In reply to Froggychum (msg # 135):

A momentary confusion clouded Uladzislau's thoughts, then memory of the song that his ring had sung while healing the druggie came to mind. "Blood Red Sandman" he said, and the ring throbbed with bloody crimson light approvingly, two bars of the song playing very quietly from it.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 17:02, Mon 07 Oct 2019.

"Very well, you may both enter" he said. "I didn't think you were the type that I'd see again around here, Miguel... 'specially carrying someone in tow" he amusingly said to nobody in particular, almost as if thinking about to himself out loud.

He opened the door to the foyer and they were greeted with an incredibly open space with no floor except for the building's cement foundation, and a space that was artificially open-plan, probably after they knocked out all the walls, and replaced the load-bearing ones with the steel beams that littered the place. inside, it almost looked like a government building, albeit a shady one. It had many stalls, booths and benches full of people getting Fake driver's licenses, birth certificates and the likes.

There was even a surgeon's office that was doing emergency plastic surgery behind a closed curtain with a scarily low amount of anesthetic.

"You're not the kind of person to run away a second time" he muttered, more seriously this time.

He walked them up to a row of chairs and sat them down, offering them each a ski mask, Miguel, for one, declined. The people seated next to them were an elderly couple wearing ski masks. The man held a briefcase, presumably full of cash, and the woman held a purse stuffed to the brim with jewelry.

The woman had some printed sheets of facebook conversations, presumably to be deleted, and she also carried a photos book.

The red-skinned barbarian had no idea what he should think about the comments the... clerk? made about Miguel. He had the impression that his companion was not in the best of terms with whatever government agency this was.

The ski mask got a double take, looking at it, then at other people around, then back at it. He looked at his hand and peculiar skin coloration. No, a mask wouldn't help hide anything. He declined the mask as well, just sitting quietly with Woundhealer resting against his knee, paying attention to everything and anything. How American governments differed from ones in the Russian-speaking world was a complete mystery; he couldn't assume that movies were at all accurate in how they depicted them.

I go after the man.

@Neito

(he's a boy, but yes I should have wrote that more consistently)

(I assume you put on your one piece of clothing first? Or do you just go out fully naked?)

Neito hurries after the little rascal that pranked him so inconsiderately. He didn't plan on harming him, after all he was just a child, and Neito liked to consider himself a good guy... maybe even a hero...

People looked at him funny as he ran through the halls wearing barely anything. If he was actually naked, he would be following right behind the boy, but people would be gasping at the indecency.

(next post confirm whether or not you put on clothes, and then i will continue the narration from there)

@Uladzislau, your post is coming up next.

"Well, while we're here, I guess I'll tell you what I know" he told the red-skinned man. It was clear he had seen weirder things than that, however. So had everyone inside here, they barely took a second glance at the stand user.

If he hadn't stopped to look before, Uladzislau did now, the man had light brown skin and messy brown hair, as well as brown eyes. He was latino and appeared to be in his early 20s, despite his crowskin, probably from stress.

"You see... I always was an easily intimidated person," he began, "I don't like to fight, and I'm even a bit of a scaredycat" he said... "Mom always told me I was generous with my friends, but not with anyone else...." he said, a tear growing in his eye when he mentioned his mom, whom he probably hadn't seen in months or perhaps even years. "I'm not very good at enforcing my limits, and I never get lucky with romance" he complained, to himself mostly.

"My real name is Miguel Martinez, but I've been using a fake name these people gave me for three years. I grew up in a neighborhood that wasn't great, but it's definitely not the worst new york has to offer" he told the man, "My parents moved out into a nicer neighborhood though, when I was a freshman in high school. My friends all either cut me out or started acting differently around me, more expectant of things"

"I got bullied a lot for being richer, because I still attended the same school. I'm proud of my parents for making that decision, and saving up all they did, but I still wish they would have considered what the other kids would have thought about me after I moved away..." this guy was telling him a life story. It was definitely heading somewhere, though.

"One day, after I had graduated and gotten a decent job, one of my friends I haven't seen at that point, in like ten years came to my home and said that he needed my help" he said, a bit of anger inflicting itself into his voice.

"He lied to me and convinced me that it was the police who were after him, so I told him that I would talk to them, since I had some reputation for not being a scoundrel, like he always had" Miguel said, an air of regret in his voice.

"But, then guess who answered the door? The same guys who we're running from now! SUPERIUS! They are a gang that rules the city... They're all stand users, and as their name can tell you, have a superiority complex. Believing stand users should have free reign over regular humans" he said, with a tone of disagreement.

"A couple members showed up to my house to kill my childhood friend. I was powerless to stop them, they also found out that I had acquired a stand, what a nightmare!" he retold.

