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“What do we got?”
Lucie rushed down the dark hallway wearing all black towards her 19 year old brother Andrew at the end of the hall. He pushed the large, metal sliding door open to reveal their hideout.
Decked with technology you could only get from over seas.
Lucie eyed the computers and gadgets of which eyed her back.
“I still don’t approve of how you got all of this.”
Andrew closed the door shut, shaking his head.
“You’ll get over it.” Sitting in his chair he sped away at the computer.
“Luca Oliveira is back in town.”
A man of mystery Luca Oliveira. His identity remains unknown to the U.S. government- in fact, every government. But, Andrew managed to get his picture up within seconds.
Lucie gasped as his photo came up.
Brown hair, glasses, with the most adorable face you’d ever laid your eyes on. He couldn’t hurt a fly.
“Such a mysterious, dangerous, wealthy man… with the most innocent face.”
“Yup… Anyways, he’s been trading with the Mexican mafia illegal weaponry, shipping it through unmarked sedans.”
“Smart.” Lucie added.
Andrew turned towards her.
“So… how do we go about this?”
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Lucie glanced at her reflection in the mirror in a seemingly long, fixed stare. A detailed plan was gradually manifesting in that witty mind of her’s, along with a few hast alternatives as a precaution. She peered over her shoulder to match Andrew’s inquiring eyes, “I say we stun them and I’ll get Luca, going for his companions first gives him the opportunity to escape”. With another quick glance at his picture displayed on the screen, an expression of repulse appears on her face, soon followed by a silent scoff and a slow pace beginning around the room. “We can’t possibly capture the rest, we’ll need to tip off the authorities, subdue them until they arrive to lock em’ up”. Andrew turns to Lucie, he . . .
I sincerely apologize for my awful RPing skills 
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Excuse you, your writing is amazing! You’re really good at describing expressions
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She’s a Super Saiyan!
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he gave her a knowing look. “I know you’re going to agree with me on this-”
“Yeah, I am,” she interrupted, turning back around to look at Luca’s smug face on the desktop. “If we call back up then that’s more we risk getting hurt in the crossfire. No, we don’t tell anyone.” Andrew was about to rebut but his sister gave him a look that told him to shut up. “You better suit up, I need you to have my back with this one.” With that, she left the room.
10 minutes later, Andrew was suited up and waiting in the car, engine running.
@RPers, need your help with this, please?!
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Cautiously entering the car, Lucie found her eyes briefly scanning the technological… improvements her brother had made to the car over the past few years - though her attention was soon focused on the police scanner as her brother begin driving out of their hideaway. To some, Andrew Hale was a genius - the youngest MIT graduate within a decade, taking Silicon Valley by storm. To her, however, Andrew would always be her younger brother - the boy she protected from bullies in elementary school when he skipped three grades.
Though initially lost in her thoughts, a sudden flare of emergencies seemed to soon take over the police scanner bringing her out of her self induced trip down memory lane. “What’s… going on?” Lucie questioned - initially thinking something was wrong with the scanner, though noticing all the emergencies were directed away from the weaponry exchange - she soon realized it was a diversion to limit police resources from the exchange. Despite this, something begin eating at Lucie… as if something would soon go horribly wrong.
“ETA Andrew?” she questioned as her brother sped down unmarked roads towards the meet up site.
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“About five minutes,” he replied, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. Lucie sat back in her seat, chewing on her bottom lip. They were so close to where the weaponry exchange would be, but then why was she getting the feeling that she should tell Andrew to go to where all the police were headed. But stopping this trade… it was imperative.
Andrew arrived at the lot where the trade was taking place, slowly moving the car to sit behind an abandoned building, where the black car was out of sight of Luca and his friends. She and Andrew got out of the car and Lucie pulled her mask on as Andrew pulled on his helmet. His suit was still somewhat experimental, so a helmet was as much as a safety precaution as it was a style icon and staple piece of his hero self—Techstorm. He was still working on the name.
Lucie calls herself Acinonyx, which is a genus of the cat family, the only living animal of which being a cheetah. She’s been nicknamed Speed Queen by some and Starfish by others, who find her regenerative abilities more impressive. Either way, Lucie is known in the media and many expect her to be at the scene of the crime nowadays. She was sure they’d expect her to be at the scene of the several emergencies, but stopping Luca was her greatest priority.
Lucie ran up the side of the building to get to the roof, while Andrew used his jetpack power to get to it. They crept to the end of the roof, where they saw Luca with his men and a girl with her men. Confused, she looked to Andrew. Weren’t they meeting with a mafia leader? Andrew scanned the girl with the facial recognition software on his suit, and her name popped up on the screen on his forearm: Verónica García. The eldest daughter of José Luis García, known Mexican mafia leader. A lot of people thought she would be the next person to take over the mafia, but the Garcías had never had a female leader before, even though she was more than capable. Lucie figured that this mission was her way of showing to her father that she could do it. Unfortunate that it was going to blow up in her face.
