Disguised as Salazar "Sal" Worthington:

---

Tomoe was hesitant about once more donning the veil of Ormus' Hundred Hoods, to say the least. The last time, out in Northern Fiore, he had almost lost himself in madness to its allure. It was a seductress that tempted him with the power to forget himself and become another, and in his already fragile and fragmented existence it was a tempting offer. He would forgo his regular self to become Ruby Red, the Bloody Barber, horror to the miners of Dawncliff. Day after day he would assume her face, that of a woman he had never met, and maimed, tortured and killed anyone she had come across. He was playing a character at first, as a way to let loose his lingering urges gained from his time in the Midnight Cult. Over time, though, the mask became attached all too closely to the point where he was inseparable from the entity known as Ruby Red. They were two separate people with different goals and lives to live, Tomoe and Ruby.

For a while it felt as if Tomoe's own consciousness had been buried deep within an infinitely empty void that he would never escape from; a realm so dark and ghastly that the only escape would be to stop thinking entirely and give up what remained of himself. Only after rebelling with all of his heart and soul did he escape the clutches of a force far greater than he ever intended to touch upon.

However, Tomoe wasn't the type that learned things the easy way. He was stubborn, but more than that, he thought that the positives far outweighed the negatives. If he could do such things without negatively impacting the guild, he would do so without hesitation again and again. There was little that could stop the Joyan from his greed and desire to grow stronger, and if that meant losing parts of himself in the process, it would be a small price to pay. Who could possibly stop him now? He was on top of the world. He was a pillar holding up his guild, is what he was, and they didn't even know it! Glory wasn't his desire though, enjoying his time in the shadows of obscurity while others soared beyond him in popularity. Taking up the mantle of an unknown layabout was what he preferred as a guild mage, and such was what he aimed for while using the many faces that the hoods could produce for him. The limit of one hundred faces was not something he would worry about any time soon, as that left plenty of room to play around with.

For now, Tomoe had taken up his current job as the elusive and slimy Mr. Salazar Worthington, nicknamed Sal by his friends. As he strolled into Marigold's theater for the job he hummed a familiar yet ever so unfamiliar tune to himself, a boisterous and jovial man of both mystery and intrigue. On the outside there was not a single evil bone in Sal's body, a pleasant man and lover of the arts by all accounts.

On such a fine, sunny day, Sal arrived at the theater ten minutes early. He went over a mission briefing with the director and was told that their star performer was missing and needed to be on stage in an hour.

“Oh, my word. Why, that is absolutely dreadful! I'll find him with all due haste, you have my word!”, Sal exclaimed loudly, a flair for the dramatic present in his tone and gestures.

Just like that, the eccentric pale-faced man was off, running a hand through his balding pink hair as he waltzed down the street with pep in his step. The employer mentioned something about the performer likely being at one of the local pubs around this hour, and Sal set out with the intent to find the troublesome troubadour. Nobody could be absent from a theatrical performance – especially not the leading man!

---

Spells used:

WC: 662/1700 [15% reduced]

Disguised as Salazar "Sal" Worthington:

---

Sal hopped, skipped and stepped all throughout Marigold with the intent of finding and ensuring the return of the theater's star performer by any means necessary. Going from pub to pub, Sal would find no trace of the man. He had been described to the eccentric Mr. Worthington as a man with a square jaw, unkempt black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a slight Caelese accent. Overall, the man was described as being the kind of prodigal beauty that was more than deserving of a star role; if not for the apparent crippling alcohol addiction and obsessive levels of insecurity in his low moments, he'd probably be the perfect human, from what Sal had heard. The thought tickled Sal's own jealousy meter momentarily, but he eventually crammed it deep into his psyche once again. There was nothing for Salazar Worthington to be jealous of, and certainly nothing he would change about himself to more closely resemble the star performer he was searching for. Certainly not! Sal grumbled with this thought buzzing in his brain like a fly that couldn't be killed as he advanced towards the last pub within Marigold. For being some handsome star, the man was difficult to find and apparently not surrounded by legions of adoring fans the way Sal imagined a beloved actor to be.

Soon after entering the last pub on his list, Sal knew why. Almost instantly, the place reeked of alcoholic; and while that might be obvious for a pub, it was more the kind of alcoholic that couldn't be stopped. Moreover, there was nobody else in the bar aside from two people: the bartender on one end drying mugs, and a man in a sharp black suit on the other. His hair was jet black and upon closing in, also noted to have a very well-defined jaw and gleaming blue eyes. Those eyes, however, were downcast into a half-empty mug of ale. He appeared almost dead inside, with no reflection of light in his eyes off of the various lighting within the pub. His normally dreamy blue eyes were mere azure voids staring into a liquid abyss, and the very aura that he gave off as Sal drew near was one of crushed dreams and failure. There was not a single glint of recognition in the star's gaze, even as he looked up blankly at Sal once he had taken an adjacent seat.

