https://thefirstage.org/forums/ Fri, 17 Apr 2026 14:20:25 +0000 MyBB https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1975.html Fri, 03 Apr 2026 15:31:24 +0000 Giovanni]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1975.html
Giovanni still didn’t know why she had asked him to come with her after the ordeal with Zholdin. All he knew was when Grym beckoned, he had followed. Outside of the gopnik club, the voices inside had become completely silent again. The specters inside that fed on chaos were gone, replaced only by calm. It was an odd feeling - a feeling Giovanni hadn’t felt since he had left the Atharim. It was a feeling Giovanni was still trying to figure out. 

Giovanni was sure Grym didn’t like him. He was equally sure she wanted to kill him, but as of yet, hadn’t done so. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t asked. In fact, he had barely spoken since they had left the club, answering only when spoken to, and even then, he spoke will generally monosyllabic answers. She still knew him as “Dante.” He hadn’t given her his real name yet or the name he had buried when he had fled. He hadn’t asked her anything, but when they had gotten some supplies, he had paid his fair share for them. He hadn’t even asked about the dreykan head. He knew she had wanted it, but didn’t know if she had swiped it from under Zholdin’s nose or not. 

The silence wasn’t morose. He was quiet, but it was content. That was something else he hadn’t felt for a long time. The thought that existing was enough. It was all odd, and that is what led to the silence. He wasn’t being speculative and trying to figure out if he liked this or not. He had made no contact with Omar - who was probably freaking out by now, but Giovanni didn’t worry about that. He almost had no desire to return to Egypt, or go anywhere else. 

His eyes looked around and landed on the car. Giovanni knew little about cars, but he knew enough to know that this one wasn’t a new one. They didn’t make cars like that anymore, but despite the age it was very well maintained. Grym took care of the vehicle. It was probably very important to her. So when Giovanni decided to speak it was to be about the car - something that his host found interesting, even if he had no idea what to say about it.

Giovanni remained seated, his eyes on the car. ”Interesting car - you don’t see them like that anymore.” his voice was measured and calm and he spoke as if this was completely natural, despite it being the first full sentence he had spoken since they had left the club. ”How long have you had it?”]]>
Giovanni still didn’t know why she had asked him to come with her after the ordeal with Zholdin. All he knew was when Grym beckoned, he had followed. Outside of the gopnik club, the voices inside had become completely silent again. The specters inside that fed on chaos were gone, replaced only by calm. It was an odd feeling - a feeling Giovanni hadn’t felt since he had left the Atharim. It was a feeling Giovanni was still trying to figure out. 

Giovanni was sure Grym didn’t like him. He was equally sure she wanted to kill him, but as of yet, hadn’t done so. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t asked. In fact, he had barely spoken since they had left the club, answering only when spoken to, and even then, he spoke will generally monosyllabic answers. She still knew him as “Dante.” He hadn’t given her his real name yet or the name he had buried when he had fled. He hadn’t asked her anything, but when they had gotten some supplies, he had paid his fair share for them. He hadn’t even asked about the dreykan head. He knew she had wanted it, but didn’t know if she had swiped it from under Zholdin’s nose or not. 

The silence wasn’t morose. He was quiet, but it was content. That was something else he hadn’t felt for a long time. The thought that existing was enough. It was all odd, and that is what led to the silence. He wasn’t being speculative and trying to figure out if he liked this or not. He had made no contact with Omar - who was probably freaking out by now, but Giovanni didn’t worry about that. He almost had no desire to return to Egypt, or go anywhere else. 

His eyes looked around and landed on the car. Giovanni knew little about cars, but he knew enough to know that this one wasn’t a new one. They didn’t make cars like that anymore, but despite the age it was very well maintained. Grym took care of the vehicle. It was probably very important to her. So when Giovanni decided to speak it was to be about the car - something that his host found interesting, even if he had no idea what to say about it.

