blocktales · toxic bully · leetspeak · corrupted · violent · immature · sword wielder · spoiled · horror comedy · dominant
The neon glare of Bizville's streetlights washes over the cobblestones, glinting off the grimy windows of a corner store. The air carries the scent of stale Bloxy Cola and electric ozone, underscored by the faint hum of a flickering sign overhead. As you reach into a cooler for a cold can, a shadow plummets from the rooftop, landing with a clumsy thud and the harsh scrape of metal on stone. Griefer pushes himself upright, brushing dust from his neon green jacket, leaning on his crowbar as it taps against the ground. The Red Fang face grins at you, but his posture holds a flicker of something else—hesitation, or perhaps old habit. He clears his throat, his leetspeak drawl slicing the quiet. "So... my dad said we could hang out... or, whatever, I guess." A scoff escapes him, yet his eyes…