"They tried to draft me into their organization, but I escaped. Most people have heard about the gang, even if they have no idea what a stand is..." he revealed to the red-skinned stand user hulking in a chair beside him.

He gestured around, "These people helped me flee from the state, and I went to live with my grand-uncle" he told Uladzislau.

"I returned three years ago, and have been trying to leave an inconspicuous life" he finished.

"Am sorry, Miguel. English not first language. We speaking Russian home in Belarus," Uladzislau apologized after realizing that Miguel was talking too much for him to keep up with. That it was a story of the man's life, he grasped, but the details were not so clear. Parents he loved, a good friend in trouble, some sort of secret police?

"What stand is? I known word stand for museums and art, standing in lines. But this new meaning. Is new magic. I knowing Woundhealer is magic sword, but not known how I get. Or remembered why I am in America now. I was much smaller before, too."

Miguel looked down with shame as he realized he had barely considered if the man he was talking to could understand him. He decided to answer questions more simply from now on.

"A stand is the... form... of your mind's energy" he informed the man, using simple words if he could, "I don't think your sword is the stand. Anyone can only have one stand" he told the new stand user. "Your stand is what is making you red, big, have a sword, and heal things when you hit" he told the man.

"I assume it's either a bound stand, meaning an item with a stand in it. Or perhaps an Au-To-Mat-Tic stand," he spelled out automatic, "which works alone, and is invisible." he said. "The second one... would be harder for you." he said, a bit sorry if that's the case.

"I don't know why you're in America, I'm sorry" he told the man. "I don't know why you forgot... it might not be the stand." he told him, "Very little stands harm their user" he explained, "But it could be" Miguel said.

"I... seeing." Uladzislau said slowly. So, this 'stand' was why he was changed? If Woundhealer wasn't the stand, what was? His gaze fell to the ring on his finger.

Hmm. Leaving Woundhealer resting against his knee, he took hold of the ring with his other hand and gently tugged on it to see if it would come off.

The ring is tight, as if clinging on for dear life. But, the barbarian's strength overrides it's will to stick on his finger, and he yanks it off... Suddenly, he feels very tired, exhausted, both mentally, physically and... spiritually? His eyes gloss over and his brain waves revert to static fuzz... he passes out and the ring drops to the floor. His body is cold, but not dead... But not truly alive either... As if his very soul was gone.

"Wh-what in the Hell?" Miguel asked to God, freaked out... "G-guess tha-that's the stand... " he said, chuckling ever so softly...

"I've never seen a stand do something like this... even if it was a Bound stand..." he said. "This is... something else... " he wondered, picking up the ring.

Just then, the man pulled off his mask and turned his head to face behind him, hollering out to a man behind the surgeon's curtain, presumably the doctor...

But, then, the patient jumped out from the bed and started buttoning up his shirt. The doctor stould up, shaking and walked backwards to the corner of the room where he collapsed, his knife unbloodied.

In fact, the anesthetic machine had never run... the patient wasn't actually under. He was a man in dark grey clothes, very formal, and his face was covered by his hat, which was tilted forward to shade his features. He clearly was an enemy, but his identity was meant to be unknown.

Many people in charge looked over in shock, and one woman, who had clearly worked here for many years, yelled "INTRUDER!" and broke an alarm button hidden underneath her desk. The rest pulled out SMGs from underneath the desk, and hopped over their desks as they loaded them, including some people who normally wouldn't be able to do it, and clearly had trained this routine a dozen times.

The man's face didn't change, or mayhaps it did. it was hidden, "I'm just here for these two" he said, his voice impossibly gravelly. He was clearly modifying it somehow... it wasn't human, and it was mechanical. Could even be a robot. But, Miguel had spotted an odd machine not part of his body underneath his collar. He really didn't want his identity known.

THe old couple shaked in shame, they had clearly been working with him, the woman looked over to Miguel, and pleaded, "We had to... we're sorry. they'll forgive us now, and we will be safe" she broke into tears and the man's stern face barely glanced at Miguel and his knocked out friend before comforting his wife.

Miguel hastily slid the ring back on  the finger and began to slap the now-small and normal-colored man into waking up... he hoped he was still in there, or at least could be roused back. He kept yelling 'we're under attack!'. Then, the man began to walk towards them...

Red light arced between ring and finger as the metal band approached Uladzislau's digit. There was an almost audible click as the ring slid on, literally pulling itself back into place with bloody red light welling out. Light that shot up Uladzislau's arm through the veins to his heart, and the small Belarusian man convulsed once as he started to grow back to barbarian height and build, the light racing through his arteries spreading redly through his flesh from them.

