capencowl2020 | 01 🌝 THE SAMODIVA

Entry tags:

!ic,
!log

01 🌝 THE SAMODIVA - Rebel Base [open]

WHO: Members of the anti-government Resistance, refugees, those seeking shelter
WHERE: The Samodiva, a large, dream-built airship that operates as a mobile base for the Resistance
WHEN: Throughout the plot!
WHAT: Open log for the Resistance base, which includes transport, sleeping quarters, intelligence/communications array, small spaces for training, and Medbay/medical services.
WARNINGS: References to war, injury, drug use, etc.

Welcome to the SAMODIVA, the massive, mobile air base run by the Resistance, made and operated by ImPort abilities. When you're aboard, it's hard to imagine anyone could miss it. Though it's bigger on the inside than the outside, it is huge. It is also: white and yellow, a cheery palette that really pops. Fortunately for everyone involved, the ship is also cloaked constantly from external detection as well as armed to some extent for engagement. (But mainly it's supposed to blow itself up.) Tech-savvy and magical ImPorts are constantly upgrading its systems. It spends a lot of time hovering, but you might be a pilot.

The BAR is an incredibly popular site on the ship, and anyone off-duty tends to be found there even in the unlikely possibility they are some kind of teetotaler. People generally mix and serve their own drinks. There's a lot of Pedialyte around too, to offset the possibility of war-interfering hangovers.

The MESS HALL is outfitted with food that draws from a mix of locally sourced produce, grain, meats, and vitamin supplements. With the amount of bleeding people do during this war, the yellow upholstery is a real design mystery. There are two slots both lunch and for dinner; this arm of the Resistance seems to run on caffeine and protein bars for breakfast.

SLEEPING QUARTERS aboard the ship can't house every Resistance member, but considering that there are other vehicles, safehouses, and bases, it makes sense to limit hosting. Each room is outfitted with bedding, seats, and storage; a third have external windows. Refugees and guests are as often aboard as fighters.

Other spaces include: SICKBAY, with a fully operational if limited capacity surgical suite and a full-functioning MRI machine, and beds for several. STORAGE SPACES, ENGINEERING AREA and the FLIGHT DECK are fairly open-access, but it's hard to miss the SURVEILLANCE and SMALL DRONES patrolling the ship regularly.

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open;

['joey' kavinsky is quite unlike the asshole who wears his face in the other world. (he is also somewhat rounder, having learned better dietary habits. it's a low bar, but it's a bar.)

he is the semi-formal denmother of the samodiva. when new arrivals come aboard, he's often there to greet, offering beer (or weed) or directions to medical services, possibly a warning about the moonshine stocked in the bar, if they picked that up at a recent stop. any unfamiliar face who happens to be shrinking into the wall or hesitating at the on-ramp might find themselves a target for the young man, who beelines through. he has faint shadows under his eyes, but those are easily eclipsed by the smile and the handshake he tends to lead with.] It doesn't blow itself up unless it really needs to, [he says.] Promise.

[other times, he might be found at the bar, clutching a bong or a beer. drowsing slightly as the overhead speakers blare with the latest dire news. bodycount in west palm, seizure of resources in new york city. every other resistance member is jaded when the numbers update every day, but it's hard to tell with joey, who merely turns to you after the announcement ends.]

So what's your story?

closed to victor / backdated;

Hey. You ready, babe?

[it's a bit of a dumb question. the answer is always 'yes,' and also simultaneously, always 'no.' they've done this a few times by now, already. joey has seen his boyfriend -- 'boyfriend' -- boyfriend? die in an invisible flash of energy, and come back again. they have a shielded space down in engineering just for that, although it looks more like medbay once you see it. reclining seat, deep tub, oxygen. they need to get there within the next thirty minutes, joey estimates, based on the last countdown number victor had texted him.

but it almost always starts in here. the bedroom, victor's back turned as he faces the wall. victor doesn't have a chamber with windows; all the cloaking and shielding in the world won't put victor's paranoia to rest. while joey's never slept here, he has door permissions, shows up now like he always has: with a glass of icewater, the better to bring down victor's core temperature, before the inevitable.

joey passes him the glass.]

wildcard;

[Victor brackets Joseph's petnames at the best of times, not taking them either too personally or seriously, but the way the pressure buzzes in his head makes the throw away word feel unusually grating as it's delivered. It results in a slight twist of Victor's lip in irritation, like flicking a light on someone with a migraine. It's not worth the effort needed to snarl or snap about it through--there isn't much time.

