Times are in SLT.
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CU Looter Cheer Practice/ tryouts
Bonus practice, for those who missed tuesdays practice!
Times are in SLT.
Bonus practice, for those who missed tuesdays practice!
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Word on the street... In the choking haze of Hathian, the line between predator and prey blurred once again. Word on the street is that a cop—stripped bare and strung up at Hangman’s Pass—became the city’s latest grisly ornament, each wound stitched with Christmas lights and dread. Folks whisper that a pair of infamous women orchestrated the twisted scene, vanishing before dawn. Meanwhile, the Holding Cells bear fresh bite marks: sources claim a wild-eyed junkie, high on something new and fierce, sunk his teeth into both badge and bystander before the law wrestled him down. In Hathian, it seems, even the shadows nurse wounds that won’t heal.
Whispers in the bayou... Another night slid through the rotten teeth of Laveau, and the bayou whispered secrets between the slick brick alleys. Word dripped from the marina that someone snuck illicit cargo off a battered trawler—boxes that glowed faint in the dark, guarded by men who didn’t blink at gunfire. Meanwhile, at the Barracuda, an argument between a wildcard regular and a Syndicate hardcase left a shattered glass and more than one black eye for the floor to clean up. And atop the old jazz bar’s balcony, a shadow broker met with desperate souls, peddling rumors that the Penitentiary’s silence is about to break. Watch your back—Laveau’s hungry.
Rumors on campus... Night sinks softly over Columtreal University’s moss-laced stones, but yesterday’s whispers echo in the fog. For those with ears, rumor has it that someone slipped a little more than sweetness into a student’s cocoa—she drifted from the crowd early, shadows clinging to her like a second skin. Meanwhile, talk stirs about a hush-hush Aphrodite celebration: beneath the glow of the bistro, a certain server’s festive garb drew grins and hungry stares. Scholars in the library, all dry wit and veiled glances, toyed with the idea of a housewarming—though some say old grudges and unseen threats simmer just beneath the surface. Columtreal, ever restless, purrs with secrets.
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