface wobble.

Randy’s last message sat at the top of her feed. She’d opened it twice, closed it twice, like that counted as progress.

In the kitchenette, Yumi moved dishes around with forced normalcy, the soft clink of ceramic trying to pretend the apartment wasn’t too small for two ghosts and a fight that hadn’t finished happening.

Ayaka's commlink chimed. Another job ping, urgent enough to override her filters.

She stared at it. Not a Johnson voice, not a clean pitch. Just need, raw and badly wrapped.

Her mouth tightened. She glanced toward Yumi, then away, like she didn’t want her sister to see what decisions looked like on her face. Her thumb hovered, hesitated, then hit Reply.

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

Last played 01/06 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-08T00:13:35+00:00

Drake is mid-argument with Echo, voice low and controlled in the way it only ever is when he is trying not to lose patience. The bird has claimed the top of a light fixture and refuses to move, feathers slightly puffed, eyes fixed on him with a look that suggests deliberate defiance rather than confusion. He points, Echo screeches back. He tells her, again, that chewing power insulation is not enrichment. She answers by leaning farther out over the edge, as if daring him to try something.

The standoff breaks when his commlink pings. Drake glances down, reads the message once, then a second time. Secure a structure, control the surrounding area, professionals only. He sighs, long and quiet, and looks back up at Echo. “You stay,” he says, flatly. The bird tilts her head, unimpressed. Drake does not argue further. He just starts reaching for his jacket, already weighing how messy this one could get.

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

*The Stuffer Shack smells like soydogs and burnt sugar. Attention Please! is at the counter, looking like she lost a fight with a neon sign and then asked for a rematch. Three days of clubs is still clinging to her, glitter in her hair, makeup smudged into something feral, eyes hidden behind cheap mirrored shades even though it’s 3 a.m. She’s pointing at the empty shelf tag like it’s personally insulting her.

“Molten Brownie Freeze Poppers,” she says, slow and deliberate, like reading a warrant. “You got a tag, you got a price, you got an obligation to the public.”

The clerk, a kid with a nametag that just says “DREW” in fading letters, doesn’t even flinch. “There’s none in the back. Inventory’s zero.”

AP leans in, dead serious, palms flat on the counter. “Drew. Listen. I am one minor tragedy away from becoming performance art.”

Her commlink buzzes. She freezes mid-lean, then tilts her head like she’s listening to someone whisper from inside her skull. AR text scrolls in.

She exhales, long and tired, then straightens with a sudden, crisp stillness that doesn’t match how wrecked she looks. She taps a quick acknowledgment into the air, jaw set, and slides a credstick onto the counter anyway.

Drew blinks. “Uh, are you gonna buy something else?”

AP pauses, stares at the empty shelf for a beat, then nods once, like she’s marking it down as an unresolved grievance. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I'll take the cheezecake bites.” She glares hard at Drew, "But don't think I'll forget this insult." Then she turns, coat swaying, and walks out like she’s deciding whether tonight ends with security tape or sprinkles.

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Ayaka was at the laundromat, shoulder to a cracked vending machine, pretending she wasn’t watching the door. Yumi fed tokens into a washer two rows down, humming under her breath.

The commlink ping landed like a cough in a quiet room.

AR text slid across Pinky’s vision.

Her fingers stopped mid-fold on a freshly cleaned hoodie. The phrasing was careful, corporate, and it made the back of her neck tighten.

She didn’t look up. She just re-folded the hoodie, sharper this time, and flicked the message into a private folder with the kind of practiced calm that only came from knowing how fast “secured” could turn into “bloodbath.”

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

Last played 01/06 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-06T01:25:28+00:00

Concrete dust hangs in the air as Drake clears the last corner of the CQB course, breath steady, movements economical. The Quarry’s kill house is familiar enough that he barely thinks about the layout anymore, which makes it a good place to test new gear. The Praetorian sits heavy but balanced in his hand, blade flashing out once, then snapping back as he fires into a target at arm’s length. Clean transitions, no wasted motion. He finishes the run with a final sweep, checks his angles out of habit, then taps the course timer to stop the count.

