(Preshow) Registration [Where you sign up IC]

[Dane Regan]

Somewhere in Darkshire or something

"The fuck? They do this thing every week or something?" Wearing torn clothes, covered in blood and bolstering some gnarly bite marks from his scuffle with the werewolf, Dane haphazardly pushed his way into the Syntech registration tent. Half of the fingers on one hand were bent backwards, while one of his knucklebones on the other was clearly visible. Walking with a limp, he leant his elbow on the desk, dripping blood onto one of the papers.

"It's been a year since the last one, Sir."

Dane blinked.

"Nah dude, pretty sure it was last week. Whatever, just give me the papers... Actually... Can't you just use my application from last time? 's basically the same." Outside of his occupation changing from NEET to Murderhobo, anyway.

One attendant had a horrified look on her face, but the bored and professional one continued on, holding up a pen and a piece of parchment. "We need you to sign this, Sir."

Dane looked at his hands, then quickly waved one around to snatch a pen. His index finger wiggled, skin tearing as the jerked broken bone cut through his flesh. Bemused, he glanced at the injury, suppressing the urge to hiss in pain. "Sure, sure. Can you lend me a hand real quick?"

"We need you to sign this, Sir. I cannot do it for you." The tall thin boring bald man stressed.

"Fuck." Dane slammed his fist on the desk, only serving to snap some more bones and crack the wood. It would probably have been a good idea to reallocate the highly volatile magic dwelling within his limbs, but he really didn't care at this point. Wallowing in self-destructive urges was kinda fun. Something something I'm edgy and nothing matters.

"Please dude, I'll-"

Whatever Dane was going to say was lost to the world as a loud ding ran out through the tent, followed by a synthetic voice. "Registration closes in 10 minutes. Registration closes in 10 minutes. Regis-"

"Aww fuck off."

"I'm sorry Sir, there's nothing we can do."

"No-no. I got this dude. Just shove it in my mouth."

"That's highly unsanitary!" the previously silent secretary spoke.

"Wait, no. Got an idea. Come on, Omni m'boy. Don't fail me now..." Clapping his hands together, and cracking a few more bones in his palms, Dane grit his teeth and focused with all his might. A faint glow enveloped his palms, but little else occurred besides the excruciatingly slow restitching of his hands. They'd be waiting for hours. He didn't have hours. Concentrating even harder, and looking like he was about to drop the world's biggest crap on the ground behind him, Dane groaned in annoyance before snickering a little.

He looked at the tips of his broken fingers, then closed his eyes calmly. The relaxed posture lasted a solid second before he stood up straight and let his hands slowly fall to his side. Smirking, he opened his mouth, speaking to the sky. "Pls dude, I'm interesting and shit. Gimme dem healz."

Nothing.

Except a small nagging in the back of his mind. Something he'd forgotten.

Cepheya!

Not her. Although he had admittedly forgotten about his Pegasus, apparently for a whole year.

The alien dude!

Tearen could heal things and that dude had shoved his mind inside Dane a while back.

"Alright. I got it this time, guys." He spun around aimlessly, letting the officials look at him in confusion. "Aaaannnnd... NOW!"

A second ago, his hands were fucked. 

A second later, his hands were un-fucked.

"Yeeeeeaaaahhhh..." Grinning victoriously and making no effort to remove the smug tone from his voice, Dane snatched the pen and signed the document.

Time to go shank some nerds.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Despite what he had originally thought, Kenpachi found that the settlement he had spied upon the horizon was a good bit farther than he had anticipated. As they meandered further into the desert, the Captain found his sandals slowly sinking into the loose sand, sometimes finding himself needing to shake his foot out of several inches of sand before he could soldier on. He had half a mind to ditch his ceremonial footwear and just wander around barefoot, but he briefly entertained the thought that some group of brigands might assault him soon, and giving himself that small advantage seemed unfair to them. He smiled at the thought, eyes hungrily scanning for signs of an ambush. Sadly, he soon found himself entering the desert town, a few inhabitants milling around the entrance, only a few bothering to even notice the new arrival.

“I think I smell food!” Yachiru cried, shaking her tiny fists in excitement.

“I smell sand,” Zaraki replied flatly. He glanced lazily around at the baked brick houses, hoping to maybe come across some robbery or gang fight to jump in on. A place like this, it seemed, was bound to have its share of crime.

“Ooh! Look over there, Kenny!”

The towering swordsman turned his head toward her outstretched finger, hope lighting in his stomach as he saw a large crowd of people bustling in the unpaved street. Commotion could be heard, the sounds of squabbling and yelling music to his ears. A fight!

