The gang and the texts and the characters and chaos (closed)

(That’s a good one, Meep, lol!)

Ōn’nyosh: He gently let go of Amber’s hand after kissing it, to avoid overstepping any of her boundaries. He notices her unease, but still ignores the others. He had no doubts that they would situate themselves. As Amber spoke, an intrigued grin grew on his face. True form? Well… he chuckles… I’d be honored to see it.

Ōn’nyosh: Watches Amber in fascination, then grins wide when she lands. He admires her for a moment, in awe at her beauty. Hello. And… damn, you’re gorgeous.

Ōn’nyosh: Laughs, then grins. It’s very true, though. You are just absolutely breathtaking. He overhears Dane and glances over at him. Well, at least ‘Fuckbreath’ smells more pleasant than ‘Shitbreath’. Speaking of, whose ass have you been in lately, because you reek of vomited paint? He bursts into mocking laughter.

Ōn’nyosh: Laughs harder. At least I get fucked. And, no, I’m not into men, but it’s nice to know you are. It means I don’t have to share. Looks down at himself. I might have gone through a swamp a few months ago, but otherwise no. Though, maybe it’s because I was walking by your sister.

Ōn’nyosh: Snorts. Like I feel threatened by a guy who literally fucks guys. I pity the folks you’re with, truly. There’s no telling what flavor of shit is floating around between all of you. Snickers. And, no, I don’t have to try harder to be rude to anyone. The simple fact that you walked all the way over here proves that I got under your skin just a little. Also, I’m a jester, not an assassin, so fuck off. Pauses. Hm… so that’s just you then, okay. Overhears Mirada and laughs. I knew this fuck, points at Dane, smelled like vomited paint! He’s been up that guy’s ass, indicates Mirada, for the last six months!

Ōn’nyosh: Snickers. That’s a prop. You know that, right? It’s just a chunk of wood with an illusion on top of it. I have a shit ton of those. Reaches into a hidden pocket on his hip and pulls out another dagger. It’s attached to the pocket by a cord. This is real. Puts it back in his pocket, then snatches the prop dagger from Dane, putting it back in its place.

Ōn’nyosh: Sighs in annoyance. You seriously know nothing about jesters. We always carry two or more weapons on our person at all times. So, before I start stealing all of your shit, I suggest giving that dagger back and fucking off. I could give a shit if you happen to be the deadliest fuck here. You still smell like shit, and I can rob your ass fucking blind in less than a minute.

Ōn’nyosh: Looks around at all of his stuff. I keep forgetting how much shit I have. Snickers. He then snatches his hat, a blowgun that had come out of his boot, and a rapier with an icy blue blade that had come out of a magically hidden scabbard on his hip, putting all three back in their rightful places. Afterward, he taps a piece of bread and it floats over and lightly bumps into Dane. He chuckles. Well, I do hate the cold, so, by default, I hate fucking ice and snow. But… despite that, this is actually rather fun. He indicates the way Dane is holding up everything. I haven’t been able to sort through my shit in months. Grabs his bag, which looks much like a doctor’s bag, and starts putting all of his dozens of props in it. Strangely, all of them fit with no problem. He then shuts the bag, grabs a pair of gloves and the piece of bread, stashing both. Can I have my dagger back now? He says this very casually, like he and Dane weren’t arguing just a minute ago.

Ōn’nyosh: Thank you, but I’m not into men. Laughs. In all seriousness though, the illusion isn’t flimsy, it’s old. I’ve had this scabbard for… more than five years now. Expertly catches the dagger, then pulls out a new cord from his bag and reties the dagger to his pocket. But, to the unknowing eye, that illusion is as strong as ever.

(To a point at least, lmao!)

Ōn’nyosh: Narrows his eyes in feigned suspicion. You look male to me. Laughs, then shrugs. Well, that’s probably because you have powerful magic. I, on the other hand, can only use magic items. And, I prefer it that way. Snorts. I’m not a pacifist, if that’s what you’re saying. I have fucking killed before, but I only do so when necessary. And, when one is witnessing a divine war, one has a tendency of needing to defend oneself. But, as I said previously, I’m a fucking theif, not an assassin.

Ōn’nyosh: Shrugs. Fuck if I know. Snorts. Most likely. I’m a damn circus-born kleptomaniac jester, so I’ve, at least, got the agility and stealth down. Snickers.

Ōn’nyosh: Snickers. I work for myself, no one else. But, if you want to work with me, I’m always open to more associates. Notices Mirada and snorts. Fuck off, Paint Vomit.

Ōn’nyosh: Hums. Probably. But, I wasn’t meaning that I’d hire you. I was meaning I’d partner with you. I don’t have or need employees, but I do have many, many friends. Watches the ice form, intrigued. He then bursts into laughter. That was a fucking good one! I’ve got to remember that one! Laughs some more.