Even without the dream device Joseph produced for him to track the cycles of death, Victor would have known it wouldn't be long now, but having more accurate data makes it all much easier to plan for, to prepare for. It doesn't always work out that all the circumstances align neatly like this, but when they do the conditions are the best Victor can hope for to hold back the damage to his brain and replenish oxygen quickly.

He blindly reaches for the glass, tips of his fingers finding Kavinsky's wrist first and linger for the briefest of seconds, just letting the contact remain still and unbroken before shifting to take the glass from him.

Victor isn't a small man in terms of verticality, but sitting on the edge of the bed, without his coat, head bent forward and eyes squeezed closed with in a grimace against the agony in his head he's a pale imitation of the formidable image of the dauntless leader that strides through the Samodiva most days.

He steels himself enough to down the glass virtually in one, his body giving a shudder against the cold rather than from the pain as he stretches his arm back in Joseph's general direction.]

Get out.

[It's not a command that's nearly as callous as it sounds. It's a safety measure, a shorthand for 'it's nearly time. i don't want you getting hurt. or worse. put some distance between us. i'll be fine.']

Edited (Trimming some foolish word-fat) 2020-01-17 19:04 (UTC)

[Han just downs his shot of whiskey, his eyes dark and his lips pressed into a thin line. He'd gone to West Palm last week and chatted up a few of the resistance members stationed there while unloading some supplies, and now—he wonders how many of those people are still alive. How many are still free.]

My story's that I got a shipment of supplies from New Jersey that were bound for West Palm next week. My question is, am I dropping 'em off at West Palm still, or am I picking up survivors who'll need them more?

[ there's a version of their story that probably ended in marriage. a big house, maybe a dog or two or any number of fantastical creatures that never existed. they definitely a future back then, and a happy one at that.

but schrodinger is a liar. the cat in the box was always dead. he poisoned it himself. to say otherwise is to buy into the idea that things could have gone another way, and you drive yourself crazy thinking like that.

he'd started spinning out of control and hadn't stopped. still hadn't stopped, digging himself down deeper and deeper down a dark path. breaking hearts, breaking minds and bodies, losing himself more and more every day.

healing is hard now. physically, spiritually, metaphorically and literally. the worst parts of him soul come easier, death feels good under his hands. natural. now he has to be careful when he touches people, mindful of every interaction so he doesn't hurt them. no more casual noogies or draping himself across the shoulders of friends. he isn't himself, he isn't sure who he is anymore. maybe elixir is this person. maybe josh died when they put him in the ground and he's something else.

but the curtains will close on this final, brutal third act of his life story, he's sure. a healer lived long enough to become the villain. there's probably not gonna be much of a redemption arc.

everything's burned down around him and left him bitter and angry and often unrecognizable to even himself. people have bled out under his hands because he hadn't been able to switch back, his touch no longer blessing people euphoria but offering euthenasia. a mercy killing. he doesn't have much compassion or mercy left these days, it makes it hard to save people when you start feeling like everything is futile.

but joey is, and always will be, a soft spot. it's not hard to summon up what he needs when he needs to be healed.

josh only sets foot on the samodiva when he's needed. it's not his place, not his world, not after what he did and what he's still doing. but if someone gives him the heads up that he's wanted there and he'll eventually make an appearance, sooner rather than later.

so here he is. looking a little awkward and out of place as he approaches him at the bar, peeling his hoodie off and lowering the hood. ]

Hey.

[ he doesn't reach out to steal a drink of that beer as he once might have, because damn if he doesn't need a drink. instead, hands get shoved in pants pockets, posture slouching just a little - it looks casual, but there's another reason. there's a stitched-up mess underneath his well-worn metallica shirt and standing up straight pulls at it in all the wrong ways. he's shifted his weight onto his left side, his right leg is a mess under threadbare jeans but it's fine so long as he puts no weight on it.

his smile is deceptively bright. like nothing is wrong at all. the world's problems are water rolling down his golden duck back. deliberate attempts at being casual only go so far when you have so much history and the tail end of it is complicated. ]

I got word you need a healer?