Giovanni remained seated, his eyes on the car. ”Interesting car - you don’t see them like that anymore.” his voice was measured and calm and he spoke as if this was completely natural, despite it being the first full sentence he had spoken since they had left the club. ”How long have you had it?”]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1955.html Mon, 02 Feb 2026 17:19:53 +0000 Jia Xin Kao]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1955.html
It wasn’t hard, of course. A little healthy wagering and boasting: that a club under the Kao’s design and purview would be the most successful of the lot. Not that Jia Xin actually intended to do anything so base as run it herself. Before the conversation had even gotten cold her diamond tipped nails had tapped a message to Connie on her wallet. He’d not refuse. And by the time she called him directly, in the early hours after the party had finally wound down, she knew he’d be on the first flight to Moscow. Jia Xin’s own plans adjusted seamlessly. Perhaps the city would be more tolerable with Constantine’s company.

The next day she met the security arranged through Pervaya Liniya: a bespectacled British man Jia Xin did little more than glance at for now. He was formal, polite, and he fit into her schedule without fuss. She was not interested in making conversation.

After some quick deliberation over a lavish breakfast in her suite, she called home and asked Liyana to arrange a realtor to shortlist suitable properties. Her cousin exclaimed aghast down the phone, but Jia Xin only laughed and told her Moscow was not so bad as all that. Zixin might be content to slum it in a hotel, but Jia Xin was not so easily satisfied. Not that it wasn’t as beautiful as the man who owned it, but Zizi ought to be sending the message that he intended to stay – and that included a suitably impressive home for a Kao. Fortunately he had a dutiful sister to take care of such things. Afterwards she called her Yeye to ask his forgiveness – always an easier conversation than begging for permission. By the time Connie arrived, Jia Xin’s visit here would no longer be secret: the socials would be abuzz with rumour and speculation once they were within one another’s orbit. Better to tell her grandfather now that she intended to stay.

To fill her time she explored the city a little that day, and found the experience entirely novel. No one recognised her, which was in equal measures refreshing and disconcerting. Though she had to share the space with other tourists, something she decided she was less enamoured of. Navigating transport was unfamiliar too, but she found a use for Edwin Dean then, and to his credit he did not complain. Later, after a dinner dined alone in Radiance’s exquisite restaurant, Jia Xin dressed and readied herself for the business which had brought her to Moscow in the first place. A quiet thrill hummed in her stomach, a smile on the edge of her lips.

The sun set early this time of year, and the industrial district was not busy – or the part she had the car directed to, anyway. Jia Xin’s clothes were dark and serviceable, and she wore no jewellery or adornment, but somehow she still looked rich. She let Edwin open the car door, but did not pause to wait for him when she stepped out into the cold. A man stood by a warehouse door, tall, long hair smoothed back from his temples. He was not watching for her arrival; rather, he seemed to be thinking quietly, and yet his eyes found her anyway, swiped quickly to Edwin Dean, and then returned to her.

“Ms Kao?” he said. His voice was smooth, accented.]]>
It wasn’t hard, of course. A little healthy wagering and boasting: that a club under the Kao’s design and purview would be the most successful of the lot. Not that Jia Xin actually intended to do anything so base as run it herself. Before the conversation had even gotten cold her diamond tipped nails had tapped a message to Connie on her wallet. He’d not refuse. And by the time she called him directly, in the early hours after the party had finally wound down, she knew he’d be on the first flight to Moscow. Jia Xin’s own plans adjusted seamlessly. Perhaps the city would be more tolerable with Constantine’s company.

The next day she met the security arranged through Pervaya Liniya: a bespectacled British man Jia Xin did little more than glance at for now. He was formal, polite, and he fit into her schedule without fuss. She was not interested in making conversation.

After some quick deliberation over a lavish breakfast in her suite, she called home and asked Liyana to arrange a realtor to shortlist suitable properties. Her cousin exclaimed aghast down the phone, but Jia Xin only laughed and told her Moscow was not so bad as all that. Zixin might be content to slum it in a hotel, but Jia Xin was not so easily satisfied. Not that it wasn’t as beautiful as the man who owned it, but Zizi ought to be sending the message that he intended to stay – and that included a suitably impressive home for a Kao. Fortunately he had a dutiful sister to take care of such things. Afterwards she called her Yeye to ask his forgiveness – always an easier conversation than begging for permission. By the time Connie arrived, Jia Xin’s visit here would no longer be secret: the socials would be abuzz with rumour and speculation once they were within one another’s orbit. Better to tell her grandfather now that she intended to stay.

