index
int64 0
56.6k
| thread_id
int64 0
1.54k
| message_id
int64 0
752
| author_id
int64 0
2.81k
| author_num_posts
int64 2
36k
| message
stringlengths 0
134k
| character
stringlengths 0
110k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
44,802 | 1,219 | 33 | 2,648 | 292 | Edward
It had taken the day to gather necessary force for such an high caliber mission. Evening was beginning to cool the air as Edward the kind set for the stables with the assembly of following knights. While they had no bears there for Loduzzro he was offered an enforced carriage of sorts, normally used to move around magitech cannons, it should prove strong enough. Edward somewhat understood sloth mans plights of transportation, even he was forced to use quite a bit of his essence mastery to lighten his bulky armor as to not crush his trusty steed. As he mounted his white war destrier he held aloft his sword and shouted.
"Knights of our esteemed order! We ride for Sunfang! For Sophitia and Mother!"
Taking on both mountain monsters and Viper clan at the same time was not going to be easy, Edward however had strong faith in his assembled knights and he happened to know that few knights outside his initial list of names were nearby Sunfang on monster hunting duties, and would surely respond to magical presence of so many affinity born gathered in the same place. | You are to become an initiate in the order of arcane knights!
Character sheet
Name:
Gender:
Race:
Age:
Title/Nickname:
Kingdom of birth: Where are you from? or are you an traveler born?
Worship: is your character an religious knight? If so, which god you elevate above the rest?
Appearance: what your character looks like? Pics allowed and even endorsed, no irl photos!
Magical affinity: 1-2 essences of magic that you feel most strongly drawn to. Magics cast from other essences are considerably weaker.
Skills: What is your character good at? put weapons and military training here if any.
Equipment: Tools to conquer an savage world. Put enchanted magitech here if you have any.
Favorite spells: Put some examples on How your character utilizes his affinities in combat.(You can always modify this later)
Character backround history: Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you came to join the order?
By my knighthood I swear: Just write "I SWEAR" in here to symbolize you agree to play nice with others and follow rulings set by GM. |
44,803 | 1,219 | 34 | 345 | 92 | Quill never rode horses, could neither afford one nor possess the patience to learn to ride one. He was close enough to beasts as he was just existing, he saw no need to lord himself around upon the four-legged monstrosities. Instead he opted for a more natural -or at the very least more entertaining- method, and summoned up his wind affinity.
Being a very light person, his mana-forged winds had little trouble carrying him upon soft breezes. He folded out the staff that had dangled compressed at his side and sat upon it like some witch from a child's stories, floating along with the caravan and whistling happily.
He listened to Edward's rally, his grin turning cynical. Drifting down amidst the other horses, he spoke more or less openly to any that would hear. "Mother, Steel, Vine, Sand. Perhaps I should change my name to Dirt, have people pray to me too. We've got a long journey ahead on the Dirt, only seems appropriate." | Name: Quill
Gender: Up to speculation, often defaults to “he” but "she" is fairly frequent
Race: Beast
Age: Vaguely-Twenties
Title/Nickname: Jester Quill/Quill the Grin
Kingdom of birth: Even Quill doesn’t know the answer to this one. At some point he began to be passed off and off between various nomadic peoples. He’d gladly lie though, and say he’s from anywhere that suits him.
Worship: Quill purports to worship just about any god that suits the situation he’s in. He might praise one god for a joke, or blaspheme another to get a rise out of someone. Though he definitely believes they exist, he is not, personally, a big fan of any of them.
Appearance: Tall and thin, a wiry and feminine frame wrapped in a few layers of lean but practiced muscle. His hair is long and fluffy and fiery red, and two abnormally large hare-ears of the same color fall behind his head, a stark call to his bestial genes. His eyes are blue and icy, and it might be hard to stare at them for very long in the right light.
Though for the most part his clothes are light and flowing, two things Quill is never seen without are the overly-large-brimmed hat atop his head, and the grin that never seems to leave his face.
Magical affinity: Only Wind, but quite skilled with it.
Skills: For combat—Wind affinity, swift strikes, quick and agile.
Out of combat—Fairly good singer, silver-tongued, good storyteller
Equipment: Equipment: Quill’s weapon consists of two forms, a single-handed curved and notched blade, and a gnarled scythe. Often he wields the blade alone, and keeps the staff portion in its folded position at his side, but for the instances where he needs the extra reach, he can attach the blade to the end of the staff by its handle, locking it in place and extending the staff out into its full length. The wood, while scratched, neither splinters nor cracks, and the blade though weathered shows equal signs of integrity. Quill won’t say where he got the weapon, but it clearly isn’t his, its grim nature a contrast to his bright and jovial presented self.
Favorite spells: Presently, Quill’s affinity is used mostly for mobility. He tends to keep moving on the battlefield, preferring quick hit-and-run strikes and swift counters. Though he can to some extent deflect and/or propel objects with wind, most of his magical prowess is apparent in the mobility it offers.
Character background history: Quill is not fond of people, perhaps that’s why he’s a jester, –or was anyway– so that he could mock them openly without causing too much of a fuss. Born of the affair between a bestial and a human, Quill spent most of his early life transitioning from roaming group to roaming group, being raised by just about whoever could be arsed to do so until they grew tired of it, and shoved him along. He heard a lot of mockery for his appearance, and was called a “mutt” most places he went. In his early teens he spent a lot of time shadowing with gangs and street-clans.
Quill will never gives a straight or consistent answer as to how he learned to fight as he does. Though his stories often include being taught by a nomad called Sienne, sometimes they are a woman, others a man, sometimes a monster and sometimes a figment of his imagination. Whatever the case, everything between Quill’s earliest teenage years and the current time is a blur, and by now, Quill probably believes half the lies he tells about it anyway.
Whatever the case, his motives for joining the order are nearly as cloudy. He changes his answer a lot, but he’s more interested in what others’ reasons are, anyway. In fact, unless prompted, Quill seems to go out of his way to avoid being the topic of a conversation that doesn’t involve some kind of antic or another.
By my knighthood I swear: I Swear To Enjoy This~ |
44,804 | 1,219 | 35 | 2,648 | 292 | Viper´s hold
On the parapets of an old, long since abandoned dwarven fortress stood a beautiful young woman of amber skin and deep black hair, her stance and gaze however were those of an field general twice her years. She cast that steely gaze on their decrepid walls, those should be fixed if they had the time, then she dismissed the thought. They were assassins of the great Viper clan, theirs was not the fate to build things. An young beast man, canine race, run up to her.
"Executor Jizan! I bring news!"
Her gaze like cold desert wind was enough to compel young messenger to go on with it.
"The convoy of sultanate has left Al Zidoa and are on their way to Silvercliff. Also we have reports of increased monster activity within the mountain!"
For a while Jizan considered beheading the messenger for bringing self evident news to her, she decided against it for now. She dismissed the messenger and rubbed an scar on her left arm. Parting gift by Hastuk the unseen, that outcast would feel her wrath one day, she had an strange feeling that day was growing ever closer. That heretic dared to claim he knew the teachings of Sand better than high priests themselves, even that he could actually converse with their great god of life and death. If that fool dared to stand in Vipers way he would pay the ultimate price, for Jizan would not fail killing an mark twice... | You are to become an initiate in the order of arcane knights!
Character sheet
Name:
Gender:
Race:
Age:
Title/Nickname:
Kingdom of birth: Where are you from? or are you an traveler born?
Worship: is your character an religious knight? If so, which god you elevate above the rest?
Appearance: what your character looks like? Pics allowed and even endorsed, no irl photos!
Magical affinity: 1-2 essences of magic that you feel most strongly drawn to. Magics cast from other essences are considerably weaker.
Skills: What is your character good at? put weapons and military training here if any.
Equipment: Tools to conquer an savage world. Put enchanted magitech here if you have any.
Favorite spells: Put some examples on How your character utilizes his affinities in combat.(You can always modify this later)
Character backround history: Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you came to join the order?
By my knighthood I swear: Just write "I SWEAR" in here to symbolize you agree to play nice with others and follow rulings set by GM. |
44,805 | 1,220 | 0 | 834 | 433 | Avengers AcademyDay One: Pick up & Introductions.
(a seamless collab with the great )
The Avengers Academy didn't just accept anyone. With opposing forces against S.H.I.E.L.D., and thus the Avengers, a careful screening process would occur with each new recruit, to assure they weren't a secret spy sought on bringing down S.H.I.E.L.D. and were serious about the Academy. The Academy didn't often see many new faces, even with the surprising amount of supers and/or mutants out there, not all of them wanted to be the future faces of the Avengers. There were some, however, that wanted to try the whole superhero gig. Of course it was natural some would fail, or just decide they weren't cut out for it, but there was hope that this new year, with new faces, would bring the next great Avengers.
Director Nick Fury was always present to greet the new students. Sometimes, Steve Rogers would join him, however, even with his new status as founder of the Avengers Academy, he was still a busy man. Being that the Academy was constantly in the air, hidden in the clouds and always moving to new locations, it was common sense for the new recruits to be flown in. Currently, the Quinjet was out, darting through the sky to pick up the new recruits, to bring them here where they were always led to the student lounge; a good first impression and a place for nerves to unwind, if they needed unwinding. There weren't too many new faces this time around, it didn't mean there weren't other students aboard the impressive flying Academy, but not every year brought many new faces.
This year, it was different. And that was a feeling not lost on the man of the hour as he smoothed down his black leather trench coat. Retirement hadn’t suited him, managing a bunch of unruly teens with powers beyond their comprehension of even some cosmic beings out there didn’t quite suit him either, but it kept his schedule busy and his reflexes sharp even in what could be considered his ‘old age’. Still, it helped to keep an aspirin or two in his pocket every now and then when the vein in his forehead started to throb too violently, especially after reviewing the profiles of the ‘new’ students flying in on the helicarrier in less than an hour’s time. Many of which had nearly been rendered unreadable by what he could only assume was another of Stark’s fanboy’s. The latter of which hadn’t been much help in rectifying said files without having made a deal that the Academy would ‘consider’ building another dance floor on the premises. As if the music from the first one didn’t irritate him enough already. Just thinking about it had the man rubbing his temple over his eyepatch as he walked up to the array of monitors and the complex computer panel that stretched out across the entire expanse of the monitoring room. A generous portion of the office having been dedicated to the monitoring of what was meant to be the next generation of Avengers.
Only the gods knew exactly how they managed to survive every single year let alone keep New York City safe and about a good quarter of the student population were gods.
Without much care for Stark’s chatter streaming across the screen, Nick Fury reached over and turned a silver dial across the panel, switching the monitors over to an overview of the Quinjet’s blueprint. Another press of the button and the same blueprint came up in the transparent overhead screen in front of him. A few more quick swipes and a section enlarged, white lines becoming the actual live feed of the Quinjet’s hangar. It was no secret, some students needed more close monitoring than others, but at times, there was nothing wrong with monitoring all of them.
It was perhaps a shame that the first and only student currently onboard the hanger was the one that was aware of such active privacy invasion. Hearing the beep on his mobile, Will turned to the tucked away camera and gave an impish grin before he cut off the feed using his phone, instead of static, he redirected it around into a loop of Nick’s favourite video in the world; A pirate music video made for a kid’s show. He made sure to turn the voices up extra chipmunk just for the man, wishing that the security in here was laxed enough that he could’ve have put up a camera feed into Nick’s office just so he could see the look of anger that passed over the man’s face. He was hilarious when about half of his face consisted of eyepatch and the other of throbbing vein. It was a shame having all this technology under the control of a man like Nick, someone who couldn’t appreciate the finer points of such tech, like its ability to stream five hours of annoying kid videos.
Stark sure knew what he was doing around here, Will only wished that the man himself hadn’t made him promise not to mess with any of it, not like he could. It was way way beyond his scope, he couldn’t even imagine all the programs that was built into the code of just the Quinjet itself. The fact that something so complex could be simplified into something simple enough that a man like Nick Fury could control by the simplest of voice commands. Used for something so mundane as a bus ride for all the kids that weren’t blessed with the ability to fly or teleport.
Speaking of which, the map in the overhead screen beeped as the tinted windows along the side slowly started to lighten up in response to the Quinjet’s descent. He barely felt it when it started to dip in the sky, the transition so smooth and quick, he wondered when cloud had given away to the land below him. The humble ant like transfer point, no, that was a real ant, maybe a really big ant. There were still some really big insects down there, he heard that a few of them had commandeered the sewers and the city sewage workers were having a hard time getting pest control in to flood the tunnels with gas.
Getting off topic aside, he wondered who was going to be his newest play pal or pals onboard this massive hunk of metal and wiring.
Nicholas had seen the Quinjet before, considering he had a personal relationship with Captain America and bummed around Tony Stark’s Tower for some time, but he had never been on one (no matter how much he asked, even Cap could see he wanted to get in there and touch everything), and so his excitement level was pretty high when he saw the Quinjet smoothly sweeping down from the clouds. He felt like he couldn’t get on it fast enough and he was going to try to resist touching all the buttons… he had promised Cap he would but he had also crossed his fingers behind his back so he’d see. Of course, he knew everything had to be on lockdown and autopilot so curious little shits like himself couldn’t mess something up, but he still wanted to ogle at it all. He wondered if anyone else was already aboard the Quinjet, or if he would be first. He’d like that, he could do what he wanted without having to accompany small talk along with it.
Not that Nicholas wasn’t incapable of being social. He could be pretty social if the time called for it, actually. As the entrance revealed itself by dropping down the back door, as Nick saw it, he didn’t hesitate to march his grinning self into the Quinjet. He didn’t have any suitcases with him, just a backpack on his back. It wasn’t like he had very many possessions to begin with, and his most important possession was around his neck anyhow. His grin faltered a little when he realized he wasn’t the first person to be on board the Quinjet but he was the second one. Second was as good as first, right? No, no it wasn’t, but that didn’t bother him. This wasn’t a race. He quickly took in the other guy’s appearance. He looked young, with a boyish face and build, and so Nicholas automatically assumed he was at least below sixteen.
He didn’t take a seat at one of the many lining the sides of the Quinjet as the back began to close lift up, instead walking straight through to go and stare at the controls, rocking back on his heels as he did so. Once his eyes skimmed over all the controls, his fingers itching to touch but it would make no difference, he turned to the other being in the Quinjet. He had barely noticed the Quinjet lifting off the ground to disappear back into the clouds, the take off so smooth and quiet. Can people be sexually attracted to means of transportation because if so, I am totally that sexuality. he thought as he fell into one of the seats, sprawling out with an air that he could care less he was taking up two seats rather than one. The backpack wasn’t much of a bother pressed against him, since it wasn’t that full to begin with. “So,” he started, voice teasing as he smiled at the kid, as he saw him, across from him, “come here often?”
Great way to make a friend. Say a cheesy pick-up line. Really, Nick? he thought, almost rolling his eyes at himself, but he resisted, since he didn’t want the kid to think it was at him or something. He settled back for the ride to go and pick up the Academy’s next victim or victims, the ride smooth, quick, and quiet. Nick may or may not be a little in love with the Quinjet. Wait until he saw the helicarrier. He might just burst into tears. | Scott Clinton Westwood
Alias/Codename:
Currently doesn’t have one.
Age:
21.
Country of origin:
The good ol' United States of 'Murica (Corpus Christi, TX).
Basic appearance:
Scott is the typical Texan farm boy. He certainly fits the TX stereotype, at least. Standing at 5’11, and weighing roughly about 190 from muscle alone, he has a body that obviously started hard labour from a young age. He is very fit, strong arms from throwing around bales of hay and lifting up the stubborn pigs who wouldn’t listen and get in their pen; muscled legs from all the standing, walking, and plenty of running he has engaged in over the years (most of the running was not by his own choice, his animals just love to screw with him, it seemed); core strength probably the weakest part of his body, but it wasn’t that weak. His complexion is tan, tan, tan. All golden skin, practically permanent since he spent literally every day outside (even on the days he was sick, much to his mother’s chagrin). Not only does Scott have a body to look at, but he has a face worth looking at to boot.
Dirty blonde hair on the darker side, always chopped shorter in the back and on the sides, with his bangs always being pushed back by his fingers. Sometimes, they fall across his forehead, sitting above his eyes, but usually, they listen and stay in place. Gray-blue eyes, set under thinner eyebrows that are more of a dark brown rather than a dirty blonde. Sometimes, he might sport scruff, coming in the color of hair. From spending many hours in the sun, he has noticeable laugh lines around his eyes, most noticeable when he, of course, smiles or squints. Another thing to take note of when he’s smiling wide enough, is that he has slight dimples. With a straight nose and pink cupid’s lips, and the typical fashion of plaid, jeans, big belt buckles, boots, and cowboy hats, Scott makes for one handsome rancher.
Costume:
Currently doesn’t have one of these either.
Skills:
Shooting:
There ain’t much to do on a ranch smackdab in the middle of nowhere. ‘Specially when you aren’t allowed to go very many places. Shooting at cans, trees, fence posts, anything that wasn’t living and breathing, was one of the few things Scott had to do. Scott isn’t anywhere near expert with shooting, though he isn’t a beginner either since he started so young, and he hasn’t used an array of guns. The only guns he has shot is his trusty old semi-auto rifle and a semi-auto pistol. His mother kept them in the house for safety purposes but Scott always made good use of them while taking good care of them too.
Horseback-riding:
Can’t really be surprised by this one considering he’s a country boy who grew up on a ranch.
Mechanical:
Scott knows how to drive tractors and yes, the big kinds. Kind of gotta know how to to take proper care of the ranch. He also knows how to tend to these big engines, learning from his Uncle, and can use just about any tool he picks up.
Hard-working:
Scott was up at the ass crack of dawn every day for nearly his whole life to tend to the ranch. He is very hard-working, and whenever a task is given to him, he is very driven and focused on it. He doesn’t give up easily and isn’t used to failure… at all.
Playing the acoustic/songwriting:
Not very helpful when it comes to crime-fighting or whatever, but it’s a nice thing to note.
Tracking:
Be it animals or people, he’s pretty damn skilled at tracking things, and finding them (came from when the damn cows wouldn’t listen to him and they’d get out and go wherever they pleased… which was more often than he’d like to admit).
Reading/writing:
Again, middle of nowhere ranch, not much to do. So, he took up the hobby of reading and writing, and can read pretty damn quickly, and piece together some pretty impressive sentences.
Powers:
Shapeshifting:
Not as cool as it sounds. Scott can only shapeshift into animals. The twist? He can only shapeshift into animals he has touched before. So, he very well can’t shapeshift into a T-rex, nor a tiger unless he wants to get into a literal cat fight afterward.
Setbacks:
- It isn’t a painless process. It takes time for his body to adjust literally morphing into another being. It varies between animals, how long the intense pain lasts, and how often he shifts into that animal. It sounds pretty painful too. It isn’t pleasant to be around when he’s shifting, the sounds never go away, considering his body is either shrinking or growing larger. The pain doesn’t really go away either; for animals he has been changing into for years, it’s easier, less painful during the shifting process, but he still suffers from sore muscles, but they’re a sore like after a tough workout, nothing too painful or crippling. The time it takes to shift depends on how long he has been shifting into that animal; the first few times shifting, the process could take a few minutes. But with shifts his body is adjusted too, it can happen fairly quickly, almost in a black of an eye.
- Ripping/shedding clothes. Clothes do not shift with him so… expect to see naked Scott at some point in the future. Maybe a suit can be designed that somehow shifts with him or at least lets him shed it quickly so he has something to put on after changing back. Depending on the size of the animal, his clothes might simply just fall to the ground, but he has ripped plenty of clothes by accident.
- It’s hard to control. Emotions drive his power. He has to be very careful about controlling his reactions to things, so he might come off very indifferent, though that’s only because he doesn’t want to get overly excited and suddenly be a dog, or he doesn’t want to become angry and suddenly become a horse bent on kicking someone. If he gets overly emotional, he has to fight the urge to shift which is very hard, and he’s still, to this day, learning to control that. He also still has an issue with touching animals with his bare hands; he will shift into the animal immediately if he touches them with his bare hand, because he honestly doesn’t know how to get a grasp on his power. He can immediately shift back to his human form, but it’s sort of embarrassing since he’s going to be as naked as the day he was born. He can control it better with animals he has shift into more, but for newer ones? Nah.
- Usually lasting a few hours after shifting back from an animal, Scott will eat the diet of that animal, and he will also have the traits of that animal. For example, if he shifts back from a horse, he might be bent on eating sugar cubes and running around a large area. He can control this… to a point. The diet, not so much. Shifting takes a lot of energy, and he almost always has to eat after. As for the traits… those he tries really hard to prevent, because it’s always embarrassing, but some things are bound to slip through and make for a very red-faced Scott.
Ability to talk to animals:
This one doesn’t require touching the animal but rather, hearing them. He can’t talk in the human language, of course, he has to talk to them in their language, hence him having to hear an animal be talkative first. His vocal chords are unlike a normal human’s and they somehow manage to mimic any animal sound so he can communicate with them. Maybe they creepily shift inside his body, who knows.
Setbacks:
- He might have a sore throat depending on what animal talk he’s using. Some of them really hurt his throat and sometimes, he has to take a break from talking in any form for a few hours after. So thus, for some animal-talking, he might have to keep it short.
- Depending on the animal, and how smart they are... it can be hard to talk to some. Really hard. Some, he can't talk too, because they might have a one track mind, and won't even acknowledge him. Some can hold a steady conversation before going off about something else (probably food). But he has also found some that can hold a conversation, most of his livestock could, and those are, of course, the most engaging.
- He finds this one as a personal setback: he often catches himself subconsciously making animal noises in reply to things going on around him. It has made some people stare, that’s for sure.
List of animals he can shift into:
The first animal he touches, is how he’ll always look when shifting into that animal in the future, and as for different breeds of animals, he has to touch the specific breed to be able to shift into that one.
Cow/Bull.
Pig.
Hen/Rooster.
Crow.
Armadillo.
Skunk (this… this was a big regret once he shifted back and the skunk he had touched hadn’t left and wouldn’t listen to reason).
History:
Westwood Ranch was situated right on the edge of Corpus Christi, a modest ranch with a span of a thousand acres, all green with scattered trees, a fair-sized pasture, and a big, beautiful farm house with an equally big and beautiful barn and stable. Betty Westwood ran the ranch, a fierce and strong single mother to Scott, alongside her older brother, and Scott’s uncle, Hunter Westwood. Their next door neighbor - King Ranch. King Ranch was one of the largest ranches in the world, sitting pretty on 185,000 acres. For the most part, it looked as if neither ranches bothered the other, not even to offer help or possibly trade. That didn’t mean it was all sunshine and happiness on Westwood Ranch, however. Naturally, Scott grew up in the thick of the ranch, and was home-schooled from the get-go. Once he was old enough to handle chores and responsibility, Uncle Hunter would have him up at the ass crack of dawn tending to the ranch, till everything was done no matter what time it was. The only breaks he would get were to do homework and eat. Betty and Uncle Hunter told him it was how they grew up, and so Scott would grow up the same.
For a while, everything was normal. Betty was his teacher, and the only thing he was above in was reading, he gained his mother’s hard-working trait, and Uncle Hunter was not only teaching him the way of ranch life, but also letting him try his hand at shooting their rifle and pistol and showing him how to track, to watch out for any coyotes or other predators roaming too close. Uncle Hunter had playfully nudged him while showing him how to track and said, “and maybe for one day when you gotta hunt down a person like a secret spy.” the idea sounded appealing to a young, hyperactive boy. Betty helped with the ranch when she found the time, but she also worked somewhere in the city, as far as Scott knew, some desk job. She hated the job but it paid well, and the ranch could use all the money it could get it. Little Scott didn’t know of the financial woes the ranch was experiencing and was happy to just work hard like his father figure and mother, and to be with the animals. It went unnoticed for some time but both Betty and Hunter began to notice the almost eerie connection Scott had with all the animals on the farm. Primarily they noticed how the animals reacted to him, and he them. For Hunter and Betty, the chickens fled, but for Scott, they stayed near and even let the young boy gently pat their heads or backs. For Hunter and Betty, the cows shifted away when being milked, and sometimes put up a fuss. But if Scott was near, the cows would be calm, and were always pushing their noses against Scott in something that could be considered a playful fashion. For Hunter and Betty, the horses were good, tamed, but sometimes, a couple would bite and refuse to be brushed down. But, again, for Scott, all five of their horses were the most tamed, sweet things in the world, and would always dip their heads so young Scott could pat at them.
It didn’t cause any problems, actually it helped a lot, so they didn’t address it. When Scott would sometimes mimic an animal noise, they didn’t address it, since Scott spent so much time around them to begin with and he was a kid. What did cause problems was whenever they would sell livestock for much needed money, one or two cows here, maybe a pig there, and Scott would cry for hours over the loss. But at the age of nine, things got weirder, because he began to very frequently address the animals in what seemed like their own tongue, and the animals would seemingly reply. It was like he was having a conversation with them and Betty was watching this development from afar.
One night when he had barked at his childhood dog and the dog jumped up and down and barked back, Betty had finally asked her son if he could talk to animals. Joking or no, Scott beamed and said he could, that they were his friends, and the chickens wanted a bigger coop. Betty had simply hummed in acknowledgement and thought. She told Hunter about it, who simply shrugged and said “kids will be kids; he probably wants the coop to be bigger ‘cause he’s havin’ problems squeezin’ his growin’ ass in there with the damn birds.” At age 11, was when Scott’s world was officially tipped upside down. He had been playing with his childhood dog, who had already been middle-aged when he was a baby, so was moving a lot slower and sluggish these days, when he was in sudden agonizing pain, his body feeling like it was on fire. He had been far away from the house, having been playing with his Sheltie inside the large expanse of the pasture, and so by the time he was found since he had been screaming, what Betty and Hunter found was not only Scott’s Sheltie, but another Sheltie there, but more youthful. Betty and Hunter were in amazement when the strange, young Sheltie began to whimper and twitch, body curling in on itself. All Betty and Hunter could do was watch as fur gave away to skin, muzzle reared back into a nose and mouth, ears sunk down and hair formed, and then they were looking at a shaking and crying Scott laying on the ground.
Betty and Hunter easily accepted him and tried to help him come to terms with his new ability. Uncle Hunter was the most helpful, always ruffling Scott’s hair while he was still recovering from the shock and taking a break of doing work on the ranch, and saying something like, “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll do somethin’ really cool with this ability, Scotty!” it gave Scott hope that maybe he would do something good with this ability one day. Betty had to keep working, but each time she came home, she shot off questions at Scott, asking if he shifted again, how he felt, how it felt. These questions were becoming common practice and one night, Scott had heard Uncle Hunter angrily whispering at Betty to “back off, this is hard ‘nough. He’s just a kid, Betty, ‘member?!” Betty had made a slight noise of acknowledgement and of course, Scott didn’t ask what that was all about. When Scott got back to working about a week later, his second shift happened in the stables. He had just gotten out there, rays of sun barely stretching along the dark sky, Uncle Hunter tending to the chicken coop, and reached out to touch one of the horses. The same thing happened as did with his Sheltie; horrible, unbearable pain then he was a horse, and that was how he was found once again. When he had shifted back, tattered clothes around him and shaking and crying, Betty had hugged him and said, “don’t worry, you’re gonna be so strong one day and be able to handle it, ‘kay?” Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to keep this up, but Uncle Hunter kept feeding him words of encouragement, telling him he was special and he was going to go to good places because of his “gift.” His mother, on the other hand, was more bent on asking questions about it, and even asked if he wanted to test a theory out. Scott was a naturally curious person and so he agreed.
Betty must of ran the idea by Uncle Hunter, because Scott overheard them fighting while he was tucked up in the corner of their big comfy couch with his nose in a book. His pet parakeet at the time, sadly she passed away later on and Scott had cried plenty, had even gotten quiet when the heated words drifted into the living room. Uncle Hunter didn’t want Scott pushing himself, or doing things he didn’t want too. Betty claimed Scott knew his limits and would tell them. After more heated words that were hushed so Scott couldn’t make them out, Betty had asked Scott to come outside, and so he followed his mother and father figure out. Uncle Hunter had been tense and unhappy-looking, while Betty had been all smiles and bright eyes, excitement. Betty had asked Scott to try and think of an animal that wasn’t on the farm. And to try to shift into it. Scott hadn’t been sure he wanted to go through the pain, and he voiced his concern. But Betty had shushed him and said he’d get used to it, while Uncle Hunter had stepped up and said Scott didn’t have too. But, Scott had wanted to try for his mother, and so he totally tried a T-rex and the most that had given him was a headache from thinking so damn hard. Betty had mm’d when he said he couldn’t shift into the dinosaur and took his little hand, bringing him to the chicken coop. Betty had gotten Scott to touch a chicken and it happened, his third shift. Just as painful as the first two, and after he shifted back from a chicken, he was again a shaking and sobbing mess from the shock. Betty had hugged him tight and said her theory panned out. If he touched an animal with his bare hand, he became that animal. It led him to having to wear gloves around the farm. Uncle Hunter had been the one who whisked Scott inside and wrapped him up in blankets and gave him hot tea. Uncle Hunter had smoothed Scott’s bangs back from his sweaty forehead and told him, “If you don’t want to use your powers anymore, you ain’t gotta, you understand? No matter what mom says.” Scott had nodded, rejected his tea, and proceeded to sleep for many hours.
