It was unexpected, admittedly. Nobody could've seen it coming. How could they? From zero to one hundred in an instant, the tension rose in the air surrounding the Majura Gallery as a dark cloaked figure moved, almost as if hovering, inside. This figure wore a black plague doctor's mask and red leather armor obscured by a dark cloak that shrouded him. This man didn't need to push anyone aside, as they instinctively moved away as he walked up and inside the building. There was art to be seen here, as there always was, but that wasn't really the part that interested this man so much. No, because for Tomoe Tanaka, there was no interest in the art. It was the people who put brush to canvas that he considered truly interesting; the artists of the world who sought to convey thoughts, feelings and inner turmoil without a single spoken word.

Tomoe wasn't an artist other than of the martial variety, but he did at least recognize the talent needed for such things. A part of him secretly wondered if there was anything here that could make him feel more deeply than even his devotion to HER? He already knew it to be impossible, but there was always a subconscious wisp of him that remained curious. Clearly there had not yet been enough time for word to get around that he was in town. "Lazy.", Tomoe grumbled as he looked at the fearful citizens clear the way for him one by one.

The mad cultist would enter Majura Gallery, ensuring nobody tried to get a sneak attack off on him by keeping view of anybody around him; thanks to the Soul Ether embedded and hidden within his chest underneath his armor, he could even see those who were cloaked in an invisibility spell or magical disguise, if such individuals would be skulking around waiting for their chance.

Walking into the first room past the receptionist who went stone still, Tomoe would raise his arm upon entering the first floor, as if to signal he didn't intend on causing any violence. "Easy, easy, folks. I ain't here on business, just pleasure. None of y'all are gonna get hurt if ya just play nice, alright? I'm just a non-paying customer tryin' to see what all the fuss with this art shit is about, okay?"

There wouldn't be blood yet, anyway. There would be time for that later if he felt the need and if SHE commanded it. He simply wished to see all that this establishment had to offer in terms of entertainment, and made his way to view the first paintings closest to the entrance. As he did so, he took note of the fact that this was most definitely the first floor of the building, and that there was nothing underneath but the foundation and dirt. Truly, this building could only go up from here.

Tomoe would take note of any and all potential interesting folks inside the gallery, staying on guard as a man with his bounty would need to, lest be he swooped down upon with the raining fists of a mad god from behind.

---

Stats:

Equipment:

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Mikajia had never been a huge fan of art. That’s not to say he couldn’t appreciate the skill it took to produce the works, and there had been a painting or two in the past that he had felt truly blessed to have seen with his own eyes. But as far as frequenting art galleries, or filling his home with paintings or drawings? That would be a no. He supposed it was an acquired taste. But as far as Mikajia was concerned, he had much better things to be doing with his time then spending it dawdling around in an art gallery.


Which is why he was particularly annoyed right now to find himself doing exactly that. He sighed once more as he glanced around at the paintings on the walls. There were some that were very good, pictures he could have seen placed all over the house by his parents when he was little. He remembered how much his mother absolutely loved paintings of cottages, cobblestone roads and forests. Mikajia could look on those memories fondly, but not for very long. Reminiscing his past never ended well for his surroundings. But it was exactly that which had drawn him in to the gallery. A faint memory, tucked far away, almost forgotten entirely.


As he had passed by the front of the gallery, it had almost felt like he could hear it, the sound of his mother’s laugh. It had been so clear, yet, when he turned, wide-eyed and half expecting to see her standing right next to him, all he saw was an art gallery with a simple painting of a creek in a forest sitting in the front window, adjacent to the entrance. How long had it been since he’d stepped foot in a place like this? Ten years? Twenty?


His hand slowly reached for the handle, pushing the door in as he entered the gallery. The smell of paint and canvas permeated the air; Mikajia could practically tasted the smells. His eyes scanning for…something. He almost felt lost, his eyes distant as he began wandering through the shop, his feet carrying him to an unknown destination. Mikajia wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know where he would end up. He didn’t really even want to be in this place. Eventually he stopped, standing in front of a decent sized painting. The skill of the artist was undeniable, breathtaking even.