I. The Bridge
[While Victor keeps some very secluded hours with much of his time spent over schematics and mapping their next moves from the shadows, when he does emerge and step through the more communal areas his presence is very hard to miss; Victor Vale enters a space with the energy of a thunder storm that hasn't yet broken, sharp, intense, and hyper-aware of everything in his general surroundings.

At times when he's seen on the bridge, unless he is actively commanding a course of action, Victor might be found watching the horizon, hands tucked into the pockets of his long black coat that usually trails behind him dramatically when he stalks around.

Make no mistake, he's not idly cloud or star-gazing (depending on the time of day, but Victor can be found awake at virtually all hours of the day or night), his mind is almost certainly juggling at least ten things at once, but even that isn't enough to distract him from anyone approaching him from any angle, no matter how carefully of quietly they may try. Initially, he doesn't even look at who has joined him directly.]

What it is?

II. The Bar
[Because Victor does keep such sporadic sleep schedules, he can occasionally be found at the bar at otherwise desolate hours, his personal favourites being anywhere between 3am and 8am, the later end of the scale often when he'll either get to work or grab a nap to avoid the majority of the breakfast movement.

Catching him earlier in his drinking, Victor is not friendly exactly, but friendlier than he might otherwise be. It might involve a slight lifting of his glass in greeting and a tip of his head. Victor is never warm, but this is as close as he gets. He may even offer a curious "Odd hours to keep, don't you think?" with a wry smirk, aware of the irony.

Later into the wee hours (or in one of his worse moods), he's more likely to be found bent over his glass of liquor, fingers bridged and his forehead lightly pressed against their arch. There's no acknowledgements at this point, no humouring words for company this time, so approach either with caution or something that really needs his attention.]

III. Medical Bay
[Before he was a leader of a terrorist group, Victor was a doctor.

At times, he can be found in the sick bay, scanning his eyes over charts or screens without much warning or preamble. He's a bit of a pain for anyone who is actually a physician on call or attending to someone, because he shows up at random and pries with sharp, probing questions out the blue.

But he is (or was) an exceptional neuroresearcher and an excellent doctor, so he's arrogant bastard, yes, but effective. Isn't that always the way.

Maybe you're a patient in intense pain, he might wander past to inquire about the extent of the suffering, and if it's agony it might just... stop. Just like that. No drugs, no movement, nothing, just Victor's steady stare along with "Better?" He's a walking painkiller, also very effective for anesthetic purposes for assisting surgery and other delicate procedures.

Alternatively, he might just show up and get to work when there are too many injuries and not enough hands. At least when he scrubs up in the middle of a crisis he does ask "What do we have?"

Or, he really just might be being nosy, walking through the bay being a arrogant fucking smart asshole.]

IV. Wildcard
[Hit me! More shit about This Asshole can be found here and you can hmu on

kralkatorrik / jesting#7662 ]

[Arrival][Open] An Unexpected Appearance! Son Goku Arrives!

[ goku is flying through the air at top speed when he smacks right into the side of the cloaked ship. he's got a hard head, so maybe some alarms might go off. when you look at the cameras, he's rubbing his head and wincing. ]

Ow! What the heck was that?

[Mess Hall][Open] Goku's Ordeal! Has He Finally Found Some Food?

[ his stomach rumbles loudly as soon as he enters the mess hall, sniffing the air as his hound-like nose senses the heavenly scent of food. ]

Oh, man. Finally! I'm starving. It feels like it's been hours since I last ate!

[Medical Bay][Open] One Who Inherits the Will to Fight-- Goku's Resolve to Help!

Boy, you're lookin' pretty hurt there. Here, have one of these! They should pick ya right back up!

[ goku reaches into a small bag tied around the sash at his waist and feeds them a senzu bean! if they were hurt or ill at all before, now they are instantly healed and feeling stronger than ever! ]

Wildcard! The Final Judgment of Thirteen's Prompts Approaches! You Rewrite Them With New Hope In Your Heart!