He hadn’t stopped using his power. Uncle Hunter had been a support beam for him during it all, during him adjusting to the power, learning about it, discovering new things. He had still helped Scott do normal kid things during it all, played games with him, helped him write weird short stories, watched stupid cartoons with him. Betty, well, every time she had came from work, she had new questions, new theories. But then after getting all the answers from Scott, she’d kiss his forehead and tell him he was so special and wonderful, and he was going to do great and amazing things one day. Scott had loved both his Uncle and mother equally, and he had been glad they both believed in him. By the age of fourteen, the shifts to all the ranch animals were still painful, but to the point he could handle it, and he had been often shifting and unshifting, getting practice in. But even with the ability, Uncle Hunter had encouraged finding hobbies; Uncle Hunter had kept training him with the guns and in tracking. At fifteen, Uncle Hunter had given him an acoustic guitar, telling him with a grin “women love a country boy who can play guitar.” Scott hadn’t really met anyone else but Uncle Hunter and his mom. They sometimes brought him out but that was it. So far, how he knew anything about kids his age had been from the TV and books. But, he had still learned the guitar, enjoying it more than he had expected, and with that came him writing songs. Scott had been as happy as a boy with strange powers and no friends his age could be. The only really bad thing that had happened during the year he was fifteen had been when his childhood dog passed away. He had cried for days and with that overwhelming emotion, it hadn’t been uncommon to find him in his Sheltie form, laying in his late dog’s doggie bed and whimpering.
Even with the animals, a lot of them being his friends, and his Uncle and mother, he had still felt lonely. He had wanted human interaction with people his age. He had seen it from afar, when he went to the city with Uncle Hunter to get supplies or eat out for once, or his mother would take him to the store for grocery shopping. He had seen it on TV, or read it in books. He had wanted friendships with people but when he brought it up to Betty, she had simply said because of his power, it wasn’t safe for him to be around other people but them. He had asked Uncle Hunter if he could start going to public school, whining in the back of his throat and begging with big, tearful eyes, and Uncle Hunter had grabbed his shoulder and, with a sad smile, said, “Maybe next year, bud, ‘kay?” Next year came and he got the same answer, Uncle Hunter looking even more pained to say it. At this point, Scott was sixteen, growing into his own, and he hadn’t been one to keep his mouth shut or hold back. So, he had demanded why, why couldn’t he make his own choice to start attending high school and meet new people? Uncle Hunter hadn’t answered for a long time, going back to grooming down the horse Scott could shift into, a beautiful quarter horse, before sighing and finally answering him. Scott hadn’t liked the answer. Uncle Hunter simply said, “I really do believe you can be someone later but you… you aren’t ready to be around others. You can’t control your power well ‘nough. What happens if a girl comes up to ya and smiles? Or a cute boy?” he had shot Scott a look and said, “I see the way ya drool over that one dark-haired fella from that weird train movie with all the snow, I ain’t blind and I ain’t bothered. But what, you gonna shift into that mangy stray cat you keep feedin’ scraps too?” Scott hadn’t said anything, instead turning on his heel and stomping off with a huff that sounded more like a horse whinny but he wouldn’t admit to it.
He hadn’t wanted to accept his fate but… he also wasn’t going to go behind Uncle Hunter’s or Betty’s back. Because Scott wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t the smartest person around but he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He had understood their concerns, and he had also understood that people wouldn’t take well to his power like they would. He’d accept it but he didn’t have to like it. Time kept going, and it was the same old, same old. Help on the ranch, walk the acres of the ranch and try to convince strange animals to let him touch them (almost always, he was basically told to fuck off, but some were nice), screw with his animals for his own laughs (his laugh had been cut off the one time he was messing with Moo Moo, his favorite (don’t tell the others) cow; he couldn’t even remember what he had said and did, but he had been sitting on a stool beside her, and so he had a bruise in the shape of her hoof on his side, right below his ribs, for about two weeks. There were also other times the animals spited him but that was part of the fun), practice shooting, play some songs for Betty and Uncle Hunter (they claimed he could sing, but he didn’t hear it), read, read, read, ride the couple horses that enjoyed it to keep them happy, write songs and short stories for his own amusement, aaaaand repeat. Life was simple and maybe he could like it, if he hadn’t felt like he was missing out on something from his lack of a social circle.
Twenty had been the age things flipped upside down. He’d rather experience his first shifting three times over and then some than the pain of that whole year. Betty died. She had worked a desk job at a law firm. Supposedly, one of the lawyers lost a case, the person was very angry, and shot the place up, killing his mother. Scott couldn’t believe it when Uncle Hunter told him. He had felt like he was in a haze. No Betty to come home and pester him over his ability, ask him a million questions, then hug him and kiss his temple and tell him how special and important he was. No Betty to push him to use his ability, to fine tune it, to perfect it because she had told him that was important, it was important he discovered his true potential, that she wanted him to feel good about himself. No Betty to roll her brown eyes (eyes so unlike his own but the one time he had asked after his father, Betty had up and left the room without a word, and Uncle Hunter had said it was a “sensitive subject, sorry, bud.”), and shove a TV dinner in his arms with a rose eyebrow when he whined about being hungry. No mom. Scott hadn’t believed it until Uncle Hunter and him were at the funeral home, getting her cremated because it had been cheaper and quicker. He had barely held it together in time for Uncle Hunter to get him home, so he could rip out of his clothes as he shifted into his Sheltie form, and had laid in the horse stables for hours, making no sound and staring off blankly, ignoring the horses asking what was wrong.
The very next day had brought more pain. Uncle Hunter had approached him while Scott was tending to the horses and said he was selling the ranch to the current owner of King Ranch, because they had wanted to expand out this way anyway, and they were in the way. It had taken a while for Uncle Hunter to talk him out of his horse form, and to convince Scott to “not kick me in the nuts, please, hear me out!” Scott had been angry, and hurt, but Uncle Hunter told him they couldn’t afford the ranch at this rate. Scott had been almost ready to calm down because Uncle Hunter hadn’t wanted to leave but then - Uncle Hunter informed him he had gotten him a nice place set up in the city, he had some money for him, and he was sure with Scott’s hard-working drive and fit body, he could secure a job fairly quickly. Scott had exploded again, but this time in angry snarls and biting words, barely containing bursting into something as his body was wracked with hard shudders. He had told Uncle Hunter to give him the rent money for the apartment, the money he had now, and he would figure out a way to keep the ranch afloat on his own and without Uncle Hunter’s help. Uncle Hunter had said it wouldn’t be enough money to tend to the bills and animals, and that Scott would have to work multiple jobs to keep paying for the ranch. Scott had been willing to do any type of work to keep his ranch, his animals, his friends, but Uncle Hunter had dropped the bomb: he had already signed the ranch over and it was no longer theirs, and it would be impossible to buy back now. Everything Scott had known, everything he had grown up around, everything he literally lived and breathed, gone, in just two days. In a practical instant. Scott hadn’t even been angry anymore. He had just been sad.
Uncle Hunter had said he would put everything in the house in storage. He did. He had given Scott the address to the storage place and an extra key so he could access it whenever he wanted. He had only went once, to get a couple of pocket-sized family photos, needing something to remind him of the life that had been so suddenly ripped from him. He had let Uncle Hunter help him settle into the new apartment, into the city. The only thing he hadn’t let Uncle Hunter help him with was his goodbyes to his animals. It had been long, and drawn-out, and painful. Maybe more painful than his first few shifts. No one had been happy that day. After Scott had let Uncle Hunter see him to the apartment, Scott had told him to never contact him again, and slammed the door in his face. He had hated doing it but he had never felt such anger, or betrayal, before. For roughly the rest of the year, he had struggled to secure a place in society, and had barely managed. The money Uncle Hunter had provided him with didn’t last that long, and so he had gotten a shitty factory job, something he hated. He hated all the people, the loud noises, how he couldn’t look up at night and see the stars because of all the light pollution. He had wanted to run away, back to the ranch that was no longer Westwood Ranch. He could, slip in as an animal, visit, check up. It had struck him hard one night and he did it. Just one last time, just to see the house, his animals, the pasture. Just one last time.
He wished he hadn’t. King Ranch had cleaned up quickly. It had been all gone. The house, the barn, the pasture, the stable. All wiped away, to expand the King Ranch, to build up more pastures for separated livestock. He hadn’t even known where his animals were and he dragged himself back to his apartment, in the horrible, loud, and too bright city. As months kept going, he had been having troubles with controlling his ability, and he had more than once let animal noises slip around his co-workers. Scott did try, he talked to some of his co-workers, had to talk to his bosses, but he still struggled to find a footing. It hadn’t been like talking to Betty or Uncle Hunter, words flowing easily between them. He had been struggling. He had been at his wit’s end, considering between going to King Ranch himself, throwing himself at the feet of the owner and begging for a place to work, begging to see his animals because he would be able to tell which were his, or just disappearing, be it from becoming some stray animal and slinking off into the night, or just into nothingness. But, before he could really dip over an edge that he hadn’t been entirely sure where it would lead him, he had received a letter in the mail. Inviting him to the Avengers Academy. He had, of course, found it odd he had gotten a letter requesting him but… maybe, just maybe, this was what he needed. Maybe this was what his Uncle Hunter had meant when he said he could do good things, that he could be something. Either way, Scott felt like he had nothing to lose, so he accepted.
Initial observation report:
Subject purposefully comes off as indifferent because when he experiences bouts of strong emotion, he struggles to control his ability. Subject also appears to be very hard-working, listens well, but lacks social skills and struggles to communicate with others.
Training regimen/expertise:
- Covert Ops and Espionage coupled with Infiltration Training - subject has potential to be fine tuned to be able to slip in and out of places without notice.
- Firearms Training - subject has some experience in firearms and can benefit from more.
- Basic Combat Training - subject has no prior experience in fighting whatsoever and has never engaged in it before.
Potential outlook:
If subject can learn to control his ability, he could be a useful asset when it comes to going incognito.
Best case scenario:
Subject learns to control his ability when experiencing intense emotion, and becomes useful in undercover missions.
Worst case scenario:
Subject simply cannot grasp control of his ability, and does not work out. |
44,806 | 1,220 | 1 | 305 | 6,675 | Damon watched the Quinjet arrive with mixed feelings. He hated being in enclosed areas, not only did they usually prevent his wings from unfolding fully, but in this case they also contained people. He felt himself grumble at the thought of dealing with them.
Damon gripped the duffel that contained his few belongings. Belongings that consisted of mostly clothing and one picture of himself and his mother. He would have the duffle put on his shoulder, but the strap was designed to go over the shoulder and considering two very large hinderences for such things on his back, he went with holding the thing. He had never seen the Quinjet before, yet he was clearly not impressed. He had wanted to just be told where the academy was so he could just fly there, but apparently that wasn't going to be allowed.
Damon rolled his shoulders and watched the door lower in front of him. Contained within the metal flying tube were two others. Without a word to them, he folded his wings more and strode on. He walked right past them, dropped his duffel and took a seat...his current expression giving clear anti social vibes. He watched the door close and say more comfortable before regaining the anti social expression. He hoped he wouldn't have to work with these two...or talk to them. Really he just wanted to get there already so he could get off of the thing and away from people. | Full name:
Damon Slavsky
Alias/Codename:
Fallen Angel
Age:
18
Country of origin:
Russia then U.S.A-Washington D.C. (Moved around too much for city)
Basic appearance:
(face shape and features like so)
Damon stands at 6 feet with a muscular build. He has olive toned skin with deep raven black hair. His eyes are a striking green that seem to have a permanent coldness contained within. His weight comes in at a solid 175 of mostly muscle. His mutation is the two large black wings that give him his alias. He has an impressive 7 foot wing span with curved talon like points at the top of his wings. He tends to wear low back shirts with black jeans, black steel toe boots, and an arm band with a split flag of Russia and the US...since his shirts have enough problems trying to function as well...shirts. He does have a faint scar on his chest, it is unknown how he received a scar and he refuses to talk about it even though it would give important insight to his abilities. When he does talk he has a faint Russian accent.
Costume:
His costume must accommodate with his wings so it his two slits for them. It is all black with grey undertones.
(for the general idea..not face claim. no x on suit.)
Skills:
-Glaring...he has it down
-Sword skills especially dual
-Hand to hand combat
-Hand to wing combat...those talons are sharp
Powers:
-Healing: His healing factor can be compared to wolverine (not related only used for comparison)
Set back: the more minor the wound the faster it heals...major wounds take longer (such as neck wounds) and may lead to him passing out while they heal. he is completely vulnerable in that type of situation.
-Flight: As achieved by the large black feathers on his back.
Set back: If you manage to get close enough to tie them up the he will be unable to fly. Cut them off and he will be out for the count while they grow back...as that takes awhile and a lot of pain.
-Strength: Enhanced strength...he is able to lift far more then a normal being can. Such as a semi. He cannot lift a train.
Set back: he can't lift trains.
Brief bio:
Damon was born to two supposedly normal humans in Russia. His mother and his father were happy together...until his mother gave birth to a freak of nature. His father became violent after that..abusing his mother and threatening to saw off his wings. His mother would not allow it and took the abuse while she worked on saving up money to get out of there. She managed to do so when Damon was 10 years of age..taking them both to Washington D.C.. They moved around a lot to try to prevent anything horrible from happening to Damon...leading Damon to hate himself a bit.
Things seemed okay until Damon turned 14. His mother became ill and he was unable to help her. She died from cancer, leaving him alone. He found out about the avenger's academy through an offer and seeing no other options and wanting to make something of himself..he got in as soon as he could.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Being secluded means subject does not know much about other heroes. His people skills also seem to be a bit...low to none. He seems to be better at working alone then with groups, but if trained correctly can make an excellent asset to any team. It is believed that he can talk...he just chooses to talk very little. He shows high protectiveness for weaker beings. This was shown through a rescue of a stray kitten from a burning building..he refuses to speak of it, but potential to build on that instinct with the right team.
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience: due to his difficulties with working with a team and that one incident where he lifted up and choked a fellow student he was annoyed with...he clearly needs this.
-Team training: Team building. Force him to deal with teams
-Advanced combat
-infiltration training and simulations: Because busting through a wall is not 'sneaky'
Potential outlook:
Potential...if he can work with a team or trust people. Needs to be paired with the right individuals.
Best case scenario:
Attack unit/Team infiltrator. Possible team member if done right. He is a good protector with the right people.
Worst case scenario:
Solo infiltrator. This has the most risk due to his tendency for recklessness which could lead to capture. |
44,807 | 1,220 | 2 | 438 | 562 | Copen was waiting in a designated area nearby his bed and breakfast, his blue suitcase waiting next to him. The day was bright and clear - fresh, he reflected, like the start of his new life today. The Avengers were famous all around the world, including Europe and even Denmark; people gasped at the stories in the newspaper and the one time that Tony Stark had flown overhead on a whim, social media had gone crazy. He ran a hand through his unruly blond hair, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. They'd told him that a small aircraft was coming to pick him up, but he couldn't see anything yet...
The handsome young man had to wait a few minutes more, and used them up by scrolling through Facebook. There were messages on his wall, wishing him luck - and he smiled to himself, albeit a little sadly. He'd miss his family. Hell, he already did. The vegetation around him started to wave, and he felt a strong gust of wind lifting up tendrils of his hair. He glanced up from his phone, mouth dropping open slightly at the sight. "Woah." That wasn't any ordinary helicopter, that was for sure.
Suddenly smiling, he picked up his suitcase with ease and walked confidently over to the aircraft. After a moment's hesitation, he walked up the runway to be greeted with the sight of three other young guys. At least two looked friendly enough. "Hej," he greeted them, his Danish accent coming through perhaps a little too strongly. Copen grinned his usual charming smile, putting his suitcase down and glancing around with no small amount of awe before returning his dark blue gaze to them. "This is... pretty cool. I'm Copen." It was an announcement to both of them, his loud voice carrying through the room.
He could see from the windows that the helicarrier was lifting itself off the ground again - impressive, seeing as he'd felt nothing. Deciding that it would be safest to sit, he plopped himself down on one seat and looked at them all expectantly. | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,808 | 1,220 | 3 | 1,552 | 2,234 | Nodding her head lightly to the beat of the music blaring from her headphones, Angelique kept her eyes fixed firmly on the skyline as she tapped her fingers absent-mindedly to the tune. She was sat atop the roof of some random block of backstreet flats, in the run-down area of the Tenderloin. She had been offered a lift straight to "Superhero school" from Stark tower, but she'd rejected it. There was shit she had to take care of before running away to some high class school to get her powers in check. Unfortunately, said shit was still at her supposed "home" in uptown 'Cisco. There were old friends to say swift goodbyes to, and certain items she had to collect from her bedroom... none of that materialistic rubbish that her cazzo of a father had bought her, but the things that actually meant something to her. An old locket of her mother's; a woven bracelet made by her youngest cousin; a tattered postcard sent from Venice by her Aunt and Uncle; and a thirty-year-old bottle of grappa, home brewed by her crazy, alcoholic Nonno, her grandfather, among other items. The liquor inside was divine, and likely had an alcohol content higher than the country of America allowed, but the grapes bobbing about within the liquid? They tasted of pure death, and she was going to take great delight in sharing them with her future comrades.
Unless, of course, they were some kind of goody-two-shoes that would just report her for having alcohol. The silly American laws on youthful intoxication was yet another thing she hated about having moved over here, and Angel wasn't going to let someone try and use that on her. Not on a place like the heli-carrier, after all.
"Well, well. Speak of the devil." Angel murmured quietly as her eyes caught sight of the quin-jet, slowly yet smoothly descending on the rooftop behind her. It was quite the beauty, that was certain. She'd seen it a few times, on various new stations whenever the Avengers had come to save the day - she hadn't expected to be picked up in it, that's for sure.
Pulling the headphone jack from her iPod to halt the music, Angel threw her carry-all over her shoulder as she stood up, wincing ever so slightly at the motion. When she'd been hastily collecting her things, she'd tripped a silent alarm. Stupid, and reckless, but she'd been pretty emotional at the time - enough so to not think straight. Anyways, the sentry bots her father had had put in were awakened by it, and started attacking her. Angel wanted to think that he'd programmed that purposefully, but she knew that wasn't likely... he wasn't that heartless, after all. Either AIM had gotten their filthy paws on it, or he'd just programmed it wrong. Knowing what failures went on in Hammer Industries, it was likely the latter. The stupid things were always malfunctioning. Still, it probably didn't help that she'd broken in. Either way, one had pulled a lucky shot as she'd taken off with her bags of stuff, and grazed her arm. Thankfully, it was a lousy shot. Still stung like a bitch though.
Shaking off the thought, Angel pulled the headphones from her ears and gripped them in her free hand as she entered the quin-jet, glancing at each of the four individuals.
"Okay... so, we've got a new-age viking minus the beard... the token Broody "Don't-Make-Friends-With-Me-Because-My-Life-Is-Full-Of-Darkness" McGlower... a guy who looks about twelve-years old... and some normal brunette. Cool." She thought to herself as she took each of them in. There was some modicum of diversity here; irregardless of the lack of women.
"Ciao! I suppose I'm the first female?" She began with an easy grin to the four of them, setting her bag on one of the many empty seats. "I'm Angelique di Diavolo - please call me Angel. It's less of a mouthful for you, and less of an annoyance for me." Her accent still carried traces of her Italian heritage, some strong in some places, others not so obvious as the generic American accent took over. Sitting down in a seat by the blond, Angel wrapped her headphones up and placed them back in her satchel, which hung from her shoulder. "I look forward to working with you all - this should be interesting." Said with a somewhat foxy grin, she waited on the names of the others. They certainly seemed interesting, in their own respects. | Full name: Angelique "Angel" di Diavolo
Alias/Codename: Nightingale
Age: 18
Country of origin: Rome, Italy.
Basic appearance: Stands at 5'4 with a curvy, yet slim physique. Her black hair is long and curly, usually worn in the same style most days - unless she can't be bothered with it. She has an undoubtedly pretty face, despite being an unfortunate sufferer of RBF Syndrome, with eyes that are an almost ethereal shade of bright blue; upon using her powers, the entire eye, sclera and all, becomes a shining silvery-blue, that matches the colour of the energy she uses.
Costume: Costume comprises of a lightweight hooded cape, in addition to a mask covering the bottom half of her face. Fortified leather armour pieces sit on top of black lightweight cotton; allowing her some protection without disrupting her speed or dexterity. The light-weight armour pieces sit on her chest and stomach (the latter in the form of a corset); shoulder and elbow guards; gauntlets; knee guards, and her own stolen carbon-fiber boots with installed jet propulsors, reaching her mid-shin. Most of the outfit is in shades of black, dark grey, or dark brown - how else is she to blend with the shadows?
Skills:
Language skills - Fluent in Italian, Latin, Nordic Runes, and Ancient Greek - is still picking up some more complicated terms in Arameic, but can translate the basics. Oh, and she also knows Sindarin and Quenya... because knowing the Elvish languages of Middle Earth is very important to her, okay?
Expert gymnast - whether this is borne from her powers or not, she doesn't know; but boy, can the girl climb. What she lacks in physical strength is made up for in her ability to work her way into the most awkward, high up places. How else is a girl meant to infiltrate shit?
Adept Technological intelligence - knows the basics of hacking, although more specifically doors than actual computers. Can work out a more complicated firewall given enough time, but she certainly doesn't know enough to be considered an expert. Additionally, she's somewhat skilled in robotics, as made obvious by her adaptations to her boots that allow her to fly without needing stabilizers in the palms, like with the Iron Man suits.
Nerd Lord supreme - Will beat your ass when it comes to nerdy trivia. Seriously, she can quote Lord of the Rings down to the Orc screeches, and knows every single time the Wilhelm scream has been used in something.
Did somebody say Thieves Guild? - Not only do her talents lay in infiltration, but Angel has some seriously sticky fingers. She reckons she could steal Nick Fury's eye patch without him noticing. It's not uncommon for some items - mainly junk food - to go missing on the Helicarrier when she's around. Not that anyone can prove anything, that is. Cameras aren't fast enough to notice her slipping her hands into your pockets.
Powers:
Energy Manipulation - this is a very broad and vague term assigned to Angel's powers, as no-one really knows what kind of energy she uses, herself included. Some say it's biological (making her a mutant), while others suggest it's magical; or, the old favourite, some form of radioactivity. As she's never really spent time near a power plant or plutonium rods, and Professor X himself stated she wasn't a mutant, it's a mystery for now. As such, she can summon some type of energy and manipulate it to her will - either in the form of high powered beams to use offensively, or to turn it into a malleable shield. It's kind of tactile in what it can be used as, but it comes at a price. Overuse can lead to a great toll on her own body, weakening the lining of her blood vessels and causing haemorrhaging at various points in her body. Although she hasn't used it often enough to ever cause lasting damage (yet), she's knocked herself out a few times from over-exertion. It leaves behind a killer headache, too.
It's a kinda Magic - Angel enjoys spells - they don't give her annoying nosebleeds or migraines, and there's just so much you can do with it. She also has a real knack at picking things up, without causing many explosions. At this point, she can't do any really powerful, earth-shattering magicks; she's still in the realm of setting fire to shit and maybe throwing a few things like cars or people around. As for magical defence, er... there's defensive spells? Meh - her own shields can handle that. Hopefully...
Angelique was born to a sweet, loving, Italian mother by the name of Vittoria di Diovolo, and - unfortunately - the weasel of a man that is Justin Hammer. As luck would have it, she was born out of wedlock while her father was married to another woman - unbeknownst to Vittoria. Disgusted with his actions, she returned home to Italy, having Angel in Rome and raising her herself. And truly, it was a good life. Vittoria had a large family who, although many were not happy about her having a child out of wedlock, still supported and loved the newest member of their family all the same. She lived there until the age of ten, when the worst thing that could happen to a child did occur - her Mother died.
It something unavoidable - a clot on the brain, giving her a swift, painless, but all the same unexpected death. Angel was inconsolable, and matters were made worse when her Father swept in to take her with him. Being her father - and also could afford better lawyers than her mother's family - meant she could do nothing to try and stay with people who she actually loved. And so began her new life in America, with her turd of a Dad.
He attempted somewhat admirably to gain her affections - what with his marriage having fallen through and no other children - but he did it in all the wrong ways. Firstly, he'd ignored her for her entire life, and then took her away from everything that she knew and loved. He then attempted to simply get her to like him just by buying her things - the best private education, the newest gadget (Unless it was Stark technology, of course), the fanciest brand of clothes, the poshest of meals... ugh. There was love to be found in such materialistic things, and quite frankly, she despised both him, and his work ethic. Justin had one thing on his mind at all times, it seemed - how could he be better than Tony Stark? And well, when that eventually traversed to the realm of villainy, she was less than amused.
This brought forth a rebellious streak in the young girl - along with some mysterious powers.
Roughly a year after the death of her mother, this energy manipulation made itself known. At first it was in small things - like lightbulbs popping when she sneezed or something... when she eventually discovered it was an actual power manifesting, Angel worked as best she could to try and make it go further, without her Father finding out. Thankfully, he was very pre-occupied with his new villainous lifestyle to even notice.
By the time she was fourteen, she had some kind of control over her powers... and she had also picked up quite a few other skills to try and sabotage her Father's work. It started out small - just altering certain documents to see if it would have any effect. It rarely did much other than confuse Hammer, but it certainly made her better at sneaking around, learning to find blind spots in cameras and motion sensors, and some basic hacking and lock-picking skills. Over time, she made her way into the labs of her Father's research facilities, re-wiring and sabotaging the more dangerous looking things, and... acquiring other gadgets. One in particular were carbon-fiber boots; quite stunning things, and obviously modeled on the thrusters on Iron Man's Suit, only far more light-weight. After making a few modifications, she took them for herself - thus beginning her super hero costume. It was around this time that Angel branched out into more solid forms of magic, hoping she could perhaps find out the source of powers by studying it.
When she turned 18, her sabotage became known to Hammer - and unfortunately, his villainous "friends", if you could call them that. Becoming an enemy to AIM, agents of MODOK were sent after her to put her down, and hopefully teach Hammer a lesson. It was here Angel discovered just how useful her powers were, as she blasted the agents to pieces; additionally, finding out the downsides to said powers. After finding safety in nearby woods, she passed out, completely spent after having used up so much of this mysterious energy.
After a day and a half, Angel awoke - with a migraine, blood still trickling lazily from her nose and ears, and a price on her head. After re-gaining her bearings, Angel fled to the safest place she could imagine, a place she knew that heroes stayed that could help her: Avenger's Tower. Thankfully, flying there was the easy part. It was landing that became problematic, with alarms blaring and the Avengers leaping on out with the whole weapons drawn and "Tell us who you are, and who you work for" schpiel. Anyhoo, they were surprisingly kind to her, despite the amount of times Hammer had fucked with the group, Stark in particular. After telling her story, the Avengers helped clean her up, directed her towards the Academy, even ran a few tests for her to see if they could find out what was going on with her wacky powers; they even went as far as to contact Professor X to see if she was a mutant, and that came up with a big ol' nope too. Although they didn't find anything concrete, she was happy for the help given all the same, and was recruited into the Avengers Academy in the next few days.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report: Energy manip. coming from unknown source; potentially magic, must be discovered, along with any dangerous potential. Can control it well to an extent, need to see how far it can go. Picks up spells swiftly, has a natural talent for it despite the amount of electrical appliances she sometimes blows up in the process. Expert at falling off the radar - keeps finding ways into the secure areas and the kitchens.
Training regimen/expertise:
Robotics Class
Infiltration training and simulation
Power Management and Dev. Class
Advanced Mysticism
Potential outlook: Unknown - affiliations with Justin Hammer appear to be sour, if nonexistent, but trust must be gained before deciding if she is truly an ally. If trust is gained, high potential.
Best case scenario: Intelligence gathering and undercover work - could also be useful in offensive capabilities, depending on potential power levels which remain unknown at this time.