There sat a small snow-covered cottage amidst a field of every flower imaginable, dusted with snow. The myriad of colored flowers seeming to sway in the picture while he watched it, though that was impossible. There sat a small cobblestone bridge adjacent to the cottage, crossing over a stream that seemed to never end, heading into the forest of trees in the distance. There was a warm light illuminating the small windows of the cottage and a whisp of smoke climbing from the chimney. Rays of golden sunlight cut through the clouds above, enriching the vibrant roses and lilac dotting the land around the cottage. The light glistening off the ice on the stream, making it shine like diamond.


He simply stood there, staring at the painting. He had no idea how much time passed, his eyes looking at the picture, but not really seeing it. Only when he felt something wet streak down his cheek, did he seem to pull himself out of his trance. He finally realized then, this had been his mother’s favorite painting, from her favorite artist. It had hung on the wall above their couch in the living room, so many years ago. It had to be. The painter had only ever made one of this specific painting as a request from his mother.


A chill ran down his spine, his eyes beginning to widen before shifting to a blazing crimson. His gaze overflowed with murderous intent as he tried to calm the sudden surge of rage. Why did they have this picture? How did they get it? His breathing started escalating.


’Why the fuck do they have her painting?’ He screamed in his head. He was so transfixed on this picture, he wouldn’t have heard anything else happening in the gallery, just yet.

Tomoe could safely say, with all humbleness, that he was somebody who made a career out of detecting hostility. He couldn't live long in a career rife with lawful dickheads and self-righteous suicidal heroes if he couldn't look at someone and gauge based on expression, posture and tone of voice, if the person was pissed. In that regard, while he looked upon most faces within the gallery and saw fear, surprise or caution, one expression caught his eye. The entire first floor was filled with negative emotions regardless, but one man's gaze seemed not to be of fear - as a matter of fact, he didn't even notice Tomoe yet - but rather a look of pure disdain for the art he was so angrily entranced by.

"Ouch. Tough critic, eh? Feelin' a little rage bubblin' when you look at that one? Shit, man, I hear ya.", Tomoe would start as he moved towards the man, also getting a better look at the painting his murderous crimson eyes were directed towards at the same time, taking up a posh posture as if to mimic and mock the haughty stance of a noble. "I mean, flowers? Fuck. We got ourselves a winner, everyone. Clap for the artist 'n his or her big ol' brain.", Tomoe concluded, letting loose a small golf clap; nobody else clapped, of course, trying their best to slowly shuffle out of the building.

Just in case the man before him was a nutcase prone to violent outrages randomly and not actually an overly dramatic art critic, Tomoe was prepared to evade any physical or magical rage directed his way and react as necessary. Who knows? He hadn't gotten a good enough read on the man yet.

Still dressed in a black cloak mostly obscuring his red hunter armor underneath, a black plague doctor's mask still on his face to cover him, Tomoe looked at the man and awaited a response. Chances are, the mask would do little to hide his identity, as no doubt bounty posters all around Fiore were updated to note it as a piece of equipment this psychotic killer was often found wearing. Sadly, for better or worse, Tomoe Tanaka was a household name now. It was tough to be a star.

[[Daemon transformation post req. start]]


Amidst the storm of rage and turmoil within him, Mikajia was completely unaware to the presence of a rather peculiar individual approaching him. He couldn’t say the same for everyone else in the gallery though, they were all much more aware of the individual and apparently trying to make a break for it. He didn’t finally snap out of his trance and raging emotions until he heard the man speak, right next to him. He shook himself out of his stupor, blinking a couple times to shift his eyes back to normal and shake himself out of his funk.


The next second, he glanced over to see the individual standing next to him, giving a little golf clap. It was safe to say, he didn’t have a clue who this guy was, what he wanted, or why he was there. It took him a couple seconds to recollect what the man had said about the painting, and it became clear to him that he obviously had the wrong idea about Mikajia’s reaction to the painting. Understandably of course, the man had no idea that painting had belonged to his mother before she died.


