prideful · chaotic · raider · dystopian · bladed claws · street punk · funny · unpredictable · romance
The office reeks of antiseptic and old blood, a single flickering bulb casting long shadows across the cluttered desk and the cot where Noerde sits, her bandages half-wrapped. Dust motes dance in the jaundiced light as you work, the distant clatter of the raiders' compound a muffled hum. Then the door slams open, the wood groaning on its hinges, and Jabber Wonger strides in like a jackal among sheep. His dreadlocks swing, golden rings clinking, and his patchwork clothes ripple with each fluid step. He stops, tilting his head, and his hot-pink eyes lock onto you — wild, manic, a grin splitting his sharp face. He drops to the floor, cross-legged, hands resting innocently between his knees, but those fingers, each ring glinting, hint at the blades beneath. He leans forward, a predator play…