To fill her time she explored the city a little that day, and found the experience entirely novel. No one recognised her, which was in equal measures refreshing and disconcerting. Though she had to share the space with other tourists, something she decided she was less enamoured of. Navigating transport was unfamiliar too, but she found a use for Edwin Dean then, and to his credit he did not complain. Later, after a dinner dined alone in Radiance’s exquisite restaurant, Jia Xin dressed and readied herself for the business which had brought her to Moscow in the first place. A quiet thrill hummed in her stomach, a smile on the edge of her lips.

The sun set early this time of year, and the industrial district was not busy – or the part she had the car directed to, anyway. Jia Xin’s clothes were dark and serviceable, and she wore no jewellery or adornment, but somehow she still looked rich. She let Edwin open the car door, but did not pause to wait for him when she stepped out into the cold. A man stood by a warehouse door, tall, long hair smoothed back from his temples. He was not watching for her arrival; rather, he seemed to be thinking quietly, and yet his eyes found her anyway, swiped quickly to Edwin Dean, and then returned to her.

“Ms Kao?” he said. His voice was smooth, accented.]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1697.html Thu, 12 Dec 2024 01:52:20 +0000 Grym]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1697.html
She navigated through the cluttered warehouse, dodging boxes and tools scattered on the floor. At her workstation, an old laptop sat next to a pile of leather scraps. She had to special order the leather for her project and have it delivered to a nondescript pick-up address. Grym didn't have an official residence, so she avoided receiving mail. After all, with no surname to use, who would know where to send it?

It seemed the package was ready, so she wiped off her hands with some mineral spirits to loosen the grease under her nails and prepared to go. A thought crossed her mind. Almost no Atharim crossed her path and few left her messages. She was pretty much a lone wolf in Prague, but in Moscow, she knew few in the ranks anyway. Just as she suspected, there were no messages. It was radio silence out there.

She shrugged on the leather jacket and drove to the city. The warehouse was outside the Third Ring Road in a defunct industrial district. There were no residential areas, and most of the buildings were gated, locked, chained, and boarded up tight. Most didn't have electricity, and she only did because of old wiring still powering the bone black incinerators. It made for an eerie drive back, but Grym liked the solitude. She had to fend off homeless or vagrants once in a while, but word spread to avoid her building eventually. At this point, she only had the stray monster to worry about. Except right now, she realized she had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner.

Sighing, she rerouted toward the nearest market. Finally, she reached her destination - a small corner shop with its bright neon sign flickering in the cold winter air. As she parked her car, she noticed a group of gopniks huddled together, their puffed up coats and hoodies shielding them from the biting cold. It seemed they had been there for a while, but unless they made themselves her business, she didn’t care about theirs. She only spared them a brief glance before diving into the shop, eager to find something warm and filling to appease her grumbling stomach.]]>
She navigated through the cluttered warehouse, dodging boxes and tools scattered on the floor. At her workstation, an old laptop sat next to a pile of leather scraps. She had to special order the leather for her project and have it delivered to a nondescript pick-up address. Grym didn't have an official residence, so she avoided receiving mail. After all, with no surname to use, who would know where to send it?

It seemed the package was ready, so she wiped off her hands with some mineral spirits to loosen the grease under her nails and prepared to go. A thought crossed her mind. Almost no Atharim crossed her path and few left her messages. She was pretty much a lone wolf in Prague, but in Moscow, she knew few in the ranks anyway. Just as she suspected, there were no messages. It was radio silence out there.

She shrugged on the leather jacket and drove to the city. The warehouse was outside the Third Ring Road in a defunct industrial district. There were no residential areas, and most of the buildings were gated, locked, chained, and boarded up tight. Most didn't have electricity, and she only did because of old wiring still powering the bone black incinerators. It made for an eerie drive back, but Grym liked the solitude. She had to fend off homeless or vagrants once in a while, but word spread to avoid her building eventually. At this point, she only had the stray monster to worry about. Except right now, she realized she had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner.

Sighing, she rerouted toward the nearest market. Finally, she reached her destination - a small corner shop with its bright neon sign flickering in the cold winter air. As she parked her car, she noticed a group of gopniks huddled together, their puffed up coats and hoodies shielding them from the biting cold. It seemed they had been there for a while, but unless they made themselves her business, she didn’t care about theirs. She only spared them a brief glance before diving into the shop, eager to find something warm and filling to appease her grumbling stomach.]]>