Inverted Cerberus? (Closed/Billy+Pluton)

The path to Syne academy was long and winding, while it had been cobbled upon the school's creation the past years had left it rather unkempt. Mosses and weeds hand begun to grow between the stones, in particular there were Dandelion-Clocks which were prime for blowing. The sun was high in the sky, it was rapidly approaching noon, and Pluton Cronus sat tired at the foot of the hill. Today had been a particularly... interesting day for him. The coins in the fountain he usually raided had run dry, it would seem his frequent dives had rather... dissuaded the populous. But a man still had to eat of course and with no money meant well... a less than reputable path to fuel himself. He had claimed some bread from a baker's stand and left with the greatest of haste. A long baguette, enough to potentially last him the day, now had great chunks torn out of it.

He was dressed in his usual style, baggy black and white trousers with a matching tank top pair with jacket. His sneakers were getting quite dirty, white was not a... good colour for a homeless bloke to say the least. Regardless though he had opted to sit himself atop one of the many large rocks which lined the pathway up to the school he wasn't currently allowed to be a part of. Even in these Summer months, with the Summer school and festivities, he wasn't permitted. And so, here he sat.. in wait of something or someone. Once again the boy had decided to test his iron against the school, see what it was he was really lacking! What could he be? He was incredible!

Y’know, while you’re on vacation you’re usually not expecting to get hired. At least, not unless you dress the way Bill does on a daily basis, the same hat, duster, and charcoal suit usually sets him up to be a public target for people in need to employ. The forearm-length hand-cannon he carried around in public didn’t help his ‘I’m on vacation!’ case either. Not even noon yet and there was someone waving him down, an elderly fellow by an open bakery yelling and moaning about some punk kid.

The old man would shout and wave, until finally finding the words to describe Bill. "You, uh... Sir! With the brown coat and the farmer’s tan! I don't believe i've seen you around here, you're not one of my regulars! C’mere!" The baker called out to Bill, waving him down as he passed by, hooping and hollering as he tried to ignore the old man on his way to a convenience store a bit further down the path in the city. As Bill passed on by the bakery, the old man muttered something probably rude and inaudible pass out of his mouth as he stood there and waved, like ‘please don’t get dirt on my bakery stand you dirty sand-man’. “Whaddya need, old top? Ain’t interested in any day old bread.”

The old baker smiled as Bill approached, taking and shaking the cowboy’s hand when he was close enough before getting started. “[color=#0033ff]Well, you look like one of those Hunters. I was wondering if you could help me, and probably some of the other citizens of Bellamuse. A young man passed through here today and stole some bread from my stand today. Would you be so kind as to go find him and get him to pay, or at the very least apologize? I run a small bakery and don't have much as it is... they ran out of town"[color=#996600]rossed his arms. "Ain't that a job for yer' po-lice?"

"Well, yes. But they aren't equipped to run out into the forest. I would be able to give you compensation if you are in fact interested sir! In baked goods, in baked goods though. Perhaps a donut? It’s the last one, and i’d be happy to pull it off the plate and save it for you if you find the lad." The old man gestured towards the slowly spinning plate beyond the glass of the bakery stand, where a single donut with pink icing and sprinkles sat, in all of it’s glory.

A Donut of Legend:

It was a hell of a proposition, that was no ordinary donut. It was the perfect donut, and good food to fight off the pounding headache that came as an accessory to his hangover. Still though, the old man wasn't very specific. "Uh. Any details? Hair color, height, clothing... Lotta young folk 'round here." Bill itched the side of his head, pulling his hat off for just a second to adjust and fix his messy brown hair. "It was a bo-... Excuse me where are you going? I’m not done."

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After an enthusiastic walk away from that conversation and concerned working adult, Bill was on his way to track down some young punk. In all honesty wasn't great at that though, tracking was far more tricky than convincing someone else to find a dumb kid. Bill wasn't too good at it, but he wasn't horrible at it, and he was smart enough to  know that following virtually any path was the sure way to go. Straying off of a trail or path ran the risk of drawing the attention of Grimm, especially if that someone was in a foul mood. It was a sure fire way to draw attention and get yourself or a friend killed.