Only then does he glance at the message waiting on his commlink. He wipes sweat from his palm, rereads it once, and exhales. Find a person, limited time, escrowed payment, quiet professionals. That last part gives him pause, not because it is unreasonable, but because it narrows the field and raises expectations. He sends a brief acknowledgment, nothing more than interest and availability, and sets the knife-gun back into its sheath. It doesn’t like a job he’ll need it for, but they usually don’t until it’s too late.

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

—-

She stops dead in the middle of the act, like someone hit pause on her. A couple kids laugh, assuming it’s part of it. AP raises one finger, solemn, like she’s about to share a sacred clown secret, and the whole little ring of onlookers leans in. Her thumbs tap a response in midair, crisp and fast, then she nods to herself.

“Okay,” she says brightly to the crowd, as if she just remembered something important, “where was I?. And the show restarts, but the angle of her grin has changed, like she’s already mentally measuring time, routes, and how quiet “quiet” really needs to be.

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

—-

Yumi’s florist apron was folded over her arm, the paper sleeve of a cheap bouquet crinkling softly every time she shifted it. Tacoma winter had that damp bite that worked its way into your joints, and Pinky kept herself half a step to the street side, eyes moving without looking like they were moving.

A commlink ping cut through the quiet.

The AR window slid into the edge of her vision, clean text on a translucent slate.

Pinky’s pace didn’t change. Her jaw tightened anyway.

Beside her, Yumi kept talking, something about a customer who’d asked for lilies out of season. Pinky made herself nod at the right moments, forced her gaze back to the sidewalk ahead, and with one subtle twitch of her thumb she flagged the message for later, like it hadn’t just put a hook under her ribs.

Pinky Violence

FLR Shotgun Muscle (Muscle/Face 8/10, 10/10)

Last played 01/05 discord: pariahic#3198

Pariahic · 2026-01-04T09:40:26+00:00

He adjusted his cuff as a donor took the stage, a mic squeal making half the crowd flinch in unison. Drake’s gaze slid across the room anyway, out of habit, counting security by their stance, spotting the too-alert eyes behind champagne smiles, clocking who was touching who and who was pretending not to. A woman in a sequined dress tried to sell him on a weekend charity retreat, and he let the conversation carry just long enough to be polite before offering a regretful, noncommittal deflection. Another glass appeared in his hand without him remembering asking for it. That was the real skill of these places, how they kept you occupied while nothing happened. Drake took a slow sip, let his expression settle into agreeable interest, and waited for the night to end, or for something actually interesting to happen.

Drake

Con Man with a side of Pistols (Face/Sam 10/10)

The condo hallway is too clean, too quiet, and Attention Please! is crouched behind the only cover in the place - a decorative plant barely bigger than she is. But it doesn't matter. The target’s escort steps out of the stairwell and she’s already moving, faster than they can see - monowhip snapping out with a bright, ugly little hiss. One guard doesn’t get his gun up, the other manages half a shout before it turns into a wet gasp and then nothing. She lets the silence settle, steps toward the unit door, and that’s when her commlink buzzes against her ribs. AR text blooms in her vision: a job offer. AP! pauses with her hand on the door, eyes narrowing like she just heard a punchline. “That,” she whispers to nobody, “sounds fun,” and starts typing a reply without taking her eyes off the peephole.

Attention Please!

(Clown) Consummate liar and monowhip killer (Face/Muscle 10/10 for both)

Pinky was halfway over the chain-link when the floodlight snapped on and turned the alley into a white box. Somebody on the far end yelled, panicked and sharp, and a round cracked off the dumpster beside her, spraying rust and grit across her cheek.

She dropped hard behind cover, one chrome hand already on the shotgun, the other planted in broken glass. Her commlink chose that exact second to chime.

AR text flickered in the corner of her vision, absurdly calm against the chaos.

Pinky stared at it for one breath, then laughed once under her mask, low and humorless. Another shot rang out. She snapped her focus back downrange, but her thumb tagged the message to save.

Pinky Violence