Worst case scenario: Team infiltrator, perhaps back-up; depends if powers develop further. Although, penchant for stealing (We suspect, anyway) could make the life of a criminal look quite appealing to her, considering how easy her talents and powers would make that. |
44,809 | 1,220 | 4 | 438 | 562 | Copen looked toward the new arrival, blond eyebrows arched as she walked inside. Ah, it was a girl! His good-natured expression did not fade as she introduced herself, friendliness radiating off her like waves. He gave her a wink as she came closer. When she took the seat next to him, he straightened slightly, noticing just how small she seemed next to his lanky frame. In fact, he looked to be the tallest person here. It sort of made sense - after all, normal soldiers were usually around 6 foot or slightly below, since muscle was difficult to pack on such a long-limbed body. He knew that all too well, although he'd gotten over it by now.
Her accent was interesting, if anything. His English was fluent, but his Danish accent was still heavy on his words - most Americans so far had guessed that he was German. Being a second language speaker, he had had a small amount of trouble distinguishing just what type of accent Angel had. But if the surname was any hint... "Hi, I'm Copen Thorsen," he said with a grin, turning in his seat and holding his hand out to her. "Another European, no? Italy? Looks like SHIELD is- er, - having a wide selection." He'd struggled there for a moment, but had thankfully recovered before embarrassing himself. Not that he often felt embarrassed, but it was difficult when people were critiquing his language at every word. "I'm from Denmark - Aarhus." | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,810 | 1,220 | 5 | 2,389 | 901 | His teachers used to say that you should stand on attention whenever someone new you were meeting came into the room so off course, Will hiked his boots up onto the rest of the seat and turned to give the latest passenger of the Nick Fury big brother encampment a once over. The corners of his lips twitching as he built a mental assessment of the man before him;
Tall, blue eyed, where's the blond hair? He mused, flashing the man a smirk as he leaned back against the arm rest of the bench and crossed his legs, taking up the entire length of the seat, continuing to study the newcomer. Taking in the boy's expression of "Yes, I am standing in the Jet I'm going to marry." as he just stood there, staring at the controls like he had just seen a whale pass them by in the air or something, hands twitching like a kid in a candy store with no price tags on the candy. Good to see that there were some people who could appreciate sexy machinery.
"You done molesting the control panel with your eyes?" He eventually quipped because as fun as it was to see the obvious city boy, god it was like that was the new 'rural', gawk at the switches and dials, he couldn't stand the silence all that long or being ignored. Usually the latter over the former, though when he was being ignored there was usually a silence that accompanied it. Long story short, he didn't like the silence, unless he was programming a sound cancelling machine, but that was besides the point. He should build a sound cancelling machine though, just for the heck of it. His thoughts running like wild fire, he nearly missed when the guy finally turned around and looked down-Damn he should build some height modifiers into his shoes or heels, he was sure he could pull off pumps-at him and actually crooned out that horrible pick up line. He nearly burst out laughing,
"Oh more than you know," He quipped back at him, reaching out to slide his hand against the smooth wall adjacent to him. One entire length of curved metal, friction unjilted between his fingertips and the wall as he ran his hand down the side of it, curving his palm to fit it's shape before he let his hand drop back to support his head, flashing the boy a sideways grin as his phone beeped, telling him the Quinjet was descending again even though he couldn't feel any change in altitude on his part, "I'm on the perv patrol, here to arrest anyone looking to damage this baby."
He finished just as the doors began to lower again, a quiet, almost completely silent whirr of the machinery present through the walls. He kept one hand pressed against the cool metal. It was silly, but sometimes, he swore he could feel the electrical impulses running through the walls, almost like a heartbeat, in all sorts of machinery, whether it was the tired out ticker of dated monitors or the smooth rhythmic beat of the more modern day athletes. They beat softly against the flesh of his palm as the newest arrival came in through those doors.
Clang! The metal bench reverberated, the sound echoing off the walls once before the sound was completely absorbed. He had sat up too fast and banged the heavy sole of his foot against the foot of the bench, but he barely felt any sign that he may or may not have completely killed all the blood vessels at the heel of his feet as he watched their newest arrival breeze past his seat. His eyes lit up as he observed the man from behind. No kidding, it was a nice behind, but that wasn't what he was staring at now.
Will had seen his fair share of mutants, non-mutants who looked like mutants and robotic replicas of mutants, but ohoho, he had never gotten a good look at those winged mutants; a seemingly common mutation. And he had been looking at designing a pair of wings and Falcon's gear was under too heavy of a lock down for him to borrow and 'study'. This, was the universe answering his whims and once again proving that, the universe liked him.
By the time the winged dude had sat down, Will was already out of his seat and storming towards him, "Oh god, whatever your name is Lucifer, you have got to let me design something for you, anything, whatever you want, name it, just let me look at these." He rambled off hastily as an introduction as he came up to him and then made an immediate detour to what he really wanted to get his hands on. Kneeling on the seat, he reached out and ran his hands over the curve of the man's wings before he grasped the edge of it more solidly and tried to spread it out a little bit more,
"How far do these go? Oh you know what would be cool? Wing blades! I could make you some light weight ones, what do you think about blue? How high can you get up on these? Do you know your top speed? Oh oh, I could add jets to the end of the blades and you could go even faster!" He started to ramble off, completely oblivious to the vibes the man was giving off and only vaguely aware of whoever else came on board, cataloguing his brief observation of them for later as he continued to fire off question after question at the winged dude, "You think I could get your measurements on these? You think I could run some tests? I'll buy you lunch if you let me, heck I'll buy you lunch for a week!"
You could've called it persistence, but then Will would likely have been ashamed that you didn't go for the pun and call it being strong willed. | Full name: William Maximoff-Shade (Unrelated to canon son of Scarlet witch)
Alias/Codename: Cybernetic
Age: 19
Country of origin: "Eastern Europe" Sokovia
Basic appearance: 5'6 of varying mass. His overall appearance doesn't change, keeping his lean build and boyish looks. Keeps his hair short.
Costume: Having control over technology and nanites, a metallic suit is the only way to go. Composed of the nanites that make up his blood stream, the suit is a living part of himself and serves mostly to conceal his identity, provide his flight capabilities and act as a suitable material for him to create his weaponry using his Technopathy. And to some extent, it's a small statement of his idolisation to Stark.
Skills: -Technical prowess outside of powers
-Snark master 2000
-Blackmail skills
-Hacking ability outside of technopathy
Powers:
-Synthetic body: Like his father, Will's body is composed of entirely synthetic material and his blood stream is basically a stream of nanites. As such, he is able to control his own density, mass and temperature to a small extent, as well as his own pain tolerance. However, he can only ignore any physical stimulations for so long until it overrides whatever 'firewalls' he puts up against it and incapacitates him. Luckily, his synthetic body also allows him to regenerate from his injuries, anything too grievous, however, will force a shut down on himself. He's stronger and faster than the average human, but his ability doesn't surpass other's with actual superspeed and strength
-Mild immunity to toxins: Toxins, drugs and foreign chemicals still afflict him, but effects show up at a slower compared to an completely organic being
-Immune to electrocution: You may not want to touch him whilst he's statically charged though, it's like a live wire
-Superhuman intelligence: Having a computer as a father and a super genius as a technical grandfather has it's perks to one's intelligence.
-Techno-pathy: Limited to his own creation and technology outside of Stark Tech.
-Limited control over Chaos magick: Unlike his mother's natural prowess over magick, Will can only summon up small bursts of chaos magick to act as a projectile. Used as a last resort as it is physically and mentally very draining.
Brief bio: After a slew of adventures and risking their lives, the superhero known as Vision and Scarlet witch (a.k.a Wanda Maximoff) finally tied the knot and settled down to have a child. Unable to conceive a child by natural means, they turned to magick and technology to fulfil their wishes. After many failed attempts, a young boy was conceived and named "William Maximoff-Shade" using part of Vision's human alias; 'Victor Shade'. 3 years into raising their child, a new threat arose that required them to once more take up their superhero mantles and return to saving the world, resulting in Will growing up experiencing the superhero side of the world through every cut, bruise and hospital visit that his parents brought home. The worry of losing a parent ever present until he figured out that he was able to shut off the 'unpleasant' feelings and turn to the more infallible logistics of numbers and possibilities. Calculating the survival chances of his parents becoming a game to him and a growing concern to his parents.
Even more so when he found himself surpassing his peers his schooling, making education by the normal means redundant and to him, human life and mortality. He failed to understand or comprehend the flaws he saw in his classmates, the flaws in his parents, the investment they had in protecting what was inevitably going to self-destruct itself. He had experienced their flaws and subservient 'emotions' and he found them a hindrance at best compared to that of artificial intelligence and the machines he'd come to consider his superior allies. Vision, seeing his son's start upon a darker path, sought to prevent it and consulted the greatest minds of the generation. Those consultations of which led to Will meeting one of the initial founders of the Avengers, Stark.
Never before had he met a human so...like him. Stark was a man no doubt, but Will found fascination in the reckless and brash nature he displayed intertwined with the calculative numerics of machines. He grew to idolize and respect Stark and even more so, his humanity. Which eventually led him to a heavy decision; knowing he could never fit in with humanity with the constant reminder of his connection to the machines, Will decided to start over by erasing all files and traces of him being an Android from the database, including his own memory, making it so he was an adopted child with Technopathy powers and turning what he really was into a secret that not even he knew.
Freed from the knowledge that alienated him the most from his peers, Will found new life in living in the moment and experiencing the human emotions he had previously locked away from himself. And when a school came up that could maybe finally keep up with him, he decided to throw himself head first into it, with the recommendation of his parents off course who accepted that he would eventually follow in their footsteps one way or another.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Subject shows lack of magical ability, but is adept at technopathy, continually hacks into own files to change recorded data. I think I 'improve' on it, you guys don't record down enough of my awesomeness
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience protocol training (A.k.a Detention, you guys need to stop using such fancy terms
-Lab work I get to blow up stuff?
-Robotics class It's the age of the machines!
-Partying 101
-Finding Nick's other eye 102
-Curing Baldness
-Seeing if you can survive jumping off the hellicarrier
Potential outlook:
High potential if- Got that right
Best case scenario:
Technical infiltration unit or taking control of the hellicarrier"
Worst case scenario:
Shut down protocol if any signs of threat to organisation They catch me before I take control of the hellicarrier
FunFacts:
-He likes to pretend he's a robot, but any memory of him being an Android has been erased from his memory and from his files
-The word 'Android' still sets him off
-He may or may not have a Tony stark poster in his room...and an Ironman action figure
-He can understand binary better than actual speaking sometimes.
-Monster trucks, don't mention them...ever. |
44,811 | 1,220 | 6 | 305 | 6,675 | Damon folded his wings closer to him, feeling a bit claustrophobic at the moment, he closed his eyes. This moment of not paying attention lead to the most violation he had ever felt. Damon froze as soon as he felt a hand on his wing. The shock on his face showed just how much he did not expect to be touched. Then, the glare so intense that if it could would disintegrate will on the spot. A glare...that did not seem to be working. In fact, Will seemed to be intent on making modifications to damon that he did not notice the internal struggle of whether killing someone for touching him was morally wrong. Damon's hands balled into fists as he felt frustration building up.
He seemed to be counting to ten in his mind, but as will continued speaking and holding his wing the ability for the method to work decreased. Suddenly, he spoke. "Remove hand" His thick russian accent came out as he was entirely focused on will and not the new comers. Will kept going causing for Damon to metaphorically have steam coming out of his ears. His other wing shot out, the talon stopping inches away from Will's throat. "Remove Hand Now" Somehow his accent seemed to get thicker with anger. His glare along with the jaw clench showed he was at the end of his very short rope. At least he had restraint enough not to punch him...that would be worse.
At this moment, he noticed the new comers out of the corner of his eye. He inhaled and shook his wing out of Will's hand and moved further away from him. "Damon" was his only way of greeting. His wings then swung in front of him and acted as a curtain...a curtain of solitude. | Full name:
Damon Slavsky
Alias/Codename:
Fallen Angel
Age:
18
Country of origin:
Russia then U.S.A-Washington D.C. (Moved around too much for city)
Basic appearance:
(face shape and features like so)
Damon stands at 6 feet with a muscular build. He has olive toned skin with deep raven black hair. His eyes are a striking green that seem to have a permanent coldness contained within. His weight comes in at a solid 175 of mostly muscle. His mutation is the two large black wings that give him his alias. He has an impressive 7 foot wing span with curved talon like points at the top of his wings. He tends to wear low back shirts with black jeans, black steel toe boots, and an arm band with a split flag of Russia and the US...since his shirts have enough problems trying to function as well...shirts. He does have a faint scar on his chest, it is unknown how he received a scar and he refuses to talk about it even though it would give important insight to his abilities. When he does talk he has a faint Russian accent.
Costume:
His costume must accommodate with his wings so it his two slits for them. It is all black with grey undertones.
(for the general idea..not face claim. no x on suit.)
Skills:
-Glaring...he has it down
-Sword skills especially dual
-Hand to hand combat
-Hand to wing combat...those talons are sharp
Powers:
-Healing: His healing factor can be compared to wolverine (not related only used for comparison)
Set back: the more minor the wound the faster it heals...major wounds take longer (such as neck wounds) and may lead to him passing out while they heal. he is completely vulnerable in that type of situation.
-Flight: As achieved by the large black feathers on his back.
Set back: If you manage to get close enough to tie them up the he will be unable to fly. Cut them off and he will be out for the count while they grow back...as that takes awhile and a lot of pain.
-Strength: Enhanced strength...he is able to lift far more then a normal being can. Such as a semi. He cannot lift a train.
Set back: he can't lift trains.
Brief bio:
Damon was born to two supposedly normal humans in Russia. His mother and his father were happy together...until his mother gave birth to a freak of nature. His father became violent after that..abusing his mother and threatening to saw off his wings. His mother would not allow it and took the abuse while she worked on saving up money to get out of there. She managed to do so when Damon was 10 years of age..taking them both to Washington D.C.. They moved around a lot to try to prevent anything horrible from happening to Damon...leading Damon to hate himself a bit.
Things seemed okay until Damon turned 14. His mother became ill and he was unable to help her. She died from cancer, leaving him alone. He found out about the avenger's academy through an offer and seeing no other options and wanting to make something of himself..he got in as soon as he could.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Being secluded means subject does not know much about other heroes. His people skills also seem to be a bit...low to none. He seems to be better at working alone then with groups, but if trained correctly can make an excellent asset to any team. It is believed that he can talk...he just chooses to talk very little. He shows high protectiveness for weaker beings. This was shown through a rescue of a stray kitten from a burning building..he refuses to speak of it, but potential to build on that instinct with the right team.
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience: due to his difficulties with working with a team and that one incident where he lifted up and choked a fellow student he was annoyed with...he clearly needs this.
-Team training: Team building. Force him to deal with teams
-Advanced combat
-infiltration training and simulations: Because busting through a wall is not 'sneaky'
Potential outlook:
Potential...if he can work with a team or trust people. Needs to be paired with the right individuals.
Best case scenario:
Attack unit/Team infiltrator. Possible team member if done right. He is a good protector with the right people.
Worst case scenario:
Solo infiltrator. This has the most risk due to his tendency for recklessness which could lead to capture. |
44,812 | 1,220 | 7 | 834 | 433 | Nick was the type of person who drew judgments on people pretty shortly after meeting them. It was hard not too, with how his brain worked; with a photographic memory, he remembered too much of first impressions, though sometimes they got lost and tangled up with the big ball of information in the back of his mind, something that was hard to distangle to get a piece of information he actually wanted, and sometimes spat out a pointless piece of information that was totally irrelevant to what was going on around him. That was why people had a tendency to think he had ADHD, or a very uncaring attitude depending on what was being said to him and what was flowing through his mind at that time. Because, he didn't ever purposefully ignore anyone, but sometimes it was just hard to concentrate on conversations for him. He totally cared, he sort of wore his heart on his sleeve, but it was just hard to show that sometimes.
This kid that was on the Quinjet first, he already liked him. The little quip he uttered as Nick was practically drooling over the control panel made him give a surprised chuckle, because he hadn't expected wit to be aboard this beautiful piece of flying machinery when he entered it. He watched him slide his hand against the wall of the Quinjet, glad to see maybe someone was as in-love with the Quinjet as he himself was, and smirked in reply to the sideways grin flashed at him. Cute kid. He ignored the doors lowering, to say with his smirk not wavering, "Oh, I certainly won't damage this beauty."
His attention was ripped from the kid, though, when the doors finished lowering and someone else entered. He was used to his attention bouncing all over the place, anyway, so this wasn't anything new to him. He didn't mean too but he gaped at the newcomer. A mutant! He had hoped he wouldn't be the only mutant (for all he knew, the kid across from him was a mutant too), but seeing one made a thrill go down his spine. He, personally, had his arms, thus his "tattoos," covered up by a light, red jacket. But, this guy, hotdamn, he couldn't hide those big, beautiful wings even if he wanted too. And big and beautiful Nick found them, totally. Before he could make a comment, because he was totally going to make a comment, a loud clang sounded in the Quinjet, making Nick jerk to attention and look for its source.
Seemed like the kid beat him to it. Okay, yeah, Nick might have laughed when the kid called him "Lucifer," it was funny, okay? Oh, so the kid liked to design things? That much was obvious. Nick was beginning to get a Stark air from the kid as he kept rambling. It was something so Tony Stark, it was kind of eerie to see. Speaking of Stark, he wondered if the man would make an appearance at the Academy. He wanted to see him again, pester him like he did when Cap brought him to the Tower. He had enjoyed Stark's hyperactive personality when it came to his "toys" and he had fed off that energy, for sure. But Cap, ah, Cap. That was a man after Nick's heart. Too bad Nick was too young and not like Cap would be interested in him anyway. Maybe if I had shaggy hair and a smokey eye gone wrong, he would be, he mused a bit bitterly to himself. He might be up there with Phil Coulson when it came to crushing on Captain America. Actually, he probably was.
He was pulled from his mind - ah, damn, he totally did get lost in his head, didn't he? Not unusual, he was used to it - when someone else was suddenly there. He glanced over at the kid and wing boy, before eyeing the looker that just stepped on board. Well, hello. he thought with a smile and his smile only grew at the accent that came from the young man's mouth. Mind briefly forgetting about the amazing wings sat across from him, he straightened himself up in his seat. "Salut!" he greeted in French, his accent not nearly as thick as this guy's - Copen's, his brain provided - Danish accent, but still noticeable. "Nick. Nice to see another dashing fellow aboard this beautiful hunk of metal, Copen." he joked, and boy, beautiful hunk of metal indeed. He wanted to move in here. Like, seriously. He would totally sleep on this hard as Hell floor. Wait, wait, he hadn't even seen the Helicarrier yet. He might die. He might literally die from the sheer beauty and power of that beast in the sky. He had seen pictures but never the actual thing. He might swoon just thinking about it.
Nick had been, again (this was common practice for the guy), in his thoughts when another newcomer came. And a very pretty newcomer. Well, hello to you, too. Nick thought, licking his lips as he took in sight of the first female on the Quinjet. He was loving the diversity showing on this Quinjet. It was exciting for Nick, who had only been to his home place in Canada and NYC, and hadn't met very many people in between. Oh-ho, Copen was beating him to the punch of talking to the pretty female. Not that it bothered him. Seeing two equally pretty people talking was just fine by him. Like a little shit, he jumped in on the conversation, still. "Nick! Angel, a suiting name-" he paused and smirked a little as he finished in French, "pour une femme angelique." (for an angelic woman). he was so damn cheesy, someone save him from his own stupidity. "French, Canada. What up?" he almost cringed at his own change in tone. Was he smooth or was he not? Not, not for sure.
He was totally missing some drama and what dragged his attention back to it was when he heard a very unhappy, very thick Russian accent going through the Quinjet. He turned to see what was going on and oh, some serious drama. He hopped up to his feet, backpack bouncing against his back, and clapped his hands lightly. "Whoa, now, pretty sure Director Fury wouldn't be happy if one of the students was killed and got blood all over the upholstery. Shit is Hell to get out." he said, standing in the middle of the Quinjet and motioning at the seats. "Kid is a curious little thing, isn't he, Damon?" Nick asked, flashing the kid, as he kept deeming him in his head, a smirk before looking at Damon again. He moved a bit closer, blue eyes going to his wings. They were more in view since Damon was being an anti-social little shit and practically hiding in them. That totally didn't deter Nick though, whose mind was racing. "Seriously, though, if we don't touch, can we ask questions? 'Cause, those beauts, hou la la! And, I mean, if we ask to touch, can we? Consent is very important, after all! Take notes, kid," he joked, and decided it was smart to sit on the other side of Damon. Though, he was respectful enough to not sit close enough to brush against his wing, but he did twist his body towards him, and lean forward, eyes flickering over the wing nearest him. "So, like, these puppies are pretty damn cool. Serieusement, I'd take the kid up on his offer to make some cool as shit wing blades. Wing blades!" even if he had been lost in his head, his subconscious had picked up on the conversation and was providing him with the information at random. With a toothy grin, he leaned around to point at the kid briefly and say, "I like you," before leaning back. With his excitement, his French accent was thicker, he had also barely noticed he had said a couple French words since he did that all the time, as he kept rambling. "And free food, dude! Hey, if I help convince him, will you buy me lunch for a week, too?" | Scott Clinton Westwood
Alias/Codename:
Currently doesn’t have one.
Age:
21.
Country of origin:
The good ol' United States of 'Murica (Corpus Christi, TX).
Basic appearance:
Scott is the typical Texan farm boy. He certainly fits the TX stereotype, at least. Standing at 5’11, and weighing roughly about 190 from muscle alone, he has a body that obviously started hard labour from a young age. He is very fit, strong arms from throwing around bales of hay and lifting up the stubborn pigs who wouldn’t listen and get in their pen; muscled legs from all the standing, walking, and plenty of running he has engaged in over the years (most of the running was not by his own choice, his animals just love to screw with him, it seemed); core strength probably the weakest part of his body, but it wasn’t that weak. His complexion is tan, tan, tan. All golden skin, practically permanent since he spent literally every day outside (even on the days he was sick, much to his mother’s chagrin). Not only does Scott have a body to look at, but he has a face worth looking at to boot.
Dirty blonde hair on the darker side, always chopped shorter in the back and on the sides, with his bangs always being pushed back by his fingers. Sometimes, they fall across his forehead, sitting above his eyes, but usually, they listen and stay in place. Gray-blue eyes, set under thinner eyebrows that are more of a dark brown rather than a dirty blonde. Sometimes, he might sport scruff, coming in the color of hair. From spending many hours in the sun, he has noticeable laugh lines around his eyes, most noticeable when he, of course, smiles or squints. Another thing to take note of when he’s smiling wide enough, is that he has slight dimples. With a straight nose and pink cupid’s lips, and the typical fashion of plaid, jeans, big belt buckles, boots, and cowboy hats, Scott makes for one handsome rancher.
Costume:
Currently doesn’t have one of these either.
Skills:
Shooting:
There ain’t much to do on a ranch smackdab in the middle of nowhere. ‘Specially when you aren’t allowed to go very many places. Shooting at cans, trees, fence posts, anything that wasn’t living and breathing, was one of the few things Scott had to do. Scott isn’t anywhere near expert with shooting, though he isn’t a beginner either since he started so young, and he hasn’t used an array of guns. The only guns he has shot is his trusty old semi-auto rifle and a semi-auto pistol. His mother kept them in the house for safety purposes but Scott always made good use of them while taking good care of them too.
Horseback-riding:
Can’t really be surprised by this one considering he’s a country boy who grew up on a ranch.
Mechanical:
Scott knows how to drive tractors and yes, the big kinds. Kind of gotta know how to to take proper care of the ranch. He also knows how to tend to these big engines, learning from his Uncle, and can use just about any tool he picks up.
Hard-working:
Scott was up at the ass crack of dawn every day for nearly his whole life to tend to the ranch. He is very hard-working, and whenever a task is given to him, he is very driven and focused on it. He doesn’t give up easily and isn’t used to failure… at all.
Playing the acoustic/songwriting:
Not very helpful when it comes to crime-fighting or whatever, but it’s a nice thing to note.
Tracking:
Be it animals or people, he’s pretty damn skilled at tracking things, and finding them (came from when the damn cows wouldn’t listen to him and they’d get out and go wherever they pleased… which was more often than he’d like to admit).
Reading/writing:
Again, middle of nowhere ranch, not much to do. So, he took up the hobby of reading and writing, and can read pretty damn quickly, and piece together some pretty impressive sentences.
Powers:
Shapeshifting:
Not as cool as it sounds. Scott can only shapeshift into animals. The twist? He can only shapeshift into animals he has touched before. So, he very well can’t shapeshift into a T-rex, nor a tiger unless he wants to get into a literal cat fight afterward.
Setbacks:
- It isn’t a painless process. It takes time for his body to adjust literally morphing into another being. It varies between animals, how long the intense pain lasts, and how often he shifts into that animal. It sounds pretty painful too. It isn’t pleasant to be around when he’s shifting, the sounds never go away, considering his body is either shrinking or growing larger. The pain doesn’t really go away either; for animals he has been changing into for years, it’s easier, less painful during the shifting process, but he still suffers from sore muscles, but they’re a sore like after a tough workout, nothing too painful or crippling. The time it takes to shift depends on how long he has been shifting into that animal; the first few times shifting, the process could take a few minutes. But with shifts his body is adjusted too, it can happen fairly quickly, almost in a black of an eye.
- Ripping/shedding clothes. Clothes do not shift with him so… expect to see naked Scott at some point in the future. Maybe a suit can be designed that somehow shifts with him or at least lets him shed it quickly so he has something to put on after changing back. Depending on the size of the animal, his clothes might simply just fall to the ground, but he has ripped plenty of clothes by accident.
- It’s hard to control. Emotions drive his power. He has to be very careful about controlling his reactions to things, so he might come off very indifferent, though that’s only because he doesn’t want to get overly excited and suddenly be a dog, or he doesn’t want to become angry and suddenly become a horse bent on kicking someone. If he gets overly emotional, he has to fight the urge to shift which is very hard, and he’s still, to this day, learning to control that. He also still has an issue with touching animals with his bare hands; he will shift into the animal immediately if he touches them with his bare hand, because he honestly doesn’t know how to get a grasp on his power. He can immediately shift back to his human form, but it’s sort of embarrassing since he’s going to be as naked as the day he was born. He can control it better with animals he has shift into more, but for newer ones? Nah.
- Usually lasting a few hours after shifting back from an animal, Scott will eat the diet of that animal, and he will also have the traits of that animal. For example, if he shifts back from a horse, he might be bent on eating sugar cubes and running around a large area. He can control this… to a point. The diet, not so much. Shifting takes a lot of energy, and he almost always has to eat after. As for the traits… those he tries really hard to prevent, because it’s always embarrassing, but some things are bound to slip through and make for a very red-faced Scott.
Ability to talk to animals:
This one doesn’t require touching the animal but rather, hearing them. He can’t talk in the human language, of course, he has to talk to them in their language, hence him having to hear an animal be talkative first. His vocal chords are unlike a normal human’s and they somehow manage to mimic any animal sound so he can communicate with them. Maybe they creepily shift inside his body, who knows.
Setbacks:
- He might have a sore throat depending on what animal talk he’s using. Some of them really hurt his throat and sometimes, he has to take a break from talking in any form for a few hours after. So thus, for some animal-talking, he might have to keep it short.
- Depending on the animal, and how smart they are... it can be hard to talk to some. Really hard. Some, he can't talk too, because they might have a one track mind, and won't even acknowledge him. Some can hold a steady conversation before going off about something else (probably food). But he has also found some that can hold a conversation, most of his livestock could, and those are, of course, the most engaging.
- He finds this one as a personal setback: he often catches himself subconsciously making animal noises in reply to things going on around him. It has made some people stare, that’s for sure.
List of animals he can shift into:
The first animal he touches, is how he’ll always look when shifting into that animal in the future, and as for different breeds of animals, he has to touch the specific breed to be able to shift into that one.
Cow/Bull.
Pig.
Hen/Rooster.
Crow.
Armadillo.
Skunk (this… this was a big regret once he shifted back and the skunk he had touched hadn’t left and wouldn’t listen to reason).
