Carricklugh, Ard Riocht of Warre.
Night, A storm has brought in a chill mist.
The night was dark, as nights are prone to be; and the chill mist which blanketed it was wet enough to border on rain, and gave all the comfort of a wet blanket. The kind of weather where wholesome families huddled in their homes, enjoying fireplaces or space heaters and each other’s company, the kind of weather where normal families were doing a bit of that and a bit of their own thing, reading, looking at things on the internet, watching TV, drawing. And there was the third group, those who took the lessened activity within the town to commit crimes, to commit indecent things in whole. The kind of place where a modern day Jack the Ripper would stalk, that was the best way to describe it.
And in stark contrast of this chilling normality, this bile bringing realism, there was a red flag. Well, it was less red and more a tangerine-orange, but that wouldn’t sound as good, would it? In the shadows of a local grocery store, a figure who looked like they were out of a drunk comic book fan’s sketches. A hand-me-down hand-me-down jump suit in tangerine, a dark blue and orange pro-wrestling style mask. A pair of black gloves and black pro-wrestling boots. Stereotypically blue eyes looked through the mask, and the figure’s not so fit body watched his surroundings, surveyed his kingdom.
In the distance the faint hum of an overly supped-up hot rod, probably a crappy foreign car, Bai Lungese or Shivatan in origin. Not a good old Warreic or FPS Muscle Car. Did Vekaiyu even make hot rods? The figure’s eyes and ears continued their battle, but as he saw the lights, he didn’t even bother. He wouldn’t deal justice to hoodlums, the spike strip the cops had out would fix their problem a bit outside of town, and fix the population’s stupidity problem all the while. Oh, no, his arch-enemy was not a simple car racing idiot. Someone far more dastardly, indeed far more dastardly.
A malicious royal purple feather, upon an orange and purple pimp hat. An monacle upon his enemy’s eyes, and a fully decked out pimp suit beyond that, despite robotic arms, the kind that you get from ‘vacationing’ in Vekaiyu or Allegheny after finding a doctor there. A simple wooden cane. The Dreaded Pimparms, his most hated enemy. The reject charged, Oh no you just didn’t show up in my town trying to pimp! The orange figure roared, so loud if the county police came he’d definitely get arrested for noise.