[ with goku's writer exhausted, is there any hope left for our interaction? his friends search deep within their hearts and find the strength to fight back and write them a new future! it's not over! ]

[ as a general rule of thumb, you don't want to overstay your welcome at your ex's house. especially if you cheated on said ex while he was imprisoned, broke up with him because you couldn't break him out, and are just generally out of your fucking mind.

but he's here when it's useful for him to be. usually avoiding absolutely everyone he doesn't have to interact with, in the most subtle way he can.

he's also a wreck. just, physically, a wreck. it's a damn good thing he spends most of his time alone or someone might catch on to how little he can heal himself these days. and since modern medicine doesn't do jackshit thanks to his mutant physiology and he refuses to sit down, shit's a mess. painkillers don't work, either. he's just kind of learned to deal.

he's in the medbay trying to grab some bandages to redress his wounds without anyone knowing that's why he's there. walking stiffer than he usually would, half bent at the waist.

so when it stops he whips his head up in confusion, since that shouldn't be a thing but it is. and he hasn't felt this much relief in ages. he might actually cry. ]

Uh... Y-yeah, actually... [ that's not a thing, he's literally never had this happen before. ] How did you...?

[Fortunately, Victor had never had a taste for interpersonal drama, and whatever is or isn't, or has it hasn't transpired between Josh and Joseph is none of his concern and all related awkwardness is something he doesn't have much time for.]

It's my good party trick.

[No prizes for guessing what the bad version is if the good version means he takes pain away.

Victor is already pulling on disposable gloves though and gesturing that Josh take a seat, one hand making idle clasping gestures at the used bandages in a performatively impatient give it here.]

Pickup.

[joey should consult someone on this matter, probably, before making that call. he isn't in charge. but he's heard people talking about it, reviewed some of the feed, the notes. it is highly self-evident that west palm is: completely fucked. the resistance had put up a good fight.

honestly, there might be more than a smoking crater left, if there wasn't. kavinsky drags his pint of beer closer to himself.]

I got a new scanner to give you, for detecting the government microchips. [in the survivors, he means. one of those shitty necessities.] Do you think you could maybe test run it without reprogramming its voice.

[joey does need a healer. his mitochondria are mad at him. that's about as good as they've got, in determining what it is about him that's been fucked ever since the porter shut down, years ago. shit is going down at the porter soon, and he'll need energy. more than a three hour burst.

josh always makes him feel better. it's still true in one way, even though the others died out along with the possibility of two point five babies and a dog.]

Yeah. I do. [joey studies him from over his shoulder. he isn't sure how josh manages to look worse and worse off, every time they see each other, but if it isn't some physical dysfunction then it's in his face. he got used to it years ago, learning how to read the shiny gold gradation. once you pay attention, things like eyebags actually stand out even more on josh's reflective surfaces than they would matte. he can see them if josh is black, too.]

You want a beer first?

[joey's being nice. after all, josh is here to do him a favor, and this upcoming porter operation is -- important. any operation might be one's last, and joey is well aware that he's one of the last surviving resistance members who do still have a vision of what might be, after the war. optimists die early. it's like a hex, or maybe a distraction.

better to hold off on petty bullshit longer than the span of a salutation.]

[for a long moment, the mirror-surfaced ship seems unresponsive. but then, like a sleeping giant bitten by a flea, something disturbs its surface. a small bot, no bigger than goku's head, zips out of a square-shaped chute opening, which closes once its payload has exited.

the drone wheezes to a stop near goku's head.]

IDENTIFY YOURSELF, [the drone demands.] AND DON'T BREAK ME.

[ normally he'd brush it off. underground doctors have been trying for years to treat him, david's gotten the closest but even then it's no match for a proper healer. he sits as he's told, hesitating before he unwinds the rest of the bandages and hands them over.

it's pretty much a mess. healed enough to function, but that's about as far as he got. ]

I gotta start going to your parties.

Got anything stronger?

[ that might as well be on his tombstone. got anything stronger, is the first question out of his mouth at every bar he goes to. honestly, maybe it was, if he got one, he doesn't remember. his death had been a quick affair that had left him as fragments of a person, parts of it left behind in the grave so he'd never be whole.

that's probably why he can't seem to stay gold anymore. that's probably why he still has nightmares about suffocating. that's probably why he talks so brightly about a future right before he finds a way to sabotage himself.

he drops into the seat beside him, minding the spots that are sore as he rearranges himself into someone capable of being casual and chill for however long this is going to take. being here makes him feel guilty. looking at joey makes him feel guilty. and he should, he knows. and he does, he does, in the same way he probably still loves him and will always love him. guilt means he got off easy, though. guilt means he wasn't the one who was hurt.

