Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

As he pressed the button a holographic image of Ezra flickered to life, directly followed by a recording. The artist's voice was a little distorted by the machine and sounded as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. Ah.... Hi, Damien? It's Ez...obviously.... Uh, I was just... I wanted to call and see if you were going to be busy on.... Friday? Yes, it was Friday. You said that we should hang out again, so...yeah. That's why I'm leaving this message, I guess. The slowly rotating image flickered as a cough interrupted Ezra's awkward spiel. Right..... So, ah get back to me when you can. I'll see you. With that, the recording ended and the hologram disappeared. Back at his own apartment, the man in question was getting ready for bed after a night that had already gone on too long. The dwelling was small and crowded. It probably hadn't been clean since he moved in, if even then. Books and papers were littered everywhere. Painted canvases covered in dust leaned against the walls. Art supplies turned up in the oddest of places tubes of paint under an end table, brushes in coffee mugs, even a few palate knives in with what little silverware he owned. The sink was full of dirty dishes and boxes from precooked dinners were spilling out of the trash receptacles. If Damien did agree to come over, Ezra was going to have a lot of cleaning to do. For now he didn't trouble himself and picked his way across the maze of trash and spots of paint to his bed which was really just an old double mattress on the floor. The sheets were the last thing he remembered actually going out and spending money on since the surgery. Paints and food didn't count since those were essentials. Vaguely he could recall going into a store and picking out a sturdy set of blue sheets. The clerk had gone on and on about how good for the skin the new synthetic thread count was, but he wasn't really listening. He'd just wanted something of his own, something he paid for that was just for him and no one else. In a way those sheets were the only things that really, truly belonged to him at this point. Ezra dropped heavily onto the mattress and let his eyes finally slide shut. It felt amazing to be able to just lie there and not have to think or speak. Too soon, it would be time to get up again and go to work. At least now he had something to look forward to. Within seconds he'd drifted off to sleep, prosthetic fingers curled tightly around the blankets.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Ezra's face was blank as he moved to stand beside Damien and stare down at the corpse. He hated this part. It was bad enough to take lives indiscriminately on behalf of the company, but to further desecrate them like this... It took getting used to and even after all this time he still wasn't there. But that didn't mean he would do his job. The body is well sculpted and almost immaculate. I think it would be best to focus on the face. Shave away the rest of it so that it's flat. Fitting. It's not as if these bodies had identities anymore after all. Their faces made no difference to the customers. In a sense, there was a kind of sick humor in it that maybe the others would fail to recognize, maybe they wouldn't even see the jab Ezra was making at them. His mouth quirked a bit and then settled back into a stony line. Just another canvas, that's all it was. Don't leave any defining features. We'll remove the hair too. He circled around to the other side, lifting the body's arm and examining its hand with a detached interest. Perfect. Smooth, unblemished.Without warning he tightened his grip and broke each one of the fingers before repeating the process on the other hand. What did it matter what skills any of them had if in the end they'd only be taken advantage of? It didn't need talents, a sense of self. It was a corpse. A toy. Silently Ezra stepped back and tried to ignore the sickness rising in his stomach. It's still not enough. We should paint him read or something. But don't cut him anymore. The others didn't matter. They'd slice gaudy designs into the flesh, remove a few hearts and strategically arrange the other organs. Holidays were the worst. Even he'd been given a tacky costume to wear and his only job during the party was to stand off to the side and observe. The main details were similar to Damien's, but without the medical gear. The main differences were the black fishnet sleeves and a red leather collar was wrapped round his neck just a notch too tight. He'd have fix it later, they were on a time crunch now.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Damien was oblivious to most of what was going on, which was lucky in its own way. He looked up at the two brothers having a scuffle and then winced, Maybe she needs help. He is always so crude. I'm glad I never have to work on him. He didn't move to go up and help the woman no amount of drugs could persuade him to do that and still keep him even barely lucid. He watched as the woman fell to the floor and rolled about. She would probably not die but she might re-decide her career. Gigaslut6niner was bleeding rather profusely and had a doctor come out and start stitching her up with brass thread. She gave the most disturbing moans as her flesh was forcibly knit back in proper placement. She gripped the edge of the table in sheer ecstasy as it happened, her knees going weak slightly. Many people crowded around and others dabbed up drops of blood with handkerchiefs and other unmentionables to try and sell later or even as a souvenir of the nights revels. They were ignored by the lady of the evening as she felt the multifaceted stings of the needle and pleasured herself to it, delighting the crowd on the floor that was not in the throes of necrophilia. The chaste looking brother of the Giovanni line looked at his sister once and shook his head, turning his attention to a dead boy of around nineteen years old. He gently rubbed his still face and gave a light sigh. They were so much more beautiful