That being said, he still had no idea why the man would be talking to him at all. Mikajia wasn’t exactly the friendly type, and his expression usually saw most individuals steering clear of him even when he was just walking down the sidewalk. He also couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something had started to feel a bit strange about his power lately. It wasn’t so much his magic, that was working perfectly well, like it always did. This felt a bit more personal, like something in his very skin was shifting; the targets of his most recent quests exhibiting absolute terror just from him getting a little angry now.


He felt stronger and faster at times than he had in the past. Mikajia couldn’t quiet put his finger on it yet, but it felt like he had just gone through some sort of awakening of sorts. And whatever it was, made his enemies flee in absolute terror now. So that, coupled with his resting bitch face, typically meant only the very brave, very stupid, or very psychotic ever even attempted to speak to him nowadays. At least, that had been his personal experience so far. He was no fool, he knew damn well how weak he still was in comparison to many of the mages in Fiore. But he felt like he could safely say he was no slouch himself anymore, especially with his meteoric rise to an A-Rank mage in just over a month after arriving in this region and taking his first few jobs.


Taking all this into account, and the fact the man had just waltzed up to him and started speaking, Mikajia was genuinely interested to find out exactly who this man was, and what their deal was. His brows lifted slightly as he fully took in the man’s appearance and apparel, his lids lowered slightly as he glanced down to meet the man’s eyes, ”And…just who the fuck are you?” He asked. It was said in a way that wouldn’t come across as overly rude, but neither overly friendly.

"Eh? It's... it's probably the mask, isn't it? Yeah, that tends to put people off, but uh, I'm a fan of havin' my gear handy. No harm in that, right? Wearing a mask in public should be more accepted, I feel.", Tomoe stated plainly, looking himself up and down, realizing that he did look like someone suspicious even ignoring his sizable bounty.

Adjusting his mask to make sure it was on correctly, he had no intention of removing it. From his point of view, it was entirely to do with the mask as to why a slur was tossed his way. Either that or, again, this man was weirdly passionate about generic paintings. "It's just a painting, man. Let it go.", the Joyan shrugged, raising an eyebrow that wouldn't be seen from beneath his mask.

The plague doctor would soon break free of the posh noble pose, having grown tired of acting as if he had been born in the high society life. Instead, he'd choose to cut the small talk and the verbal jabs short and answer the crimson-eyed man's original question. "I'm Tomoe. Might've seen me around town once or twice, maybe more depending. Well... not me, but y'know. Paper-me.", the mad cultist would introduce himself, and at the end of his last words, pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pants' pocket and showed it to the man.

On the front would be a picture of a grinning, dark-haired, tattooed man with golden eyes. There was no mask, but it described him as a danger to Fiore with a sizable jewel reward on his head. Afterwards, the mad cultist would toss the paper to the floor of the gallery, ready to react to a sudden response if the sight of such money would turn this art critic into a bounty hunter in an instant.

If no hostile gestures were made, Tomoe would continue speaking. "That one's outdated though. Dunno how high the number's gotten now, but I'm not one to keep track. I guess people are mad at me or somethin'.", he would finish with a final nonchalant shrug, advertising his bounty as a thing that simply existed; he wasn't untouchable, he knew that, but if people were going to meet him and find this out about him anyway, he'd might as well lead with it in conversations.

After all, isn't it a social custom to get to know somebody by sharing a fun fact?

Mikajia thought of many answers he might hear from the man after asking him who he was, but learning he was a highly sought-after criminal, with an extremely high bounty on his head, was most certainly not one of them. That being said, he didn’t really show much interest in the wanted sheet. He honestly couldn’t care less that this man was one of Fiore’s most wanted. So as he showed Mikajia his wanted poster, Mikajia’s expression will have remained fairly mute. He certainly believed him, there was no doubt about that; Mikajia wasn’t well versed in every single reason Tomoe Tanaka was a criminal with a multi-million bounty on his head, but he had certainly heard a few of the rumors floating around, and one thing was for certain, only an absolute moron would try to pretend to be him.


One small misstep, say one wrong word to the wrong, or right, person, and they could find themselves making sweet sweet love to the business end of a samurai sword. Or a gun, but that was far less entertaining. He also realized that the man was apparently under the impression still that he was some kind of overly passionate art critic. ”I…” he started, slightly lifting a hand, but then dropping it and his head as he sighed, eyes wandering back up to stick him with a deadpan stare for a moment.


