Day 1 - Bag 'Em and Tag'Em

[Corporal Light]

"Alright... just one more screw, and it should be good.." Ballad said to himself as he places the final screw in the tiny hole, screwdriver placed within the hole of the screw. Raising his head, he takes a look around for a few seconds, making sure no one was about to bump into him. To his right, he saw a group of about three talking and walking. They wore dirty, obviously unkempt clothing, and they were paying absolutely no attention to what was in front of them. They were jabbering away about something, probably about some couple in Minas Tirith, judging from the snarky attitudes and the fact they mentioned 'couple in Minas Tirith.' They were apparently having a lot of fun with their gossip, seeing as they were headed straight for Ballad, and didn't look like they were stopping either. Ballad closed his eyes for a split second, shaking his head. He absolutely hated it when people did this. So focused on stupid drivel like that that they can't even pay attention to what was in front of them. What was actually important. Which in this case happened to be everyone else's lives they were about to put in danger. Don't mistake that for sympathy, as Ballad couldn't care less about the people walking past him. The same people who made these games rigged to steal you of money, and the people who were stupid enough to get swindled. As far as life could go, Ballad had learned that, out of every person he had ever met, they all fell into three separate groups. One, the impressionable. They believed whatever fucking thing they were being told, from propaganda, to deals, to obviously falsified news pieces designed to spread words of hatred and rage in the populace. Rile them up into a frenzy, then feed the victims to the snow beasts they themselves created. It was easy to figure out who those people were. Constantly around street corners shouting about divine intervention or the glory of war or some stupid shit like that. He had always wanted to go 'Congrats. You're promoting something that will cause everyone to get themselves killed in something they don't even understand, so you're filling them with bullshit to get more meat into the furnace to be burned. Go to hell.' He wouldn't even care if those people took offense. He was used to people who took offense to him.

Snapping out his own mind for a few seconds, he stares at the group of three before shouting "Hey! Look forward, dumbasses! You're gonna run into people! And by people, I mean ME," at the top of his lungs. The group finally turned their heads to see what looked to be a green-skinned man fiddling with a gun. They smiled to each other, and decided just for fun they'd give him a light tap. As a few others heeded Ballad's warning and walked past him, he was about to screw in the last screw when one of the members lightly bumped his left shoulder, causing his left arm to flinch and pull out the screw. The screw slipped off the screwdriver, falling onto the ground, creating a tiny dust cloud.

Obviously, Ballad was fucking pissed off. Turning around, he was going to give those assholes the verbal bashing of their life when they disappeared into the crowd. Letting out an angered sigh, he turns back around, not noticing Ururu and her pals making their way towards him. Picking up the screw and dusting it off, he proceeds to place it back into the hole, beginning the process again.

What was he thinking about again? Oh yeah, groups of people. Let's see... second group.. oh yeah. The second group was people who exist purely because they like to cause as much trouble as they possibly could. Didn't even give much of a damn that what they were doing was just going to bite them into the ass much later on in life. They just wanted to give as many people as possible the most amount of grief and misery possible. These people, like the impressionables, were easy to notice. They always had a weird glint in their eyes, like at any moment they would just pop and start burning things. Hell, that Wicker Man who started the war back home was probably part of this second group of people. If I had my gun on me at the time, I would've shot the asshole right before he burned the Church. Stop all that shit from happening. But, that's not an option anymore. Now I'm standing here in some forest world, and I have no idea how to get back. Go figure. Anyways...

Ururu squeaked out, “Excuse onii-san. What are you doing?”

Oh right. The third group. The stupid ones.

Just as Ballad had finished screwing in the last screw, he was caught off guard by Ururu talking to him in her squeaky voice. Muffled swearing came out of his mouth as he flinched backwards, nearly dropping the revolver before he held it with his left hand. He then looked downwards at the gun, his eyes wide with fear. Please don't ignite. Please don't ignite.

It didn't ignite. He would've heard the wick lighting up, ans the yellow '1' button lighting up, and counting down. Sighing, he looks upwards towards the person who was talking to him, only to be surprised by the sight. It was what appeared to be a little girl. Couldn't be much more than ten or eleven. She had sandy blond hair, with a scar across the bridge of her nose. Cute. She also appeared to be holding hands with two other people. One looked to be a teenager, while the other had horns and... purple hair and odd colored eyes. Direct descendent of that lizard thing maybe? Hopefully not. Hold on, why am I worrying about that?! THEY NEARLY BLEW AT LEAST TWO DOZEN PEOPLE APART, NOT INCLUDING THEMSELVES.

Finally not taking the outright stupidity of what he had been dealing with, he shouts "Alright, I'm going to assume you DIDN'T just walk up to me so you can kill yourselves and about two dozen people AROUND us and walking PAST us. So, I am going to give all three of you some lovely advice. And that is to NOT DO THAT AGAIN!!" It was heavily likely at this point that Ballad's angry shouts were going to draw a crowd, but Ballad didn't care a single bit. He was going to give these dumb kids the verbal lashing of their lives. Holding his revolver in his right hand, he sets the screwdriver down unto his coat pocket, raising the gun upwards, but not aiming it at anyone.