when they had died. None of those tricky emotions to play with, no fear they were going to find someone else and run away, and there was no need to take care of them. Maybe it was an egotistical selfishness or the ultimate fear of betrayal but Antonio just couldn't stay away from his precious corpses. He unzipped his pants and grabbed some of the nearby lube, readying himself. Damien turned to Ezra when he spoke and looked extremely concerned, You should have told me earlier. Here. He stood up and pulled his fetish coat off and wrapped it around Ezra, hoping that it would warm him up, There. That should be better. It's not good if you get sick. Then Friday might get canceled. I've missed being with you for so long. The drug was loosening his tongue, but Damien was still a good friend. He patted Ezra on the shoulder and then heard Doctor! coming from somewhere. Clad now in boots, a surgical mask, and a thong Damien grabbed his doctor's supplies and dashed off to where he was called to. He got more looks now, even if most of the people were more interested in the party favors. Still, Damien and Ezra weren't technically off limits, the mistress just didn't like them being toyed with. Damien almost deftly countered touches to his body as if he was some acrobatic germaphobe and all these people were just tainted beyond reasoning. Soon the party came towards a culmination, leading up to the grand feast. All sorts of random items were brought out, and the supposedly delectable items of cooked human flesh. It was still a minor taboo at least and these people did love shattering them all to hell. Damien and Ezra and others would be left while people shuffled off to dine.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Ezra had been so engaged in figuring out how he was going to get out of his current predicament he almost didn't notice Damien's entry. A cool relief swept over him for he knew it would only take a word to get HaroldHenry to disperse with his threats and scamper off. He wouldn't want to risk getting reported and probably wasn't violent at heart. It was all very well to intimidate but it was rare for someone like him to actually follow through? A different matter altogether. However it seemed that just having a quick word with his would -be assailant was not Damien's preferred course of action. In a flurry of motion the doctor had launched himself drunkenly at the younger man, the tools of his trade glinting in the room's sick yellow lighting. Harold's cry of shock at the needle embedded in his arm soon became a pain filled shriek when the scalpel blade slashed across his face. The second the knife had been removed from his immediate vicinity, the blonde rolled off the couch and hurried into the midst of the fight. Damien's clumsy brutality, and Harold's panicked efforts to escape kept him from getting into the thick of it, which was probably for the best as he wasn't quite sure who to side with. Even like this his friend had a clear advantage. Not being nearly as incapacitated as Damien, the terrified man dashed out of the room, clutching his face and shouting promises of retribution that Ezra didn't hear. He made no effort to stop him and instead knelt on he bloodstained carpet beside the other man. No, I'm fine. I don't think he would of actually tried anything. You shouldn't have fucked him up so bad. Of course given the opportunity, Ezra would have turned that asshole black and blue for the things he said, but that was before Damien took a hack at his face. You ever thing maybe this zydrate thing's getting a bit out of control? he asked gently as he peeled off the coat and returned it to its rightful owner.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Damien slowly got to his feet with help from Ezra and took his coat. He dusted himself off in a rather knee jerk reaction as the floor had no dust or dirt and anything that this party might leave as refuse would need a scalding bath and sanitizer to properly get off of one's body. He looked at Ezra and seemed to get very serious for a second, his eyes focusing completely on his artistic friend. Then the mood disappeared and he replaced the scalpel back into his bag. The syringe was expendable as he was help if anyone should get out of hand. You are so cute when you worry, Ezra. I am glad he didn't hurt you. I just look forward to Friday now! Really, I do! He laughed jovially and moved forward, kissing the artist on the forehead, You did so well today, even if you were cold. I do hope my jacket helped. And the zydrate is fiiiiiiiiine. You don't have to worry about a thing! Of course if he had been more lucid the needle wouldn't have broken and he would have just had to threaten the other artist. As it was this was mildly more than he had intended to do. He gave a final little wave and took his jacket and supplies as he left the room. He would turn in everything he had been given to the servant who was making this party go off without a hitch. She took the items and handed Damien his clothing back it was a bit of a failsafe that kept the people in the party. If they ran off they'd have no clothing besides very unstable and unprotected party clothing that would get them noticed and killed by the dangerous people of the street. Damien wouldn't see Ezra again that night, his zydrate rush having worn off and his memory of kissing Ezra on the forehead flooding back to him. He had realized he liked his friend in a sexual way after posing naked for him, perhaps a few months after that. Really he was the only person he had formed any real strong bond with. His mom hadn't approved of his slumming it with his friend but she had also cut him off from their money as soon as he turned down being his father's successor in the business. He was still too embarrassed as he got home to call Ezra and apologize, and he was too embarrassed to see if they were still on for the next day. He went to bed worried, hoping he hadn't fucked over everything.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Hey! So, so sorry for the long absence. I was going to reply when I got on today, but I wasn't sure if you were still interested since I was away for so long. If you want to discuss it, you can go to my quest thread so we don't clog up the roleplay with OC posts.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