“Let’s go,” she told Andrew. He nodded, and the two of them shot off the roof of the building, Andrew is jetpack and Lucie by running down the side of the wall. They assumed fight stances, and were about to run at the group when Verónica and Luca turned to the two of them. Verónica regarded them with a cool expression while Luca had an eerie smile on his face. “Ah, Acinonyx. Techstorm. I’ve been expecting you,” he said, coming closer to them.
Andrew aimed a rocket at him, but Lucie motioned for him not to shoot. She frowned, confused. “How did you know we would be here?”
“It was very easy to get you to show up where I wanted you to. Planted some information, made it seem like I was creating a diversion… But really,” he grinned. “This is the diversion.”
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Hey @RPers, just wondering if you guys actually want this prompt thread to be continued? And if I do, will you actually post at least a sentence onto each prompt story?!
- Yes, please continue, I’ll post on each one
- Yes, I will post if it’s only a sentence needed
- If you choose to continue, I promise to post more
- Nah, I think it’s time to close it
0 voters
Sorry, @RPers, there was a glitch and I couldn’t see results without editing the poll
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That’s 'cause no one is it like one. The suggestion to take a character each was in the OP but no one reads it. Though it is still an RP/SG.
Also, please remember to blur or hide comments.
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This is an RP? 
I thought it was just short stories for practicing writing and receive constructive criticism
Just now realizing, I sound like a dumba$$ 
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Prompt Twelve
The damp, uneven ground was cold under his bare feet, but still he ran. Running further into the darkness, away from the light. “HELP,” he screamed, hoping someone would hear.
@fraud, @wanderingechoes, @L.C.R, @CerealKiller, @Tellyg47, @Nil, @novella, @euphoriaa, @Littlefeets, @Dusk, @FuzilladeBlue, @Yomama, @AS007, @Duckling, @ChaoticDeluge, @ForeverAngel, @phnx, @FuzilladeBlue, @Skyler2, @LTea, @Sylas_Breik57, @unsungcheerio, @BlondeGlassesGirl, @Wingsoffire, @Eccentric, @Dying_Dreams, @Mouschi, @Quinn, @OhSumana, @passionfruit, @idiot.exe, @BlackBlood, @LunaticLeviTheSecond, @Daunt, @sunflower.flow
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The damp muddy ground under his bare foot was slippery, as he dashed away through the heavy rain that, along with the darkness of the forest before him, obscured his vision. The eerie darkness seemed much more safe to him, than the vile brightness of the city, which once was pure, he left behind. He could feel that he was being chased. More determined to get away, he ran faster disappearing behind the tree trunks that seemed like ghostly figures. But the stored energy of his was about to finished soon, his bare foot was now covered with cuts and scratches. After all, Bentley was not a youth anymore. Believing that he had deceived the guards successfully, he sat down on the mossy ground underneath a tree. No longer he had gently placed the baby in his lap, than the baby boy started to cry loudly. His cries echoed in the forest.
Panicked and exhausted, Bentley tried to suppress the noise as it could alarm other creatures in the forest but it was normal for a on year old baby to cry if he was not given anything to eat for more than a day, wasn’t it? Bentley could not hold the tears in his eyes, as he held this baby close to his soaked chest in a fatherly affection. “You deserve a couple of maids looking after you day and night, you deserve all the love and care from your noble parents but alas!”, Bentley lamented as the warm tears from his old eyes flowed down by his stubbled cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord. I had to take you away from all the wealth and lavish treatment you could get for they would kill you the moment they spot you in the city…”
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As the little lord-ling kept crying in his lap, the aged man mourned the death of his lord, his benevolent and honourable lord who had died so brutally at the hands of the enemy whilst protecting his own army. Bentley looked down at the wailing infant whose heavy tears soaked his worn out shirt. He was tired, upset, desolate, confused… and most of all angry. Angry at what happened to him, to his lord, to the kingdom and to the tiny heir who was barely able to talk.
Why? Why did the Gods bestow such an ill-fated misery on his lord?
"Hush, child. " Bentley rocked the baby gently on his lap. "It’s alright. It’s all alright. "
But it wasn’t. Why in the hell was he trying to fill such worthless lies in the little lord-ling’s mind?