it's just really counter-productive to wanting to see the other end of this. if there is one. he always said he'd be wolverine to david's cyclops, but now he feels more like deadpool. if you make yourself into a weapon for a war, how do you live when the call comes to lay down your arms and accept peace? how can you be a person again after you've been this, especially when you're afraid you'll outlive everyone?

he doesn't know. and honestly? his future used to smoke cigars and drink cheap whiskey, struggling to live with himself every day he woke up and trying to be better when he went to sleep. his future has probably fallen in love a hundred times over the course of his long, miserable life, and the only thing that keeps him sane is the fact that he doesn't remember it. wolverine isn't a person, he's a massacre in human form, timeless with the only constant being death. and maybe, since he's here again, josh should ask some advice as to how the fuck you live with that. real advice. not watered down niceties for a sixteen year old who'd been scared shitless of himself.

he scrubs a hand down his face. shoving those thoughts aside. ]

Nah, nevermind. I should be sober for this.

I wouldn't advice it--I doubt they're really your thing.

[Truthfully, Victor doesn't know what Josh's thing is, but he tends to assume most people's thing isn't the same as him.

It's also just as well Josh isn't in a stubborn mood because Victor is rarely in a patient one himself.

He frowns at the exposed wound, shaking his head a little before his eyes narrow to try and get a clearer sense of what's going on here by mentally tracking the way energy moves through Josh's nerves. A lot of years working with Metahuman bodies means Victor has some experience with physiology that's different than expected. This certainly makes him frown as he hooks his foot around the base of a low medical stool, wheeling it over and taking a seat.]

You treat this yourself?

My friend did the patchjob, I made sure it stuck.

[ Josh gestures at himself in all his shirtless glory.

the wound is a mess, but it's clear it was a lot worse. the one in his gut a lot closer to being fatal than it currently is, and the leg was basically shattered. it's not pretty, but he got himself fixed up enough to work and that's about as much power as he could spare.

what exactly is going on in his body is a mystery. at first glance you'd be able to tell he's human, everything is where it should be, working like it should. it should be straight forward, but it isn't. all the parts might be there, and everything works like it should, but how it works is completely alien. like hearing something that sounds like english, but take a second to listen and you realize its nonsense. ]

Modern medicine doesn't work on me... I burn through anesthesia and sometimes I dissolve stitches before they do what they're supposed to, or just like, reject them being in there.

"I bring presents!"

In one corner of the arrival bay, a mist forms, and swirls and slowly resolves to the form of Harry Dresden, smuggler, part time ally of the resistance, and wizard.

Next to him is a stack of boxes and bags, supplies for the ship and its people, delivered freshly out of various storerooms and pantries of the government, their stooges, and their warehouses. Well, after a 48 hour cool-down elsewhere for Harry and his team to check it over with tech, magic, and telepathic means, to make sure it was not contaminated and not tracked.

A shield holds around him and the items for a long moment as he makes sure this is not a trap, and then it flickers and falls and he leans on his staff

He grins tiredly as he looks around, glad to be back here, to see people fighting. he doesn't always walk those front lines himself, but he dances between them, stealing, smuggling, and going where outright resistance members can't. Its a dangerous life, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

[Victor listens as he inspects, though outwardly he sort of looks like he's ignoring Josh entirely before he pushes back on the stool toward the desk.]

What are you made of? Your base material or element, do you know? [He's half-preparing for some back and forth about the relative state of humanity, but that's not really what Victor is interested in.] Have you found any Metas with healing abilities that may have helped before--[He waves back in Josh's general direction at his back.]--all that?

Um... I was human before my X-gene kicked in? [ he's also not very bright sorry Victor. ] And no. Most healers don't understand what's going on in here. Um... I've had magic work a few times.

[ goku blinks, wide-eyed. ]

Oh, hey there, little guy. I'm Son Goku. Where did you come from?

[West Palm’s fucked, then. Han knew that already when he first heard the news, the confirmation just serves to drive it home. They’ll get it back at some point, but for now they have to pack up and steal back their people before the government drags them in for a little education.]

That happened one time, dammit. [It’s not his fault his power screws with vehicles!] But yeah, I can do that. Got nothing else to do today. [Other than go bother Luke, but he doesn’t dare do that with tensions so high, with new people suddenly coming in after so long.]

So what do you make of all the new people coming in?

Uh-huh.

