Grey grinned in that way he didn't when he wasn't working. Dave's question apparently raising his spirits.

"So while I didn't become a dentist. I technically became a doctor." Grey considered in a way that suggested even he didn't know how that really worked out. "But originally, per my previous story, yes, I trained to be an assassin."

"To kill the man whose... Skull is sitting on the bookshelf."

"I mean, somebody comes to your patch of middle earth, kills your parents, burns your village, and enslaves the few survivors." Grey casually admitted. "A bit cliche. But you'd probably be a little raw about it too."

Dave agrees with a simple balling of his fists. It was a cue that Grey himself had came to notice over the years. Perhaps it was a nervous tic? A way to keep the monster at bay when emotions are high?

"I'm sorry you had to live like that."

"Don't be." Grey assured. "I got my revenge. And my current therapist gets to put his kids through college."

"-Is the therapist an elf too?"

"No. But what he doesn't know won't kill him."

Grey had a rather wry sense of humor. Being around so long would do that to anybody. Technology may press things forward, but a lot of things barely change if at all. He continued drinking coffee absently as he went over some folders he'd brought along.

"So how did it start? The assassin thing?"

"Well, after I did the whole grieving-process thing. It turns out there are a lot of people who want a lot of other people to disappear."

"Heh." Dave paused. Now it was his turn to smile in a similar sense. He had his own habits in that regard. Maybe the fist balling wasn't restraint, but anticipation?

"Unlike you, I couldn't just lay waste to a small army by myself. So I fell in with any coven, brotherhood, or bandits willing to take me in."

He went over to the counter and pressed the button on the air pot and let the cup refill. "I learned whatever they could teach me. Sure my family were potent magic users. But you can only learn so much on short notice."

It was rather simple. Elves had better tendency and experience at blending in. At least in more humanity dense areas of the old world. He always figured himself to be a bit unusual. An elf willing to tackle the outside world. But without the excess narcissism that seemed to come with that background.

"Really quick, and I don't mean any offense." Dave asked. "What's the deal with elves and wanting to rule the entire world."

Grey sat back and ignored his story for a moment. "I think it's the living for thousands of years part? You can't be a shut-in and not go crazy. You spend 2000 years teaching yourself spells, you haven't seen the sun in half that. You'll go crazy. Get delusions of grandeur."

It was funny how catch all his statement proved to be. Many of the other elves Dave had been introduced too carried this feeling of royalty. That there was so much superiority on general principal. Amal turned one to stone at the last function. That changed the dynamic a lot more than expected.

"I have a friend who still is getting past that. He didn't leave his house between The Sack of Rome and the Industrial Revolution."

"How is he now?"

"I mailed him a smartphone for his birthday, told him they landed on the moon." Grey remembered. "He's taking it kind of hard."

"So, your hitman years."

He went over the finer details of being careless at first. He took any deal that came his way. It didn't matter that he hadn't left his adolescence. If anything, he believed it gave him an advantage. Everyone expects some arduous warrior to show up to claim their lives. Most still don't expect a teen who can't drive; let alone ride horseback.

"I wasn't successful entirely." Grey explained. "Some escaped. Some just beat me half to death."

And some asked if he wanted better work. Of course nothing is ever that easy. And so many of Grey's years were spent training in ways he himself wasn't even prepared for.

"And that's when I learned you should never insult a sun troll's mother. My jaw still clicks to this day."

"They hit really hard." Dave confirmed.

"Everybody keeps making fun of living under a bridge, until they have to fight someone that lives under a bridge."

Eventually between all the pitfalls and bonuses of his lifestyle, he eventually had a realization. Not a fresh one. Just one he learned long before everything else. It was more peaceful to prolong life instead of taking it.

"That's... actually a very nice sentiment." Dave respected. "After what happened earlier."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm fairly certain all my previous contract targets were assholes to begin with."

Grey however switched things up at this point.

"Enough about me. You fought one of the Sons of Hikan to a draw" He mused. "How does that work?"

Dave shrunk up a little bit in his jacket, not that it made him seem any smaller. "So I used to have... Anger issues. You know?"

r/Jamaican_Dynamite

I been in places where you can't carry a call room to room. And that's during the pre apocalypse era.