Taking the job in stride, Bill followed the main path out of Bellamuse and onto the stone road, taking his time to get to and walk through Finnek Forest. It was nice outside and with the growing urge to yell something importantwith the sun hanging overhead. At the very least it was nice today, the sun was high in the sky, allowing little rays to bounce through and onto the blue fauna that grew in the forest. The cowpoke stuck out like a sore tan six foot three thumb there walking through all of that blue as he at traversed the winding pathways, approaching Syne.

((Hope this works.))

Pluton wasn't the brightest of bulbs, despite it being logical to savour the bread he had procured he had now eaten a majority of what had been a two foot baguette. Left with around half a foot, feeling quite full, he was laid out atop his rock. Heaving a yawn and having a stretch he rolled over, staring down the long and winding road that lay before him. Into the forrest, past the trees... he thought he could just about make out a person walking this way. He had been wanting to test his iron against the school but now as he lay there, seconds from sleep...

"Isat... a ten gallon hat?" He murmured, sleep beginning to leave him. He wasn't quite sure but from this distance, at this angle and in this light... it almost looked as if... something was approaching. Something he couldn't quite remember. They were goofy and silly, most of the time at least, he seemed to recall them spitting a lot. It had been a long time since he'd watched TV... it'd been a long time since he'd owned a TV to be quite honest, let alone been allowed into a cinema. He seemed to remember guns with spinning parts and these little spiky things on shoes... like... little spinning spiky things he could never figure out what they were meant for. He found himself sitting straight, remainder of the baguette to his side.

As they approached, the sway in their step and the shining yellow of their eyes. He could swear it was on the tip of his tongue... it was... it was... a bull, no... a cowboy? But what did that word mean, where were they from? Then it struck him, it struck him like a shot between the eyes. The man was still a good distance away, Pluton went for his bag and drew his six blades. Holding them, rather crudely, in the gaps between his fingers he rose. Rushing, stone to stone to stone he then pounced! Using his insane inane strength to launch himself into the air he came down fast and hard; attempting to do a cross shaped slash into the man's chest. A loud smile on his face and his hoodie flaring behind him. He let out a loud shout; "Carbonara Desert!" Was he showing off? Absolutely! But he wasn't about to let some Cowboy look cooler than him!

With the main path to syne growing ever closer, something came into the view of his special eyes. A... Very messy lad. Bill didn't exactly know where or how to classify the attire the boy was wearing, something that looked like it came out of one of them 'hippy hop' rap videos or something. The hoodie, the oversized goggles and pants so baggy that they look like they're meant meant to be worn by an overweight man or pregnant woman. Though, he wasn't the critical type or the type to judge, he was getting the urge to ask the boy to put on a belt and pull up his pants as he got closer. Not just for the sake of embarrassment but the clothing was impractical and wouldn't exactly help save him in a scrap.

Bill stood there like a lemon in the middle of the path there with the attacker quickly approaching. Muttering something along the lines of 'Guess were doin' this...'. His skin began to crack, pale, porcelain sand suddenly pouring out in every direction from his body, through his charcoal suit and cloak, picking itself up as it fell. Bill snapped his finger and just like that it came to life, wind pushing the sand that fell from him forward towards the lunging attacker. Creating a defensive localized sandstorm in an attempt to lessen the blow from the alleged attacker, pulling a veil of sand over himself in just a moment's notice. "

Pardner, you know to greet kind folk with words instead a' not swords, right? I know the words are simler', but it's rude... An' whats all this about a pasta dessert?" Around the sand that whirled around, the lush blue fauna that sat around Finnek Forest, began to wither. It was dying, like all of the life and moisture was being sucked out of the ground, leaves, and bark of the trees. Plants were dying, in seconds at that. Leaves and flowers shriveling up and withering, and then it happened.

"Sorry if ya get sand in yer' trousers. Combat reflex." He adjusted his cravat and loosened one of the bandoliers around his waist.

Aura: 150
Aura Spent to defend: 20
Current Aura: 130

A gale of sand entered the not-quite-hunter's mouth as he screamed out his attack shout, coating his tongue and in rock grains. Even his slash attack had been weakened by the blast, only just nicking the skin rather than slicing him open as had been intended. Meeting the ground and stumbling back, away from the sandstorm, he began to spit; tongue stretched out his mouth. He threw the disks in his right hand aside and attempted to clean it out with his fingers... only to find they to were covered in sand. Unbelievably uncomfortable by this arid affair, he turned from his opponent. Hacking, spiting and coughing he managed to get most of it out of his system... though in the wells of his cheeks some sand remained. His eyes were sealed closed, they had been covered in sand the moment he made contact. Rubbing his eyes on his right sleeve, it to covered in sand, he patted the ground in an attempt to find the disks he dropped... to no avail. Eyes finally opened, bloodshot and lightly reddened; particularly his right eye.