[Well, that sure tells him a lot already as he swivels back in an attempt to begin cleaning the areas of Josh's body that need redressing properly and get a sense of what they're dealing with both in terms of damage and what medical equipment can and can't be used. He's almost half-prepared to encounter some strange reaction as part of the process.]

Where are you most severely damaged and how consistent are the associated pains?

[ well, there he can help. he rattles off the areas - wound to the stomach, the leg, there are a number of older injuries that are half-mended here and there - breaking down what exactly is fucked up and where. josh is an idiot who scraped through highschool mostly by cheating off his friends, but he has a several phds worth of knowledge about medicine and biology in his head so he can provide exact details. which i cannot because i do not. ]

It's fine if I'm not moving, but like... [ it's not like he lives a life of sitting still. ] I'm used to it now.

[little touches and brusque commands delivered out of concern. these are the tokens that joey accepts as the currency of affection, these days. they're good currency, in a time that is otherwise filled up with cold steel and persistent exhaustion, bottomless obligations today, and paranoid possibilities that stack into an endless future. nobody has time for movie night or anniversary dinner, in this world.

annivarsaries usually involve some kind of terrorist attack, actually. but that's for later. for now:]

You get out. You need to walk to Engineering.

Hell, I should stay in here. Roll around on your bed. Leave a lot of brown hair on all your shit. [he isn't being mean about it, by his standards. and he's kind enough to afford victor the thinnest impression of reassurance, crossing his arms instead of toucing the other man anymore, leaning his leg against the bedframe. not that a foot or two of personal space would do anything to protect him, if victor went off like a bomb. he's worried, a little. hovering a little, he knows.]

[in the lagging spaces of quiet in their conversation, joey is thinking about telling josh to go fix himself his own drink. not to be mean, but because that's the custom, generally; the war is constantly under-staffed, and anybody able-bodied enough to pour a drink is capable of doing any number of other, more important duties.

but it would have been mean. because josh has a screwed up leg, which joey can see. which joey knows is indicative of something fucked up with his power. and having his power fucked is in turn, consistent with how josh has looked more and more fucked up every time joey sees him, too. not surprising, but problematic. and joseph kavinsky has been at war long enough, now, to know that you help your own men off the field when they're wounded.

or you help the tequila toward the men who are too wounded to go obtain it themselves.

fortunately, josh intervenes before joey then has to consider how to make this gesture of pity -- compassion? -- kindness -- whatever, without making it too obvious. realistically, josh is probably right. that blackish smudge on his cheek has been there the last few encounters, too. better to do this whilst sober.] Word.

Not trying to cast doubt on you doing your job, man, [joey says, not offering his hand just yet.] But that, [he points instead at josh's botched leg.] Doesn't leave me Hella hopeful, sobriety or no. We got options, you know. Both of us.

[the moment after he says it, he realizes it sounds. symbolic, or something. dangerous. but he held leadership for a few months, last year; his lips tighten, and he doesn't get too caught up in feelings, before explaining simply:] Anders is en route. He'd prioritize us.

Edited (fix) 2020-01-18 07:13 (UTC)

[ 'we got options' he says, and josh feels some kind of ugly laugh threatening to come out. he curbs it, covering his mouth with long fingers and watching the out the window.

jesus, he doesn't want to go bother anders with this. maybe later, without joey there to see. pitying him, worrying about him, reveling in it - what would be the worst option there? all of them suck. ]

No, it's fine. It's just a charlie horse, dude. [ it is a bald-faced fucking lie. he's not a great liar, kind of shitty in every respect really, but he believes the words enough to make them mostly true and doesn't betray anything as he stretches it out to show it off.

it hurts like a bitch but when you can turn your pain receptors off (which only works when you aren't walking on it, what a shitty trade) you can be a little more convincing. ]

I didn't wanna waste the effort on it. I'll finish healing after I've taken care of you...r thing. But if you wanna go with another healer I can go. No big.

[ how much nonchalance do you use in this situation? where's the line between an unemotional troll and overinvested ex? ]

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01 🌝 THE SAMODIVA - Rebel Base [open]

joseph 'joey' kavinsky | the raven cycle (cw drugs) | open & closed

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w-w-wildcard

Victor "Pretty Much Your Boss" Vale | Vicious | OPEN

Son Goku | Dragon Ball Super | Open

iii, with a bit of wildcard

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arrival;

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tw mild suicidal ideation

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Re: arrival;

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Is my same tag OK!!

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