TROUBLE AT YOUR FEET ― intro.

[truce.]

[align=center][div style="width: 470px; text-align: justify; font-family: andale mono; font-size: 7pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1px; line-height: 14px;"]Wherever you go, I go…

It had been a phrase so often uttered in hushed voices, a quiet plea so well designed that it perfectly mimicked what seemed to be a pledge of loyalty. Of course it had always been, but it was more than just a promise. It had been a cry for help all this time, two people so torn apart from a life that had dedicated itself to finding them nothing but loss and pain. If it couldn’t find misery, then it would create it. Years had come and gone and Marcus and Ramona soon came to the realisation that their bond was indeed for life. Marcus had been the steadfast and sincere, albeit rough around the edges, mentor that Ramona was in dire need of in her life when the two had first met. An ornery teenager who had initially joined Six Hounds against her will, but she soon found that perhaps it was the only place she could truly capitalise on her anger and grief.

Marcus took her under his wing — it was his job as a medically trained professional to nurture those around him — and he saw her thrive, almost as if she were the daughter that he and his husband would never be able to have after the world crumbled around them. Pascal would have adored Ramona the very same way that Marcus did; that is if he had not died the slow and agonising death he was forced to endure. A death that nearly killed Marcus to have to watch. The disease tangled up within Pascal and all Marcus could do was watch for five horrifying months. He could have saved him, if only he had the resources. And he almost had it, he almost had it all. If only he had more time.

Nowadays, Pascal was rarely a name that passed Marcus’ lips, but he thought about his late husband often. Ramona would have loved him too, perhaps loved him even more than she did Marcus. She could not claim to have understood what it felt like to have a guardian until her angel, Marcus, joined Six Hounds. The group had raided her childhood commune, slaying all resistance and taking away their children to raise as their own. Ramona had watched through her trembling fingers as her parents were savaged to death before their killers whisked her away onto a wagon to be taken to their own base. Mercenaries, she’d come to learn of their profession. Killing was simply what they did and, whilst she’d protest for some gruelling few months, eventually she began to see through the trauma of what she’d faced and come to learn of what they had to offer for her.

She truly believed that they could shape her into a survivor. A woman who would survive this new world because that would have made her parents proud, right? Instead of biting the hand that fed her, she’d will herself to appreciate its twistedness. That was at least until Marcus could snap her out of her dark reverie. Trained as a monster, she no longer had to do so at the command of the people who had betrayed her before they had even learned of her name. Ramona had learned through Marcus that never again did they need to yield to a group so barbaric, a group that was not based upon loyalty but was built upon their fear.

She was only a child.

Whilst she wanted to clock Magnus in the jaw at the best of times, she knew that he would be the most capable of leaders. After all, he was more like her than she was willing to ever admit. He would look out for her in the same way as he would look out for Marcus. In the same way Marcus looked out for her, and in the same way Ramona would look out for Magnus. Together, wherever one went, the rest would follow. And it proved the fruit of their labours was as enjoyable as she had hoped. The life she led was so liberating, even whilst she still surrendered to an iron fist. She supposed old habits die hard, but Magnus’ reign sure beat their old life with Six Hounds. Here, at least she felt as if her thoughts would be acknowledged by Magnus. A friend, not just a leader to serve.

At the market, Ramona idly flicked through a couple of fabrics, seemingly recycled to be used as blankets, or perhaps a shawl. Nothing particularly caught her eye — in fact, she was not on the hunt for anything in particular as it was. This was solely an opportunity to creep into the more civilised side of Vice World, admire the treasure of a place that Magnus had taken a hold of. A woman at the stall gave Ramona a sweet smile, Ramona returning with a somewhat insincere quirk of her lips, nose crinkling ever-so-slightly before her eyes diverted back to the fabrics that she was toying with on the table. She dreamed of massacres and red, not whatever pretty colour was in vogue for the season. Sucking air through her teeth, Ramona looked away, her gaze instead landing on Magnus as he made his entrance into the market area. It was not difficult for him to catch people’s attention, the way crowds stilled somewhat, as if they were eager — or scared — in anticipation for his next words.