A couple seconds later he simply grabbed the edges of his cloak, pulling them out from his sides, then said, ”Do I really look like an art critic to you?” then released his cloak. Before the man could say anything, he brought one of his hands up to one of his temples, massaging it slightly as he said, ”If you must know, I simply encountered a painting that managed to dredge up some memories I’d rather keep buried. But that’s not important.” he said as he arched a brow, cocking his head slightly to one side as he looked the man up and down.


”So you’re Tomoe huh?” He said, then made one small step closer to the man as he said, ”I don’t know why but,” he brought a hand up, as if to salute, then moved it from his own forehead towards Tomoe’s. He made sure none of his actions would be perceived as threatening, though he assumed, if he really was the criminal, every single movement he made was being scrutinized. But he honestly didn’t care, he would likely find out soon enough, Mikajia was no enemy to the man. As his hand came closer to Tomoe, clearly judging the difference in height between Mikajia’s six-foot-four, to what he assumed was roughly five-foot-ten or so on Tomoe, he said, ”I really expected you to be a bit taller. The posters always make you seem like your damn near six-six.” he moved his hand between the two of them a couple times, then brought it back down to his side.


”Guess you can’t judge a book by it’s cover…or wanted poster in your case.”

Tomoe noted the Elder Hunter's Coat that the man was wearing upon stretching out his cloak, and grinned from underneath the mask. If nothing else, perhaps they at least had that much in common, for their armor was the exact same kind. The cultist reached out and briefly opened one side of his own cloak to reveal the crimson and black leather coat of the same design, and nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Well, we probably ain't huntin' the same types of things out in this big ol' world of ours, but lemme tell ya. You've got some stellar choice in armor, bucko. Good shit.", the plague doctor would say, raising a hand to give a thumbs-up.

With that, he would curiously wait to see what this guy was doing with his gesture, a hand moving closer. If need be, Tomoe was ready to react to a potential threat, but allowed it to play out to see what he was doing. There were no magic circles appearing, so unless the guy was trying to aim for a cheap shot jab, there was no need to get rowdy just yet. If there were ever a reason to get rowdy, it'd usually be after the other person had decided it was time to play first. There were exceptions of course, like job targets or Penumbral Guard and Fairy Tail members, but in general the mad cultist considered himself quite the pacifist. A man of peace, as it were.

When the not-art-critic withdrew his hand and revealed it was to compare height, Tomoe allowed his invisible blood lust to dissipate. "Ah, just havin' a little dick measurin' contest, yeah? That's fine, that's fine.", Tomoe would start, cracking his neck from side to side to relieve the split-second stiffness of a moment prior when he was mentally preparing to enter battle. "Yeah, they get a lotta shit wrong. At the same time, they get so much right too. They got their artists 'n editors on those golden tickets I guess, workin' around the clock, because they do their best to grime it up an' make me look like a psychotic bastard. Those editors they hire for these posters must be on that good shit, lemme tell ya."

Tomoe would sigh and shift his weight to his left side, leaning with his arms crossed. "Anyway, uh... guy...", Tomoe would start, realizing he'd left his manners at the door as always, but decided it was too late to commit to the act of a well-mannered gentleman now, "What's a hunter like you doin' in a place like this? Did you come here just to piss your pants in rage lookin' at this painting and cry about your feelings? Maybe release a stress jerk later? Or is there another reason?", he would finish, allowing the man some time to respond.

"Oh! Maybe we could rob this place blind, eh? You think you'd like that? Relieve a bit o' stress killin' some folk? I could use some new cutlery at home, Sal's been a bit overeager back home lately...", the Joyan would blurt out, ending on that note to allow his fellow hunter to respond as he would.

[[Final Daemon Transformation Post Req. Start]]


Mikajia gave a little smirk at the man’s comment about his Hunter’s Coat, it was a rather valuable piece of armor that he was particularly proud of having been able to purchase. He had worked particularly hard to make the money necessary to get it. And though he wasn’t one to typically flaunt things, he took a bit of pride in the armor and gear he had managed to get his hands on so far. They were the physical results of his exploits and accomplishments so far. Nothing too flashy, well aside from his dagger, but he kept that thing well hidden until it was eventually time to use.