History:
Westwood Ranch was situated right on the edge of Corpus Christi, a modest ranch with a span of a thousand acres, all green with scattered trees, a fair-sized pasture, and a big, beautiful farm house with an equally big and beautiful barn and stable. Betty Westwood ran the ranch, a fierce and strong single mother to Scott, alongside her older brother, and Scott’s uncle, Hunter Westwood. Their next door neighbor - King Ranch. King Ranch was one of the largest ranches in the world, sitting pretty on 185,000 acres. For the most part, it looked as if neither ranches bothered the other, not even to offer help or possibly trade. That didn’t mean it was all sunshine and happiness on Westwood Ranch, however. Naturally, Scott grew up in the thick of the ranch, and was home-schooled from the get-go. Once he was old enough to handle chores and responsibility, Uncle Hunter would have him up at the ass crack of dawn tending to the ranch, till everything was done no matter what time it was. The only breaks he would get were to do homework and eat. Betty and Uncle Hunter told him it was how they grew up, and so Scott would grow up the same.
For a while, everything was normal. Betty was his teacher, and the only thing he was above in was reading, he gained his mother’s hard-working trait, and Uncle Hunter was not only teaching him the way of ranch life, but also letting him try his hand at shooting their rifle and pistol and showing him how to track, to watch out for any coyotes or other predators roaming too close. Uncle Hunter had playfully nudged him while showing him how to track and said, “and maybe for one day when you gotta hunt down a person like a secret spy.” the idea sounded appealing to a young, hyperactive boy. Betty helped with the ranch when she found the time, but she also worked somewhere in the city, as far as Scott knew, some desk job. She hated the job but it paid well, and the ranch could use all the money it could get it. Little Scott didn’t know of the financial woes the ranch was experiencing and was happy to just work hard like his father figure and mother, and to be with the animals. It went unnoticed for some time but both Betty and Hunter began to notice the almost eerie connection Scott had with all the animals on the farm. Primarily they noticed how the animals reacted to him, and he them. For Hunter and Betty, the chickens fled, but for Scott, they stayed near and even let the young boy gently pat their heads or backs. For Hunter and Betty, the cows shifted away when being milked, and sometimes put up a fuss. But if Scott was near, the cows would be calm, and were always pushing their noses against Scott in something that could be considered a playful fashion. For Hunter and Betty, the horses were good, tamed, but sometimes, a couple would bite and refuse to be brushed down. But, again, for Scott, all five of their horses were the most tamed, sweet things in the world, and would always dip their heads so young Scott could pat at them.
It didn’t cause any problems, actually it helped a lot, so they didn’t address it. When Scott would sometimes mimic an animal noise, they didn’t address it, since Scott spent so much time around them to begin with and he was a kid. What did cause problems was whenever they would sell livestock for much needed money, one or two cows here, maybe a pig there, and Scott would cry for hours over the loss. But at the age of nine, things got weirder, because he began to very frequently address the animals in what seemed like their own tongue, and the animals would seemingly reply. It was like he was having a conversation with them and Betty was watching this development from afar.
One night when he had barked at his childhood dog and the dog jumped up and down and barked back, Betty had finally asked her son if he could talk to animals. Joking or no, Scott beamed and said he could, that they were his friends, and the chickens wanted a bigger coop. Betty had simply hummed in acknowledgement and thought. She told Hunter about it, who simply shrugged and said “kids will be kids; he probably wants the coop to be bigger ‘cause he’s havin’ problems squeezin’ his growin’ ass in there with the damn birds.” At age 11, was when Scott’s world was officially tipped upside down. He had been playing with his childhood dog, who had already been middle-aged when he was a baby, so was moving a lot slower and sluggish these days, when he was in sudden agonizing pain, his body feeling like it was on fire. He had been far away from the house, having been playing with his Sheltie inside the large expanse of the pasture, and so by the time he was found since he had been screaming, what Betty and Hunter found was not only Scott’s Sheltie, but another Sheltie there, but more youthful. Betty and Hunter were in amazement when the strange, young Sheltie began to whimper and twitch, body curling in on itself. All Betty and Hunter could do was watch as fur gave away to skin, muzzle reared back into a nose and mouth, ears sunk down and hair formed, and then they were looking at a shaking and crying Scott laying on the ground.
Betty and Hunter easily accepted him and tried to help him come to terms with his new ability. Uncle Hunter was the most helpful, always ruffling Scott’s hair while he was still recovering from the shock and taking a break of doing work on the ranch, and saying something like, “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll do somethin’ really cool with this ability, Scotty!” it gave Scott hope that maybe he would do something good with this ability one day. Betty had to keep working, but each time she came home, she shot off questions at Scott, asking if he shifted again, how he felt, how it felt. These questions were becoming common practice and one night, Scott had heard Uncle Hunter angrily whispering at Betty to “back off, this is hard ‘nough. He’s just a kid, Betty, ‘member?!” Betty had made a slight noise of acknowledgement and of course, Scott didn’t ask what that was all about. When Scott got back to working about a week later, his second shift happened in the stables. He had just gotten out there, rays of sun barely stretching along the dark sky, Uncle Hunter tending to the chicken coop, and reached out to touch one of the horses. The same thing happened as did with his Sheltie; horrible, unbearable pain then he was a horse, and that was how he was found once again. When he had shifted back, tattered clothes around him and shaking and crying, Betty had hugged him and said, “don’t worry, you’re gonna be so strong one day and be able to handle it, ‘kay?” Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to keep this up, but Uncle Hunter kept feeding him words of encouragement, telling him he was special and he was going to go to good places because of his “gift.” His mother, on the other hand, was more bent on asking questions about it, and even asked if he wanted to test a theory out. Scott was a naturally curious person and so he agreed.
Betty must of ran the idea by Uncle Hunter, because Scott overheard them fighting while he was tucked up in the corner of their big comfy couch with his nose in a book. His pet parakeet at the time, sadly she passed away later on and Scott had cried plenty, had even gotten quiet when the heated words drifted into the living room. Uncle Hunter didn’t want Scott pushing himself, or doing things he didn’t want too. Betty claimed Scott knew his limits and would tell them. After more heated words that were hushed so Scott couldn’t make them out, Betty had asked Scott to come outside, and so he followed his mother and father figure out. Uncle Hunter had been tense and unhappy-looking, while Betty had been all smiles and bright eyes, excitement. Betty had asked Scott to try and think of an animal that wasn’t on the farm. And to try to shift into it. Scott hadn’t been sure he wanted to go through the pain, and he voiced his concern. But Betty had shushed him and said he’d get used to it, while Uncle Hunter had stepped up and said Scott didn’t have too. But, Scott had wanted to try for his mother, and so he totally tried a T-rex and the most that had given him was a headache from thinking so damn hard. Betty had mm’d when he said he couldn’t shift into the dinosaur and took his little hand, bringing him to the chicken coop. Betty had gotten Scott to touch a chicken and it happened, his third shift. Just as painful as the first two, and after he shifted back from a chicken, he was again a shaking and sobbing mess from the shock. Betty had hugged him tight and said her theory panned out. If he touched an animal with his bare hand, he became that animal. It led him to having to wear gloves around the farm. Uncle Hunter had been the one who whisked Scott inside and wrapped him up in blankets and gave him hot tea. Uncle Hunter had smoothed Scott’s bangs back from his sweaty forehead and told him, “If you don’t want to use your powers anymore, you ain’t gotta, you understand? No matter what mom says.” Scott had nodded, rejected his tea, and proceeded to sleep for many hours.
He hadn’t stopped using his power. Uncle Hunter had been a support beam for him during it all, during him adjusting to the power, learning about it, discovering new things. He had still helped Scott do normal kid things during it all, played games with him, helped him write weird short stories, watched stupid cartoons with him. Betty, well, every time she had came from work, she had new questions, new theories. But then after getting all the answers from Scott, she’d kiss his forehead and tell him he was so special and wonderful, and he was going to do great and amazing things one day. Scott had loved both his Uncle and mother equally, and he had been glad they both believed in him. By the age of fourteen, the shifts to all the ranch animals were still painful, but to the point he could handle it, and he had been often shifting and unshifting, getting practice in. But even with the ability, Uncle Hunter had encouraged finding hobbies; Uncle Hunter had kept training him with the guns and in tracking. At fifteen, Uncle Hunter had given him an acoustic guitar, telling him with a grin “women love a country boy who can play guitar.” Scott hadn’t really met anyone else but Uncle Hunter and his mom. They sometimes brought him out but that was it. So far, how he knew anything about kids his age had been from the TV and books. But, he had still learned the guitar, enjoying it more than he had expected, and with that came him writing songs. Scott had been as happy as a boy with strange powers and no friends his age could be. The only really bad thing that had happened during the year he was fifteen had been when his childhood dog passed away. He had cried for days and with that overwhelming emotion, it hadn’t been uncommon to find him in his Sheltie form, laying in his late dog’s doggie bed and whimpering.
Even with the animals, a lot of them being his friends, and his Uncle and mother, he had still felt lonely. He had wanted human interaction with people his age. He had seen it from afar, when he went to the city with Uncle Hunter to get supplies or eat out for once, or his mother would take him to the store for grocery shopping. He had seen it on TV, or read it in books. He had wanted friendships with people but when he brought it up to Betty, she had simply said because of his power, it wasn’t safe for him to be around other people but them. He had asked Uncle Hunter if he could start going to public school, whining in the back of his throat and begging with big, tearful eyes, and Uncle Hunter had grabbed his shoulder and, with a sad smile, said, “Maybe next year, bud, ‘kay?” Next year came and he got the same answer, Uncle Hunter looking even more pained to say it. At this point, Scott was sixteen, growing into his own, and he hadn’t been one to keep his mouth shut or hold back. So, he had demanded why, why couldn’t he make his own choice to start attending high school and meet new people? Uncle Hunter hadn’t answered for a long time, going back to grooming down the horse Scott could shift into, a beautiful quarter horse, before sighing and finally answering him. Scott hadn’t liked the answer. Uncle Hunter simply said, “I really do believe you can be someone later but you… you aren’t ready to be around others. You can’t control your power well ‘nough. What happens if a girl comes up to ya and smiles? Or a cute boy?” he had shot Scott a look and said, “I see the way ya drool over that one dark-haired fella from that weird train movie with all the snow, I ain’t blind and I ain’t bothered. But what, you gonna shift into that mangy stray cat you keep feedin’ scraps too?” Scott hadn’t said anything, instead turning on his heel and stomping off with a huff that sounded more like a horse whinny but he wouldn’t admit to it.
He hadn’t wanted to accept his fate but… he also wasn’t going to go behind Uncle Hunter’s or Betty’s back. Because Scott wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t the smartest person around but he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He had understood their concerns, and he had also understood that people wouldn’t take well to his power like they would. He’d accept it but he didn’t have to like it. Time kept going, and it was the same old, same old. Help on the ranch, walk the acres of the ranch and try to convince strange animals to let him touch them (almost always, he was basically told to fuck off, but some were nice), screw with his animals for his own laughs (his laugh had been cut off the one time he was messing with Moo Moo, his favorite (don’t tell the others) cow; he couldn’t even remember what he had said and did, but he had been sitting on a stool beside her, and so he had a bruise in the shape of her hoof on his side, right below his ribs, for about two weeks. There were also other times the animals spited him but that was part of the fun), practice shooting, play some songs for Betty and Uncle Hunter (they claimed he could sing, but he didn’t hear it), read, read, read, ride the couple horses that enjoyed it to keep them happy, write songs and short stories for his own amusement, aaaaand repeat. Life was simple and maybe he could like it, if he hadn’t felt like he was missing out on something from his lack of a social circle.
Twenty had been the age things flipped upside down. He’d rather experience his first shifting three times over and then some than the pain of that whole year. Betty died. She had worked a desk job at a law firm. Supposedly, one of the lawyers lost a case, the person was very angry, and shot the place up, killing his mother. Scott couldn’t believe it when Uncle Hunter told him. He had felt like he was in a haze. No Betty to come home and pester him over his ability, ask him a million questions, then hug him and kiss his temple and tell him how special and important he was. No Betty to push him to use his ability, to fine tune it, to perfect it because she had told him that was important, it was important he discovered his true potential, that she wanted him to feel good about himself. No Betty to roll her brown eyes (eyes so unlike his own but the one time he had asked after his father, Betty had up and left the room without a word, and Uncle Hunter had said it was a “sensitive subject, sorry, bud.”), and shove a TV dinner in his arms with a rose eyebrow when he whined about being hungry. No mom. Scott hadn’t believed it until Uncle Hunter and him were at the funeral home, getting her cremated because it had been cheaper and quicker. He had barely held it together in time for Uncle Hunter to get him home, so he could rip out of his clothes as he shifted into his Sheltie form, and had laid in the horse stables for hours, making no sound and staring off blankly, ignoring the horses asking what was wrong.
The very next day had brought more pain. Uncle Hunter had approached him while Scott was tending to the horses and said he was selling the ranch to the current owner of King Ranch, because they had wanted to expand out this way anyway, and they were in the way. It had taken a while for Uncle Hunter to talk him out of his horse form, and to convince Scott to “not kick me in the nuts, please, hear me out!” Scott had been angry, and hurt, but Uncle Hunter told him they couldn’t afford the ranch at this rate. Scott had been almost ready to calm down because Uncle Hunter hadn’t wanted to leave but then - Uncle Hunter informed him he had gotten him a nice place set up in the city, he had some money for him, and he was sure with Scott’s hard-working drive and fit body, he could secure a job fairly quickly. Scott had exploded again, but this time in angry snarls and biting words, barely containing bursting into something as his body was wracked with hard shudders. He had told Uncle Hunter to give him the rent money for the apartment, the money he had now, and he would figure out a way to keep the ranch afloat on his own and without Uncle Hunter’s help. Uncle Hunter had said it wouldn’t be enough money to tend to the bills and animals, and that Scott would have to work multiple jobs to keep paying for the ranch. Scott had been willing to do any type of work to keep his ranch, his animals, his friends, but Uncle Hunter had dropped the bomb: he had already signed the ranch over and it was no longer theirs, and it would be impossible to buy back now. Everything Scott had known, everything he had grown up around, everything he literally lived and breathed, gone, in just two days. In a practical instant. Scott hadn’t even been angry anymore. He had just been sad.
Uncle Hunter had said he would put everything in the house in storage. He did. He had given Scott the address to the storage place and an extra key so he could access it whenever he wanted. He had only went once, to get a couple of pocket-sized family photos, needing something to remind him of the life that had been so suddenly ripped from him. He had let Uncle Hunter help him settle into the new apartment, into the city. The only thing he hadn’t let Uncle Hunter help him with was his goodbyes to his animals. It had been long, and drawn-out, and painful. Maybe more painful than his first few shifts. No one had been happy that day. After Scott had let Uncle Hunter see him to the apartment, Scott had told him to never contact him again, and slammed the door in his face. He had hated doing it but he had never felt such anger, or betrayal, before. For roughly the rest of the year, he had struggled to secure a place in society, and had barely managed. The money Uncle Hunter had provided him with didn’t last that long, and so he had gotten a shitty factory job, something he hated. He hated all the people, the loud noises, how he couldn’t look up at night and see the stars because of all the light pollution. He had wanted to run away, back to the ranch that was no longer Westwood Ranch. He could, slip in as an animal, visit, check up. It had struck him hard one night and he did it. Just one last time, just to see the house, his animals, the pasture. Just one last time.
He wished he hadn’t. King Ranch had cleaned up quickly. It had been all gone. The house, the barn, the pasture, the stable. All wiped away, to expand the King Ranch, to build up more pastures for separated livestock. He hadn’t even known where his animals were and he dragged himself back to his apartment, in the horrible, loud, and too bright city. As months kept going, he had been having troubles with controlling his ability, and he had more than once let animal noises slip around his co-workers. Scott did try, he talked to some of his co-workers, had to talk to his bosses, but he still struggled to find a footing. It hadn’t been like talking to Betty or Uncle Hunter, words flowing easily between them. He had been struggling. He had been at his wit’s end, considering between going to King Ranch himself, throwing himself at the feet of the owner and begging for a place to work, begging to see his animals because he would be able to tell which were his, or just disappearing, be it from becoming some stray animal and slinking off into the night, or just into nothingness. But, before he could really dip over an edge that he hadn’t been entirely sure where it would lead him, he had received a letter in the mail. Inviting him to the Avengers Academy. He had, of course, found it odd he had gotten a letter requesting him but… maybe, just maybe, this was what he needed. Maybe this was what his Uncle Hunter had meant when he said he could do good things, that he could be something. Either way, Scott felt like he had nothing to lose, so he accepted.
Initial observation report:
Subject purposefully comes off as indifferent because when he experiences bouts of strong emotion, he struggles to control his ability. Subject also appears to be very hard-working, listens well, but lacks social skills and struggles to communicate with others.
Training regimen/expertise:
- Covert Ops and Espionage coupled with Infiltration Training - subject has potential to be fine tuned to be able to slip in and out of places without notice.
- Firearms Training - subject has some experience in firearms and can benefit from more.
- Basic Combat Training - subject has no prior experience in fighting whatsoever and has never engaged in it before.
Potential outlook:
If subject can learn to control his ability, he could be a useful asset when it comes to going incognito.
Best case scenario:
Subject learns to control his ability when experiencing intense emotion, and becomes useful in undercover missions.
Worst case scenario:
Subject simply cannot grasp control of his ability, and does not work out. |
44,813 | 1,220 | 8 | 1,552 | 2,234 | Holding in a chuckle from what was going on in the corner - "Who gave that kid an energy drink?" - Angel took Copen's hand with a grin and shook it; pleased to see that he too, was European. Now, American's made plenty of jokes about how small Europe was - if you drive for a couple of hours in America, you're still in the same state. In Europe, well, you'll likely end up in another country, depending on where you were. Regardless of that, there was some sense of relief in finding another European there - perhaps she'd just heard too many Americans come up to her and be like "Oh my gawsh, your accent is so cute, where are you from?"
Also, by the sounds of Damon, he too wasn't native to the States. Ah, Russians. That explained half of the surly behaviour, anyway.
"You guessed right - I'm from Rome. I visited Denmark once, although it was the capital. A beautiful city, Copenhagen." She conversed, releasing his grip and leaning back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other as the rambling continued in the corner. "Sadly, I never picked up much of the language other than some pleasantries and swear words." She added with a chuckle, only for her gaze to be drawn to the newcomer to their conversation. The average looking brunette - or, at least, she'd just assumed he was average. With the stuff spouting from his mouth, he sounded way more fun than his normal appearance gave away.
"Now, I'm no expert in the language of love, but I expect what you said was something very cheesy." She could work out the basics of what he'd said; French, after all, was rather similar to Italian in some respects. Either way, she hardly minded. Angel was a sucker for bad jokes, and even worse pick-up lines. Mind you, it didn't take much to get a laugh out of her - all someone had to do was say '69' and she'd start laughing.
The situation unfolding - along with a glorious pair of black wings - the opposite end of the jet, however, was childish in a whole other way. "Hiding behind your wings? Doesn't matter how pretty they look, still a dumb thing to do."
"How about we stop cooing over some feathers and let the boy breathe a bit, yeah?" She suggested with an easy grin, standing up and sauntering on over to the group. "Put those wings away Ruskie. Isolation is a bad colour on you, believe it or not." She added with a light tap on the feathers, before directing her gaze towards the 'kid', as Nick had so correctly branded him. He would be a couple of inches taller than her, but with her heeled boots on, she finally had the advantage. Of... two inches, but still. A girl's gotta take victories big and small, right?
"What's your name, bambino? And, more importantly, what's your skill?" Angel asked, turning slightly so the kid, Nick and Copen were all in her sight - the question was directed to everyone, after all. "Damon here has his wings - I suppose everyone else's talent is a little more invisible?" Although a way to deescalate the situation somewhat, she was honestly curious. What could these guys do, to catch the attention of the walking, Nazi-Punching, OAP popsicle himself? | Full name: Angelique "Angel" di Diavolo
Alias/Codename: Nightingale
Age: 18
Country of origin: Rome, Italy.
Basic appearance: Stands at 5'4 with a curvy, yet slim physique. Her black hair is long and curly, usually worn in the same style most days - unless she can't be bothered with it. She has an undoubtedly pretty face, despite being an unfortunate sufferer of RBF Syndrome, with eyes that are an almost ethereal shade of bright blue; upon using her powers, the entire eye, sclera and all, becomes a shining silvery-blue, that matches the colour of the energy she uses.
Costume: Costume comprises of a lightweight hooded cape, in addition to a mask covering the bottom half of her face. Fortified leather armour pieces sit on top of black lightweight cotton; allowing her some protection without disrupting her speed or dexterity. The light-weight armour pieces sit on her chest and stomach (the latter in the form of a corset); shoulder and elbow guards; gauntlets; knee guards, and her own stolen carbon-fiber boots with installed jet propulsors, reaching her mid-shin. Most of the outfit is in shades of black, dark grey, or dark brown - how else is she to blend with the shadows?
Skills:
Language skills - Fluent in Italian, Latin, Nordic Runes, and Ancient Greek - is still picking up some more complicated terms in Arameic, but can translate the basics. Oh, and she also knows Sindarin and Quenya... because knowing the Elvish languages of Middle Earth is very important to her, okay?
Expert gymnast - whether this is borne from her powers or not, she doesn't know; but boy, can the girl climb. What she lacks in physical strength is made up for in her ability to work her way into the most awkward, high up places. How else is a girl meant to infiltrate shit?
Adept Technological intelligence - knows the basics of hacking, although more specifically doors than actual computers. Can work out a more complicated firewall given enough time, but she certainly doesn't know enough to be considered an expert. Additionally, she's somewhat skilled in robotics, as made obvious by her adaptations to her boots that allow her to fly without needing stabilizers in the palms, like with the Iron Man suits.
Nerd Lord supreme - Will beat your ass when it comes to nerdy trivia. Seriously, she can quote Lord of the Rings down to the Orc screeches, and knows every single time the Wilhelm scream has been used in something.
Did somebody say Thieves Guild? - Not only do her talents lay in infiltration, but Angel has some seriously sticky fingers. She reckons she could steal Nick Fury's eye patch without him noticing. It's not uncommon for some items - mainly junk food - to go missing on the Helicarrier when she's around. Not that anyone can prove anything, that is. Cameras aren't fast enough to notice her slipping her hands into your pockets.
Powers:
Energy Manipulation - this is a very broad and vague term assigned to Angel's powers, as no-one really knows what kind of energy she uses, herself included. Some say it's biological (making her a mutant), while others suggest it's magical; or, the old favourite, some form of radioactivity. As she's never really spent time near a power plant or plutonium rods, and Professor X himself stated she wasn't a mutant, it's a mystery for now. As such, she can summon some type of energy and manipulate it to her will - either in the form of high powered beams to use offensively, or to turn it into a malleable shield. It's kind of tactile in what it can be used as, but it comes at a price. Overuse can lead to a great toll on her own body, weakening the lining of her blood vessels and causing haemorrhaging at various points in her body. Although she hasn't used it often enough to ever cause lasting damage (yet), she's knocked herself out a few times from over-exertion. It leaves behind a killer headache, too.
It's a kinda Magic - Angel enjoys spells - they don't give her annoying nosebleeds or migraines, and there's just so much you can do with it. She also has a real knack at picking things up, without causing many explosions. At this point, she can't do any really powerful, earth-shattering magicks; she's still in the realm of setting fire to shit and maybe throwing a few things like cars or people around. As for magical defence, er... there's defensive spells? Meh - her own shields can handle that. Hopefully...
Angelique was born to a sweet, loving, Italian mother by the name of Vittoria di Diovolo, and - unfortunately - the weasel of a man that is Justin Hammer. As luck would have it, she was born out of wedlock while her father was married to another woman - unbeknownst to Vittoria. Disgusted with his actions, she returned home to Italy, having Angel in Rome and raising her herself. And truly, it was a good life. Vittoria had a large family who, although many were not happy about her having a child out of wedlock, still supported and loved the newest member of their family all the same. She lived there until the age of ten, when the worst thing that could happen to a child did occur - her Mother died.
It something unavoidable - a clot on the brain, giving her a swift, painless, but all the same unexpected death. Angel was inconsolable, and matters were made worse when her Father swept in to take her with him. Being her father - and also could afford better lawyers than her mother's family - meant she could do nothing to try and stay with people who she actually loved. And so began her new life in America, with her turd of a Dad.
He attempted somewhat admirably to gain her affections - what with his marriage having fallen through and no other children - but he did it in all the wrong ways. Firstly, he'd ignored her for her entire life, and then took her away from everything that she knew and loved. He then attempted to simply get her to like him just by buying her things - the best private education, the newest gadget (Unless it was Stark technology, of course), the fanciest brand of clothes, the poshest of meals... ugh. There was love to be found in such materialistic things, and quite frankly, she despised both him, and his work ethic. Justin had one thing on his mind at all times, it seemed - how could he be better than Tony Stark? And well, when that eventually traversed to the realm of villainy, she was less than amused.
This brought forth a rebellious streak in the young girl - along with some mysterious powers.
Roughly a year after the death of her mother, this energy manipulation made itself known. At first it was in small things - like lightbulbs popping when she sneezed or something... when she eventually discovered it was an actual power manifesting, Angel worked as best she could to try and make it go further, without her Father finding out. Thankfully, he was very pre-occupied with his new villainous lifestyle to even notice.
By the time she was fourteen, she had some kind of control over her powers... and she had also picked up quite a few other skills to try and sabotage her Father's work. It started out small - just altering certain documents to see if it would have any effect. It rarely did much other than confuse Hammer, but it certainly made her better at sneaking around, learning to find blind spots in cameras and motion sensors, and some basic hacking and lock-picking skills. Over time, she made her way into the labs of her Father's research facilities, re-wiring and sabotaging the more dangerous looking things, and... acquiring other gadgets. One in particular were carbon-fiber boots; quite stunning things, and obviously modeled on the thrusters on Iron Man's Suit, only far more light-weight. After making a few modifications, she took them for herself - thus beginning her super hero costume. It was around this time that Angel branched out into more solid forms of magic, hoping she could perhaps find out the source of powers by studying it.
When she turned 18, her sabotage became known to Hammer - and unfortunately, his villainous "friends", if you could call them that. Becoming an enemy to AIM, agents of MODOK were sent after her to put her down, and hopefully teach Hammer a lesson. It was here Angel discovered just how useful her powers were, as she blasted the agents to pieces; additionally, finding out the downsides to said powers. After finding safety in nearby woods, she passed out, completely spent after having used up so much of this mysterious energy.
After a day and a half, Angel awoke - with a migraine, blood still trickling lazily from her nose and ears, and a price on her head. After re-gaining her bearings, Angel fled to the safest place she could imagine, a place she knew that heroes stayed that could help her: Avenger's Tower. Thankfully, flying there was the easy part. It was landing that became problematic, with alarms blaring and the Avengers leaping on out with the whole weapons drawn and "Tell us who you are, and who you work for" schpiel. Anyhoo, they were surprisingly kind to her, despite the amount of times Hammer had fucked with the group, Stark in particular. After telling her story, the Avengers helped clean her up, directed her towards the Academy, even ran a few tests for her to see if they could find out what was going on with her wacky powers; they even went as far as to contact Professor X to see if she was a mutant, and that came up with a big ol' nope too. Although they didn't find anything concrete, she was happy for the help given all the same, and was recruited into the Avengers Academy in the next few days.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report: Energy manip. coming from unknown source; potentially magic, must be discovered, along with any dangerous potential. Can control it well to an extent, need to see how far it can go. Picks up spells swiftly, has a natural talent for it despite the amount of electrical appliances she sometimes blows up in the process. Expert at falling off the radar - keeps finding ways into the secure areas and the kitchens.
Training regimen/expertise:
Robotics Class
Infiltration training and simulation
Power Management and Dev. Class
Advanced Mysticism
Potential outlook: Unknown - affiliations with Justin Hammer appear to be sour, if nonexistent, but trust must be gained before deciding if she is truly an ally. If trust is gained, high potential.
Best case scenario: Intelligence gathering and undercover work - could also be useful in offensive capabilities, depending on potential power levels which remain unknown at this time.
Worst case scenario: Team infiltrator, perhaps back-up; depends if powers develop further. Although, penchant for stealing (We suspect, anyway) could make the life of a criminal look quite appealing to her, considering how easy her talents and powers would make that. |
44,814 | 1,220 | 9 | 438 | 562 | Rain
Rain sat on the football field of her school, arms wrapped around her knees and fingers interlaced. She was staring very hard at a ladybug that had landed on her left thigh, and was steadily creeping up the pale skin. Ladybugs were meant to be lucky, right? That was what her mother had always said, whenever they used to alight on the plants in their small garden. Her blue eyes tracked the movement closely for a few more minutes, before she gently scooped the small, bright insect onto her pointer finger. She held it up to the sky, blowing gently on its back. Unfolding its wings, it buzzed off into the sky.