Yep. Here's ADZE over the 110 for an example.

You know why they call them Heaven Spots? Because if you fall from that place up there, there's only a couple places you're gonna' go.

Kuma always found those jokes a bit morbid. But considering how Skullz died, he wasn't wrong. Died painting a watertower. That factory's been on the city's demo list for 30 years. Skullz is still up there. He became a regional legend, and he wasn't a bad cousin either.

Kuma glanced at the sides of the rail he found himself on. And while people always tell you 'don't look down', he marveled at the cars as they rushed by three stories below. It was a local rite of passage. This bridge was meant for freight trains to cross the river. That didn't stop the state from building a freeway underneath it.

The way to get in was simple. Deadly if you do it wrong. But simple. Make sure the tracks are clear. Walk to the main span. Scale the retaining wall. Climb down to the bottom of the beams, and shimmy to the pilings. That's a place to rest your extra cans. Then find a spot on the ledge, and start painting. To leave, simply repeat the previous steps. Make sure not to climb into the path of a train.

He began filling in the outline carefully. This was meant to be a big one. First layer red. Second layer Tangerine. The outline would be black over white. Second color goes down first.

The person standing on the ledge with him almost made him slip off. Kuma grabbed the overhang and pulled himself closer to the metal. It didn't make sense. People didn't sneak up on him like that. This guy hadn't made a single noise, but he couldn't have been ten feet away.

He was young. Probably younger than him. College, maybe high school aged? He wore an orange puffer jacket. The color making him stand out against the hazy tan of the night sky. Almost a similar hue to the paint on the wall.

"You're hitting my spot?" He yelled to Kuma.

"Your spot?" Kuma replied over the wind. There wasn't any other tag here on this end of the bridge.

"Yeah, my spot." The man yelled back.

"...Well, we'll just have to share then." Kuma remarked. He made sure to watch his footing. Looking up, the man had gotten closer. How he had no clue.

"Got anything this color?" He said, pointing at his jacket.

Kuma handed him the can he just finished using. The other man grabbed the can and went to work. Fast. Too fast. He barely held the overhang as he went down the rail doing letter after letter. Before long, he switched to a light yellow. The orange can had ran out and he tossed the empty to Kuma. It was too far out however, and the can shrank into a flying dot somewhere below.

"You better hurry up." The other writer mentioned. "You can't stay here forever. You'll fall off."

Kuma agreed silently. And the pair worked together in tandem. Every once in a while, closing into trade a can. For some reason, the other writer kept producing cans from his jacket. Up to at least 10. There was no way.

It wasn't until he'd put the finishing signature on his work that Kuma leaned to read both names. Kuma. And Avon.

That couldn't be right. From what he remembered about the guy that wrote that handle. He'd been dead maybe 20 years.

"Avon?" Kuma asked over the traffic.

"Yeah?"

"Are you related to Avon?" He asked further.

"Have we met?" Avon asked him, leaning way too far towards the edge.

"Did you paint Melba Square? For Y2K?"

The reply came after a moment of silence. "I haven't been over there in a long time."

"Been a long time." Kuma agreed.

Avon dropped his hand and held it flat like he was measuring something. "You were real little. I didn't know if you remembered me."

"How could I forget?" Kuma answered. His grip shifted. "Hey...." He paused. "Where's Skullz? Did you know him?"

"Know him?! We were best friends!" Avon admitted. "Last I remember... He wanted to paint the old foundry uptown."

Kuma wanted to ask more. But rumbling overcame him, and he held on tight as possible as the structure shuddered. A train was passing overhead. A long one. A cold breeze reminded him to look over. Avon had somehow closed the gap. He could see the features of someone who hadn't been alive for some time.

"Why are you still here?" Kuma tried to ask over the noise.

"I've always been here. We always will be." Avon explained.

"Why?"

"This doesn't stop." Avon answered. "None of this will ever stop."

He studied Kuma's concerned look. He was getting tired. It wasn't time yet.

"Go home, Kuma. You did good."

"How?"

"You're still alive." Avon answered.