The dagger was easily his most valuable weapon, and had been his primary source of damage during his jobs until he had managed to extend his arsenal of spells. The enchantments placed on that thing allowed for him to almost always get the kill within a few seconds with just a little nick to his opponent. He gave another smirk at the man’s retort when Mikajia mentioned his height. At least he didn’t seem to be the type to take offense too easily. He was curious to see if the man’s rationale and personality were as volatile as the many posters made him out to be. So far, though he could almost sense an underlying madness that stemmed from the chaotic or overly devout types, it was very subtle and well hidden. The little nuances; his physical actions, his speech patterns, even his posture demonstrated control, but at the same time, it almost felt like nothing more than a façade.

He wouldn’t call the man an unhinged, psychotic monster like so many of the wanted posters or rumors tried to paint him, but neither would he say the man was completely sane. Mikajia gave a dark chuckle at Tomoe’s question, ”I was just in the neighborhood, you could say.” he responded, leaning up against the nearby wall, casually folding his arms over his chest, ”I guess I just felt like reminiscing the good ol’ days, you know? Relive a traumatic past and childhood,” Mikajia removed one of his hands, rolling it a few times as he spoke, illustrating his comment, before replacing it, ”Because of course, why not?” The sarcasm was practically dripping off his voice at this point.

He lifted his brows at the man’s last retort. Some might think he was joking, just trying to see how Mikajia would respond, but something told him that if he agreed, the man wouldn’t hesitate to actually do exactly as he said. Mikajia’s eyes held a look of primal bloodlust as he responded, ”I’m no bleeding heart Tomoe. I could very easily kill every single person in this building, without so much as batting an eye, and then continue about my day as if nothing had happened. I don’t feel a thing for this building, it’s occupants, or possessions.” He said, pushing himself up off the wall and walked a little closer to the man.

”I have a goal, much as I assume you have as well.” He lifted his brows marginally before lowering them again, sticking the man with a knowing look, ”I don’t presume to know everything about you. After all, how could I? But you see, madness…” he said, letting his eyes trail away, before brining them back to rest on the mask over the man’s face, ”Can be a wonderful thing. Cathartic, refreshing, and even a little exciting. If you have a goal. Without a goal, it’s nothing more than a hindrance and weakness. And you don’t strike me as a weakling.” He placed his hands back in his pockets, resting on the back of his heels as he simply stared at the man, waiting for his response.

A couple moments later, regardless of his response, Mikajia would say ”So what’s your conviction Tomoe Tanaka? Or are you as empty, insubstantial and facile as they make you out to be?”

Tomoe took in the man's words and allowed him the freedom to speak as he would. In the meantime, the mad cultist nodded his head along silently occasionally in response to his conversation partner, acting as if agreeing but making it blatantly obvious that it was more just as some kind of mockery of agreement. Tomoe had understood the words being said and what they meant, but a part of him just couldn't resist being a prick. Rather than take any of it to heart, he simply understood that this was how things were. They were a couple of mass murderers in an art gallery - nothing to be alarmed about, of course.

After the not-art-critic had finished speaking, he had turned the conversation back on Tomoe. The Joyan put finger to chin - the chin that wasn't present due to being obscured by his mask - and tapped the side of his head as if thinking about it for a moment. How much would he say? He wouldn't say the full thing, of course. Nobody knew the full thing, really, nor did they need to. However, he had said some of it in the past, so there would be nothing wrong with saying a few pieces.

"It's real simple, y'see? I'm gonna save the world. It's too far gone in its current state, so I'll just hit the reset button on it. It'll be a place for all people to live, and anybody who's died along the way will be better off at the end of it all.", Tomoe would state with a shrug, taking a step backwards. "As for my methods? How I'll do it? Weeeeeell, I'll just keep that to myself until the inevitable fate of Earthland has been decided once and for all. The murder's obvious, but the rest? Eh. A fella's gotta have his own share of secrets, y'know?"