❝ Never saw you the kind of man to enjoy a shopping spree. ❞ Ramona provoked playfully with a deadpan quirk of the brow, approaching with slow, carefree steps. Perhaps there were people out there treading on eggshells around Magnus, anticipating that one day he  would erupt and that would be the end of them, but Ramona was brazen. Cocky. Like brother and sister, they’d squabble, but at the end of the day Ramona trusted Magnus in the same way she trusted Marcus. Indefinitely, undyingly. A very exclusive kind of trust that she seldom shared with anyone else. Only the survivors of Six Hounds. 

[magnus.]

u rock !

[color=transparent]YOU'RE AMAZING, DON'T FORGET IT <3

[color=transparent]u rock !

[align=center][abbr=claire made this!]―[/abbr] MAGNUS "MACE" BREKKER

[abbr=THIS TEXT BOX HAS HIDDEN SCROLLING]_____[/abbr]

The people of Vice World knew their friendship. They didn't shake at Marcus and Ramona's names yet, but the mass did not fear for the two, either. They seemed to be best friends with Magnus, and that was good enough for the passersby. They practically parted as Magnus entered the trading ring, all moving away from him. It was obvious he liked that, a near wicked grin on his face as something flashed in his bright emerald eyes. He didn't even bother to thank the people for moving away from him. He liked seeing them cower. It was what he was waiting for.

The man headed over to Ramona, and grinned even wider. "Ramona!" He greeted her, opening his arms as if he was going in for a hug, and instead he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Ram." He put his other hand on his hip as he greeted her with that nickname he picked up on giving her.

Whether she liked it or not, of course.

The leader looked down at the cloth she had been looking at, and he just shrugged, letting go of her to wave his arms to point at the entirety of the market. He had promised the merchants that travelled safety, so long as they sold enough goods. If they hadn't... well, their goods would be a free for all. It was simple as that. It was a bit harsh, but that was the way the world rolled, he'd explain. He loved having people wrapped so tight around his fingers, he could feel them going purple. The leadership had gone straight to the ego-sick man's head.

"Just came to see how the sales were going," he said through his grin. "Just seein' the sights. Ya know." He waved his hands again before putting them on his hips.

---

[spoiler=//tags — updated ;; 10/12/21]
general
> magnus brekker ;; mace
> male ;; he/him
> 26 ;; ages real time ;; august 24th
> vice world

physical
> physical health ;; 70%
> minor injuries ;; a few puncture wounds across torso from corset spines
> major injuries ;; concussion (recovering), broken arm (recovering), bad wound from corset spine (recovering).
> important things to note ;; covered in scars from fights and from metal corset spines breaking/popping from him bending too much/wearing corsets incorrectly ; worst of his scars is on his face across his left cheek

appearance
> long, brown hair pulled back in a tight bun ; very, very vibrant emerald green eyes ; built back and shoulders from swinging his bat, with a curved waist that dips into square hips ; small-ish hands ; 5'8" ; 230 lbs
> no body modifications
> wears a corset 90% of the time, which mostly are blue ; on special occassions wears a new corset he has ; black jeans ; combat boots
> no pocketed items ; carries a bat
> important things to note ;; n/a

personality
> very self-confident ; very impatient ; high ego ; has no sympathy ; aggressive ; sore temperament ; thinks highly of himself and lower towards others ; very apathetic
> no mental disabilities
> rolls shoulders often and checks for any displacement on his outfit

relationships
> missing parents
> no siblings
> pansexual
> no crushes

interaction/confrontation
> hard mentally | hard physically
> non-violent power play allowed
> will not attack/kill/maim/capture without asking the author
> do not kill/maim/capture without asking me (timothy)
> if you want to attack, use [color=red]this colour (red) and underline it

misc importance
> "this is him talking." ;; speech is bolded
> this is him thinking ;; thoughts are in italics
[/spoiler]

[magnus.]

u rock !

[color=transparent]YOU'RE AMAZING, DON'T FORGET IT <3

[color=transparent]u rock !

[align=center][abbr=claire made this!]―[/abbr] MAGNUS "MACE" BREKKER

[abbr=THIS TEXT BOX HAS HIDDEN SCROLLING]_____[/abbr]

//tw for gore mention and violence!