The roar of the train carried on. Shadows cutting off the little glimpses of overhead light one could get.

"It's been fun." Avon waved. "But this is my stop."

And with one of the reverberations of the train, Avon's right foot missed the railing. He didn't make a sound as he fell and rolled through the air into the dark. Kuma reached for him, but stopped himself and grabbed the overhang again.

His body wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere.

After the train passed, it took some careful climbing to get back onto the tracks and walk to the end. Crawl through weeds and over rocks, through fences to the tracks and to the ground below.

Avon would have landed right here. Kuma checked the traffic nearby as it flew by at highway speeds. No way to survive a fall like that. Nothing but dirt, concrete and gravel to hit. Above, he saw his name. Avon's name was also there. How, he had zero clue. However, on the next piling, there was another tag. One he never noticed on his way up on his way down.

It was a skull.

I figured this character deserved a second shot. So here's some worldbuilding. r/Jamaican_Dynamite

The Dirty South returns. 🤣

Exactly. It's disgusted by the cult and their willingness to end a world that isn't even close (in their eyes) to that point. So it decides to solve the problem for its friend before it starts, and go home.

"Destroy humanity?" The Old One spoke.

The sound of the voice alone rattled the very foundation of the building above their heads. That was mild compared to the ringing in their skulls.

"Yes, your majesty." The leader began. He gave a curt bow, in respect and sheer honor. The others remained worshipping the floor, fearful to even lay eyes on the darkness.

"Mortal..." The voice rumbled. "May you answer my query?"

Such an odd reversal led to pause in the cult leader. He expected to serve, to be the right hand. Not to answer a question from his god.

"Yes, your majesty."

"Why would I destroy humanity?" The rumble returned. From the darkness, a clawed hand emerged. The size of a compact car, it settled and cracked the cement ever so slightly.

The leader shuffled. "Because... Look at what we are. What we do. The, the world. And how we've destroyed it. A-and, and how, how we know we could be better. But we choose to destroy each other."

The hand slid closer, causing every one to look up.

Another rumble came forth. But it wasn't a growl of hunger or vengeance. It was laughter. Tired, ancient laughter.

"You don't get it. Do you?" The Old One rumbled.

The other cultists watched their leader for an answer, or at least, the one they all had agreed on. "No? No, your-"

"Majesty. Right." The hand waved mildly, claws clicking on the floor. "Let me explain something."

There was a flicker in the lights above. Followed by a second hand reaching forth. There was fear building at this. The Old One understood. Despite their summoning ritual, they were scared to meet face to face. Fear was the oldest emotion after all.

"Long ago. Before your time. Before the Earth. There were more of us. Some have gone. Some remain."

It paused. Allowing them to at least to check for injuries among them. It understood.

"One like myself. He wanted to create something different. Something alive. And so he picked a world. And he created you there." It continued. The voice wasn't as tired. It felt awake. Alive now.

"We didn't believe. He had created a species that had endless potential. Rare. So very rare. And what a joy to observe."

This thing came closer, a outline visible now. One of the cultists fell over then and there. It seemed like they fainted. Their heart just gave out in all reality. Unfortunate side effects.

"What are you saying?" Their leader began. "You're saying we're entertainment?"

"You are more incredible than you realize." The Old One promised. "However. You do not appreciate it. You seek to ruin the world they created."

It's voice sunk. "In order to start over. This is unnecessary. Your summoning of me for this purpose is irresponsible."

It's approached caused madness in some now. The Old One could see all. The carnage they wrought. The unforgivable shedding of innocent blood. The horrors inflicted on many who never caused harm worthy of such.

"And I must say.... I have not feasted in some time."

The leader, despite the terror he faced, asked slack jawed. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The easiest way to change your world." The Old One revealed. "Is to start with yourself."

The leader realized something clouded the edges of his vision. Blood. His blood.

"But in this case." The Old One promised the now writhing bodies. "I shall do what you cannot."

The building lay quiet now.

All that remain. A stained floor. A useless book in an empty room. And long forgotten screams that fell on dead ears.

From a world away from ours. A creator again admired their works.

I was originally going to be funny, but I decided to play it straight. r/Jamaican_Dynamite