---

Spells used:

WC: 1063/1700 [15% reduced]

Disguised as Salazar "Sal" Worthington:

---

"Wha... -hic!- Whaddya want...? You want an autograph, do ya?", the man spoke up immediately once the two had locked eyes, pulling out a notepad as if it were a natural reflex and a pen following shortly thereafter.

The man began to lazily scribble what Sal presumed was a name. With precision like a blind sniper and the elegance of a bull in a magic shop, the theater star delivered to Sal a chicken scratch piece of paper with the name "Dale" on it. Or at least, Mr. Worthington thought that it read "Dale". It was unclear, mostly because he couldn't trust anything that a flailing drunk could do without assistance.

"Dale, is it? I'm so sorry my dear, but your drinks will need to end here! To the theater you'll go, with celebratory confetti your colleagues and fans will throw!", Sal responded without missing a beat, ignoring the man's antagonistic attitude despite Tomoe internally wanting to throw a punch at him at this point.

Sal was more patient than Tomoe, however, and that would be the defining factor. His eccentric optimism was a blessing in disguise in situations like this that called for diplomacy over outright violence. There would be no good to come out of beating up a drunk man; aside from Tomoe's own personal enjoyment and tendency towards such things, anyway. Though he wouldn't very well get paid if he just beat on the leading man in some empty pub.

"I've been hired by the owner of your great theater to take you back safe and sound, so please co-operate, don't be a hound?", Sal chimed, rhyming to the best of his ability in the hope that it would appear endearing or appeal to the star's theatrical side.

"Listen, buddy, I don't have to do shit you say. You can't tell me what to do, and I'm not having any of it. Get outta my sight.", Dale retorted, spitting words in a venomous tone and completely ignoring the more odd elements of Sal's speech and mannerisms.

It was all too obvious to Sal that such things were wasted on Dale, and that he'd need to be beaten down after all. Breaking character for a second while maintaining Sal's physical appearance, the balding layabout stood up with a frown and channelled the strength of his true self by delivering a full-powered fist directly to Dale's face in the middle of the pub without another word.

---

Spells used:

WC: 1470/1700 [15% reduced]

Disguised as Salazar "Sal" Worthington:

---

The attack would floor the star performer in a single strike, rendering him unconscious from the force. Sal - or rather, Tomoe - had concluded that Dale would not be able to be convinced to go anywhere in his current state unless by force. With that being the Joyan's go-to most of the time anyway, it wasn't hard to convince him to give up Sal's personality for a brief second to deliver what he thought was righteous vengeance for wasting his time. Tomoe didn't like this job in the first place, due to its very nature of being connected to the theater. Those who indulged themselves consistently in theater and the fine arts, especially taking up an acting role, were all the sorts of snooty simpletons that Tomoe despised. He could enjoy himself a good play from time to time, but those who went often would inevitably have their brain warped into thinking they were more special than reality would truly allow them to be.

"This alternate plan went off without a hitch; nighty-night, bitch.", Sal rhymed one last time while gazing down at the downed performer with a fresh black eye, amusement creeping across his face at the idea of the pranks he could pull to see to it that this arrogant leading man fails the performance he'll now be forced to enter into.

With a small salute to the bartender who watched in awe as if the whole ordeal was a dream, Sal threw Dale's body over his shoulder and made the walk back to the theater. There was still time to spare, and such a thought brought joy to Mr. Worthington's heart that he hadn't failed in his mission. Taking a seat for the show after handing his employer the bruised leading role, Sal watched eagerly to see how the action would unfold.

Many laughs were had by Sal and gasps of surprise from the rest of the audience as Dale fumbled all over himself and regularly forgot his lines in a stuttering haze. Any scenes requiring acrobatics either failed or required the assistance of stagehands to perform due to a sprained ankle that Sal had inflicted on Dale himself before handing the man in. Dale's left eye was also crudely covered up by white makeup, making him look like half a clown and probably feeling like one too. It was an enthralling experience to see a man who already had crushed dreams fail so blatantly at every opportunity. By the end, there were some demanding refunds as a very ashamed and hungover Dale left his ending scene with a limp and slight traces of vomit on his shirt.

It was an experience unlike any other, and Sal was happy that he showed up. Overjoyed, even, that he could bear witness to such a drama unravel both on the stage and within a broken man at the same time. It was certainly a show he would watch once again, with the star performer's public perception being ruined far worse than Sal's. Only somebody as eccentric and as unconventional as Salazar Worthington could ever possibly whip young Dale into shape, if he felt the need. He would return again in the near future, eager to see how the star of Marigold would fail next time.

---

Spells used:

WC: 1700/1700 [15% reduced]

- Exit -