As the brunette watched it disappear, the sound of whirring motors disturbed her quiet silence at the edge of the field. Turning around, her eyes widened at the sight of the huge machine descending. That was for her? When they’d said, ‘aerial transport,’ she’d expected maybe a small helicopter . This was… impressive. Rising to her feet, she took her suitcase by the handle and struggled to carry it on the ramp leading up. It was pretty heavy for the small girl, and by the time she’d lugged it to the deck, she was panting.
Oh.
There were a lot of people here.
Her cheeks were already a little flushed from exertion, but if possible, they went an even more embarrassing shade of pink. Rain placed her suitcase down, relieved, and self-consciously linked her hands in front of her body. There were a good few boys here already. One seemed pretty young, with round brown eyes that seemed to sparkle at the impressive machinery surrounding them – it was indeed amazing, even to someone not so technically-inclined such as herself. There was another, with a surly look to his face and beautiful black wings. Her mouth dropped open for just a moment before she realized just what she was doing, and closed it. Wow. The boy himself looked terribly unhappy though, and she wondered just why.
There was yet another, on the other side of the boy who was now hiding in his wings, with a handsome jaw and terrific blue eyes that seemed to dart from one thing to the next with distracted intensity. Across from them was another attractive boy, even taller than the other guys, with slightly unruly blond hair and curious navy eyes that checked her out for a moment before returning to the rather pretty girl that was sat next to him.
The closest seat was one that was two down from the boy with the wings, and she decided that she’d feel rather much less conspicuous if she was seated – even if there were a couple of people now crowding around him. Quickly sitting down, she hoped that they were still too busy staring at the guy’s wings to pay too much attention to her. However, she wasn’t an unfriendly type of person – glancing around the room, she said a quiet, “Hi,” with a small smile, crossing her legs and holding the top knee in a rather ladylike – and slightly insecure – position. | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,815 | 1,220 | 10 | 2,389 | 901 | How many joints is this? How thick is the phalanx? Is it all bone, what's the skin underneath like? Is it Sinewy? Oh how many layers is this? The boy continued to ramble, his fingers digging past the feather quills gently in an attempt to part them aside so he could see more of the boy's wings. So invested and absorbed as he was studying the jointed limb that he didn't hear the man the first time, barely heard him the second time before the wing was shaken out of his grasp and a talon was pressed against his throat, making him instinctively lean backwards because sharp objects and his throat did not mix well. His gaze finally darting over to the man who's wings he was so deeply studying, his eyes gone uncharacteristically wide before he exclaimed, "Oh. My. God."
"You're Russian?! Does that mean these are insulated? Are they like owl's? Are there even owls in Russia? How resistant are they to the weather? Oh and these talons, what do you think about mounting lasers to it? Any colour you want! Think of all the possibilities!" He exclaimed, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist as he leaned in to study the fixtures at the top joints of his wings before he they were pulled away and naturally Will began to follow like he was transfixed, walking forward on his knees along the bench before all the constant chatter going on behind him finally caught his attention and the boy turned his head over to look at them instead of simply turning around. Twisting his whole body at an awkward angle just to look at them, "Hey hey, I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet!" He called out to the crowd that had started to gather there, when the hell had they started to gather there? How many stops had they made so far? He'd have to check the logs. And then the wings, the wing blades and maybe a laser mounted gun.
Glad to see that 'someone' else was seeking the genius of these things, unless, "You better not be patronizing me, cause those wing blades would be hella cool." He piped up, sticking out his tongue for emphasis at their first passenger when being told off about consent. Who needed consent when you could promise people all sorts of cool gadgets just cause you could! Waving his hand dismissively at him as if he could conjour him away, "Hey hey, I called them first! You can look at them after I'm done with these babies! Getcha your own free food!" He said, holding his arms out over the man as if he could ward Nick off. Blinking when the latter leaned in closer and spoke to him in a low whisper. His nose wrinkling up when the man finally pulled away, making a face,
"What's with the whole world council thing going on and the whole language convention?" He asked, raising a brow at the rest of the others who were also chattering in their own tongues. Finally getting down from the bench, he sat crossed legged, gripping the edge of his seat as he scanned everyone in the room, "And I wasn't cooing!" He protested at the only actual babe in the room. When in rome, he couldn't think of a pun and that irritated him. Licking his lips as she started to talk to him, his nose wrinkling up again at the nickname assigned to him, at least she was straight to the point about it all, he could appreciate that. His mouth twitching back up into a grin as he rocked on his seat, "You can call me Will, you can also call me your friendly resident super sexy genius! Oh and I can shoot out zappy zappy red stuff from my fingers, but that isn't as cool."
"So what's your stories, Hecate, Captain Demark, Ringo and Wingo?" | Full name: William Maximoff-Shade (Unrelated to canon son of Scarlet witch)
Alias/Codename: Cybernetic
Age: 19
Country of origin: "Eastern Europe" Sokovia
Basic appearance: 5'6 of varying mass. His overall appearance doesn't change, keeping his lean build and boyish looks. Keeps his hair short.
Costume: Having control over technology and nanites, a metallic suit is the only way to go. Composed of the nanites that make up his blood stream, the suit is a living part of himself and serves mostly to conceal his identity, provide his flight capabilities and act as a suitable material for him to create his weaponry using his Technopathy. And to some extent, it's a small statement of his idolisation to Stark.
Skills: -Technical prowess outside of powers
-Snark master 2000
-Blackmail skills
-Hacking ability outside of technopathy
Powers:
-Synthetic body: Like his father, Will's body is composed of entirely synthetic material and his blood stream is basically a stream of nanites. As such, he is able to control his own density, mass and temperature to a small extent, as well as his own pain tolerance. However, he can only ignore any physical stimulations for so long until it overrides whatever 'firewalls' he puts up against it and incapacitates him. Luckily, his synthetic body also allows him to regenerate from his injuries, anything too grievous, however, will force a shut down on himself. He's stronger and faster than the average human, but his ability doesn't surpass other's with actual superspeed and strength
-Mild immunity to toxins: Toxins, drugs and foreign chemicals still afflict him, but effects show up at a slower compared to an completely organic being
-Immune to electrocution: You may not want to touch him whilst he's statically charged though, it's like a live wire
-Superhuman intelligence: Having a computer as a father and a super genius as a technical grandfather has it's perks to one's intelligence.
-Techno-pathy: Limited to his own creation and technology outside of Stark Tech.
-Limited control over Chaos magick: Unlike his mother's natural prowess over magick, Will can only summon up small bursts of chaos magick to act as a projectile. Used as a last resort as it is physically and mentally very draining.
Brief bio: After a slew of adventures and risking their lives, the superhero known as Vision and Scarlet witch (a.k.a Wanda Maximoff) finally tied the knot and settled down to have a child. Unable to conceive a child by natural means, they turned to magick and technology to fulfil their wishes. After many failed attempts, a young boy was conceived and named "William Maximoff-Shade" using part of Vision's human alias; 'Victor Shade'. 3 years into raising their child, a new threat arose that required them to once more take up their superhero mantles and return to saving the world, resulting in Will growing up experiencing the superhero side of the world through every cut, bruise and hospital visit that his parents brought home. The worry of losing a parent ever present until he figured out that he was able to shut off the 'unpleasant' feelings and turn to the more infallible logistics of numbers and possibilities. Calculating the survival chances of his parents becoming a game to him and a growing concern to his parents.
Even more so when he found himself surpassing his peers his schooling, making education by the normal means redundant and to him, human life and mortality. He failed to understand or comprehend the flaws he saw in his classmates, the flaws in his parents, the investment they had in protecting what was inevitably going to self-destruct itself. He had experienced their flaws and subservient 'emotions' and he found them a hindrance at best compared to that of artificial intelligence and the machines he'd come to consider his superior allies. Vision, seeing his son's start upon a darker path, sought to prevent it and consulted the greatest minds of the generation. Those consultations of which led to Will meeting one of the initial founders of the Avengers, Stark.
Never before had he met a human so...like him. Stark was a man no doubt, but Will found fascination in the reckless and brash nature he displayed intertwined with the calculative numerics of machines. He grew to idolize and respect Stark and even more so, his humanity. Which eventually led him to a heavy decision; knowing he could never fit in with humanity with the constant reminder of his connection to the machines, Will decided to start over by erasing all files and traces of him being an Android from the database, including his own memory, making it so he was an adopted child with Technopathy powers and turning what he really was into a secret that not even he knew.
Freed from the knowledge that alienated him the most from his peers, Will found new life in living in the moment and experiencing the human emotions he had previously locked away from himself. And when a school came up that could maybe finally keep up with him, he decided to throw himself head first into it, with the recommendation of his parents off course who accepted that he would eventually follow in their footsteps one way or another.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Subject shows lack of magical ability, but is adept at technopathy, continually hacks into own files to change recorded data. I think I 'improve' on it, you guys don't record down enough of my awesomeness
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience protocol training (A.k.a Detention, you guys need to stop using such fancy terms
-Lab work I get to blow up stuff?
-Robotics class It's the age of the machines!
-Partying 101
-Finding Nick's other eye 102
-Curing Baldness
-Seeing if you can survive jumping off the hellicarrier
Potential outlook:
High potential if- Got that right
Best case scenario:
Technical infiltration unit or taking control of the hellicarrier"
Worst case scenario:
Shut down protocol if any signs of threat to organisation They catch me before I take control of the hellicarrier
FunFacts:
-He likes to pretend he's a robot, but any memory of him being an Android has been erased from his memory and from his files
-The word 'Android' still sets him off
-He may or may not have a Tony stark poster in his room...and an Ironman action figure
-He can understand binary better than actual speaking sometimes.
-Monster trucks, don't mention them...ever. |
44,816 | 1,220 | 11 | 438 | 562 | Copen
Copen was more than just mildly pleased by the affirmation of his beauty by the French guy - Nick was his name. Although, he had a funny accent compared to the French people he'd met on a holiday to France. Maybe he'd lived in the far North, he pondered, not the sunny South where he'd frolicked along the beach two years ago. "I didn't know that Frenchmen were attracted to helicopters," he teased with a grin, noticing how he just about molested the technology with his eyes. It was kind of funny, truth be told.
He shook Angel's hand with a firm grip, looking her in the eyes as she explained. Aha, so his suspicions had been correct! She didn't look the stereotype of her country, with those bright blue eyes, but few people did. It was true that there were many blonds in Denmark, but not everyone was - he was one of few who completely fitted the look expected of him. Oh, well. At least he was a good ambassador for his country. "I've never been to Rome, but if all the ladies are so lovely, I might have to make a trip." He winked at her, before tearing his gaze away to look at the French - no, Canadian, as he'd revealed - boy who'd interrupted their conversation. It seemed that there might be some competition for the only girl on the aircraft so far - oh, wait. Another had just come in, lugging a bag that seemed to weigh just as much as her. She seemed rather out of breath as she took a timid seat across from him.
Damon was now shielded by his wings. Impressive they might be, but the guy himself was not making himself any friends that way. The two other boys still seemed intent on just about terrorizing him, despite the fact that he'd clearly shown his discomfort. Poor guy, Copen reflected, despite the fact that he was just as annoying at the best of times. Neither of them would shut up, though, and unfortunately it seemed that he'd lost the attention of Angel. That was a shame, but it seemed the conversation was getting even more interesting. So they had a clever guy, who could shoot something out of his hands. Not super cool, but maybe it was more impressive in action.
"Captain Denmark?" Copen echoed, then laughed - it was loud, as were his words. "I won't say no to that. Although, I'm not a super soldiers." He scratched the back of his neck, glancing to the side. For a moment, he thought about how to present his powers. He didn't want to come off as a delinquent, but... "I can control water, and ice too. I got into trouble, and the government shipped me off here," he admitted. They were going to be his classmates for a long time, and one of the guys would even be his room-mate - may as well be honest about his story, even if it had an element of sadness. After a moment, he grinned again - "Guess they couldn't keep someone quite as dangerous as me in little old Aarhus." | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,817 | 1,220 | 12 | 305 | 6,675 | Damon inhaled after his wings were tapped. The feathers puffed out as he worked on calming himself. "I do not like small plane" he muttered, his voice muffled by his wings. A few more moments passed, allowing him to hear the new arrival and to hear the others speaking about something other then his wings. Another inhale later and his wings slowly opened and folded back against his back. Being folded made him sit on the edge of the seat, claustrophobia had him with his head down for a few moments.
"Do not touch wings.....removed too much" he offered the explanation mostly for the two sitting closest to him...the two that seemed to want to modify him. He looked at will. "no modifications, I am not lab experiment" his accent was still thick, but he spoke more quietly. He then looked to the new comer and noded. As much as he hated to admit, Angel was right. He had to work on his people skills. He shook his head and muttered "Dyvols both" (little devils) he closed his eyes and re opened them.
He would not spill out anymore about his past, he felt it was unnecessary at the moment and would not help him currently. His leg began twitching, he was really not doing well in the small crowded environment. He was okay when it was just himself and two others, but now it felt too small. His eyes closed again and the expression on his face was one of pure uncomfort. He exhaled and decided to tell of his other abilities since the others were doing that....and it was something he could do. "I also heal...and am strong" his thoughts wandered for a moment to his mother You are so much more then your wings...you are one of a kind. Never change
He ran a hand through his short hair and worked on breathing. He refused to be defeated by an inaminiate object that was transporting him. | Full name:
Damon Slavsky
Alias/Codename:
Fallen Angel
Age:
18
Country of origin:
Russia then U.S.A-Washington D.C. (Moved around too much for city)
Basic appearance:
(face shape and features like so)
Damon stands at 6 feet with a muscular build. He has olive toned skin with deep raven black hair. His eyes are a striking green that seem to have a permanent coldness contained within. His weight comes in at a solid 175 of mostly muscle. His mutation is the two large black wings that give him his alias. He has an impressive 7 foot wing span with curved talon like points at the top of his wings. He tends to wear low back shirts with black jeans, black steel toe boots, and an arm band with a split flag of Russia and the US...since his shirts have enough problems trying to function as well...shirts. He does have a faint scar on his chest, it is unknown how he received a scar and he refuses to talk about it even though it would give important insight to his abilities. When he does talk he has a faint Russian accent.
Costume:
His costume must accommodate with his wings so it his two slits for them. It is all black with grey undertones.
(for the general idea..not face claim. no x on suit.)
Skills:
-Glaring...he has it down
-Sword skills especially dual
-Hand to hand combat
-Hand to wing combat...those talons are sharp
Powers:
-Healing: His healing factor can be compared to wolverine (not related only used for comparison)
Set back: the more minor the wound the faster it heals...major wounds take longer (such as neck wounds) and may lead to him passing out while they heal. he is completely vulnerable in that type of situation.
-Flight: As achieved by the large black feathers on his back.
Set back: If you manage to get close enough to tie them up the he will be unable to fly. Cut them off and he will be out for the count while they grow back...as that takes awhile and a lot of pain.
-Strength: Enhanced strength...he is able to lift far more then a normal being can. Such as a semi. He cannot lift a train.
Set back: he can't lift trains.
Brief bio:
Damon was born to two supposedly normal humans in Russia. His mother and his father were happy together...until his mother gave birth to a freak of nature. His father became violent after that..abusing his mother and threatening to saw off his wings. His mother would not allow it and took the abuse while she worked on saving up money to get out of there. She managed to do so when Damon was 10 years of age..taking them both to Washington D.C.. They moved around a lot to try to prevent anything horrible from happening to Damon...leading Damon to hate himself a bit.
Things seemed okay until Damon turned 14. His mother became ill and he was unable to help her. She died from cancer, leaving him alone. He found out about the avenger's academy through an offer and seeing no other options and wanting to make something of himself..he got in as soon as he could.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Being secluded means subject does not know much about other heroes. His people skills also seem to be a bit...low to none. He seems to be better at working alone then with groups, but if trained correctly can make an excellent asset to any team. It is believed that he can talk...he just chooses to talk very little. He shows high protectiveness for weaker beings. This was shown through a rescue of a stray kitten from a burning building..he refuses to speak of it, but potential to build on that instinct with the right team.
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience: due to his difficulties with working with a team and that one incident where he lifted up and choked a fellow student he was annoyed with...he clearly needs this.
-Team training: Team building. Force him to deal with teams
-Advanced combat
-infiltration training and simulations: Because busting through a wall is not 'sneaky'
Potential outlook:
Potential...if he can work with a team or trust people. Needs to be paired with the right individuals.
Best case scenario:
Attack unit/Team infiltrator. Possible team member if done right. He is a good protector with the right people.
Worst case scenario:
Solo infiltrator. This has the most risk due to his tendency for recklessness which could lead to capture. |
44,818 | 1,220 | 13 | 1,552 | 2,234 | Angel watched Damon, her own brow furrowed as she noticed his discomfort, both in his words and his expression. Was he feeling claustrophobic? Or was it just because of those two idiots fawning over his wings? She could empathise, either way; if one had wings like that and could fly in the open air, she'd feel enclosed in a metal box with jets attached too. Hell, she could fly, but there was a difference in having boots and having actual wings sprouting from your back.
Deciding that bringing it up would do nothing more than cause more tension between Damon and the group, Angel instead turned her eyes back to Will, raising one eyebrow at his description.
"Uhuh... last sexy genius I met was the man himself back at Stark tower. You don't even come close, kiddo." She thought to herself with a coy grin. Now, she wasn't knocking him - Will was undoubtedly appealing to the eye, like everyone else in the jet. But he looked like 12. She would have been all over him when she was a pre-teen.
"Well... I have to say, you're smarter than you look, what with my little nickname." She said, stepping away from him to the middle of the aircraft - glancing over at their newest arrival with a thrill in her heart ("Another woman! Fantastico!") - before looking back at the boys. "As you no doubt know, Hecate was the Greek Goddess of magic - Myself, I know a few tricks in that arena. And if my senses are correct, you're no stranger to the magicks yourself, Boy Wonder." She paused then, smile faltering ever so slightly. Should she bring up the other thing? Her... more mysterious powers? Hells... they'd probably find out anyways. What could she lose?
"I also have a little something extra. Energy manipulation is the fancy term that Tony Stark coined for it, but as far as I'm concerned, I can make pretty blue lights come out of my hands, and it can blow shit up." Not that they were going to get a demonstration anytime soon, but she directed an almost competitive grin towards Will. "Be nice to see how it copes against your "zappy-zappy red stuff"."
On that note, she turned once more to their newest companion with a friendly grin - the girl looked slightly cowed in everyone else's presence.
"A great pleasure it is to see another woman onboard! I was worried that it would just be me and the Testosterone boy-band." Angel chuckled, sitting in the seat next to the newcomer. "I'm Angel - nice to meet you." | Full name: Angelique "Angel" di Diavolo
Alias/Codename: Nightingale
Age: 18
Country of origin: Rome, Italy.
Basic appearance: Stands at 5'4 with a curvy, yet slim physique. Her black hair is long and curly, usually worn in the same style most days - unless she can't be bothered with it. She has an undoubtedly pretty face, despite being an unfortunate sufferer of RBF Syndrome, with eyes that are an almost ethereal shade of bright blue; upon using her powers, the entire eye, sclera and all, becomes a shining silvery-blue, that matches the colour of the energy she uses.
Costume: Costume comprises of a lightweight hooded cape, in addition to a mask covering the bottom half of her face. Fortified leather armour pieces sit on top of black lightweight cotton; allowing her some protection without disrupting her speed or dexterity. The light-weight armour pieces sit on her chest and stomach (the latter in the form of a corset); shoulder and elbow guards; gauntlets; knee guards, and her own stolen carbon-fiber boots with installed jet propulsors, reaching her mid-shin. Most of the outfit is in shades of black, dark grey, or dark brown - how else is she to blend with the shadows?
Skills:
Language skills - Fluent in Italian, Latin, Nordic Runes, and Ancient Greek - is still picking up some more complicated terms in Arameic, but can translate the basics. Oh, and she also knows Sindarin and Quenya... because knowing the Elvish languages of Middle Earth is very important to her, okay?
Expert gymnast - whether this is borne from her powers or not, she doesn't know; but boy, can the girl climb. What she lacks in physical strength is made up for in her ability to work her way into the most awkward, high up places. How else is a girl meant to infiltrate shit?
Adept Technological intelligence - knows the basics of hacking, although more specifically doors than actual computers. Can work out a more complicated firewall given enough time, but she certainly doesn't know enough to be considered an expert. Additionally, she's somewhat skilled in robotics, as made obvious by her adaptations to her boots that allow her to fly without needing stabilizers in the palms, like with the Iron Man suits.
Nerd Lord supreme - Will beat your ass when it comes to nerdy trivia. Seriously, she can quote Lord of the Rings down to the Orc screeches, and knows every single time the Wilhelm scream has been used in something.
Did somebody say Thieves Guild? - Not only do her talents lay in infiltration, but Angel has some seriously sticky fingers. She reckons she could steal Nick Fury's eye patch without him noticing. It's not uncommon for some items - mainly junk food - to go missing on the Helicarrier when she's around. Not that anyone can prove anything, that is. Cameras aren't fast enough to notice her slipping her hands into your pockets.
Powers:
Energy Manipulation - this is a very broad and vague term assigned to Angel's powers, as no-one really knows what kind of energy she uses, herself included. Some say it's biological (making her a mutant), while others suggest it's magical; or, the old favourite, some form of radioactivity. As she's never really spent time near a power plant or plutonium rods, and Professor X himself stated she wasn't a mutant, it's a mystery for now. As such, she can summon some type of energy and manipulate it to her will - either in the form of high powered beams to use offensively, or to turn it into a malleable shield. It's kind of tactile in what it can be used as, but it comes at a price. Overuse can lead to a great toll on her own body, weakening the lining of her blood vessels and causing haemorrhaging at various points in her body. Although she hasn't used it often enough to ever cause lasting damage (yet), she's knocked herself out a few times from over-exertion. It leaves behind a killer headache, too.
It's a kinda Magic - Angel enjoys spells - they don't give her annoying nosebleeds or migraines, and there's just so much you can do with it. She also has a real knack at picking things up, without causing many explosions. At this point, she can't do any really powerful, earth-shattering magicks; she's still in the realm of setting fire to shit and maybe throwing a few things like cars or people around. As for magical defence, er... there's defensive spells? Meh - her own shields can handle that. Hopefully...
Angelique was born to a sweet, loving, Italian mother by the name of Vittoria di Diovolo, and - unfortunately - the weasel of a man that is Justin Hammer. As luck would have it, she was born out of wedlock while her father was married to another woman - unbeknownst to Vittoria. Disgusted with his actions, she returned home to Italy, having Angel in Rome and raising her herself. And truly, it was a good life. Vittoria had a large family who, although many were not happy about her having a child out of wedlock, still supported and loved the newest member of their family all the same. She lived there until the age of ten, when the worst thing that could happen to a child did occur - her Mother died.
It something unavoidable - a clot on the brain, giving her a swift, painless, but all the same unexpected death. Angel was inconsolable, and matters were made worse when her Father swept in to take her with him. Being her father - and also could afford better lawyers than her mother's family - meant she could do nothing to try and stay with people who she actually loved. And so began her new life in America, with her turd of a Dad.
He attempted somewhat admirably to gain her affections - what with his marriage having fallen through and no other children - but he did it in all the wrong ways. Firstly, he'd ignored her for her entire life, and then took her away from everything that she knew and loved. He then attempted to simply get her to like him just by buying her things - the best private education, the newest gadget (Unless it was Stark technology, of course), the fanciest brand of clothes, the poshest of meals... ugh. There was love to be found in such materialistic things, and quite frankly, she despised both him, and his work ethic. Justin had one thing on his mind at all times, it seemed - how could he be better than Tony Stark? And well, when that eventually traversed to the realm of villainy, she was less than amused.
This brought forth a rebellious streak in the young girl - along with some mysterious powers.
Roughly a year after the death of her mother, this energy manipulation made itself known. At first it was in small things - like lightbulbs popping when she sneezed or something... when she eventually discovered it was an actual power manifesting, Angel worked as best she could to try and make it go further, without her Father finding out. Thankfully, he was very pre-occupied with his new villainous lifestyle to even notice.
By the time she was fourteen, she had some kind of control over her powers... and she had also picked up quite a few other skills to try and sabotage her Father's work. It started out small - just altering certain documents to see if it would have any effect. It rarely did much other than confuse Hammer, but it certainly made her better at sneaking around, learning to find blind spots in cameras and motion sensors, and some basic hacking and lock-picking skills. Over time, she made her way into the labs of her Father's research facilities, re-wiring and sabotaging the more dangerous looking things, and... acquiring other gadgets. One in particular were carbon-fiber boots; quite stunning things, and obviously modeled on the thrusters on Iron Man's Suit, only far more light-weight. After making a few modifications, she took them for herself - thus beginning her super hero costume. It was around this time that Angel branched out into more solid forms of magic, hoping she could perhaps find out the source of powers by studying it.
When she turned 18, her sabotage became known to Hammer - and unfortunately, his villainous "friends", if you could call them that. Becoming an enemy to AIM, agents of MODOK were sent after her to put her down, and hopefully teach Hammer a lesson. It was here Angel discovered just how useful her powers were, as she blasted the agents to pieces; additionally, finding out the downsides to said powers. After finding safety in nearby woods, she passed out, completely spent after having used up so much of this mysterious energy.
After a day and a half, Angel awoke - with a migraine, blood still trickling lazily from her nose and ears, and a price on her head. After re-gaining her bearings, Angel fled to the safest place she could imagine, a place she knew that heroes stayed that could help her: Avenger's Tower. Thankfully, flying there was the easy part. It was landing that became problematic, with alarms blaring and the Avengers leaping on out with the whole weapons drawn and "Tell us who you are, and who you work for" schpiel. Anyhoo, they were surprisingly kind to her, despite the amount of times Hammer had fucked with the group, Stark in particular. After telling her story, the Avengers helped clean her up, directed her towards the Academy, even ran a few tests for her to see if they could find out what was going on with her wacky powers; they even went as far as to contact Professor X to see if she was a mutant, and that came up with a big ol' nope too. Although they didn't find anything concrete, she was happy for the help given all the same, and was recruited into the Avengers Academy in the next few days.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report: Energy manip. coming from unknown source; potentially magic, must be discovered, along with any dangerous potential. Can control it well to an extent, need to see how far it can go. Picks up spells swiftly, has a natural talent for it despite the amount of electrical appliances she sometimes blows up in the process. Expert at falling off the radar - keeps finding ways into the secure areas and the kitchens.
Training regimen/expertise:
Robotics Class
Infiltration training and simulation
Power Management and Dev. Class
Advanced Mysticism
Potential outlook: Unknown - affiliations with Justin Hammer appear to be sour, if nonexistent, but trust must be gained before deciding if she is truly an ally. If trust is gained, high potential.
Best case scenario: Intelligence gathering and undercover work - could also be useful in offensive capabilities, depending on potential power levels which remain unknown at this time.
Worst case scenario: Team infiltrator, perhaps back-up; depends if powers develop further. Although, penchant for stealing (We suspect, anyway) could make the life of a criminal look quite appealing to her, considering how easy her talents and powers would make that. |
44,819 | 1,220 | 14 | 2,683 | 178 | Nick Beaumont-Moore and Garret Rogers
Blackout curtains had been an unnecessary addition to any of the rooms in Stark Tower - a quick request from Jarvis could turn day to night in an instant. However, creature comforts had always been a necessity for Garret Rogers. Things like checking if a room contained surveillance bugs, the revolver under his pillow, the knife sheathed in a leg holster beneath loose pants, and an eye or two watching his back. They gave him comfort, rather than security, because who in their right minds would attempt to assault a fortress of unknown and unpredictable technology with even more volatile residents roaming the floors (or, in Barton’s case, the vents).
In this instance, however, they seemed trite and unnecessary, much like Stark had told him when Garret installed them himself. This place had given him a shelter and food and family for years. He knew they didn’t have to. Knew that S.H.I.E.L.D would have gladly stationed him in one of their thousands of underground bases. Yet, they’d provided as they would countless of other kids like him a peace they knew they couldn’t get and what they thought they didn’t deserve. Garret still believes that wholeheartedly; he doesn’t deserve any of the treatment they’d provided him. Didn’t deserve the comfort of loving parents and loving friends.
Which brought him to his recent decision: he’d prove his worth and pay it back in kind. Stark Tower was home to the Avengers and he wasn’t an Avenger, but damn, would he try his hardest to become one. Maybe that’s why he went to Natasha and Clint, instead, because they knew just how much they had to prove. Still had to prove. Not to their peers, but to those looking down from their pedestals and wondering what two humans could ever hope to achieve staring down a cosmic being.
