The Parking Lot

It's that time again, ladies and gentlemen. That magical time of year where the excitement and hype of Heaven or Hell turns to resentment and anger as team after team are eliminated from the tournament before they can aspire to their dreams. Many put on a cheerful expression and keep a stiff upper lip, but the truth behind it all is that the streets of Latent are quickly being populated with sore losers.

Giving each other passing glances in the halls.

Feeling cheated by that damn judge from France.

Having to listen to all that hype.

It's enough to push the limits of any person's patience, constantly surrounded by reminders that they just didn't measure up while having to endure the endless stream of emo spouted by the losers and the continual s**t-talk of the winners. The hotel might be a safe haven with security lurking around every corner, but Latent itself is another story; the entire city is a powderkeg, ready to go up at the strike of a match.

So who's going to be the first one to snap?

Terrain

General – An outdoor parking lot overlooking the ocean and surrounded by waist-high concrete posts. Across the street are storefronts and cars parked at meters. There is also a side-alley with bags of trash from the nearby stores piled next to a dumpster and a fire-escape mounted to the side of an adjacent building. There is also a liquor store. It's like regular boring, old Latent but better... with blackjack... and hookers!

Weapons – Anything you can find in the cars or stores. Trash cans, litter, cars. And hookers.

Natural Element Resource – None.

Bonus Effects – This is not a tournament, the rules no longer apply.

This thread has been officially

disapproved of by the

Supreme Jerk Commander.

Two paladins walk into a bar. There are vampires in the rafters.

Discuss.

A tall, shirtless, muscular fellow splashed with scars and having pointy ears, a black cloak draped over his shoulder, had just finished driving the edge of a seven-foot-long blade through the middle of one of the cars parked on the outskirts of the lot. The weapon tore through the vehicle, causing both ends of the frame to fold in on themselves like compacted aluminum. The car's horn blared absently into the dim night.

With the sound of more metal giving way, the pointy-eared individual ripped his blade free of the car's crushed frame and held the sword before him, his dark eyes scanning the length of Dragon Slayer. He was rusty, but she still worked quite well. His neck pivoted and he glanced over both shoulders. It wouldn't be long now....

From some invisible cavity in the earth, or between hell and the mortal realm, incorporeal tendrils snaked their way up the sides of his legs, seeking warmth in his mortal coil. You stink of darkness! fanged, sucker-like mouths hissed at him. You do! He backed away, kicking the snakes from his visage, and with one broad, low sweep of his cursed blade, he tore the accursed entities asunder. He'd been at it all night; this was but another wave among hundreds.

Still wielding the sword, he wiped at the sweat beading his brow with the back of his right hand, the hand of flesh and blood, then dabbed at the seeping brand on the back right side of his neck with one prosthetic left finger. He licked at the dark ichor, a fanged smile gracing his lips. "Let's see how many of you I can kill before midnight.

"Maybe between now and then, something else will show up to entertain me."

A luchadora was standing near a post, holding a folded chair in her right hand.

And she was grinning.

Roja performed a dropkick to the incoming prostitute, after which she got to her feet and pointed her finger defiantly at the person who threw such a woman.

"Stop being a wimp and fight me yourself!"

She didn't know who she was talking to, to be honest.

Roja proceeded to beat the hooker senseless with her metal chair, raging.