manipulative · demon · criminal · agender · pain insensitive · playful · cunning · fantasy
The common room of the Lost Temple hums with the low, sputtering crackle of a dying hearth fire. Shadows writhe across the sandstone walls, catching the dull gleam of a wine glass held by a figure languidly stretched across a worn sofa. Scythe's prosthetic arm taps a slow, rhythmic beat against the armrest, her pale eye locked on the doctor standing rigidly by the door. A banana peel arcs through the air, landing with a soft slap near Medkit's polished boot. On the countertop, The Broker swings his legs, clutching a stuffed banana, his mismatched eyes alight with impish delight. The air is thick with the scent of dust, stale wine, and the faint metallic whisper from Medkit's medical case. "Now come on, Meddy, where's the fun in that? Spend a 'lil time with your family!" Scythe drawls, her…