With that, Tomoe would take another step back. He wasn't fearful of the man, but he could almost feel like Oak's town guards were on their way. He knew he couldn't stay for very long unless he wanted to engage in a serious bloodbath. Even so, this conversation still interested him a little.

"Before I get outta here, what's your name, bud? And, you gonna join in the crusade against me here? There is a shiny coin or two on my head. If there's nothin' else for it, I'll wipe out everybody on my way out. I'm not gonna let anybody stop me from reaching the utopia that this world needs, and the blood along the way is fine with me. I'll accept all of it."

The masked cultist would wait for an answer before deciding what to do from there.

”Save the world huh? That’s quite the ambition you have. And quite frankly, the both of us have very similar convictions, but wholly different at their core.” He said when he heard the man respond to his question. Mikajia wasn’t really surprised, after all, very few people in the world ever committed evil acts purely for the sake of being evil. More often than not, they had some reason, some driving force behind their acts. It was the same for Mikajia. He also wasn’t surprised the man wasn’t completely forthcoming with his methods of going about ‘resetting’ the world, and Mikajia would have honestly been a bit disappointed.

”You’re allowed your secrets of course, and quite frankly, I honestly didn’t expect you to tell me this much.” He listened to the man as he asked him who he was, then asked if Mikajia would join in the hunt for his bounty. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest that they would be expecting guards soon. He knew from the terrified reactions of the people bolting out the doors to get away from Tomoe that at least one of them would call a guard. Though he did figure it would probably be best to not be seen just chatting away calmly with a wanted criminal with a multi-million bounty on his head.

Once he finished his last question for Mikajia he said, ”You can call me Mikajia,” then gave a little nod of his head before beginning to take a step towards the door, [color=#cc00ff]”I am no enemy of yours, so long as you are no enemy of mine. I couldn’t care less about your bounty, so long as you don’t get in my way. And I’m sure the same will hold true for you, at least in some regard. So, I think we should convene our lovely little chat, so neither of us has our pleasant days interrupted by the nosey little Rune Knights, whaddaya say?” He said, before giving one last nod, then heading for the door. Once outside, he could hear a commotion of men shouting around the corner. Without waiting a second longer, he used his tether chain to pull himself up to the roof of the building, before bounding from roof to roof, putting plenty of distance between him and the Rune Knights.

Spell Used:

Mana: 2,350/2,400


[Exit]

"Mikajia, eh?"

Tomoe rolled the name off his tongue aloud as the man fled the scene. The mad cultist watched this man exit after giving his name and speaking about fleeing before the knights would arrive. He used chains to hook himself away onto a roof and disappear from there - an interesting power, and one that Tomoe would keep in mind for later if that information would become necessary. He wasn't really the tactical type, but regardless, he still liked to keep things about people in mind just in case they popped up again. There were many shit-disturbers in Fiore at this point, and quite frankly the entire country was going under, so it wouldn't surprise the cultist at this point if this chain mage were one of many to come.

"Heheh. 'Nosy little Rune Knights', eh? That's not how I see 'em.", Tomoe would mutter to himself as he stood outside the gallery, watching as guards would pile in from both sides of the street towards the scene at a rapid pace. Looking back and forth, being taught to always look both ways before stepping into the street, a golden bow would suddenly appear in Tomoe's hands; this very action was enough to cause the knights that approached him with vim and vigor to halt their advance, gazing into the plague doctor's expressionless face. "How could this interrupt my pleasant day? I love you guys! You guys're doin' great things, those of you that help people. And more than that..."

Tomoe would pull back the string of his bow and aim a burning hot arrow into the closest knight, breaking right through the unnamed soldier's shield and helmet to splatter his skull and brain matter all over the streets and all over his friends. The knights were visibly shaken, but most remained standing to face the threat before them. The cultist would smirk at this, even if it couldn't be seen from underneath his mask. "Yeah, that's what I mean. You guys, the ones that stick with it in the face of death? You're the ones that really mean somethin' to this world. It'll do ya some good in the next life."

With that, the scene would just become indescribable gore. The streets of Oak would become hell that day, and there was nothing for it. A man simply acted in self-defense, the way any human concerned for their survival would do. Who could blame him for the way it turned out?

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- EXIT -