Surviving [Inv/Roman]

Roman sat in his little makeshift hovel out in an older alleyway of the Karakura districts. A bunch of cardboard boxes, duct tape, milk crates, news papers and other things people mindlessly throw away after a one or two time use made his “home”. It was like a reminiscent of a small child's fort in a back yard, but constructed in a strangely professional way. Everything was held together and tied down to keep from wind damage, and was perfectly dry when it rained. When the cold became an issue to other homeless people, it was not for Roman. He used a couple of old, rusted, steel drums to make a sort of stove/fire place. Wasn't hard considering he made cuts with powers unknown to most of the human race and the millions upon millions of dollars invested into this one man to make sure he could survive no matter where he was. Now that was a problem these days for his... “investors”, because all of that money went to waste with his absence.

Now Roman's shelter was more than that, it was something he had to rough others up to maintain dominance and ownership. To a homeless man or woman, this place might as well could have been a venerable fucking mansion. Sure, knives and the like were pulled on him but no one knew about his mysterious background. Course, word spread around the town that he could be a very mean older man if pressured, despite how polite and courteous he was to everyone else. That latter bit paid off, it kept him fed. He washed windows, took out trash and did other odd jobs for a lot of the restaurants when he was around and in turn, they left him small caches of food. One of which, he was readying to collect for breakfast.

And so Roman donned his shaggy black wig to conceal the tattoos covering his bald head and took with him a walking stick made of rebar. He was headed to a small noodle shop today, these folks were generally nice and made sure to stick the food its proper containers, then in a bucket filled with ice. It was at Roman's request, these nice people weren't doing anything he wasn't asking. They had made a comment about how he could just get it from them in the morning if he just showed up later, but his reply was to mention he was a natural early riser and he didn't want to trouble them if they were busy at their lunch rush.

As Roman turned the corner to get his breakfast, he caught a glimpse of a young man wrenching a crow from peace and tearing into it.

Funny, of all the things he could manage to get out, Roman just let out a very simple, very startled, “Oh”

“Good lord,” Roman sputtered out in his native tongue of Russian rather than English or Japanese. He rose a hand up slowly, as if to show he meant no harm. Despite the scene, this was no deterrent to his breakfast. He'd seen worse, done worse, than kill a bird with only his teeth. Just as cautious as his rising hand, Roman walked over to the hidden cache the store keepers left for him and removed the barriers to get at his noodles. Call it human nature, call it what you will, but Roman made the motions to remove the plastic bag and the styrofoam box containing the noodles and opened it for the other person to see.



“Just getting my paycheck, boss. You are hungry, yes?” He looked around to the birds, figuring that the youngster, probably on some kind of drug, was hungry. Then again, there was something about the gas mask that the other human wore that intrigued him. Maybe it was just a mental thing, but if that was the case, why did it glow? That bit began to gnaw at his curiosity, if nothing else. He wasn't exactly privvy to the more secretive nature of things of his homeland, but he did hear whispers and rumors of other "projects". Still, there was no way for one of them to be let loose or even escape. It was hard enough for him to make his get away.

It would appear that he was gaining some ground with his fellow bum. The youngster spoke twice, only one word a piece and broken in half each time. The first, Roman gathered was a name. Mikhail. He knew a few people with that name, and now he knew one more. The second word was spoken in a questioning manner. Then again, the now-named Mikhail might not be hungry after chomping down on that bird, but it still would help them both out. Roman didn't want to hurt anyone, it kept attention off of him and he hated how he had to feign submissiveness when it came to people he really wanted to kick the shit out of.

He held the styrofoam container up and out towards Mikhail. “Da, Hungry. Instead of eat bird, eat noodles instead. Bird may be of carrying disease, and getting sick out on the streets is not a fun thing to deal with.” Spoke the man who could literally vomit any form of sickness from his body, but then again there were many people who said they could puke and then feel perfectly fine afterwards. Roman just hated throwing up, as the subject of his teeth were a sensitive topic.

“The nice people who leave this for me give me a fork and napkins inside. Here. You seem like you would benefit more from this than me.”

'I'll just take a trip to the gas station outside of town and get something to eat later.' The Russian thought, thinking of which face and body he would use to disguise himself this time.

Maybe the kid wasn't hungry, though Roman was getting the notion the youngster seemed to focus more on his words when he spoke in his native tongue. The focus of Mikhail's attention went to the small device—an mp3 player, and he held it up making the motions that he needed to get the screws out, and while he didn't have a screwdriver with him, he could easily improvise. To this, Roman nodded once and held his hand out. And that was when the magic happened. When it was something of this request, Roman could do what was asked just as easily if Mikhail asked if he could breath. After one long breath, and a few moments later, the mp3 player slipped out of Mikhail's hand and floated over to Roman.



“Before I became homeless, I was a famous magician. Watch, Mikhail.” He, of course spoke in the language Mikhail might understand best here.



Roman's hands moved about in a dramatic fashion, left and right, up and down, sideways here and there and as he did this, the screws of the device slowly unscrewed and hung in the air. Once all of the screws were out, the music device and its freed components slowly hovered back over to its original owner and stood there, suspended in air until Mikhail grabbed at them.

The look of amazement was the same as any other he'd seen on those with a child like mentality, or if they were a child themselves. It brought Mikhail back to a time, a better time at that, when his persuasion were used as supporting units with infantry and they were strolling through small villages. Him and some of the other Psykers would spill some juice so they could entertain the kids, if they stopped. It was a good way to boost the morale of the people and an oddly effective way to keep them happy. Making a child happy more often than not made the parents of said child happy as well, and doing things like making money levitate and fall into the hands of the children did just that. Mikhail seemed less happy with the “trick”, but more impressed with the fact it all came undone and available to him in the manner he wished. Roman was rather amazed himself as he watched the youngster pull a McGyver and concoct a means of making light with the useable parts available to him.

“Let us just say I am gifted, my friend. I--” He paused suddenly, his pale face surprisingly became more devoid of color as he felt a wave of fear hit over his body. He'd been feeling these short spikes of uncontrolled terror, followed by...there it was...

Some kind of...unearthly roar, followed by the shaking ground, and each second that passed the ground shook heavier, and longer. A large shadow came over the entrance of the alleyway, stopping. All Romah heard were the loud snorts of a creature inhaling the air, as if on the trail of its prey's scent. Roman turned around slowly, having not been this scared in a very, very long time.