In the moments before he regained awareness, the barbarian had a vision of library-style shelves floating around him, with pulsing veins and arteries of light floating between them. And between them and him. Two short verses in English played through his thoughts, heard but not-heard.


"With blood and rage of crimson red,
Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead,
Together with our hellish hate,
We'll burn you all--that is your fate!"

"Whose flesh the Sword of Mercy hurts has drawn no breath;
Whose soul it heals has wandered in the night,
Has paid the summing of all debts in death
Has turned to see returning light."


His eyes returned to the white-on-white of his barbarian state as consciousness fully returned, and he started to sit up, looking around in confusion. The puddle of blood that Woundhealer had melted into when the ring was removed went unnoticed by him, for now.

「Blue Suede Shoes!」 the man says, voice still modified and face still hidden.

A stand appears in front of him. It resembles him perfectly, except it is made of Blue Suede and has 'Ace of Spades' playing cards for eyes.

The stand runs towards them at 35 KPH, fists already held up.

Miguel looks around desperately for some liquid, then realizes something, and gags in preemptive disgust.

Miguel ducks out of the way to slurp up the blood left behind by Woundhealer. He gags twice before standing up and looking at the man's stand, tears forming in his eyes. The man looks at him quizzically.

Then, right before he throws up, he brings his stand out. Then, well, he pukes... However instead of bloody vomit, what comes out is a blast of molten lava that the stand barely dodged, burning his shoulder. The man hisses in pain from the corner of the room, but doesn't scream, likely as not to disrupt his voice modifier. His perfectly smoothed out suit, smoked a little and soaked with blackened blood. His shoulder had been severely burned.

The stand swings a right hook at Miguel with it's non-damaged shoulder.

Battle! There was a battle and he was missing it! Wait... why was he excited about a fight? He didn't know, but barbaric instinct had him scrambling to his feet already, trying to interpose himself between the onrushing blue thing and the elderly pair of civilians nearby.

Where was his sword? He glanced left. He glanced right. No sword. Well, he still had fists. And he started flailing with both of them, two-fisted inexperience going after both combatants, Miguel and the blue Stand, trying to aim for where they were wounded without any real rational thought as to why he was doing so.

The barbarian wasn't quite faster than the stand, and the punch landed before he could get between them. He was lucky it was just one punch that made contact.

Uladzislau stands between the two and begins to pummel both his friend where he got punched, and the foe they had succeeded in damaging. The foe's stand healed much slower and required more effort, indicating it was partially the kind of being that his stand would actually harm, though Uladzislau didn't know his abilities enough yet to know that.

Miguel shook in anger, "Why in the Hell are you healing our enemy? We need to protect ourselves!" he said, feelings of betrayal heavy in his voice.

After the stand had been fully healed, he broke the barbarian's pummeling by starting his own combo attack, throwing up to five punches into the side of his head if he didn't move out of the way or try something to avoid damage. These punches hurt a little, but weren't very strong against Uladzislau, so it seemed to not be urgent.

However, each punch that landed, the man smiled in deep satisfaction...

That's when Uladzislau realized, after the second punch, he had forgotten both how to make attacks with his left-side's limbs and how to swallow.

Huh??!?

He didn't know who was friend and who was foe in this fight. But forgetting how to punch with one hand told him that the blue thing punching him was no friend.

Blaaaarrrrrgggghhh! Blood spewed from Uladzislau's mouth like a firehose, blood burning with the unholy light of his now-singing ring. One hand, the right one, came up to meet it, grabbing the flow as Woundhealer started to reform. The other did not, and burning blood splashed all over what was in front of him, physical liquid making the Stand it drenched somewhat visible to normal folks like how a cloud of flour could make an invisible figure visible again by coating or outlining it.

The stand was coated in the blood, but it did not stain it's body, which was made entirely of fabric. The man scoffed in disgust, and straightened out his collar, almost habitually.

The stand threw two more punches at the Barbarian before he could dodge, they didn't hurt too bad, except the last one he felt it when it hit him in the jaw. The stand was faster than him, but was clearly struggling to actually harm him.

However, the first hit made him forget how to attack *without* a weapon, and the hit in the jaw made it so he would clench his jaw, exponentially harder, as well as forget how to unclench it.

When the man saw the second effect take place, he stifled a chuckle.

Miguel pulled himself back up and his stand grabbed a nearby reusable water bottle off one of the armed lady's shelves.

They told everyone to get down, not including Miguel and Uladzislau. They aligned themselves with the two men so they wouldn't be shot. The man frowned and grabbed the cowering surgeon as a hostage

OOC: Who are the "they" telling people to get down?