Also why he refused their offer to walk him right onto the Quinjet when it touched down near the docks in Brooklyn. If he had two well known Avengers at his back when he boarded that jet, that’d just be a huge target and a crutch. A liability or a show boater or… he didn’t know the exact word for it, he just knew it’d give people the wrong impression. He was there just like them, to prove himself, and where they had powers and he didn’t, well that didn’t give him the right to flaunt something that wasn’t his to begin with. Knowing an Avenger and being one were two vastly different things.
Regardless of the guidelines he’d set, it didn’t stop the flash of red in his peripheral or the purple darting high above. Some people just couldn’t leave well enough alone. The thing was, he didn’t expect him to. This was well within their personality. What else did they have to do on their off time? They stayed true to form, however, and refused to reveal themselves once the bus had stopped and Garret wove his way through Brooklyn’s maze of back alleyways and street corners until he found himself at Long Island’s dock, looking up to see he’d arrived just in time.
The ding on his phone nearly cut out under the soft hum of the plane above him. Garret pursed his lips and shoved a hand down his pocket to retrieve his phone, hand gripping the dufflebag tighter.
Don’t stare at the eyepatch and you’ll be A-Okay. ;) 👍👌
A steady frown stretched his purse lips. With a pinch in his brow, Garret responded:
thanks for the tip! i wasn’t thinking about that at all. now it’s gonna be stuck in my head the entire ride there /sarcasm
Anytime, kid.
Clint says hi. He also says: no eye contact either. Best thing to do is stare at your feet and chant, ‘Not me, not me, not me,’ under your breath
alright now you’re just being ridiculous. next thing you know i’lll be calling him Herr Fury
He’s not gonna disagree, that’s for sure.
Maybe now as the best time to break out into a sweat. Garret huffed a breath and typed in a last reply, telling them by and thanks for nothing before stuffing the phone back in his pocket. The moment the Quinjet landed and he was cleared to head inside, Garret marched in, took his seat and squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t breakdown and have a panic attack before he even got there. That entire screening process should’ve taken more of a load off him than anything else - that was like shitting bricks. But, this, it felt like shitting an entire two-story house in white, American suburbia.
For anyone else, maybe all the conversations and activity occurring in a short span of time would be overwhelming, but not for Nick. Nick’s mind behaved in a similar fashion and so this was the norm for him. It was easy for him to sit back and just listen, to pick up on everything, even if it might not look like he was actively paying attention. Currently, his eyes were still locked on those wings. He was jealous - this guy got these beautiful wings and he got stupid markings on his arms. But... okay, Nick knew the wings had to suck, too. For example, annoying people like him and the kid were going to always be coming up, trying to jab and poke, or worse, people were going to be assholes and look on in something akin to disgust. Nick couldn’t imagine looking upon these things in anything close to disgust but he also knew some people were hateful, and he was sure this guy had been through some stuff.
Even with these thoughts, he didn’t back off. Nick had empathy, totally. The question was, did he apply it? Not as often as he should. Oh, the beautiful angel - not the winged guy - was asking about names and skills. While Nick’s mutation was not nearly as noticeable as Feathers over here, he still had a visible one, but they could pass for tattoos. So, it didn’t cause Nick any fuss... until he used them, that is. So, it wasn’t like he could relate to Feathers on that front. See, he was trying to apply empathy! He didn’t want the guy to feel shitty but… Nick also didn’t back off, so he wasn’t trying very hard to apply that empathy. His mind was dragged from announcing his own name and power, when the Quinjet landed without a hitch, and a very pretty girl got on board. So many pretty people in the beautiful Quinjet! Nick might not survive! It didn’t help some were witty and that would be Nick’s downfall.
Speaking of downfalls, seesh, this Quinjet practically didn’t have one! Nick couldn’t stop himself from acknowledging the beauty and power of the beast again, feeling giddy from everything going on around him. Nick fed off of people, their energies, and there was plenty of energy around to make him almost vibrate in his seat. Almost. At least he didn’t actually or else that might look odd. Not like any of them weren’t odd in this wonderful hunk of metal. Had to be kind of odd to be aboard this thing currently, right? Nick tuned back into the world when he realized he was being addressed by the kid. ”- not be patronizing me, cause those wing blades would be hella cool." he caught that bit in time and snorted a laugh when he caught sight of the kid sticking his tongue out at him. Totally doesn’t help the kid image… kid. he thought with an amused smirk, but the kid was entertaining, that was for sure. “I am trying to get my own free food!” he quipped back, rolling his eyes, but not in annoyance, more in a playful manner.
Will was the kid’s name but Nick was totally going to keep calling him kid. Super sexy? More like super cute. Nick countered in his head, because the kid was cute. Sexy applied to Copen, or Angel, or Damon, but Will, cute and adorkable worked just fine. Maybe the new arrival would have those terms applied to her in Nick’s mind, too, since she seemed more on the shy side. Not that it was a bad thing, totally not! Nick liked both cute and sexy! Zappy zappy red stuff? Nick needed to see that. Another snort came from him at the nickname Will gave him. It wasn’t the most attractive noise, Nick knew that, but it always just came out, and too often for Nick’s taste. Oh-ho, Copen was interesting! Nick could get on board with the whole “getting kicked out of your own country” thing! He found that admirable, far from a bad thing.
Well, so much for trying to convince Damon to let Will fuck with his wings. Nick didn’t have the attention span, nor the care, to try and push it. And he didn’t want to push it, anyway. Maybe once they all got to know each other better, Damon would realize Will wanted to improve those beauts, not experiment on them. He wondered if Damon’s healing was up to par with the Wolverine’s. Shit, Nick wanted to meet him. For one, wow, that face and body. And two, he was so cool! Nick liked cool people. He was cool so he deserved to be surrounded by equally as cool people. These people could be cool, he felt. Cool, once he kept repeating that word in his head, it started to not sound like a word. Cool, cool, cool, cool-
”-blow shit up.” caught Nick’s attention, and he looked at Angel with wide eyes. “I wanna see shit get blown up!” he uttered, because explosions, fuck yeah! He hopped up from his seat then, walking to the middle of the Quinjet and spinning around on his heel. “Well, ladies and gents, I am Nick, hailing from Canada!” he winked over at Copen, since he had been called a Frenchmen by him earlier, and said, “Je pourrais être votre homme français,” he continued, “Aha, I need to be stopped. So, Feathers over here isn’t the only one with a physical mutation, though mine isn’t so eye-catching.” he finally pushed the backpack off his shoulders, letting it plop with a quiet thud to the floor below, and his jacket shortly followed, revealing the swirling markings going up both his arms, disappearing under the short sleeves of his shirt. “Ta-da! So not as climactic as everyone was expecting, right?!” he said, all bright blue eyes and grins. “So, what I can do is-” he took pause, because the door was dropping on the Quinjet. He took a quick glance over, planning on continuing to explain his power, when he saw just who was getting on. He took a quick seat with closed eyes and Nick felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Que diable faites-vous ici?!”Nick exclaimed loudly as he quickly closed the small distance between him and the new passenger on board. He had forgotten about his backpack and jacket behind him, and almost tripped on his face, but he decided to go with the fall, because he literally fell into Garret. “Gary!” the young man shouted in obvious glee; with how he fell into Garret, he was hunched over the man at his side. Nick didn’t hesitant to get on his knees in the seat beside him and wrap his arms around the man’s head, practically cradling him to his chest. “Oh mon dieu pourquoi êtes-vous ici, comment êtes-vous ici?! Ils ont dit oui?! Tu m'as manqué! Oh mon dieu, je pourrais pleurer, j'ai manqué votre visage stupide!” It seemed Nick had forgotten where they were, and the other passengers at that, and was solely focused on his best friend he hadn’t seen in far too long.
Testosterone boy band? After opening his eyes and getting a full face of someone, Garret couldn’t quite react to the whole ‘show-and-tell’ thing going on in front of him. He needed a breather and, well, he got one for all of two seconds - his dufflebag, fortunately, had been dropped at his feet and shoved under his seat. The recognition hit before the words, however, and before Garret could stop himself a bright grin broke the firm line of his lips. His arms did their best to wrap around the assaulting body and his mind raced to understand the words. French. That one he’d been a little rusty on; both Nat and his father always broke off into Russian when it had only been the three of them (or when they wanted to make it look like they were talking about Tony behind his back). It took longer than necessary before Garret’s pinched expression turned into one of understanding.
“Ralentissez, s'il vous plaît ! Je suis un peu rouillé alors tu dois le parler un peu moins vite,” he muttered, eyes darting to the crowd of people shoved in the tiny box with them. Garret raised a hand to address everyone, trying his best to scoot around Nick - quite a long time friend - and adjust the guy better on his lap.
“Sorry, name’s Garret, but Gary’s fine, too,” he said. A polite smile graced his lips and he almost reached out to start a chain of handshakes, but stopped himself short. That ingrained politeness urged him forward and he had to force himself to lean back, a hand curving on Nick’s hip. “Je vais vous parle anglais maintenant. D'accord?” he muttered to Nick, leaning in as he spoke.
“I’ve got no powers to speak of, if that’s what you all were talkin’ about. I just shoot things,” he made a little finger gun and motioned toward the group, “and play James Bond and the Man From Uncle from time to time. Not sure how I even got in, to be honest. So, take it easy on me, guys... and ladies.” He was being humble, sure, but even if he had the arrogance to show off to everyone, they’d still be leaps and bounds more powerful and better at their jobs than he was. Just the simple nature of being a fleshy meatbag.
After his introduction, Garret turned toward Nick with a fond smile. “Tu pouves remercier Natasha pour convaincant Fury, ils besoin d'un gars comme moi dans l'équipe. J'aimerais pouvoir dire que Cap avait quelque chose à faire avec elle, mais lui et Bucky avez savait pas que je suis même ici,” Garret whispered between them, knowing they were well enough friends that he could carefully place his forehead against Nick’s as they talked in hushed tones, “Je suis heureux d'être ici, cependant. Ils ont fait tant fait pour moi dans la tour, je dois payer cette de retour. Donnez au suivant. N'importe quoi. Je me sens comme si je profite du leur hospitalité quand les gens comme vous et autres innombrables sont ici se prouver après qu'ils ont pris en vous, je ne suis pas assis sur mon cul plus. J'ai quelque chose à prouver.” He stumbled over quite a bit of words, probably butchered some sentence structure in there, but Garret got his point across as best he could. It was also possible Nick didn’t understand some phrases, seeing as he always spoke Canadian French. They usually got by, though.
Honestly, Nick hadn’t been sure when he’d get to see his best friend again. If Nick had to tell it like it was, then he’d say yes, Cap took him “under his shield” (as Nick said each time), but Garret had been, like, his first friend ever. It took a little bit for Nick to come out of his shell with Garret but Garret had always treated him like he was a long time friend and it didn’t take long for Nick to start behaving the same. So, saying a goodbye to Garret had been hard, though he tried to pretend it hadn’t been (Garret saw through it, of course). Seeing the young man here, so suddenly, made Nick feel like he was flying higher than the Quinjet. He owed a lot to Garret, to be honest, and he saw him as a brother. Garret had always been a touchy person, from the get-go (which had, at first, bothered Nick to the extreme since he hadn’t been used to friendly interaction at that time), but over a short time, Nick grew to be just as touchy. So, when Garret hugged him back, he beamed even more. Having someone like Garret taking this journey with him was so relieving - it would help keep him centered and it was always nice to know someone when going into an unknown place. He laughed when Garret told him to slow down and further sunk down into Garret, breathing a little easier now. Even though Nick had been confident and loud before, there had been some natural nervousness creeping in the back of his mind, but with Garret here, he felt more relaxed.
Nick playfully stuck his tongue out a little when Garret said he was going to speak English but nodded, looking over at everyone with a smile that looked almost proud. He was proud of Garret, proud that he was here, that he was doing this. Alongside him, at that! Bonus, right? Totally a bonus! Nick let out a small gasp at Garret’s words. “Nonsense! He got in here because he’s amazing!” he said immediately after Garret’s introduction, not allowing his best friend to be humble. Nick could brag for the both of them, that wasn’t a problem at all.
His attention turned back to Garret when he began talking in hushed French tones, not even noticing as the other man laid his forehead upon his. This was common for them so Nick didn’t see it as weird or even think about how it could be perceived as romantically intimate. He frowned as Garret continued to speak to him. It took some of it a second to click in his head, because Garret wasn’t perfect in the language, but he caught on pretty quickly. “Mec, sérieusement? Tu sais qu'ils ne le voient pas comme tirer parti, mais que ce soit, l'homme. Si vous vous sentez comme vous avez à faire cela, je te soutenant!” Nick was rarely serious, but in that moment he was. It didn’t last long. He broke out in a huge grin as he continued speaking, though he had force himself to speak slower for Garret, “Je suis tellement putain content que tu sois ici. Par ailleurs, ne sont pas les ailes plumes a génial? Comme, je veux caresser les chiots, mais il avait déjà essayé de se trancher la gorge de cet enfant ouvert pour faire cela et j'aime mon sang dans mon corps ainsi.” Of course, Nick was exaggerating. Damon wasn’t going to do anything, and it hadn’t even been a dramatic occurrence, but Nick usually made things sound like a dramatic occurrence. Nick, being as scattered-brain as he was, hadn’t even realized he didn’t actually get around to explaining his powers. If he had remembered, he wouldn’t care anyway, because Garret.
Moving from one instance to the next seemed rather easy, easy as it had been. They’d flit here to there quick as a fiddle and then focus in one thing. Garret didn’t really suffer from the ADHD Nick had, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up when Nick when a thousand miles a minute. To be honest, it felt refreshing to be in that state of mind again, like a kick of adrenaline before combat and then suddenly you’re in the thick of things. Trying to keep track of everything seemed impossible, yet they’d accomplish it every time. Maybe that’s why they fit so well, a pair of puzzle pieces waiting for the other to click into place.
From where Garret sat, he could see just about every expression that flit through Nick’s face as he talked. And he talked fast, still, even when that dent in the middle of his brows pinched in focus. Garret smiled, raising a hand to ruffle the back of Nick’s hair. “Je n'ai pas remarqué! Ainsi que par plumes tu veux dire le garçon d'oiseaux en colère criantes à l'enfant, n’est-ce pas? Il a vu à peu près tout et pourtant tu trouves toujours les plus petites choses excitant.”
Of course, there were other people beside them, though Garret found it hard to notice. They were being impolite, which Garret didn’t find hard to notice, at all. Star spangled asshole teaching him how to be star spangled polite. He keeps getting gosh darn star spangle tangled and it’s irritating to deal with a conscience that sounds suspiciously like your star spangled idiot of a father.
“Sorry,” Garret coughed and turned toward the group, “You, uh, all can continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt the flow of things.” Hard to apologize for something like that when a fully grown guy still sat cozy in your lap like he belonged there or something. He swore it wasn’t like that, even if he was like that, but he’s not like that with Nick. Garret took a deep breath, breathing in while an embarrassed blush tinged his face. “So, am I the only one here without any powers to speak of?”
“Je pourrais être votre homme français.”
I could be your French man
“Que diable faites-vous ici?!”
What the hell are you doing here
“Oh mon dieu pourquoi êtes-vous ici, comment êtes-vous ici?! Ils ont dit oui?! Tu m'as manqué! Oh mon dieu, je pourrais pleurer, j'ai manqué votre visage stupide!”
Oh my god why are you here, how are you here?! They said yes?! I've missed you! Oh my god, I might cry, I've missed your stupid face!
“Ralentissez, s'il vous plaît ! Je suis un peu rouillé alors tu dois le parler un peu moins vite.”
Slow down, please! I'm a little rusty so you gotta talk a little slower.
“Je vais vous parle anglais maintenant. D'accord?”
I’m gonna speak English now, alright?
“Tu pouves remercier Natasha pour convaincant Fury, ils besoin d'un gars comme moi dans l'équipe. J'aimerais pouvoir dire que Cap avait quelque chose à faire avec elle, mais lui et Bucky avez savait pas que je suis même ici.”
You can thank Natasha for convincing Fury they needed a guy like me on the team. I wish I could say Cap had something to do with it, but he and Bucky have no idea I'm even here
“Je suis heureux d'être ici, cependant. Ils ont fait tant fait pour moi dans la tour, je dois payer cette de retour. Donnez au suivant. N'importe quoi. Je me sens comme si je profite du leur hospitalité quand les gens comme vous et autres innombrables sont ici se prouver après qu'ils ont pris en vous, je ne suis pas assis sur mon cul plus. J'ai quelque chose à prouver.”
I'm glad to be here, though. They've done so much for me at the tower, I need to pay that back. Pay it forward. Whatever. I just feel like I'm taking advantage of their hospitality when people like you and countless others are out here proving themselves after they've taken you in. I'm not sitting on my ass anymore; I got something to prove.
“Mec, sérieusement? Tu sais qu'ils ne le voient pas comme tirer parti, mais que ce soit, l'homme. Si vous vous sentez comme vous avez à faire cela, je te soutenant!”
Dude, seriously? You know they don't see it as taking advantage but whatever, man. If you feel like you have to do this, I'm supporting you!
“Je suis tellement putain content que tu sois ici. Par ailleurs, ne sont pas les ailes plumes a génial? Comme, je veux caresser les chiots, mais il avait déjà essayé de se trancher la gorge de cet enfant ouvert pour faire cela et j'aime mon sang dans mon corps ainsi.”
I'm so fucking glad you're here. By the way, aren't those wings Feathers has awesome? Like, I want to fondle those puppies but he already tried to slit that kid's throat open for doing that and I like my blood in my body so.
“Je n'ai pas remarqué! Ainsi que par plumes tu veux dire le garçon d'oiseaux en colère criantes à l'enfant, n’est-ce pas? Il a vu à peu près tout et pourtant tu trouves toujours les plus petites choses excitant.”
I couldn't tell! And by feathers you mean the upset bird boy glaring at the infant, isn't it so? You've seen just about everything and yet you still find the smallest things exciting.
Disclaimer: All the French you see in this post is courtesy of flimsy knowledge garnered from high school French and barely retained. Most of it is Google Translate assistance with a few tweaks. I... kinda just gave up in the middle of it, so if you do speak French and you're wondering why this French is so bad, well... there you have it. This is an explanation for it. T-T I'm so sorry we butchered your language. | "I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
- Sylvia Plath
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⟐] F U L L N A M EMagnus Foster
⟐] A L I A SMagni
⟐] A G E21
⟐] C O U N T R Y O F O R I G I NUnited States
⟐] A P P E A R A N C E
Physical Examination of Subject:
(There's an incriminating amount of drool on this clipboard. The good doctor, one of my colleges, can't keep it between his legs apparently. At least this one isn't a minor)
A tall specimen (and a specimen, at that) standing at 6'3" and weighing in a whopping 233 lbs. Musclebound and stunning, practically shining with ethereal light under our godawful fluorescent fixtures. Man is blonde; shaggy hair; shorter on the sides with a floppy top. There's a large dusting of blonde facial hair that covers most of his face. Eyes appear small, shrewd with a penchant of looking through people and objects than at them. They seem narrowed perpetually, slanted toward the nose with a curious tilt. Branching from his straight nose, flared and bulky to add to the hard lines of his face, the subject has a numerous amount of freckles dotting his nose and high set cheekbones (visible whenever he smiles as his cheeks have a slight puffy quality). As stated before, his complexion is impeccable - a light hue of pink tinged with a light, bronze tan that make his face, in particular, shine with golden quality.
Honestly speaking, it is of no surprise that a god's child would boast a physique that could take an entire house of delicious, carb filled donuts and still retain every sinew of muscle without gaining one ounce of fat. Well rounded throughout his entire body, the subject is at peak human health, in terms of physique. Hard muscle lines every inch of his body, mostly comprising of lean muscle rather that allows him a lithe build over a stocky one. It helps that his incredible height stretches the fair amount of muscle out in an even spread. There's literally nothing wrong with this man's body (other than maybe the lopsidedness of his ears and the terribly high arches of his feet; would make a great dancer) and that's apparently par for the course for demi-god to be superheroes. (Bound to make a lot of people jealous or ogle - that's a given. Have you seen his dad?)
⟐] C O S T U M ENot really considered a costume, but rather armor. It remains unpainted and moderately uncolorful, in regards to the costumes most heroes wear. For Asgardian armor, it's of usual standard with it's bright metal and gold trimming. It's designed to contain a cape, however, Magnus prefers not to wear one into battle (the cape, to him, is more ceremonial than combat ready). It's very sleek and form fitting, tight and leather around the metal of the abdomen which presses hard into the sides. It doesn't allow much for flexible movement and rather exonerates Magnus' role as an individual who can take hits rather than dish them out. The leggings are much the same, gold and silver etching down the thighs and calves to the nearly knee high greaves that cushion his feet. A helmet accompanies the armor that embellishes his status as Thor's son, but cements himself as a warrior of his own right. It's looks much like a face visor, coming to cover his face in a protruding V that flares above to curve in a hard knife edge, embellished in gold and trimmed in silver. Cascading from the helmet's flair, are ridges that fall ontop of each other in a feather like display. The rest of it hides behind the visor, a solid top that's silver in color that encases his entire head. There are slits in the front that give him the vision he needs but the metal has been worked fabulously so that when he needs to, it can be completely transparent over his face.
⟐] S K I L L S▣ Expert Swordsman and Shield Bearer
Being trained by his father in combat has its benefits: Magnus can wield a sword to an expert level, but he excels the most at using a shield not only to block, but also to parry and attack. While Magnus has many who are exceedingly better at him when it comes to the art of swordmanship, not many people can find themselves matching his shield bearing abilities. This particular skill gives him the upper hand in a lot of melee situations because people expect the sword to be the danger, not the protection.
▣ Archery
A pretty basic knowledge of how to shoot an arrow. He's moderately accurate. Nothing special, but definitely something to note. It could very well be built upon, since Magnus has all around potential.
▣ Physics and Biology
While his mother is an esteemed astrophysicist and that's where his roots tend to spread toward, Jane always encouraged her son to pursue whatever caught his mind. When away from his mother for a substantial amount of time, Magnus often took towards the plants of the world he and his father had been secluded to. Most of his time outside of battling for his life and surviving had been surveying and cataloging what he could. Once he'd arrived back on Earth (and Asgard) he'd been encouraged to explore this curiosity and so it took him to studying their components rather than what they did. Botany intrigued him, but it was more the molecules and the composition that made his mind spark. Thus, most of Magnus' scientific prowess is in the study of life and its make up. Of course, he still loves the idea of physics and learning and researching with his mother, which he's done countless times after coming back.
▣ Internet Savvy
Let it be known that Darcy Lewis is the best teacher when it comes to tumblr, reddit, twitter, and all other platforms of social media. Magnus definitely knows his way around a computer now because of her and not only that, but his curiosity can never be sated and thus he's made a numerous amount of internet connections that he's more than proud of. Need a place to lay low? He knows about ten areas in the local vicinity that are willing to hold a few rag tag superheroes until the coast is clear.
▣ Survival
Due to his past, Magnus has had a need to hone his survival skills above all else. That means adaptability and improvisation that allows him to survive for longer than should be possible. This gives him the skills to scavenge and use materials for whatever purpose his mind can think of. Noticing things out of the ordinary and knowing when to pull out and when to go into a situation. Judging the odds and working on the fly.
⟐] P O W E R S▣ Superhuman Durability
This boy can take an absolute beating, even for an Asgardian - though not on par with his father. While he isn't invincible, Magnus can take more hits than he should ever have the right to. So, while he's able to get through most dangerous situations alive, he knows that there's a bit of luck in there when it comes to surviving things he shouldn't. He doesn't take his chances. Regardless, he's able to he's able to take a single punch from the Hulk without being absolutely obliterated. That's not to say he won't be injured or disoriented, though, it just won't severely injure him.
Drawback: Even though he is extremely durable, it's rather simple to disorient and stun Magnus. If you can impair him in some way, he won't be able to do the job he was made to do: soak up all the damage. If you allow him to take the beating, then you're doing what he wants. If you bat him away and get passed him, you've effectively negated his use.
▣ Electrokinesis
At the moment, Magnus can only control lightning; he can't create it. However, he definitely has the means to due to the fact that electricity is an abundant feature in the modern world. He can control a small amount, about 10 million volts of electricity - 1/10 the power of a natural lightning bolt. It sounds like a lot, but it's actually only capable of stunning a person. Most of his shocks depend on the Amperes of the electrical currents he's using, most of which are below 0.1 milliamps which isn't enough to kill.
Drawback: Can only manipulate electricity, cannot create it. However strong the bolt of electricity he controls is, it can only ever stun a person for a small amount of time before they regain control over their body.
▣ Superhuman Endurance/Stamina
It's essentially how long this guy can stand before exhausting. He can go for twice as long as a normal human doing physical, strenuous work and endure pain for even longer. That's the essential gist of the power. It's nothing special, just allows him to keep standing under pressure longer to protect those he's entrusted to.
Drawback: Like his durability, it's negated completely if you literally pluck him out of a fight and keep him separated from his team. Isolate this guy and that makes the situation substantially easier.
⟐] B I OFor as long as Thor spends time on Midgard, it's a wonder how a man such as he can spare the time to procreate. A surprised Jane Foster didn't get the memo until she'd been bent over the toilet of her small RV in the middle of the goddamn desert, letting Darcy hold her hair while Ian freaked out. A baby. She was pregnant and the moment Jane could stand, she did everything in her power to contact her extraterrestrial boyfriend. Worked out better than she thought when he dropped out of the sky panicking in what looked to be like sleepwear - very comfy sleepwear, who knew Asgard had material softer than silk.
Thus began a very turbulent 9 months of containing a demi-god child inside her uterus. Eventful, being whisked off to Asgard where Thor's friends and family could literally pamper her to the brink of death. There were times where she didn't want to get out of bed and times where she needed to that she could barely even think about the fact that she'd been laying there for maybe a day too long. The birth of her child came smoothly and Magnus Thorson had come into a world like she would expect: the politest fucking baby in all of the universe. She'd asked immediately if it was normal for a baby not to cry and she'd almost freaked out until she saw her son in the arms of the doctors stationed to her suite (she refused to call them anything else).
Unfortunately, Jane Foster could only savor her time with her child for a good two days. Loki, upon discovering the happy parents to be immediately went into plotting. Thor would do anything for a child of his own and that was what he was counting on. After months to plan and concoct, Loki went into action the moment Thor and the baby were the only ones alone together. In the shadows he threw a bomb he'd made especially of the magic he could contort. It exploded above Magnus' cradle where Thor had stationed himself to care for his son, not harming the two but rather destroying the barrier in dimensions and thrusting both the child into a world millions of years away from Asgard or Midgard, so away from civilization it would be impossible to return home. Thor knew not to do but jump after, hoping he could do his best to protect his own charge.
The world they landed in was teeming with odd flora and fauna, a world likely stuffed with dangerous. Unarmed and with only his inherent powers to rely on, Thor didn't know if that would even help. Luckily, the world wasn't as odd as it looked at first glance. It could very well be treated as any other alien world within their galaxy. That still didn't bode well. It took quite awhile before Thor could find a way to feed his child, finding nutritious in plants that he had to test himself before finally being able to feed the boy nectar from a plant that only served to fill his own empty stomach. With that out of the way, it was only a matter of establishing himself and making sure he could care for his son before he could find a way home.
After finding a suitable home in a cavern carved into the side of a mountain whose tops floated into the pink-purple sky as if they longed to escape the world, too. He did his best to clear the space out for him and his son, making sure to fortify the area as best he could. At that point, it seemed quite impossible that he'd find a way home. A way to Jane and the Earth. A protector who was absent could no longer be accounted on to do their job. Thus he'd failed. Failed everything, but most of all he failed his son. That didn't mean he couldn't raise him to be the man he knew Magnus could become.
From that point on, Thor's goal had been to protect his child. His job was to raise his son. To be a good father in spite of their situation. Thus, years went on, Thor fortified their home and went to work making it actually feel like a home rather than a temporary space purely for survival. And Magnus grew from babe to child and Thor took his boy's ability to defend himself into his own hands. The wildlife ranged from harmless to insurmountable. Danger came around every corner and Thor could only protect their home on his own for so long before someone wanted the space a lot more than he did.
Armed with whatever they could fashion with weapons, Thor trained his son in swordsmanship and a variety of other fighting styles that could save him in a pinch. Being his son, he took to combat quite easily. Not enough to allow himself to rely on his abilities to save him as a seven year old kid, but it was enough of a foundation that Thor could continue building and building until his son's safety was no longer a concern. Once he reached pre-teen adolescence, Thor could finally search for ways off the planet and back home. That came in large and wide searches for years and years.