Without a word, the death god took off down the street, ignoring the glances of the now slightly more interested townsfolk as he tore toward the crowd. With any luck he might have his own bunch of skulls to smash. “Save some for ME!”

Kenpachi’s heart sank as he neared his target, the sounds of fighting now sounding more akin to...cheering? He could clearly hear laughter and excited discussion as he pushed his way through the crowd, eyeing the group as he stood a head above the rest. Despite being pushed aside by a man of his demeanor and stature, the townsfolk seemed to be thoroughly engrossed by whatever they were grouping around.

“Step on up, join this year’s grand event! You’ll find wealth, power, and glory! All of this is for the taking, if you have what it takes!”

Wealth, power, glory. Boring, boring, boring. Kenpachi’s excitement soured to sadness, tinged slightly with anger. Some stupid contest for worthless things. He turned on his heel, toppling a few villagers behind him as he wheeled around to leave.

“Bloodshed! Strife! Conquest!”

Like a spinning top, the shinigami continued his turn, knocking a half dozen others on their asses as he turned back toward the booming voice. Now they were speaking his language.

“HEY!” Zaraki boomed, his powerful voice not quite enough to drown out the combined might of the crowd’s cacophony. The people swarming around him gave him an annoyed glance before returning to cheering and crying out with excitement. “Where do I sign up?!” he hollered, glancing around frantically.

“Over there!” Yachiru cried, now standing directly on top of her captain’s shaggy head. She too was bristling with excitement, tapping her wooden clogs against Kenpachi’s skull while gesturing toward the opening of a large violet tent. “In there!”

He didn’t need any more convincing. He quickly closed the distance, thrashing through the crowd like a bull in a china shop as he trampled his way to the tent. Not a minute later, he stood inside the surprisingly spacious tent, glancing around for the combat he had been promised.

“Well hello sir!” An official-looking gentleman in an immaculate black suit beamed, stepping forward, clipboard in-hand. “How are you today?”

“Where’s the fight?” Zaraki barked, furrowing his brow. “Is it with you?”

“Oh no,” the well-dressed man replied, now dropping much of his grandeous aflections. “It will come soon, though. Would you like to join?”

“Yeah.” The reply came more like a command than an affirmative.

“Okay,” the registrar said, rolling his eyes. Primes were always fun to deal with. “Birth name?”

“No idea.”

The official paused for a moment, pursing his lips. “Oh...kay. What would you like to be called?”

“Kenpachi Zaraki,” the death god answered quickly. “Now can we get to the fight?”

“We need to take some more information from you first,” came the reply, the man flipping through forms on his clipboard. “Biography, promotional photos, next of kin, vitals-”

“Don’t-give-a-shit, don’t-give-a-shit,” he said, bulldozing past the first two items on his list. “Her,” he continued, jabbing a thumb toward the girl on his shoulder. “And I-don’t-give-a-shit.”

The official gave the deepest sigh Ken had ever heard, quickly flipping through the forms and jotting down approximations of the man’s vitals. “I need her name and a quick picture and then you can step on to that platform over there to be taken to th-”

Before the man could finish his spiel, Zaraki had taken off toward the teleporter pad. “Yachiru Kusajishi!” the pink-haired pint called back toward the stunned registrar, waving excitedly through a childish grin

A strobe of camera flashes assaulted the duo as they stepped onto the transporter, disappearing in a flash of white.

Endless Duuuunes

[Deadpool]

Tangled Greens (before everyone else there entered >_>)

Today was the day.

Finally, Jimmy was old enough to man his own sign-up booth (no more shitty custodial duties, or errand-running for weird, old Mr. Karl). It was a job he could take pride in, and boast to his college peers about; perhaps, a few of the high-profile contestants would be humble enough to take a few pictures with him, so he could then post them on OmniTwitter to impress his friends . . . and possibly get some ass from his high school crush, Summer (oh Summer, with her golden hair, and emerald green eyes; many of nights, Jimmy thought of her while pleasuring himself--imagining her pretty face with a donut glaze may have been his favorite imagery).

He arrived to his station much earlier than necessary--four hours before than his coworker, Walter--to ensure that his station had an adequate amount of  material to process at least twenty entrants, and also accommodating enough to house at least a quarter of that. He wiped the computer’s hard drive clean of anything not pertaining to Syntech or Dante’s Abyss, and with thoughts of meeting a celebrity contestant still fresh in his noggin, he positioned all the available lighting to be fixated on the center of the tent; the grid lines running across the telepad’s green surface glinted.

“Doing a little much, aren’t you?” It was the soft voice of a female. “It’s like, six a.m.”