Bentley stopped rocking the infant for a moment. He looked into the infant’s eyes. They were big and round with a curiosity so full of childish innocence. Sapphire blue orbs similar to those of his deceased lord stared back at him and for a time, Bentley was filled with something so… grave. So powerful. So mysterious and… dangerous.
Retribution.
Cold winds started to blow and he shuddered at the chillness of the twilight. He wrapped the infant with his torn, brown coat to protect him from the cruel onslaught of the cold. As the infant started to go to sleep, he felt a deep heaviness in his heart as he remembered how the Tyrant Usurper from the East – King Maegon Hellfyre – had treacherously murdered his lord. The king who had invited his lord, Brendon Norvill to his feast himself put a sword to his neck and slashed his head off. That is when all hell fell loose. Bentley remembered it all. He saw the killings of the brave soldiers who had served his fallen lord. He saw how his men were hanged and burnt alive as if they weren’t humans but mere pieces of flesh. He saw the level of barbarism and inhumanity the tyrant King could resort to just to get the hold of The North.
Bentley closed his eyes. A tear fell down his cheeks as his chin wobbled at the memory of how his lord’s dead body was defiled. How his head was put to the spike and served to the king as his new ‘antique’ piece to be shown to everyone in his showcase.
The old man could hear the clouds thundering. It was going to rain soon and heavily. Affirming himself that he would not be bothered by anyone with the heavy storm coming in soon enough, he decided to leave. Bentley picked up the long asleep young lord-ling in his arms and went away, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
As he walked and walked, Bentley whispered to himself, "Maegon Hellfyre must serve, "
The skies turned even darker and the rains poured down heavily, yet Bentley did not shudder once. He was numb to the cold touch of nature. He was numb to the fear of death and of the unknown.
Why would you fear death when you have felt the fear of death and conquered it anyway?
"Maegon Hellfyre must die. " Yes, the tyrant must die. He should die and pay for his sin. The sin of committing the murder of his own guest who had not harmed him in any way. Bentley kept whispering and whispering to himself, "Maegon Hellfyre must serve, Maegon Hellfyre must die." and all those who were involved in his plans and ploys to kill his lord and usurp his kingdom.
It became a silent prayer, a mission for justice and a promise of vengeance to his dead lord and all the depraved souls who had faced injustice at the hands of The Tyrant Usurper.
But first, he had to get to safety and find a home far away from the prying eyes of the deadly and dangerous foes who would try to kill Rikkard Norvill, his new little lord sleeping soundly in his fragile arms.
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Bentley’s physical strength had drained away long ago. As the bitterly cold wind cut into in his skin sharply as a whetted knife over the soaked and damaged clothing material he had on, he concentrated upon providing the infant his body heat. The vengeful chanting, the emerging heat of his loyalty turning into rage and hatred in his chest provided him strength and will-power.
The vast pitch black sky was now tinged with a scarlet hue. The sun had risen up, the sun of new beginning had risen up. Bentley found out that he had crossed the forest walking barefoot all through the night. A mere butler of Royal Castle like, Bentley, who had never stepped out of the castle, was not supposed to know the lands well. The old man squinted his eyes in the sun light and as he spotted a small land with ten or fifteen shacks, farm lands before him. The people roaming about the streets looked shabby and poor.
“Outskirts of the kingdom.”, Bentley assumed.
It could be the best hidden spot where he could reside and bring up the Lord-ling peacefully and without any threats for years.
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Summary
I’m really loving how this story’s going tbh !
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But Bentley was aware that as long as his lord’s heir was alive, he wasn’t safe. No matter what, the tyrant king wouldn’t stop until he had the innocent boy’s head brought to him. Bentley had to think fast and tread carefully.
After all, survival of the fittest was not a piece of cake.
He walked through the shabby lands loitered with poor and unkempt people. Thankfully, his senile and weakly appearance and worn out clothes did not bring him to anyone’s attention. Every person, every pair of eyes that looked at him did not bother with him for more than a moment or two. He trotted down the alleyways as similar as a street vagabond did. He had to find some sort of a shelter soon. He had no plans to perish along with his little lord in such a dreadful excuse of a place.
Finally, after half an hour or so of mindless travelling and asking directions from random people on the road, Bentley and Rikkard arrived in front of a building (if it could even be called a building, looked more like a run-down cottage though) which seemed to be a… a tavern? Bentley was surprised to know that taverns existed too in awful inhabitions – pardon his less-than-ideal vocabulary, inhabitations like these! Usually taverns were built some few yards from the nearest kingdom where knights and soldiers dressed in finest armory and equipment visited for their daily dose of ale, meat and mindless chattering about their women (half of which were too vulgar to be narrated by him).