It wasn't until the boy turned sixteen, nearing adulthood with rapid pace, did they both find a crashed ship in the deep jungles hundreds of miles from their allotted home. It took years delving through the ship itself to find what he hoped he would. The FTL driver, if the explosion could be contained and the driver itself was mostly intact, he could potentially send them home. Of course, even that last bit was a long ass shot - it was either home or in deep space or a maybe even the middle of a burning star. It was, honestly, a better chance than they'd ever get. After two years of planning and finding the right supplies within the ship (after hauling the driver closer to home and in a wide clearing), they'd finally hit the switch. Not only had it sent them through the entire universe in a quantum leap, it had potentially sent them back in time. However, that was mostly speculation; the time dilation on the planet itself seemed like it'd been more to blame than the FTL driver.
On both Midgard and Asgard, it had only been three years. Once the Avengers had found them stranded on an island after a huge blast of quantum energy flared on every screen tracking for high energy fields, they'd brought the two home. They'd been disoriented, dirty, still battle ready and it took days for both to come down from their constant state of alert and paranoia. It wasn't until after a month of examination for serious injuries (of which they both found that they'd been slowly poisoning themselves) they were finally released to the world and to Asgard (Thor constantly argued that their technology would be able to do this quicker, but the team insisted and quelled his thoughts with their need to see Thor safe and sound, "Three years, man; we thought you'd both died," Sam had urged and it had brought Thor back to his bed where Bruce examined him as best he could).
Jane finally, finally got to see her son, who'd surprised her by coming home 17 years a little too old. She'd knew it was him, though, and by the brightness of his eyes, she knew Thor had told her son everything he could about her. Maybe a little too much. Mostly, he likely embellished everything to make her seem like some kind of saint. They took an entire year to reconnect and for Jane to come to terms that she had the misfortune (some would say fortune, ahaha) of missing out on her child's actual childhood. It took that year for Magnus to adjust to a life not constantly lived out of fear but pleasure and relaxation - comparatively, that is. It was an experience sleeping on an actual bed when you have no clue what an actual bed is but a cushion of leaves on hard, stone floor. More so, it came difficult to adjust to socialization. The boy had taken his father's politeness and upped it by a hundred, though, so that definitely helped his experience thin out easy. Darcy Lewis became quite the aid, as well, teaching him everything she knew when it came to people, the internet, and society, as a whole. He took everything she said to heart and she had quite a bit of fun using that to her amusement.
Now, a whole person instead of the frightened, paranoid survivor, Magnus can't help but attend Avenger's Academy at the behest of his parents and a few of the Avengers themselves.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⟐] I n i t i a l O b s e r v a t i o n R e p or t"The Avengers seem to have a flexible roster. But one constant: gotta have a demi-god on your team."
There's quite a bit of potential in this particular subject, a lot to build upon. Thor did a good job training him for survival, now it's just a matter of refining those skills and channeling them into something more specific.
Subject is inhumanly durable and can take hits that would kill most people, even some heroes. This could potentially be honed, however, increasing his durability seems to be a conundrum. If that could be taken to greater proportions, he could be a great support asset to a team desperately in need of someone to protect them from heavy fire.
⟐] T r a i n i n g R e g i m e n▣ Power Management
▣ Biology/Xenobiology
▣ Advanced Combat Training
▣ Astrophysics
▣ Asgardian Artifacts and History
▣ Tactics and Battle Strategy
⟐] P o t e n t i a l O u t l o o kBeing the front line for any heavy combat oriented operations seems to be the absolute best position for Magnus. However, there's quite a bit of things that he could potentially do. There's honing his electrokinesis into something he can use at a respectable range. Being trained to aid in more covert operations. There's the potential for use in rescue operations, as he has an amazing sense of survivability that goes so far as to allowing him to search and find things, as well as perceive a lot of things other people might just miss.
He's a solid addition to any team, but will often find himself shining in more supportive roles. Thus, Magnus should always be paired with more than just one other hero or student to achieve the best possible outcome.
⟐]S c e n a r i o : B e s tWe've got ourselves someone who can dish out damage capable of leveling battalions of footsoldiers, definitely. But that's nothing special; a lot of students can do that already. However, what we can get out of him at his absolute best is someone who can draw attention toward himself and take on an insurmountable amount of damage and pressure and just a number of things and still coming out standing tall. Not the best combatant, but when you're looking for someone to defend another person, defend an area, defend anything, well you've got someone with the potentially to be one of the damn best.
⟐]S c e n a r i o : W o r s tLike Thor, we don't quite know if he intends to stay for as long as we need him. His loyalties are clearly with his family, most of all. If they ever choose to leave the world in the hands of everyone else, well there's really no stopping any of them from leaving. Most of all, though, Magnus has a tendency to self-sacrifice - he knows his limits and he knows when they're about to break, so he knows what he's doing when he does it. There's a stubbornness in him that'll keep him from thinking of any other solution, as well, that quickly needs to be tampered. |
44,820 | 1,220 | 15 | 438 | 562 | The room certainly was a whirlwind of noise and movement, Rain reflected, as the discussions went on in front of her. They were talking about powers, namely. She'd missed the first part of the conversation, but the only other girl was describing what she could do. Energy manipulation and magical spells? Suddenly, her own super speed seemed rather... inadequate. It was cool, to be sure, but maybe not quite as impressive or useful in combat. Not that she'd really done anything involving her powers, before. Her eyes darted down to look at the small hands gripping her knee self-consciously. It wasn't like she was strong, as most of the people on this aircraft looked to be.
A sudden, upbeat voice of a girl sounded from close, and Rain jumped as she looked up. A small, shy smile spread across her lips and a soft laugh escaped her at - 'testosterone boy-band' - now that was funny. With the tall figures and good-looks, they certainly could be one. Her name was Angel... How pretty, as was she. In fact, everyone here was good looking in some way or another. Coupled with the confidence that emanated, it kind of made her want to shrink into her seat. But this was the time for first impressions - she couldn't run away from her new team-mates.
"I'm Rain du Toit - it's lovely to meet you as well," she replied, letting go of her knee and straightening. It was then that another - yep, good looking boy - entered the cabin. It was only a moment before he was accosted by one of the young guys who'd been cooing over wing-guy's wings. Nick had powers to do with his tattoos, and Garret didn't have any. Huh? That was unusual. Maybe she wasn't so bad off with being fast. The two boys proceeded to just about cuddle and chatter in French, and Rain wondered for a moment if they were boyfriends...? But she hadn't seen any kissing, so...
When Garret asked about anyone else not having powers, she hesitated for a moment and glanced at Angel for just a second - maybe because she was the only one who'd talked to her so far. Then, shifting in her seat, she looked back at the room. Her blue eyes dipped down to the floor for a second - it was shiny - and she clasped her hands together in her lap. "I have powers - I can run really fast," she said, finally looking across at everyone in the room. Her heart was beating fast, watching for their reactions. "...Like The Flash, but not as quick." | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,821 | 1,220 | 16 | 2,389 | 901 | He had never really been short of meeting supers before, his parents were more than willing to introduce him to their fellow heroes and heroines to him, even if they much preferred to live in what little retirement they were still pursuing, but meeting already established heroes was different from meeting those whom he was eventually going to work with and call his team mates. For some reason, he felt a little bit more giddy and excitable sitting in the Quinjet with adolescent teens blessed with powers they had yet to learn to control or use correctly than with full fledged heroes like giant man or the fantastic four, given he had been just as excited then. None of them could hold a torch to Mr Stark though, that was one part of his mind that he kept carefully encapsulated by a velvet red rope as he looked around the little gang they had going on. Only partially listening to what they were saying, well partial was like fully listening for him, it was the most attention he'd ever give, the rest given to fuel the part of his brain that continued to run like a horse on a race track, spewing out thoughts and throwing out lines of incessant rambling; some of which went through a filter before it escaped his mouth, other's mostly just going straight to the talking parts of his brain. Luckily, he was aware enough to remain silent whilst everyone started to introduce themselves.
And whilst he catalogued away their powers into his chaotic system of order, his eyes couldn't help but light up a little just listening to them. Oh sure, hacking into their files gave him enough information about each of them for the most part, hearing them talk about themselves out loud just helped him match their faces to their files, but S.H.I.E.L.D was only so good at studying powers. He was going to make it his own personal goal to study exactly what these supers could do, in the name of scientific discovery off course and to add onto to his own creation. He would need more information on exactly what Captain Denmark over there could do, but already his brain was humming with all the possibilities, especially when Wingo beside him finally spoke a full sentence. His gaze immediately darting over to him as he licked his lips, wondering if he could create something to prevent that sort of consequence in the future. Maybe something that shocked whoever applied too much pressure to the base of his wings or some vibranium plating in his suit there...Vibranium wasn't exactly easy to come by, but he could dream and scheme and find some way to weasel out something from Fury. So lost in his own mind for that single moment, he nearly didn't catch when 'Hecate' started to speak to him,
Eyes darting over to her, his grin widened as he rocked on his seat, a testament to the nervous energy he felt coursing through him. Young enough where the racing of his mind seemed to match the energy of his physical body or maybe it was a sugar high, he had had a lot of sugar in the past hour, trying his hand at a bit of biology, involved a lot of saturated sweets, was maybe just an excuse for him to gulp down a lot of sugar in his own room for one last time before he went off. He was sure Mom knew something was up, but as long as he didn't border on diabetic, he figured she didn't mind so much. It wasn't like him on a sugar high was any different than him usually. Anyway, what was he doing in the span of the 0.45 nanoseconds that he had spaced out? Oh right, right, socializing.
"Well, everyone knows red always beats out blue." He retorted, flashing her a grin before he followed her gaze over to their latest arrival. When had they had their latest arrival? This jet was really smooth or the girl had some invisible quality to her powers, whatever the case, he leaned over in his seat just to catch a glimpse of their latest 'classmate' from over the large silhouette of Wingo and Ringo. Well, she looked rather petite as well, maybe she was just another spy on board, he'd have to go look up her file maybe, when he got around to it, but he did faintly recall something about a speedster in school. They were always really fun, at least the ones he knew off so far and he definitely knew speedsters. Heck, he could've been a speedster, well just without the speed. Anyhow, he couldn't resist piping up about that one,
"You mean the Flash like those comics? I think the writers were on a comic binge when they were writing him! I mean, instantaneous travel speed is one thing, but what do you think they were thinking with the whole spandex costume thing? Please tell me your superhero suit isn't spandex. I mean, I'm sure you'd look great in it, but you know how fast that stuff wears out, not that I know, but-"
He was interrupted as they started to make another touchdown, having not noticed until the door started to open again and more proof of perfection existing in this world walked in and caught his eye,
"Hey I've seen you around!" He exclaimed out loud at their latest arrival, eyes darting over to the guy in some brightened recognition, though he didn't seem to be the only one who knew him as Ringo, now only a Work in Progress name whilst he figured out something better, he was sure Frenchie wasn't a good one and Frog was a very bad racial slur instead of a quirky nickname to aid his failing memory about remembering people's real names, off topic, got up and practically rushed down the boy. Geez, did all muscle bound blue eyed brunettes just know each other? Were they all part of the same fitness club or something? Maybe there really was a boy band on board of this thing and if so, did they need a lead guitarist? Or modified guitars? He was never big into the musical scene or anything, but synthesizing a musical instrument or a rock robot, well that was an idea. Or maybe it was the sugar. No, definitely an idea....no the sugar, well, he'd do a blood test later on, but he was definitely sure it was an idea. A good one.
He came back to to a spew of French between Mr muscles and Ringo, WIP, over there. His gaze fixed onto the former. He was so utterly sure that he had seen him before and he didn't just remember any muscle bound adonis that crossed his path. The both of them seemed like close friends, must be what having a brother must be like and for all he knew, they could actually be twins with the way they looked; he was sure that hotness was a genetic trait that scientists had yet to completely isolate. But anyhow, he was so so sure that he had seen Mr muscles somewhere before, trying to sort through his memory of the files he had hacked to try and place him. There hadn't been that many new files, a testament to how little the school seemed to increase it's student body every year. It was more than just the files though as he narrowed his gaze up at the man, only vaguely listening to whatever banter was going on between them and he meant vaguely, because what was with all the non English? He didn't have anything against it, just why..They'd all need built in translators for every known language in the book if this kept up, actually that was an idea, but again again off topic, so very much off topic when he finally placed the face of the man before him to the correct memory,
"Your pictures on Uncle Stark's photos file!" He exclaimed aloud, pointing a finger at the man as if revealing some great accusation. Off course, he knew he had seen him somewhere before and that was on Stark's desktop computer, in the file he kept as his photo album. The man didn't see the point of physical photography and Will very much agreed because at this point, digital was safer than what could potentially be destroyed in a fire and despite this whole train of thought, he still couldn't place exactly who the guy was because Stark hadn't explained anything about the album and Will hadn't want to confess he had been snooping through his stuff when he wasn't suppose to, granted he hadn't gotten through any of the tougher firewalls anyway, but the point was he had seen Garret before, even if only in digital pixels. Question now was why did Stark have a picture of him? Granted, Stark had alot of pictures of various heroes and so on, but as far as he knew, this guy was pretty off the radar, he had certainly never heard of him before so well, the whole situation was just confusing and he really really disliked being confused.
Even more confusing now that he just admitted he didn't have any powers, unless.... "You have to be a spy then!" A second pointed finger, this time followed by his whole face lighting up, "Whatever spy gadgets you have throw them away! They're probably outdated anyway or hideous looking, you know I think Shield has something on about giving their spies cruddy looking gadgets? Like all spies in general, all those spy movies, I mean, the ones that are actually practical just look awful and clunky or the CGI looks like throw up." He started off into another ramble, gesturing for greater effect before a soft beep echoed through out the little gathering they had made and an automated voice filled the chamber,
"Remaining stops before final destination, 1 ."
"Whoo, we're finally getting things on the road! Whoever is bunking with me, I call top bunk!" | Full name: William Maximoff-Shade (Unrelated to canon son of Scarlet witch)
Alias/Codename: Cybernetic
Age: 19
Country of origin: "Eastern Europe" Sokovia
Basic appearance: 5'6 of varying mass. His overall appearance doesn't change, keeping his lean build and boyish looks. Keeps his hair short.
Costume: Having control over technology and nanites, a metallic suit is the only way to go. Composed of the nanites that make up his blood stream, the suit is a living part of himself and serves mostly to conceal his identity, provide his flight capabilities and act as a suitable material for him to create his weaponry using his Technopathy. And to some extent, it's a small statement of his idolisation to Stark.
Skills: -Technical prowess outside of powers
-Snark master 2000
-Blackmail skills
-Hacking ability outside of technopathy
Powers:
-Synthetic body: Like his father, Will's body is composed of entirely synthetic material and his blood stream is basically a stream of nanites. As such, he is able to control his own density, mass and temperature to a small extent, as well as his own pain tolerance. However, he can only ignore any physical stimulations for so long until it overrides whatever 'firewalls' he puts up against it and incapacitates him. Luckily, his synthetic body also allows him to regenerate from his injuries, anything too grievous, however, will force a shut down on himself. He's stronger and faster than the average human, but his ability doesn't surpass other's with actual superspeed and strength
-Mild immunity to toxins: Toxins, drugs and foreign chemicals still afflict him, but effects show up at a slower compared to an completely organic being
-Immune to electrocution: You may not want to touch him whilst he's statically charged though, it's like a live wire
-Superhuman intelligence: Having a computer as a father and a super genius as a technical grandfather has it's perks to one's intelligence.
-Techno-pathy: Limited to his own creation and technology outside of Stark Tech.
-Limited control over Chaos magick: Unlike his mother's natural prowess over magick, Will can only summon up small bursts of chaos magick to act as a projectile. Used as a last resort as it is physically and mentally very draining.
Brief bio: After a slew of adventures and risking their lives, the superhero known as Vision and Scarlet witch (a.k.a Wanda Maximoff) finally tied the knot and settled down to have a child. Unable to conceive a child by natural means, they turned to magick and technology to fulfil their wishes. After many failed attempts, a young boy was conceived and named "William Maximoff-Shade" using part of Vision's human alias; 'Victor Shade'. 3 years into raising their child, a new threat arose that required them to once more take up their superhero mantles and return to saving the world, resulting in Will growing up experiencing the superhero side of the world through every cut, bruise and hospital visit that his parents brought home. The worry of losing a parent ever present until he figured out that he was able to shut off the 'unpleasant' feelings and turn to the more infallible logistics of numbers and possibilities. Calculating the survival chances of his parents becoming a game to him and a growing concern to his parents.
Even more so when he found himself surpassing his peers his schooling, making education by the normal means redundant and to him, human life and mortality. He failed to understand or comprehend the flaws he saw in his classmates, the flaws in his parents, the investment they had in protecting what was inevitably going to self-destruct itself. He had experienced their flaws and subservient 'emotions' and he found them a hindrance at best compared to that of artificial intelligence and the machines he'd come to consider his superior allies. Vision, seeing his son's start upon a darker path, sought to prevent it and consulted the greatest minds of the generation. Those consultations of which led to Will meeting one of the initial founders of the Avengers, Stark.
Never before had he met a human so...like him. Stark was a man no doubt, but Will found fascination in the reckless and brash nature he displayed intertwined with the calculative numerics of machines. He grew to idolize and respect Stark and even more so, his humanity. Which eventually led him to a heavy decision; knowing he could never fit in with humanity with the constant reminder of his connection to the machines, Will decided to start over by erasing all files and traces of him being an Android from the database, including his own memory, making it so he was an adopted child with Technopathy powers and turning what he really was into a secret that not even he knew.
Freed from the knowledge that alienated him the most from his peers, Will found new life in living in the moment and experiencing the human emotions he had previously locked away from himself. And when a school came up that could maybe finally keep up with him, he decided to throw himself head first into it, with the recommendation of his parents off course who accepted that he would eventually follow in their footsteps one way or another.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Subject shows lack of magical ability, but is adept at technopathy, continually hacks into own files to change recorded data. I think I 'improve' on it, you guys don't record down enough of my awesomeness
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience protocol training (A.k.a Detention, you guys need to stop using such fancy terms
-Lab work I get to blow up stuff?
-Robotics class It's the age of the machines!
-Partying 101
-Finding Nick's other eye 102
-Curing Baldness
-Seeing if you can survive jumping off the hellicarrier
Potential outlook:
High potential if- Got that right
Best case scenario:
Technical infiltration unit or taking control of the hellicarrier"
Worst case scenario:
Shut down protocol if any signs of threat to organisation They catch me before I take control of the hellicarrier
FunFacts:
-He likes to pretend he's a robot, but any memory of him being an Android has been erased from his memory and from his files
-The word 'Android' still sets him off
-He may or may not have a Tony stark poster in his room...and an Ironman action figure
-He can understand binary better than actual speaking sometimes.
-Monster trucks, don't mention them...ever. |
44,822 | 1,220 | 17 | 438 | 562 | Jen was sat on a small grassy hill, waiting for the Quinjet to arrive. She had traveled out of the main city to find somewhere quieter to be picked up. She didn't want to have plane scaring people in the streets of London after all. She was looking forward to returning to the Academy, flexing her hand as she realised how long it had been since she used her powers, having been told to restrict their use when she was away from the exclusive training facility. She looked up with a small smile as she saw the aircraft descending towards her. She stood up and picked up her holdall, filled with some clothes and a few essentials, including hair dye. She waited for it to land and the ramp to descend before walking up it, looking around at the new members of the Academy. She honestly felt a little out of place here, most, if not all, of the others being first years. Still, it was always nice to try. She walked over to the two other girls, trying not to ogle the good looking guys or girls that were here.
"Hi. My name is Jennifer Winters, but you can call me Jen," She said with a smile on her face. | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,823 | 1,220 | 18 | 834 | 433 | Scott Westwood
Scott wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here at this beautiful place, with so much grass, one couldn't see the end of it; with a breeze so soft and gentle, it didn't even budge the cowboy hat on his head; with the smells of the outdoors, of warm air, of animals; with the sounds of livestock coming from every direction. If he was caught, he'd be in trouble. He was trespassing on King Ranch. He didn't care if he got caught; he was about to leave, go and start a new life, try and become something. He had to ground himself before he left, or else he'd embarrass himself by possibly shifting in front of his soon-to-be fellow students. He was out in the pasture, running his hand down at the side of a horse's neck, softly cooing at her. Her name was Daisy, named by a child she deemed to be "a little too loud and overbearing" but by the way Daisy whinnied about her, Scott could tell she did love the little girl. He missed his own horses something terrible, but hadn't found them yet. Scott gave a quiet sigh and in the horse's tongue, neighed, "'M more nervous than a whore in church." bit of a crass way to put it but it got across how nervous he really was. He had only spent a year out in the "real world" (though he'd argue that being out here, in the middle of nature, was the real world) and his people skills had barely gotten worked on. It was his own fault, for not trying harder with his co-workers, but he didn't want it to be found out that he was a mutant. Mutants weren't taken well more often than not, so it was better that he just kept to himself.
Daisy snorted in what was a laugh to Scott's ears. "Be fine, Scott." she softly nickered, shaking her head. Scott hum'd in acknowledgement though he didn't feel like he'd be fine. He was twenty-one years old and could barely hold a conversation. He was about to meet a lot of new people; it was going to be like the start of his first year in the "real world" all over again. Overwhelming, a bit scary, and frustrating. But, he had to make a change, for himself, and this would hopefully be the right one. "Ride here." Daisy snorted, rearing back a little as the Quinjet softly landed near them. Amazing, how the piece of technology could track where its passengers were, and pick them up accordingly. Scott didn't think about though, because he was too busy staring at the Quinjet. His immediate first thought was: I ain't gettin' on that thang. but Daisy nudged him in the shoulder as the back began to come down. Scott's heart skipped a beat from nerves and Daisy shoved harder. "Go on!" she whinnied and huffed after. Scott snapped out of his little daze, a mixture of awe and fear, and quickly turned to the Pinto horse. He put a false sense of cheer into his nickering. "Sure'nuff that's my ride! Daisy, ya have been a doll, I'll visit ya in the future!" he promised, placing his hand under her chin and making her look up to give the horse a quick kiss right on the nose, his cowboy hat threatening to fall off his head as the brim pushed into her forehead. Daisy jerked back and snorted a laugh, shaking her head as Scott fixed his hat and gave her a wink, before he picked up his old, rugged-looking suitcase and made his way towards the Quinjet.
The ramp dropped down all the way, squishing some of the grass beneath it, and Scott made his feet move up it. He could do this. He had made it through last year with being around strangers, with experiencing new things. So he could do thi- he came up short at just the amount of people in the space he deemed too little for that amount of people. His heart jumped into his throat and he bit down on his tongue when a neigh threatened to escape. Maybe he still had time to turn around and run, tail totally between his legs, because he looked like the oldest one here, and he couldn't avoid conversation in this space, and- the ramp was closing back up. And he had just been standing there, looking around with slightly widened eyes. So much for a first impression, ya dimwit. Lookin' like ya ain't got the sense God gave a goose.
Fingers, slightly shaking, gripped the handle of his suitcase tighter, and he had to fight off a shudder, a familiar zing going across his body. No, he wasn't going to shift now, he had to prevent shifting now. Okay, find an open seat, that was the first step. He noticed someone with actual wings and his eyes briefly lingered but then he felt another shudder threatening to rip through him, his stomach twisting from nerves and an impending shift. Thankfully, someone distracted him. The kid had brown hair and striking blue eyes. "Hey, cowboy, come sit with us!" he shouted with obvious glee, and okay, the distraction wasn't helping his nerves.
But to not keep standing there like a fool, he moved forward, his boots gently thumping on the floor of the Quinjet. Next to the blue-eyed kid that was practically vibrating, all bright eyes and big grins, was another kid. He looked a little older than the excitable kid, probably from the scruff on his face that made him look more mature. He had dirty blonde hair, and eyes that were blue, too; Scott quickly looked away as he sat one seat away from the, honestly, attractive blonde-haired-blue-eyed guy. He wasn't without manners, though. Just because he grew up isolated on a ranch and spent only a year with people his age or older, didn't mean he wasn't taught to be kind. He cleared his throat a little, kicking his suitcase under his seat and looking over at the excited kid who was grinning at him in a weird way and the handsome blonde kid. "Howdy." his voice roughened, deep, from how often he switched between human and animal tongue having affected it; he had, without realizing it, reached up and grabbed the brim of his hat, tilting it in their direction. He almost cringed at how Southern he sounded and behaved, his cheeks taking on a darker hue as he ducked his head, the brim of his hat hiding the top half of his face.
Nick Beaumont-Moore
Nick had seemed like an excitable puppy before Garret had came onto the Quinjet, but now it was like he came to life, somehow, even more, bigger grins, brighter eyes. He owed a lot to Garret, more than he could ever give back to the other young man. He just adored Garret like nothing else in this world... expect maybe Cap but that was besides the point. Garret was his best friend, his partner in crime, his sidekick that wasn't really a sidekick. But most of all, Garret was his brother, a presence there that Nick had needed, that not even Cap could have given him. Without Garret, Nick was positive he'd be a completely different person. He didn't even notice how they might come off as anything other than brothers, because he was used to sprawling himself across Garret's lap, or leaning against him when standing, or grabbing his hand to drag him somewhere. They both were quite the tactile creatures and it showed very often. Nick didn't even think of what the others might possibly see them as, or just think about them overall. Even if he had, he wouldn't had cared, because Garret and him had a relationship that went beyond brothers but didn't pass into the territory of lovers.
He laughed loudly, probably too loudly, at Garrent's reply in French to him talking about Damon. Poor guy, Nick was never not going to stop paying attention to him, it seemed. Nick was a pretty surprisingly observant guy, even if his thoughts got away from him more often than not. So, he noticed the embarrassed blush slowly encasing Garret's face and had to bite down on his bottom lip hard to not point it out in a teasing fashion. "Aw, gaining Cap's manners? How patriotic of you," he teased quietly to Garret, so only he heard; which was easy, since he was so close to him without any shits given. His head snapped towards Rain when he heard she could run really fast. Like The Flash. Oh, The Flash! Another hero Nick wanted to meet. What the Hell was up with the abundance of heroes in the world, anwyay? Like, in a few hundred years, was the world just gonna be full with heroes and there would be no crime, just peace and a lot of bored superheroes unsure of what to do with their lives? They could make a superhero Olympics! Now that sounded fun. Shit, Nick wouldn't be alive in a few hundred years, so he was going to miss out. Unless he was reincarnated. But, then, he wouldn't remember his genius right now and that'd suck. But, he wouldn't know he couldn't remember his genius right now and so he wouldn't know it'd suck.
What took him out of his train of thought, was that kid, Will, recognizing Garret. He blinked a little over at the kid, trying to rack his brain on if he had possibly seen Will around the Tower, and hadn't acknowledged it (couldn't had forgotten, he never forgot, which was a blessing and a curse, but he can, in his own way, forget things by not acknowledging them or having them shoved so far back into his mind, it took a while to recall). He couldn't recall ever seeing Will (he had lived in the Tower for a year, a great year, one of the best years of his life for sure- concentrate) but Will called Tony uncle Stark so what was Nick missing? Nick didn't like missing things. He never missed bits of information and now he was definitely a little bothered he was missing something that had happened in the Tower. By the time he was working up to saying something, after shuffling through all those thoughts and getting to the part of his brain that helped him speak, the kid was going on a ramble about spies. Nick glanced at Garret, knowing how he felt about being here. He didn't want to be tied in to anything or anyone at the Tower, because he wanted to prove himself here, that he could do this without powers, and not seem like he had an advantage above everyone else from knowing any Avengers.
After the kid claimed top bunk - damnit, if I get roomed with him, I'm totally stealing it! - he grinned wide. " Or Uncle Tony just really likes this face!" he said, patting Garret's cheek, and then ruffling his hair playfully before turning his attention back to the kid. Seriously, that was his name for Will - the kid. He shall forever be called the kid in Nick's head... and in his words, because Nick didn't care. "If Garret was a spy, he'd make an amazing one! Oh!" Nick gasped, breaking away from Garret's hold, hopping off of his lap, and standing up. He changed the subject, which wasn't anything new for him, but it also took the attention off of Garret. "I forgot to finish explaining my powers! Okay, so like-" the ramp began to lower itself, and Nick took notice, since light flooded into the space, and he threw his hands up as another attractive human being came aboard. He was totally going to continue, but then she introduced herself, and how could Nick ignore a pretty lady introducing herself? It'd be so rude if he didn't say something! (Even if it seemed like the young woman was addressing the other two women instead of all the boys in here). "Je suis Nick! Jen, un autre beau visage à ajouter à cette ligne d'beaux visages, comment merveilleux!" he flashed a toothy grin over at her and said, thankfully in English this time, "So lovely to meet another lovely person!" he gave a dramatic bow her way, because it was Nick, and Nick was dramatic more often than not. "We were discussing our powers! So, like, finally gonna get around to telling mine! I mean, you guys will see it later- focus, Nick, focus! So, these markings on my arms are not tattoos, even though they totally look like it, right?" he stuck both his arms out, twisting and turning them how far they could go, staring at his own black, swirling markings.
