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Post by swiftyuki on Aug 5, 2019 17:20:36 GMT -8
Mike. Who is he? What is he? Why is he? Well, we're not entirely sure. Mike does whatever it is Mike do. Well, whatever it was he was doing- Sitting at home? Sure, let's say he was doing that. Heck, I'm the one telling the story! ...Well, sort of. While he was sitting at home, probably finishing up a meal, his world would have warped around him. A dense fog flew in and his room wasn't his room anymore. No, this poor boy was now on a cobblestone street, a black and white setting like he was in a movie, complete with a saxophone playing jazz softly in the background. Instead of sitting on a chair, he was now on the ground, the light of a street lamp singling him out on this late night escapade.
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Post by Sora-No on Aug 5, 2019 21:46:20 GMT -8
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Mike was just chilling around. Being a dude. Making some fucking chicken quesadillas. He finally got to finishing it, sitting down on the bed like a fucking animal and planning to gorge into his meal. He might not have been focusing too well, getting halfway through his quesadilla before he noted that his room was becoming quite foggy.
Is the fucking place on fire? He'd get up only to find out... he wasn't sitting down in the first place. He was standing on a gray stone pathway. And everything was... black and white. Including him. His hands, his hoodie, his fucking shoes. The piece of quesadilla in his hand? Also black and white.
Who drugs a fucking quesadilla?
He would take a second, his right hand close to his side as he watched the area around him. Now he was noting something else: fucking jazz music. What's he supposed to do now? Monologue? Fuck no. "Okay, whoever messed with me, please kindly go away, I have a quesadilla to finish, and then I'll be right back. Promise." He honestly was just firing bullshit out into open air. He was quite nervous, if he would admit such a thing. But instead, he's going to sit here and bullshit to whoever put mushrooms into his fucking food.
Gods what is going on.
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Post by swiftyuki on Aug 5, 2019 22:04:37 GMT -8
Of course, saying something so stupid out loud in the open would garner attention. Silly boy, don't you know how these things work? Boots hit the cobblestone, a soft clopping growing louder and echoing slightly off the buildings. Well, in the limelight, it's hard to see what they were. But judging by the very tidy, more than likely ironed to perfection suits, and a club hanging from a belt as well as the occasional sparkle on their chest, it had to be one thing. The police!
They'd stop and gather around him, ready to catch this quesadilla handed boy red! ..Handed! [smear:#98c0d6]"Alright, now, son. It's a bit late out for kids like you to be roaming these crime ridden streets. We're gonna have to take you in for some questioning and then we'll have to contact your parents so they can pick you up and take you home."[/smear:#b892e2:3] Right to the quick, this sheriff wasn't messing about! One of the policemen would grab Mike by the arm. Not the one holding the quesadilla obviously. That would mean Mike could drop his snack on the ground and these cops weren't monsters. Okay, maybe John over there was, but this is a magic world and we're accepting of our wonderful justice-bound three-eyed, purple toned, tentacle legged friend.
And if Mike were to struggle? The cops were just about ready to jump into action to cuff him. No one wanted that quesadilla to drop onto the cold, sad ground where it would lay there in the rain hoping that some poor, starved rat or bug would crawl its way over to have at least a single bite into its then decrepit state. Man, just the thought of this really brings out the drastic violin string quartet out from me.
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Post by Sora-No on Aug 6, 2019 22:22:35 GMT -8
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Mike would turn around to find two police. Well, he'd assume two, since one was just a tentacle covered mess with a wannabe police hat on top of its demented head. God, it looks like a slightly annoyed octopus got shat on by an equally annoyed twat waffle. He'd have to figure out what the fuck was going on and leave whatever drug-filled trip this was.
Or not, as he was quickly grabbed by one of them and sent along whatever twisted way they're bringing him. He would take a bite of his quesadilla for the road, talking to the officer's while chewing, "So uh," a pause to chew a bit more, "if I'm a legal adult and don't have, you know, a caretaker or anything, how does that change this situation?" You know, now that he's thinking about it, he probably shouldn't take a bite out of the drug-filled food. But it's just so damn good, okay?
"I mean, I wouldn't want to waste you fine officers' times if you don't have anyone to call." This is some noir shit right here. He should get a leather jacket while he's hear. Maybe smoke a pipe and talk all low and raspy. Say how he wanted to have an 'out' from the start but keeps getting dragged into business.
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Post by swiftyuki on Aug 11, 2019 22:04:50 GMT -8
A soft gasp came out from one of the two officers. [smear:#98c0d6]"This young lad is an orphan? Running around these streets on such a cold, rainy night?"[/smear:#b892e2:3] Not sure if Mike noticed but these policement were rather tall. Actually, a good look around and everything around him seemed way taller than he'd be accustomed to. [smear:#98c0d6]"Not to worry son, we'll find you an orphanage or some place that'll keep you safe."[/smear:#b892e2:3] Unless.... Well, see, this is why he's going to be asked a few questions.