Nonetheless, Bentley was too hungry, thirsty and too tired too think of such futile things. With Little Lord Rikkard tucked secretly in his arms, he ventured into the tavern. Bentley touched his left side-pocket to make sure that he still had his sharp dagger with him, just in case things got messy with these drunk hobos.
To his relief, the tavern was vacant except for a young loner of a boy sulking quietly in a corner with a mug of ale in his hand and four old men playing cards and giggling (yes you heard right, giggling) among themselves.
Too tired to think straight, Bentley sat down on one of the old benches and sighed in relief. His aged legs seemed to breath out in a blessed satisfaction. Bentley considered resting his hands for a while by putting Rikkard beside him on the bench. But paranoia struck him hard that anyone could be watching him so he gently put the sleeping baby on his lap hidden from everyone’s sights.
As he relaxed his hands and breathed out heavily, Bentley contemplated the incidents that happened in the last few hours. To him, it was all so surreal. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would reach here, at this point of life.
Rikkard stirred in his sleep which alerted Bentley. The old man bent his head down and hummed sweet rhythms of Elixirs Of Meralia into his ears, a song that Rikkard’s nurse used to sing to him to make him sleep. To the man’s relief, the boy went back to sleep soundly.
“Greetings, traveller!”
Bentley almost lost his breath from the sudden interruption. He turned around to see a tall, slender woman holding a clay pitcher in her hand. She had long brown hair tucked in a messy updo on her head and green eyes that reminded him the forest that he used to visit with his wife and daugh –
No! No. The past is the past. Leave it as it is. Behind.
Bentley stared at the girl and when it started to get too awkward, he cleared his throat (which was too dry, he could hardly speak clearly). He needed to drink water and quench his thirst as soon as possible.
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The waitress lady merely rolled her eyes at the old man’s silence. Newbie - She commented in her mind as the old traveller only stared at her, as if trying too exhausted to speak. She was very familiar to this kind, the weak. They did not even last a day in their locality. Looking down in his lap, he was holding something so close to his torso, it was hardly possible to identify what it was, especially when the tavern is poorly illuminated.
As soon as the lady’s gazed went down at his lap, Bentley pulled Rikkard closer to his chest quickly shooting a glare at the lady. Did - Did she recognize me?! - Fear ceased his mind. But suddenly the woman, slammed the wooden counter.
“If yer’ ready ta’ order, then do it or get the h*ll outta 'ere!!”, he voice echoed in the small space gaining some curious stares from the background. After all, everyone would love a little drama in this mundane and monotonous land. “Give the old chap a break, Polly!”, someone voiced from table a little far away from them. Bentley was already having second thoughts about residing in this h£ll. How was he supposed to raise Rikkard to be the lawful, enlightened and polite King like his father was among this dirty rude lowlives?
“W-water…”, he managed to utter in a stammering and broken voice.
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Polly felt bad for the old tramp and also a little bit guilty for shouting at him. But, could you really blame her? It was not a piece of cake to serve all these drunk and idiot b*stards without letting your patience run thinner than The Hollow River that used to flow down The Cascades in volumes ages ago.
First, she had encountered some perverted hobos in the morning who wouldn’t stop bothering her despite repeated outbursts and threats of chopping and gouging their eyeballs off their sockets and shoving them down their throats. Then, she had to serve The Gigglers sitting right now in a group at one corner and of course, The Silent Hawk, Sýed Armaan, sitting alone as usual and staring off into space. She had got to know his name from the poorly sewn fabric at the back of his overcoat. She knew that he was a Yzlam as his name suggested it. Polly mentally patted herself on the back for going through the cheap and torn books of the nearby bookshop in her pastime and furthering her knowledge about various cultures, nations and their history as much as a mere tavern worker like her could (though something told her that the silent hawk’s name wasn’t really what she thought to be).
“A’ight, mate.” Polly nodded at the old tramp to pick up one of the tumblers on the table. The man looked at the old, brownish and worn out tumblers and his face contorted to one of shock and disgust.
The waitress rolled her eyes. Yeah, this ain’t a castle for Heaven’s sake!
Bentley gulped when he touched one tumbler. Just go with the flow, old man. You’re thirsty. One dirty tumbler wouldn’t really make a difference. You already smell worse than a pack of butchered hounds.
“Just pick 'em up, ya maggot buffoon!” The girl stomped the clay pitcher on the table in such fury it was a wonder it didn’t break already. Bentley jumped in fright and that’s when a child’s cry from his lap emanated all through the tavern.
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“Would yer’ look at that, Polly, that fella 'as stole a baby,” a voice should to the wench with the pitcher. It was the same voice as before. Polly looked toward the old man, quizzically.
@RPers, wanna add to that story?
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