By the time Friday rolled around Ezra was more than ready for a break. The Largos had been running him ragged with this new ad campaign and on top of that the Repo excursions that followed were getting more and more brutal. Time really was money and he couldn't afford the time it took to be neat. It was ten o clock in the morning and he was now staring uncertainly at the phone, willing it to ring so he wouldn't have to make the call. What if Damien wasn't interested anymore? He'd been awfully high that other night.. Sighing he ran a hand through unkempt blond hair and abandoned the phone to return to the kitchen. The stove was gathering dust from months and months of neglect, and wrappers were scattered across the floor. Ezra stood up on his toes to reach into an already open cabinet and remove a dehydrated dinner box. He lived off these more often than taking the time to make actual food. Cooking took too long and he wasn't all that skilled at it. Boxed meals and bags of chips were much easier to deal with. Crossing back to the phone with a jerky strip dangling from the side of his mouth, the artist eyed the device with heavy disapproval before he picked it up and punched in Damien's number. Come on and suck it up.You won't know if you don't fucking ask.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Damien was getting ready for work, his actual and legitimate work, when the phone rang. He walked over and picked it up almost last minute because his pants weren't fully on, Hello, Damien Kumar speaking. He was elated to hear the voice of his friend. Or who he hoped was his friend. He was also delighted that the first few words were not I AM SUING YOU FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT! It was great. Of course we are still on! I was sort of worried you might not want to get out. I am sorry, I get very bizarre on zydrate sometimes. I didn't want you to think I was a hardcore psychopath...as much as you can say someone in our profession isn't. It's just a job, right? One that has no choice to it. There was humor to that but it was a bitter and sour type, one where they would both laugh awkwardly while desperately thinking of something nice to say to lighten their spirits if just so they didn't dive into the moral quandaries in their own heads. Damien thought and brought up what to do, I have to work a bit late, but meet me at the Golden Light Pub. It is on the corner of Write and Cornerstone Street. I should be there around nine tonight if everything goes well. If not, well, perhaps around ten. I cannot wait to see you there. He hung up the phone after all the talk and wondered if he came off like some pedantic boy with a crush. He hoped he hadn't. He finished getting ready and walked out the door, his hat hiding his skin from the sun. Not that the smog and muck of the city let much sun in, but there was enough that the albino felt uncomfortable. He dashed to his car and slid in, driving off to the doctors office. He parked in his much too special spot and went into a special elevator that led to a special hallway. Special was how he saw it as no patients were allowed back here. Doctors needed to feel important, what with how much they were needed by people clamoring for surgery faster and faster and the special additions being grasped at like water by a woman who had been crawling through the desert. He checked his chart and smiled under a mask he had applied before he walked out of his special hallway. Surgeries that were life saving, not unnecessary developments for disgusting people. Perhaps today would be a good day.
Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Well that had certainly been easier than he anticipated. Damien had been so eager, he just let him do all the talking until they agreed on a time and disconnected. Placing the phone back in its cradle, Ezra finished his breakfast and returned to the kitchen area, where he made a halfhearted attempt to clean before giving up and going to get dressed. It wasnt as if hed invited his friend over. No one was going to see the mess but him. Once more he glanced at the clock and realized that nine was still quite a ways off. He felt unusually fidgety, uncertain of what to do with himself. A shower wouldnt be out of the question but it was so early, it seemed like it might be better to wait. He could always practice his painting. That was what he used to fill his spare time with, but after a number of less than desirable results Ezras motivation had dwindled. Pulling on some old work clothes, he flexed his mechanical fingers and stared at the empty easel at the other end of the apartment. Stacked behind it it were rows and rows of failed projects. Months worth of his effort to adjust to the artificial limb that replaced the original. He pursed his lips and approached it like one might a potentially dangerous animal. Even after all this time he could still feel a hint of that old spark that had driven him to pursue art, to spend endless late nights devoted to his craft and come away covered in paint and sweat with a sense of pride and satisfaction nothing else could provide. Another look at the clock. He had a little over ten hours before hed see Damien. Ezra took a deep breath and began uncapping his paints. Eight and a half hours later, the man had transformed a blank canvas into a burning abstract of a cityscape, not quite finsished and not quite dreadful. In fact, Ezra felt rather pleased with the results. His nails were caked with dried oils and his hair was a stringy, sweaty mess, but for the first time in many months he felt like hed accomplished something. He was reluctant to turn in his brush in favor of a quick shower, hiowever the prospect of seeing Damien was enough to fuel him into taking a break.