"Oi! You think your funny?" Spit, hack, cough, cough, spit. "Fightin' like that's dirtier than even I'd do, and I'd fight pretty damn dirty!" He rose, standing taller than the man; "But I've got a counter to all that ya see, you're gonna regret disrespectin' me." There was a serious, albeit bloodshot, look to his gaze. He grasped the hair just above his forehead, crouching slightly? What's this? Was he powering up? "OPTIMUM SAND DEFENCES! YEAH!" And with that he let go of his hair and knocked his stupidly large sunglasses down to sit on his nose, he had simply put his glasses on in a somewhat fancy manner. With that done he grew a stupidly smug grin, "You may have some of that dumb magic, making sandstorms or whatever, but it's all useless if I've got these glasses on! I'm unstoppable now, Funghi Occident!" Forgetting the vast quantity of sand he had already inhaled, he had nothing to protect his mouth.

Without hesitation however, only around three or four meters from the cowboy, he drew the blades from his left hand across his body and, walking backward, threw all three at him one after another. The flight was rough and wobbly but that was three potential hits! He'd gotten much better at this whole "Throwing sharp metal disks which are supposedly do heavy to fly" thing.

Hp/Damage:

Once again the living matter in the area began to dehydrate, even the dirt around the trees was beginning to turn a nice shade of beige as it smoothed out and gathered; exposing what dying roots of trees. If it wasn't clear enough by now, he was killing the forest faster than a drought in the middle of summer... Leaves, the grass growing from the dirt, the dirt itself, all suddenly becoming sand; gathering around the cowpoke like a magnet to create a swirling mass of a beach-goer's worst enemy. Then, as the wind picked up around him, it closed in around Billy, condensing around his clothes and flesh, bending to meet the folds of his clothing and pockets; even the defined features of his face somehow molded. An irritated voice called out from beyond the sandy, unchanging visage, his voice and his accent warped by razor-like grains. "Do I look like i'm tellin' any jokes, boy? I came here ta ask ya a few questions, not make ya' a coffin outta' sand!"

Instead of doing the logical thing (moving to the side...), Bil covered himself in sand; bracing himself for what was to come. Allowing the three of what he could only understand to be three bladed chakram rend through his sand-shell, coat-sleeves, and skin. He gritted his teeth, and almost immediately blood began to mix in with the beige shell around his body. Today was not Bill's day; as it was only noon, and he had already found himself asking 'Why did I not dodge?' and 'How many minutes will it take to sew up my shoulder with a pen, some dental floss, and a sewing needle in the motel bathroom? Do I even have a pen? Do I have alcohol for such an occasion?'

Directing his attention back to the boy that seemed fixed on fighting rather than 'speakin' like an adult', Billy would, in a single, draw forth from his holster what could only be described as an 'antique'. A revolver no less to go along with his sand-treading attire; though it was a little on the larger size when looking at it. Much like a rifle with a short barrel on a pistol grip in fact, one with crude markings on each side of the barrel. With his unshaken right hand he'd aim the gun at Pluton's chest before pulling back the hammer of the gun.

HP - 130
Aura spent to Defend: 20
Current Aura: 110

OOC:

Pluton once more got a mouthful of sand, his choice to open his mouth wide and shout as he threw his weapon really wasn't paying off. That and he still couldn't quite remember what the man was from, the hat... the boots... the revolver. It was all very similar to movies and T.V. for some reason. Uprighting himself and allowing the sand to spill forth from his mouth he found himself face to face with a gun. Now... Pluton didn't have aura and certainly didn't want to get shot, guns killed people after all, and finding himself out of disks he let his hands fall to his side; still spitting out a volley of sand.

Stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets, most of the sand removed from his mouth, Pluton finally opted to speak to the man... though perhaps not as he had hoped; "Why're you dressed like that? Like, the hat and the boots and stuff. Ain't it a bit much? What're you supposed to be like... like... oh! That's it yeah! One of them cow folk. Do ya have a lasso or just that gun? Hiddin' behind such a weapon; that's totally cheating. Why don't you fight with your own strength? Yer kidding yourself usin' that, even I could use it."