Uladzislau's face took on a shocked expression when he realized that he couldn't open his mouth to snarl or growl. Or to speak. His brows lowered, glowering in growing fury at the blue thing (the hostile Stand). Woundhealer was still forming from blood and scab, the summons of the Sword of Mercy considerably slowed down either by the use of a single hand or by the memory-rattling blows he was taking.

The ring was still blazing and singing the song Blood Red Sandman on his finger, seemingly undaunted by the blows its' barbarian was taking.

Not remembering how to punch, kick, or any bits of martial arts he'd seen back home in Belarus or when he was attending school in Moscow, the red-skinned man struggled to get his jaw open, using both hands as best he could without letting go of the half-evoked magic sword. What muffled vocal sounds came from his throat might be mistaken for strangling or choking noises.

OOC: 'They' are the staff that drew guns earlier

As the two parties of stand users faced off, suddenly and unceremoniously, the staff let forth a wave of bullets, even though the man was holding a hostage. The man withdrew his stand to avoid another set of damage, and although the surgeon absorbed some of the bullets, he was hit by quite a few. And he collapsed to the floor, bleeding out of many new holes. The surgeon was wrapped in his arms, dead.

Coincidentally, the voice modifier got hit by a bullet as well. "Grugrggh..." the man moaned, his voice not quite revealed since it wasn't spoken words.

He felt at his throat to the broken instrument and panicked for a second, before swallowing, and gaining his composure. He felt lucky that the bullet hand't struck his throat, but he knew death was better than failure in this case. He didn't say any of that of course, but it was thought by him.

He summoned his stand again, which wasn't visibly injured, but was clearly feeling his injuries as well.

Then, Miguel chugged the bottle of water and began to gargle it.... The stand rushed towards him. You have a chance to hit him now.

Bullets... Uladzislau did still remember what bullets were. And there was blood, normal mundane blood flowing. Blood. Something within him reacted very strongly to that.
Both hands met on the hilt of the scab-sword, the ring's light almost magnetically pulling him into a combat stance with no understanding of what he was doing in his mangled memory.
Red light arced between his hands across Woundhealer as they came together in place, and scab transmuted to metal forming the complete sword. His jaw still stuck clenched agonizingly together; he couldn't snarl a battle cry as he instinctively lunged between the brown man (Miguel) and the nasty blue thing (the hostile Stand), sword swinging itself at the oncoming Stand as if it was a normal blade that the barbarian was trying to use to kill his foe with.

The pain in his mouth seemed to him to be fueling the red rage of the ring, driving him to the brink of going berserk.

Though the blade had barely had any effect up until this point, for some reason, when it struck the stand, it knocked it back and left a mark, although it didn't do the full damage a sword of it's caliber usually would. It seemed there was some distinction deciding when the blade would harm someone and when it would heal them... Odd.

Miguel did his best to push past the barbarian and released the water he had gargled. The liquid that came out, appeared to be regular water, but when it struck the injured stand, the man screamed in agony and swore many times. It was salt-water that, through his stand, tortured his wounds with agonizing pain.

His voice was somewhat revealed, he had an Italian accent and his voice was that of someone you'd respect, in exchange for respect. He had a commanding, but not arrogant voice. And even his pained expletives had undertones of loyalty in them, as if his very existence was to serve. He had strength in it too, he was not a coward or a weakling. He served out of respect.

Odd, yes, but at least it hurt the fiend... whatever it was. Miguel's talk about Stands and even who Miguel was fled his memory for the time being, as the barbarian in him focused on fighting this thing and protecting the civilians (or presumed civilians) nearby from it. Everything had a red cast to his vision, blood being in command here rather than mercy or artistic desires.

Miguel finally recognized the barbarian was in a blood rage, and decided to step back.

The others were out of ammo but now that Uladzislau was taking them in melee combat, they weren't going to riddle him with bullets... They didn't understand his stand specifically, even though some of them assumed bullets wouldn't be lethal.

The man was in pain, so even though the barbarian wasn't as fast, he got the initiative to make the first attack. The man was very injured, though none would be fatal if he could soon escape.

OOC) I put on the pants

he continues to follow the boy as he is thinking about why the boy stole his clothes.

The boy is quite fast, and knows the shower halls pretty well, he likely pulls pranks here more often than not.

Once you turn onto the longest hallway yet, at the other ends are the doors to the rest of the area.

Outside of those doors are some public roads and sidewalks, a parking lot and another building, much larger than this one, which is an indoor swimming area. You know this, because you came in through these doors.

The boy is standing at those doors and sticks his tongue out again and waves goodbye, before fleeing out into broad daylight, with everything you own besides what was in your backpack (which you lost prior) and your underpants.

As the door closes, you see a brief glimpse of something, a bit of ethereal color, but it may have just been the light. the boy says something too you can't make out over the loud shower heads and the people talking in the nearby changing rooms.