Thread: Bad Kitty!

Lox sighed gently as he made his way through the busy avenue that bustled with an excessive amount of people shopping, chatting, eating, and generally in a good mood but then again this was the black market where people got anything they wanted. Who wouldn't be happy getting a hold of a rare gun or drugs or even a bit of pun out in the open and looking for customers but Lox did his best to ignore such open decadence, even if his eyes did linger on an ass that looked to be sculptured by a god. He was currently on his way to a seller of persons, a slaver, or creature traffic whatever you wanted to call it he was going into a store to buy a pet. And though he had once looked down on the ownership of a person's life he could no longer ignore his own desires, and after a lengthy and difficult amount of business dealings Lox had secured himself the object of his desires... supposedly. Lox was of a canine decent, but what breed of creatures spawned him was anyone's guess due to the strange coloration and pattern of fur he possessed. First was the fact that he was fairly tall, standing 6'6 with a fair bit of muscle but nothing substantial enough to make him look like a steroid addict with a two color soft fur coat. First he was mostly jet black but a strange shade of red colored his muzzle and down his throat to cover his entire front and even down his crotch. And the fact that the bottom of his tail was all red it pointed to the fact that it went down up and around to his tail as well which to his amusement had woman first looking at his muzzle, neck, and then tail only to smile suggestively. Besides his breed being odd, his tastes were even odder as he specifically ordered a feline as a pet. He had a thing for the feisty, but more so the inclination to a natural enemy made dominating them all the more satisfying. Once in his life he had paid a feline prostitute to meet him at his house not knowing what she was, and because she had been paid she was forced to do as he said. That night was filled with cursing, rough sex, him getting his chest and back clawed all to hell and at last a sleeping purring kitten. It had been utterly satisfying making her his bitch, but god did those cuts burn like all hell and he ended up getting a god damn fever because of it but it was worth fucking her out of her mind and listening to those purrs afterwards. But then again he had been adamantly warned that this particular slave was known for defiance and viciousness but hell he already paid in advance and was going to pick up the product now. Serena was a very attractive female fox who was selling to him, and assured him if he couldn't handle her that she could be returned for a different pet but then again she was a fox, and you'd have to be stupid to trust one up front. He really had to get out of the habit of paying early for the things he wanted even if was easier and made him more trustworthy. Oh well... he was still excited about seeing her.
Thread: Survival Instincts (Battleship & Latapaine)

The City streets roared In the middle of the day, From yelling merchants to playfull children. It seemed like a day no diffrent from any other, the humans were busy worrying about how vain they're lives are. How pathetic, when a soul cannot realize the termoil its driving itself into. One corner In a few blocks past the main street, A hooded man about 6'1 walked silently through the middle of the Alley. His steps made no thumps, his breaths made no sound. He wore a blue hoodie that looked like it was abit too big for his size, and ripped jeans and sneakers. He had his hood up, covering his whole face with the exception of a few strands of Silver hair, falling over his eyes. People tended to stay away from the man, something seemed off about him. His apperance was not what a normal human In this age's scociety would look like. His aura was diffrent, his Image, the way he presented himself was..flawd. All could tell he was always angry. He was always bothred or annoyed, Focused on one thing and one thing alone, Vengance. He walked all the way to the end of the Alley, and opens a wooden door about halfway, Before stopping, and turning his head to look at his side. a Young woman dressed In black was standing but a few meters from his house. She looked lost, but Calm. His eyes lit with fire as he closes the wooden door back again. Sasha takes a few steps towards the girl, An opportunity has just presented itself right to him.
Thread: Survival Instincts (Battleship & Latapaine)

Its the weekend and Sugar didnt have anything to do. She was given a flier by a friend to check out a new club that was setup in the city, but as soon as she arrived by cab, she hasnt been able to find it. She thinks the taxi driver dropped her off at the wrong place. She sighs as she wanders around aimlessly, wondering if she will ever find the place. She tried asking around, but no one has been able to tell her where it is. She even begins it might have just been a joke that was set up by her friend. Feeling frustrated, she decides to just wander around for the rest of the day or until she gets bored. After an hour or so, she finally arrives at an ally and looks into it to see a tall man wearing a blue hoodie that is about to walk into a building. Thinking he has been around the city for a while, she decides to ask him for directions. She slowly walks into the ally and up to the man with the flier tightly in her right hand. Hello, Mister... I was wondering if you know where this is She asks nervously, not really used to asking people who appeared to be homeless.