Now as nice as it would to lay the scene of the three strolling the streets, we're not doing that. Time passed, blah, blah, blah, aaand here we are. Michael is now sitting in a dark room. No hands or tentacles on him, but despite that and being armed with a quesadilla, he'd find himself unable to move from the chair. Any movement and he'd hear a soft clinking. He was cuffed. Oh man, you're in for it now Michael! IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME!
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Post by Sora-No on Aug 17, 2019 22:40:33 GMT -8
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Mike would go to interrupt them, let them know that 'hey, he's a fucking adult, and he's not an orphan." But since it's such a cold, dreary, night, he had a feeling they'd take him in for being a suspicious fuckwit for being an adult, and it'd be a much smarter choice to just go along with Tentacle Man and Mr. Tall Ass.
Now that he's noticed, though, everything's tall as shit. Come on, this is just trippy. More trippy than drugging a quesadilla to make a random redheaded ass bitch see trippy shit. Where in the fuck is his mind taking him? Does he have to recite a spell or something to be let out to have him fucking leave? He doesn't know, but he's going to just hold on to his thinking quesadilla and figure it out.
Cut to the cell. Which he's chained to. You know, for someone going 'oH gOd An OrPhAn' they sure are great at putting orphans in fucking chains. Quite odd indeed. At least he still has his food. He'd reach to take a bite out of it, only for the chain to not be long enough for him to bite it. What evil bastards. Have him be able to keep his food and not be able to fucking eat it.
These guys must hate orphans.
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Post by swiftyuki on Sept 7, 2019 23:41:34 GMT -8
A silhouette of a person walked into the room. They threw a file down onto the table, an audible 'slap' when it landed, a few papers spilling ever so slightly out from it. A sound of a chain being pulled and a click and a single lightbulb illuminated the room. Now let's get a better look at this handsome devil, shall we? Young face, pretty good looking- Heya handsome how you doin'? He didn't look like the other two that brought Mike in. He had a sleek body, not even in a proper police uniform, more in a duster with a suit underneath. Everything about him seemed neat, even with how his hair fell over to the side and spilling onto the side of his face. And that thing in his hand? It's not a cigar, that's unhealthy you fools. A lollipop.
[smear:#98c0d6]"Sorry about the roughhousing son, but gotta use a little force when civilians aren't compliant with the law."[/smear:#b892e2:3], he said, putting the lollipop in his mouth, taking it back out quickly and eyeing it. He sighed, cherry. Seriously who though artificial cherry was a good idea for a flavour of... well, anything really? He popped it back in his mouth and sat down across the table from Mike. He gathered the papers and then opened up the file properly. [smear:#98c0d6]"So it says here your name is Michael Nailo, ay? Now tell me son, what were you doing out at night armed with... a quesadilla?"[/smear:#b892e2:3] Even to this STUD of a detective, a quesadilla for a weapon? Well, he couldn't totally doubt that, it's potentially happened before by a certain weapon crazed wolf roaming these here streets.
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Post by Sora-No on Dec 2, 2019 9:33:20 GMT -8
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Mike would give a grin as the lights turned on (sidenote: who puts orphans in chains in pitch black rooms?) as he eyed up the detective. Oh, goody, not an amalgamation of what the fuck. "Oh, I was fully compliant. I only got a bit upset when they tried to take my food." You don't take a man's quesadilla, it's fucking disrespectful.
Don't do that.
After being asked the questions, he would lean forward, looking at the detective, "Well, it's more of a quarter of a quesadilla, but other than that, yeah you're spot on for the most part." Though, he should probably tell him that it's a thinking quesadilla, blessed with the knowledge of a thousand forefathers in his generation. Only downside is that they're all stupid as hell like him, so there's not much knowledge in this thing.
"Speaking of which, can you at least unchain this hand? I've been trying to finish eating this thing for like a half hour but-" cue the reaching of the quesadilla and the chain not letting him eat it, "I think that breaks the Geneva Convention. It's just cruel." A light laugh left his lips.
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Post by swiftyuki on Feb 29, 2020 20:40:56 GMT -8
[smear:#98c0d6]"Sure son."[/smear:#b892e2:2] The officer went over and uncuffed the one hand, not even thinking about what that could imply. But hey, the kid was hungry. He'd like to eat if he was hungry too. Aaahhh empathy. [smear:#98c0d6]"Now, still gotta know what you were doin out late at night there son. We don't typically have night activity unless you intend to be a prowler."[/smear:#b892e2:2]
Prowlers. What were they? Who were they? Why were they? Very similar parallels to what we asked about Michael. IF THAT IS HIS REAL NAME!
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