Magnus had to flee Bluestem. It was as easy as that―he ran. Like a coward. It wasn't the first time, of course. He always claimed that he had been tossed out of his first gang of bandits to become the tyrant of another, when in truth, he ran. Tail between his legs, he disappeared when the group was attacked, vanished in the middle of the fight, like he wasn't ever there in the first place. He was only young then, he didn't want people to believe he was weak. A scrawny, cowarding teenager would never make it in this new world.

Flintlock's attack on Bluestem nearly sent Magnus reeling from the group, but he stayed. He didn't want to flee when he had the perfect opportunity to show just how violent he claimed to be. The fight was over before he knew it, and it left him to stand in the middle of the bloodbath, with his bat, slowly dripping red. He himself was dripping, his other hand had been clinging to his side, where one of the spines of this corset had snapped, digging into his gut. He looked like he wanted to vomit where he stood. Pulling the spine out when he got to a quiet spot was like pulling a nail from a plank of wood. His teeth were grit and he wanted so badly to scream as he pulled it out. The tears did not stop.

Then, it was David. That monster. Magnus never liked him. He always seemed too nice. He was correct, albeit instead of someone else being the one David would snap on, it was Magnus. He left Bluestem with more than a bruised ego. He couldn't even remember what happened, only remembered flirting with a redhead, then turning around and seeing the giant man, looming over him. He could remember David's hands grabbing his shoulders and immediately tossing him to the ground so hard, Magnus couldn't see straight for a few days. He was positive he got a concussion with how hard David threw him to the ground. That wasn't the end of it, of course, because Magnus had to cradle his arm for a few weeks, knowing full well it was broken. He was lucky that David hadn't snapped it in half―Magnus was positive he could, if he so pleased.

Magnus had leaned against one of the buffalos at the gate upon arriving, panting and looking around. There was something about this place that Magnus felt he could really get himself into it. He noticed how people looked at him, and a thirst formed. Magnus wanted those curious, hesitant eyes to be filled with fear. He wanted to rule the whole park. Wanted to rule everyone. Broken arm and concussed brain or not, these people that would start to form a semi-circle around him would soon bow to him. That made him so hungry. So thirsty.

By now, Magnus had taken over the whole place, ruling it with an iron fist. His arm had been healed, although it still ached in certain ways. His head was long healed. Magnus rested against the Bison Head, lovingly named by Magnus―in his defense he was still concussed―and heaved a long, tired sigh. It had been a busy day, ordering people about and trying his best not to lose his patience with them. He headed towards the market to see what was on sale for today.

---

[spoiler=//tags — updated ;; 09/01/21]
general
> magnus brekker ;; mace
> male ;; he/him
> 26 ;; ages real time ;; august 24th
> vice world

physical
> physical health ;; 70%
> minor injuries ;; a few puncture wounds across torso from corset spines
> major injuries ;; concussion (recovering), broken arm (recovering), bad wound from corset spine (recovering).
> important things to note ;; covered in scars from fights and from metal corset spines breaking/popping from him bending too much/wearing corsets incorrectly ; worst of his scars is on his face across his left cheek

appearance
> long, brown hair pulled back in a tight bun ; very, very vibrant emerald green eyes ; built back and shoulders from swinging his bat, with a curved waist that dips into square hips ; small-ish hands ; 5'8" ; 230 lbs
> no body modifications
> wears a corset 90% of the time, which mostly are blue ; on special occassions wears a new corset he has ; black jeans ; combat boots
> no pocketed items ; carries a bat
> important things to note ;; n/a

personality
> very self-confident ; very impatient ; high ego ; has no sympathy ; aggressive ; sore temperament ; thinks highly of himself and lower towards others ; very apathetic
> no mental disabilities
> rolls shoulders often and checks for any displacement on his outfit

relationships
> missing parents
> no siblings
> pansexual
> no crushes

interaction/confrontation
> hard mentally | hard physically
> non-violent power play allowed
> will not attack/kill/maim/capture without asking the author
> do not kill/maim/capture without asking me (timothy)
> if you want to attack, use [color=red]this colour (red) and underline it

misc importance
> "this is him talking." ;; speech is bolded
> this is him thinking ;; thoughts are in italics
[/spoiler]