all the phoses and the growsin {bastille/dionysus} blitz

[rook]

dionysus

i'm a scary gargoyle on a tower
that you made with plastic power
your rhinestone eyes are like
factories far away

"This isn't an embargo, Vose."

His breath is as stale as the harbour's musk. I always find it so strange how so many of the men in white uniforms are so horrendously filthy and disgusting when they are supposed to be the beacons of our society. Stained yellowing teeth from an unhealthy nicotine addiction, with a tongue that looks like some kind of sea-urchin. This man is anything but a good example to anyone.

I shift my weight onto my left side, my arm resting against the hull of my ship. I am helpless to watch as half a dozen men board without permission, passing between them most of my haul from today. Whilst it is mostly fish, there are some packages that weren't commissioned that I obtained from other vessels in a sort of backhand trade deal - that sort of stuff happens all the time, and generally the Peacekeepers don't care, they just take it if they find it. I'm more frustrated at seeing my hard day's work being hauled off with nothing in return.

"No? Well, this sure feels like an embargo." I bite my tongue to prevent myself from going further. I would like nothing more than to lay into this piece of shit, but having good relations with Peacekeepers makes my job all-the-more smoother. If he says there is an embargo on imports, regardless of whether that is true, I have to cooperate, no matter how much I want to pull the revolver from my waist and blast his wretched head from his shoulders.

so call the mainland from the beach
your heart is now washed up in bleach
the waves are rising for this time of year
and nobody knows what to do with the heat
under sunshine pylons we'll meet
while rain is falling like rhinestones from the sky

[gamemaker kelsier]

B A S T I L L E. His arm loops around the neck of a baboon in man's clothing. Only then do his eyes take in the scene, drinking, calculating and intoxicating until all that's left is molten rubble. "Ed," he says, addressing the Peacekeeper by first name. As is his right as established King of Four's underworld, "What did I say about pestering my friends." It isn't a question. His voice is as soft as the ocean waves but here is a sword in his words and it pushes it's way into Ed's gut. He turns appropriately pale. "D...Didn't know you knew him, Bast." He doesn't know this asshole from a hole in the wall but favours aren't cheap. Bastille smiles again. He isn't all that foreboding in his midnight blue dress shirt, it isn't that he's all that tall either. He's eighteen years old and a little bellow average. It's in the chalk of his grin, the dust on the sidewalk from where he's been that stops the Peacekeeper in his tracks. "Put it back Ed," he says.

table by elegant

[rook]

dionysus

This fella appears and waves about an invisible authority that has the captain of the brigade quivering like a shellfish beneath his white exoskeleton. I am quite astounded, but my face is calm like the morning tides, lapsing with each breath as my eyes follow the valuable cargo as it makes its way back onto my ship.

Bast. The name has weight, but I'm not quite sure why. It's not one I've heard before. The way he swaggered over and made this mess go away must mean that he has a significant influence in these parts, which begs the question why don't I know who he is? I've been trading in these waters since I was old enough to go out on the boat with my late father.

Friend. I don't know him, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't know me. Or does he? He seems like someone that might have a lot of information on a lot of people, hence his heavy influence. This worries me. What does he want with me? If he's doing me a favour then he'll undoubtedly want something in return. I sigh. Never anything simple.

"Thanks Bast," I size him up. Shorter than me, with an impish disposition. Where I am defined and robust, he seems agile, like someone who flows with the punches. His smile could mean a million different things, but at the moment it seems slightly threatening, especially after his display of influence.

The worm of a Peacekeeper, Ed is still hanging around like a leech, no longer the dominant, corrupt commander-in-chief he was five minutes ago.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I ask Bast, my eyes tired.