As Jimmy turned to look, butterflies exploded in his stomach--Summer poked through the entrance of the tent. “Suh-suh,” he stuttered, eyes creepily locking with hers as she neared. Obsession rushed over him; all of his feelings of lust and love capsulated him, like clay over a mold.

“Hey, Jimmy.” Summer’s soft lips curled into a gentle, yet curious smile, and the mole on the left side of her face nestled into one of her dimples. “Walter told me you’d be stationed here.” She waited for him to respond, but when a couple moments passed with Jimmy looking like a deer caught in headlights, she continued: “Sooooo . . . where is Walter?”

Jimmy sighed long and pleasurably. His eyes crossed; both his brows impersonated a smile; his knees quivered, then a warm liquid began to soak the front of his favorite slingshots (Doomguy DA’15, BFG slapped right across the dick hole edition); afterwards, he immediately came to. The uncomfortable sensation of cooling ejaculatory fluids soured his visage; when he realized what occurred--in front of his biggest crush, no less--his cheeks combusted.

“OH MY GOD!” he exclaimed.

Summer’s eyes popped open. “What’s wrong?!”

“I-I-” As he stammered, he noticed Summer’s obliviousness to what had occurred. He had an opportunity to play it cool. “I’m sorry, I--err,uhhh--forgot that we have to open soon!” Please, don’t let it soak through my pants. Please, please, please, please.

“Really?” Summer looked over her shoulder, towards the entrance of the tent. “I guess you can tell that homeless guy with the trenchcoat and mask that he can register now, huh?”

“Homeless guy?” Jimmy hesitantly waddled towards the entrance--not because of the homeless guy, but because making any more contact with his unborn children would make him shudder.

As he looked outside the entrance, his right eye caught the leg of a man in a trench coat. The man sat on his ass, back leaning against the face of the tent. He wore a red mask with racoon-like eyes.

Jimmy cleared his throat to build some bass in his tone (Summer should like that): “Can I help you sir?”  But all he could force was an accent of nasally wheezing.  

When the man failed to respond, Jimmy clasped his shoulder and nudged him. “You ok?”

”. . . Not as ok as your trousers, buddy.” The man said. He poked his head up, and pointed his index at the teenager’s crotch. ”Sign me up for Dante’s Abyss, but clean your undergarments first.”

[Makoto Yuki]

The rush of adrenaline that flowed through Makoto's veins every time he rode his motorcycle at unreasonable speeds was one of the only things that brought a true smile to his lips. His heart palpitated with excitement as he twisted down on the throttle.

He was aimless, for now. Just following the dirt road in front of him. The thrill of the ride was the only thing that mattered, especially when he had no destination in mind. Nothing he'd tried to do so far had worked. Every plan he'd put down only went up in flames. Maybe he shouldn't have been so presumptuous as to believe that everything would go right when he needed it to, it's never happened before and wasn't about to start.

A red tent was the first to break the blur of greens and browns passing him by. A firm hand on the brakes and he skidded right up to the entrance.

A large sign boldly presented the words "Dante's Abyss." The words rang a bell, some part of his mind twitching at the name.

"Good morning! Are you here to register for this year's tournament?" A pleasant woman in a sharp uniform strode up to him while he was still staring at the offending words.

"....And what if I am?"

"Splendid! Right this way please, we're a bit short on time so we'll have to conduct a few basic health tests while we're going over your details, will that be alright?" The torrent of words flowing out of her mouth was unstoppable and clearly rehearsed.

"I don't-"

"Sebastian! Get of your ass and help this gentleman!" On cue, a disheveled man with black rings under his eyes eerily reminiscent of a panda's and wearing the same uniform rushed over and immediately helped himself to Makoto's arm, wrapping some sort of band around it and fiddling with the machine it was linked to.

"So, do you have a name?" The ever eager employee held a pen to a clipboard and looked ready to type his answer before it ever left his tongue.

"Makoto Yuki." The only course of action available now was to play along. Maybe it'd be worth his time.

"Background? Where're you from, have you been up to anything interesting recently, that sort of thing."

"Earth. Not particularly, no."

"Hmm," the blue haired boy certain if she'd rolled her eyes any harder the pair would've rolled right out of their sockets. Maybe 'Earth' was too vague an answer?

"All done! Normally we'd shoot a little promo of you, but we really don't have the time. Seb, make sure he gets on the teleporter."

The 'teleporter' was a raised metal platform with tubings running out of it and into some heavier machinery in the back.

"Bon voyage, try to keep your lunch in," the knowing smile that formed on the man;s mouth as he said those words were not something Makoto wanted to see.

Camelot Registration