"I can actually make 'em manifest! Like, to use as whips... like Indiana Jones. Feel free to call me Indy." he winked at no one in particular, just the general direction of everyone, because everyone was attractive, and Nick liked attractive things. "There's other crap I can do, too, but who wants to hear the boring details!? When you can just see it later!" again, he gave another dramatic bow, and went to take his seat back on Garret's lap, because he could when the Quinjet was landing softly again. Fast little fucker, this thing was, and Nick loved her so, so much. He might want to marry her. Oh! But he couldn't, because then he might cheat on her with the helicarrier! Such two beautiful ladies, how could he ever choose? He hadn't even seen the helicarrier yet. He was so excited to die over her. The ramp had finished dropping and Nick stopped settling down onto Garret when he saw a cowboy walk on board. Nick didn't think he had ever moved so fast before in his life, hopping off of Garret's lap and landing beside him with a thud that sounded slightly painful, and it was, and nudging Garret hard in the ribs with his elbow. "It's an actual cowboy, dude!!!!" he whispered excitedly, and loudly, in his ear, grabbing Garret's arm and shaking it before letting it go. Cowboy didn't look too happy, though. More so, he looked like he was ready to bolt when he saw everyone. Aw, poor cowboy was nervous! So, Nick took it upon himself to be the helpful young man that he was, and shouted out, "Hey, cowboy, come sit with us!"
Whoa, it worked! Cowboy came over and sat a seat away from Garret, those brown, obviously loved cowboy boots kicking his suitcase under the seat, before he looked over at them. Holy crap. Nick thought, because this man was all cowboy, and Nick couldn't be more excited for Garret. He didn't only dress like a cowboy, he looked like one, with the tanned skin, sun lines on his face, and the broad shoulders. Nick might be in-love with him. But not really, he wouldn't do that to Garret, who had a strange thing for old Westerns and Clint Eastwood. Who the Hell knew fate would actually come along? It didn't go unnoticed by Nick, since he had a focus on the cowboy he rarely showed, that the cowboy's eyes lingered on Garret, flickering over his face, and oh-ho, that was interesting. Something Nick wouldn't be shoving to the back of his head.
"Howdy." he spoke. He spoke in the most country way ever, with a voice so deep and rough, it was made gravelly, and Nick's insides melted. He looked around at everyone else in the Quinjet, wondering if they were witnessing this amazing thing unfolding as well. A cowboy! A real cowboy! Like, Nick had known people in the South still had ranches and farms, dressed all out, spoke just like cowboys would, but knowing about it and then seeing it were two different things. Nick had grown up in a city, then moved to another city. He hadn't even stepped foot anywhere near a rural place before. So, okay, Nick was a little dazzled by seeing someone that was so opposite what he knew, that was so different, even spoke different. Sure, there were others like that on here too, but nobody was dressed like a fucking cowboy okay. Nick was overreacting, but he overreacted about everything. First it had been Damon's wings that had him going, then Garret, and now it was a cowboy. Nick was very rarely bored with how easily his attention was snagged and kept by any and everything.
"Je suis Nick! Jen, un autre beau visage à ajouter à cette ligne d'beaux visages, comment merveilleux!
I am Nick! Jen, another beautiful face to add to this line up of beautiful faces, how wonderful! | Scott Clinton Westwood
Alias/Codename:
Currently doesn’t have one.
Age:
21.
Country of origin:
The good ol' United States of 'Murica (Corpus Christi, TX).
Basic appearance:
Scott is the typical Texan farm boy. He certainly fits the TX stereotype, at least. Standing at 5’11, and weighing roughly about 190 from muscle alone, he has a body that obviously started hard labour from a young age. He is very fit, strong arms from throwing around bales of hay and lifting up the stubborn pigs who wouldn’t listen and get in their pen; muscled legs from all the standing, walking, and plenty of running he has engaged in over the years (most of the running was not by his own choice, his animals just love to screw with him, it seemed); core strength probably the weakest part of his body, but it wasn’t that weak. His complexion is tan, tan, tan. All golden skin, practically permanent since he spent literally every day outside (even on the days he was sick, much to his mother’s chagrin). Not only does Scott have a body to look at, but he has a face worth looking at to boot.
Dirty blonde hair on the darker side, always chopped shorter in the back and on the sides, with his bangs always being pushed back by his fingers. Sometimes, they fall across his forehead, sitting above his eyes, but usually, they listen and stay in place. Gray-blue eyes, set under thinner eyebrows that are more of a dark brown rather than a dirty blonde. Sometimes, he might sport scruff, coming in the color of hair. From spending many hours in the sun, he has noticeable laugh lines around his eyes, most noticeable when he, of course, smiles or squints. Another thing to take note of when he’s smiling wide enough, is that he has slight dimples. With a straight nose and pink cupid’s lips, and the typical fashion of plaid, jeans, big belt buckles, boots, and cowboy hats, Scott makes for one handsome rancher.
Costume:
Currently doesn’t have one of these either.
Skills:
Shooting:
There ain’t much to do on a ranch smackdab in the middle of nowhere. ‘Specially when you aren’t allowed to go very many places. Shooting at cans, trees, fence posts, anything that wasn’t living and breathing, was one of the few things Scott had to do. Scott isn’t anywhere near expert with shooting, though he isn’t a beginner either since he started so young, and he hasn’t used an array of guns. The only guns he has shot is his trusty old semi-auto rifle and a semi-auto pistol. His mother kept them in the house for safety purposes but Scott always made good use of them while taking good care of them too.
Horseback-riding:
Can’t really be surprised by this one considering he’s a country boy who grew up on a ranch.
Mechanical:
Scott knows how to drive tractors and yes, the big kinds. Kind of gotta know how to to take proper care of the ranch. He also knows how to tend to these big engines, learning from his Uncle, and can use just about any tool he picks up.
Hard-working:
Scott was up at the ass crack of dawn every day for nearly his whole life to tend to the ranch. He is very hard-working, and whenever a task is given to him, he is very driven and focused on it. He doesn’t give up easily and isn’t used to failure… at all.
Playing the acoustic/songwriting:
Not very helpful when it comes to crime-fighting or whatever, but it’s a nice thing to note.
Tracking:
Be it animals or people, he’s pretty damn skilled at tracking things, and finding them (came from when the damn cows wouldn’t listen to him and they’d get out and go wherever they pleased… which was more often than he’d like to admit).
Reading/writing:
Again, middle of nowhere ranch, not much to do. So, he took up the hobby of reading and writing, and can read pretty damn quickly, and piece together some pretty impressive sentences.
Powers:
Shapeshifting:
Not as cool as it sounds. Scott can only shapeshift into animals. The twist? He can only shapeshift into animals he has touched before. So, he very well can’t shapeshift into a T-rex, nor a tiger unless he wants to get into a literal cat fight afterward.
Setbacks:
- It isn’t a painless process. It takes time for his body to adjust literally morphing into another being. It varies between animals, how long the intense pain lasts, and how often he shifts into that animal. It sounds pretty painful too. It isn’t pleasant to be around when he’s shifting, the sounds never go away, considering his body is either shrinking or growing larger. The pain doesn’t really go away either; for animals he has been changing into for years, it’s easier, less painful during the shifting process, but he still suffers from sore muscles, but they’re a sore like after a tough workout, nothing too painful or crippling. The time it takes to shift depends on how long he has been shifting into that animal; the first few times shifting, the process could take a few minutes. But with shifts his body is adjusted too, it can happen fairly quickly, almost in a black of an eye.
- Ripping/shedding clothes. Clothes do not shift with him so… expect to see naked Scott at some point in the future. Maybe a suit can be designed that somehow shifts with him or at least lets him shed it quickly so he has something to put on after changing back. Depending on the size of the animal, his clothes might simply just fall to the ground, but he has ripped plenty of clothes by accident.
- It’s hard to control. Emotions drive his power. He has to be very careful about controlling his reactions to things, so he might come off very indifferent, though that’s only because he doesn’t want to get overly excited and suddenly be a dog, or he doesn’t want to become angry and suddenly become a horse bent on kicking someone. If he gets overly emotional, he has to fight the urge to shift which is very hard, and he’s still, to this day, learning to control that. He also still has an issue with touching animals with his bare hands; he will shift into the animal immediately if he touches them with his bare hand, because he honestly doesn’t know how to get a grasp on his power. He can immediately shift back to his human form, but it’s sort of embarrassing since he’s going to be as naked as the day he was born. He can control it better with animals he has shift into more, but for newer ones? Nah.
- Usually lasting a few hours after shifting back from an animal, Scott will eat the diet of that animal, and he will also have the traits of that animal. For example, if he shifts back from a horse, he might be bent on eating sugar cubes and running around a large area. He can control this… to a point. The diet, not so much. Shifting takes a lot of energy, and he almost always has to eat after. As for the traits… those he tries really hard to prevent, because it’s always embarrassing, but some things are bound to slip through and make for a very red-faced Scott.
Ability to talk to animals:
This one doesn’t require touching the animal but rather, hearing them. He can’t talk in the human language, of course, he has to talk to them in their language, hence him having to hear an animal be talkative first. His vocal chords are unlike a normal human’s and they somehow manage to mimic any animal sound so he can communicate with them. Maybe they creepily shift inside his body, who knows.
Setbacks:
- He might have a sore throat depending on what animal talk he’s using. Some of them really hurt his throat and sometimes, he has to take a break from talking in any form for a few hours after. So thus, for some animal-talking, he might have to keep it short.
- Depending on the animal, and how smart they are... it can be hard to talk to some. Really hard. Some, he can't talk too, because they might have a one track mind, and won't even acknowledge him. Some can hold a steady conversation before going off about something else (probably food). But he has also found some that can hold a conversation, most of his livestock could, and those are, of course, the most engaging.
- He finds this one as a personal setback: he often catches himself subconsciously making animal noises in reply to things going on around him. It has made some people stare, that’s for sure.
List of animals he can shift into:
The first animal he touches, is how he’ll always look when shifting into that animal in the future, and as for different breeds of animals, he has to touch the specific breed to be able to shift into that one.
Cow/Bull.
Pig.
Hen/Rooster.
Crow.
Armadillo.
Skunk (this… this was a big regret once he shifted back and the skunk he had touched hadn’t left and wouldn’t listen to reason).
History:
Westwood Ranch was situated right on the edge of Corpus Christi, a modest ranch with a span of a thousand acres, all green with scattered trees, a fair-sized pasture, and a big, beautiful farm house with an equally big and beautiful barn and stable. Betty Westwood ran the ranch, a fierce and strong single mother to Scott, alongside her older brother, and Scott’s uncle, Hunter Westwood. Their next door neighbor - King Ranch. King Ranch was one of the largest ranches in the world, sitting pretty on 185,000 acres. For the most part, it looked as if neither ranches bothered the other, not even to offer help or possibly trade. That didn’t mean it was all sunshine and happiness on Westwood Ranch, however. Naturally, Scott grew up in the thick of the ranch, and was home-schooled from the get-go. Once he was old enough to handle chores and responsibility, Uncle Hunter would have him up at the ass crack of dawn tending to the ranch, till everything was done no matter what time it was. The only breaks he would get were to do homework and eat. Betty and Uncle Hunter told him it was how they grew up, and so Scott would grow up the same.
For a while, everything was normal. Betty was his teacher, and the only thing he was above in was reading, he gained his mother’s hard-working trait, and Uncle Hunter was not only teaching him the way of ranch life, but also letting him try his hand at shooting their rifle and pistol and showing him how to track, to watch out for any coyotes or other predators roaming too close. Uncle Hunter had playfully nudged him while showing him how to track and said, “and maybe for one day when you gotta hunt down a person like a secret spy.” the idea sounded appealing to a young, hyperactive boy. Betty helped with the ranch when she found the time, but she also worked somewhere in the city, as far as Scott knew, some desk job. She hated the job but it paid well, and the ranch could use all the money it could get it. Little Scott didn’t know of the financial woes the ranch was experiencing and was happy to just work hard like his father figure and mother, and to be with the animals. It went unnoticed for some time but both Betty and Hunter began to notice the almost eerie connection Scott had with all the animals on the farm. Primarily they noticed how the animals reacted to him, and he them. For Hunter and Betty, the chickens fled, but for Scott, they stayed near and even let the young boy gently pat their heads or backs. For Hunter and Betty, the cows shifted away when being milked, and sometimes put up a fuss. But if Scott was near, the cows would be calm, and were always pushing their noses against Scott in something that could be considered a playful fashion. For Hunter and Betty, the horses were good, tamed, but sometimes, a couple would bite and refuse to be brushed down. But, again, for Scott, all five of their horses were the most tamed, sweet things in the world, and would always dip their heads so young Scott could pat at them.
It didn’t cause any problems, actually it helped a lot, so they didn’t address it. When Scott would sometimes mimic an animal noise, they didn’t address it, since Scott spent so much time around them to begin with and he was a kid. What did cause problems was whenever they would sell livestock for much needed money, one or two cows here, maybe a pig there, and Scott would cry for hours over the loss. But at the age of nine, things got weirder, because he began to very frequently address the animals in what seemed like their own tongue, and the animals would seemingly reply. It was like he was having a conversation with them and Betty was watching this development from afar.
One night when he had barked at his childhood dog and the dog jumped up and down and barked back, Betty had finally asked her son if he could talk to animals. Joking or no, Scott beamed and said he could, that they were his friends, and the chickens wanted a bigger coop. Betty had simply hummed in acknowledgement and thought. She told Hunter about it, who simply shrugged and said “kids will be kids; he probably wants the coop to be bigger ‘cause he’s havin’ problems squeezin’ his growin’ ass in there with the damn birds.” At age 11, was when Scott’s world was officially tipped upside down. He had been playing with his childhood dog, who had already been middle-aged when he was a baby, so was moving a lot slower and sluggish these days, when he was in sudden agonizing pain, his body feeling like it was on fire. He had been far away from the house, having been playing with his Sheltie inside the large expanse of the pasture, and so by the time he was found since he had been screaming, what Betty and Hunter found was not only Scott’s Sheltie, but another Sheltie there, but more youthful. Betty and Hunter were in amazement when the strange, young Sheltie began to whimper and twitch, body curling in on itself. All Betty and Hunter could do was watch as fur gave away to skin, muzzle reared back into a nose and mouth, ears sunk down and hair formed, and then they were looking at a shaking and crying Scott laying on the ground.
Betty and Hunter easily accepted him and tried to help him come to terms with his new ability. Uncle Hunter was the most helpful, always ruffling Scott’s hair while he was still recovering from the shock and taking a break of doing work on the ranch, and saying something like, “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll do somethin’ really cool with this ability, Scotty!” it gave Scott hope that maybe he would do something good with this ability one day. Betty had to keep working, but each time she came home, she shot off questions at Scott, asking if he shifted again, how he felt, how it felt. These questions were becoming common practice and one night, Scott had heard Uncle Hunter angrily whispering at Betty to “back off, this is hard ‘nough. He’s just a kid, Betty, ‘member?!” Betty had made a slight noise of acknowledgement and of course, Scott didn’t ask what that was all about. When Scott got back to working about a week later, his second shift happened in the stables. He had just gotten out there, rays of sun barely stretching along the dark sky, Uncle Hunter tending to the chicken coop, and reached out to touch one of the horses. The same thing happened as did with his Sheltie; horrible, unbearable pain then he was a horse, and that was how he was found once again. When he had shifted back, tattered clothes around him and shaking and crying, Betty had hugged him and said, “don’t worry, you’re gonna be so strong one day and be able to handle it, ‘kay?” Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to keep this up, but Uncle Hunter kept feeding him words of encouragement, telling him he was special and he was going to go to good places because of his “gift.” His mother, on the other hand, was more bent on asking questions about it, and even asked if he wanted to test a theory out. Scott was a naturally curious person and so he agreed.
Betty must of ran the idea by Uncle Hunter, because Scott overheard them fighting while he was tucked up in the corner of their big comfy couch with his nose in a book. His pet parakeet at the time, sadly she passed away later on and Scott had cried plenty, had even gotten quiet when the heated words drifted into the living room. Uncle Hunter didn’t want Scott pushing himself, or doing things he didn’t want too. Betty claimed Scott knew his limits and would tell them. After more heated words that were hushed so Scott couldn’t make them out, Betty had asked Scott to come outside, and so he followed his mother and father figure out. Uncle Hunter had been tense and unhappy-looking, while Betty had been all smiles and bright eyes, excitement. Betty had asked Scott to try and think of an animal that wasn’t on the farm. And to try to shift into it. Scott hadn’t been sure he wanted to go through the pain, and he voiced his concern. But Betty had shushed him and said he’d get used to it, while Uncle Hunter had stepped up and said Scott didn’t have too. But, Scott had wanted to try for his mother, and so he totally tried a T-rex and the most that had given him was a headache from thinking so damn hard. Betty had mm’d when he said he couldn’t shift into the dinosaur and took his little hand, bringing him to the chicken coop. Betty had gotten Scott to touch a chicken and it happened, his third shift. Just as painful as the first two, and after he shifted back from a chicken, he was again a shaking and sobbing mess from the shock. Betty had hugged him tight and said her theory panned out. If he touched an animal with his bare hand, he became that animal. It led him to having to wear gloves around the farm. Uncle Hunter had been the one who whisked Scott inside and wrapped him up in blankets and gave him hot tea. Uncle Hunter had smoothed Scott’s bangs back from his sweaty forehead and told him, “If you don’t want to use your powers anymore, you ain’t gotta, you understand? No matter what mom says.” Scott had nodded, rejected his tea, and proceeded to sleep for many hours.
He hadn’t stopped using his power. Uncle Hunter had been a support beam for him during it all, during him adjusting to the power, learning about it, discovering new things. He had still helped Scott do normal kid things during it all, played games with him, helped him write weird short stories, watched stupid cartoons with him. Betty, well, every time she had came from work, she had new questions, new theories. But then after getting all the answers from Scott, she’d kiss his forehead and tell him he was so special and wonderful, and he was going to do great and amazing things one day. Scott had loved both his Uncle and mother equally, and he had been glad they both believed in him. By the age of fourteen, the shifts to all the ranch animals were still painful, but to the point he could handle it, and he had been often shifting and unshifting, getting practice in. But even with the ability, Uncle Hunter had encouraged finding hobbies; Uncle Hunter had kept training him with the guns and in tracking. At fifteen, Uncle Hunter had given him an acoustic guitar, telling him with a grin “women love a country boy who can play guitar.” Scott hadn’t really met anyone else but Uncle Hunter and his mom. They sometimes brought him out but that was it. So far, how he knew anything about kids his age had been from the TV and books. But, he had still learned the guitar, enjoying it more than he had expected, and with that came him writing songs. Scott had been as happy as a boy with strange powers and no friends his age could be. The only really bad thing that had happened during the year he was fifteen had been when his childhood dog passed away. He had cried for days and with that overwhelming emotion, it hadn’t been uncommon to find him in his Sheltie form, laying in his late dog’s doggie bed and whimpering.
Even with the animals, a lot of them being his friends, and his Uncle and mother, he had still felt lonely. He had wanted human interaction with people his age. He had seen it from afar, when he went to the city with Uncle Hunter to get supplies or eat out for once, or his mother would take him to the store for grocery shopping. He had seen it on TV, or read it in books. He had wanted friendships with people but when he brought it up to Betty, she had simply said because of his power, it wasn’t safe for him to be around other people but them. He had asked Uncle Hunter if he could start going to public school, whining in the back of his throat and begging with big, tearful eyes, and Uncle Hunter had grabbed his shoulder and, with a sad smile, said, “Maybe next year, bud, ‘kay?” Next year came and he got the same answer, Uncle Hunter looking even more pained to say it. At this point, Scott was sixteen, growing into his own, and he hadn’t been one to keep his mouth shut or hold back. So, he had demanded why, why couldn’t he make his own choice to start attending high school and meet new people? Uncle Hunter hadn’t answered for a long time, going back to grooming down the horse Scott could shift into, a beautiful quarter horse, before sighing and finally answering him. Scott hadn’t liked the answer. Uncle Hunter simply said, “I really do believe you can be someone later but you… you aren’t ready to be around others. You can’t control your power well ‘nough. What happens if a girl comes up to ya and smiles? Or a cute boy?” he had shot Scott a look and said, “I see the way ya drool over that one dark-haired fella from that weird train movie with all the snow, I ain’t blind and I ain’t bothered. But what, you gonna shift into that mangy stray cat you keep feedin’ scraps too?” Scott hadn’t said anything, instead turning on his heel and stomping off with a huff that sounded more like a horse whinny but he wouldn’t admit to it.
He hadn’t wanted to accept his fate but… he also wasn’t going to go behind Uncle Hunter’s or Betty’s back. Because Scott wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t the smartest person around but he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He had understood their concerns, and he had also understood that people wouldn’t take well to his power like they would. He’d accept it but he didn’t have to like it. Time kept going, and it was the same old, same old. Help on the ranch, walk the acres of the ranch and try to convince strange animals to let him touch them (almost always, he was basically told to fuck off, but some were nice), screw with his animals for his own laughs (his laugh had been cut off the one time he was messing with Moo Moo, his favorite (don’t tell the others) cow; he couldn’t even remember what he had said and did, but he had been sitting on a stool beside her, and so he had a bruise in the shape of her hoof on his side, right below his ribs, for about two weeks. There were also other times the animals spited him but that was part of the fun), practice shooting, play some songs for Betty and Uncle Hunter (they claimed he could sing, but he didn’t hear it), read, read, read, ride the couple horses that enjoyed it to keep them happy, write songs and short stories for his own amusement, aaaaand repeat. Life was simple and maybe he could like it, if he hadn’t felt like he was missing out on something from his lack of a social circle.
Twenty had been the age things flipped upside down. He’d rather experience his first shifting three times over and then some than the pain of that whole year. Betty died. She had worked a desk job at a law firm. Supposedly, one of the lawyers lost a case, the person was very angry, and shot the place up, killing his mother. Scott couldn’t believe it when Uncle Hunter told him. He had felt like he was in a haze. No Betty to come home and pester him over his ability, ask him a million questions, then hug him and kiss his temple and tell him how special and important he was. No Betty to push him to use his ability, to fine tune it, to perfect it because she had told him that was important, it was important he discovered his true potential, that she wanted him to feel good about himself. No Betty to roll her brown eyes (eyes so unlike his own but the one time he had asked after his father, Betty had up and left the room without a word, and Uncle Hunter had said it was a “sensitive subject, sorry, bud.”), and shove a TV dinner in his arms with a rose eyebrow when he whined about being hungry. No mom. Scott hadn’t believed it until Uncle Hunter and him were at the funeral home, getting her cremated because it had been cheaper and quicker. He had barely held it together in time for Uncle Hunter to get him home, so he could rip out of his clothes as he shifted into his Sheltie form, and had laid in the horse stables for hours, making no sound and staring off blankly, ignoring the horses asking what was wrong.
The very next day had brought more pain. Uncle Hunter had approached him while Scott was tending to the horses and said he was selling the ranch to the current owner of King Ranch, because they had wanted to expand out this way anyway, and they were in the way. It had taken a while for Uncle Hunter to talk him out of his horse form, and to convince Scott to “not kick me in the nuts, please, hear me out!” Scott had been angry, and hurt, but Uncle Hunter told him they couldn’t afford the ranch at this rate. Scott had been almost ready to calm down because Uncle Hunter hadn’t wanted to leave but then - Uncle Hunter informed him he had gotten him a nice place set up in the city, he had some money for him, and he was sure with Scott’s hard-working drive and fit body, he could secure a job fairly quickly. Scott had exploded again, but this time in angry snarls and biting words, barely containing bursting into something as his body was wracked with hard shudders. He had told Uncle Hunter to give him the rent money for the apartment, the money he had now, and he would figure out a way to keep the ranch afloat on his own and without Uncle Hunter’s help. Uncle Hunter had said it wouldn’t be enough money to tend to the bills and animals, and that Scott would have to work multiple jobs to keep paying for the ranch. Scott had been willing to do any type of work to keep his ranch, his animals, his friends, but Uncle Hunter had dropped the bomb: he had already signed the ranch over and it was no longer theirs, and it would be impossible to buy back now. Everything Scott had known, everything he had grown up around, everything he literally lived and breathed, gone, in just two days. In a practical instant. Scott hadn’t even been angry anymore. He had just been sad.
Uncle Hunter had said he would put everything in the house in storage. He did. He had given Scott the address to the storage place and an extra key so he could access it whenever he wanted. He had only went once, to get a couple of pocket-sized family photos, needing something to remind him of the life that had been so suddenly ripped from him. He had let Uncle Hunter help him settle into the new apartment, into the city. The only thing he hadn’t let Uncle Hunter help him with was his goodbyes to his animals. It had been long, and drawn-out, and painful. Maybe more painful than his first few shifts. No one had been happy that day. After Scott had let Uncle Hunter see him to the apartment, Scott had told him to never contact him again, and slammed the door in his face. He had hated doing it but he had never felt such anger, or betrayal, before. For roughly the rest of the year, he had struggled to secure a place in society, and had barely managed. The money Uncle Hunter had provided him with didn’t last that long, and so he had gotten a shitty factory job, something he hated. He hated all the people, the loud noises, how he couldn’t look up at night and see the stars because of all the light pollution. He had wanted to run away, back to the ranch that was no longer Westwood Ranch. He could, slip in as an animal, visit, check up. It had struck him hard one night and he did it. Just one last time, just to see the house, his animals, the pasture. Just one last time.
He wished he hadn’t. King Ranch had cleaned up quickly. It had been all gone. The house, the barn, the pasture, the stable. All wiped away, to expand the King Ranch, to build up more pastures for separated livestock. He hadn’t even known where his animals were and he dragged himself back to his apartment, in the horrible, loud, and too bright city. As months kept going, he had been having troubles with controlling his ability, and he had more than once let animal noises slip around his co-workers. Scott did try, he talked to some of his co-workers, had to talk to his bosses, but he still struggled to find a footing. It hadn’t been like talking to Betty or Uncle Hunter, words flowing easily between them. He had been struggling. He had been at his wit’s end, considering between going to King Ranch himself, throwing himself at the feet of the owner and begging for a place to work, begging to see his animals because he would be able to tell which were his, or just disappearing, be it from becoming some stray animal and slinking off into the night, or just into nothingness. But, before he could really dip over an edge that he hadn’t been entirely sure where it would lead him, he had received a letter in the mail. Inviting him to the Avengers Academy. He had, of course, found it odd he had gotten a letter requesting him but… maybe, just maybe, this was what he needed. Maybe this was what his Uncle Hunter had meant when he said he could do good things, that he could be something. Either way, Scott felt like he had nothing to lose, so he accepted.
Initial observation report:
Subject purposefully comes off as indifferent because when he experiences bouts of strong emotion, he struggles to control his ability. Subject also appears to be very hard-working, listens well, but lacks social skills and struggles to communicate with others.
Training regimen/expertise:
- Covert Ops and Espionage coupled with Infiltration Training - subject has potential to be fine tuned to be able to slip in and out of places without notice.
- Firearms Training - subject has some experience in firearms and can benefit from more.
- Basic Combat Training - subject has no prior experience in fighting whatsoever and has never engaged in it before.
Potential outlook:
If subject can learn to control his ability, he could be a useful asset when it comes to going incognito.
Best case scenario:
Subject learns to control his ability when experiencing intense emotion, and becomes useful in undercover missions.
Worst case scenario:
Subject simply cannot grasp control of his ability, and does not work out. |
44,824 | 1,220 | 19 | 1,552 | 2,234 | Angel di Diavolo
Watching on at the excited French exchange going on with a grin, Angel tried to pick up on what they were saying - but alas, for all the similarities between Italian and French, Nick and the newcomer were going too fast for her. At their interactions with one another, her first assumption was perhaps boyfriends? But as they continued talking, Angel could see something more than that - platonic, certainly, but stronger than some dumb guy crush too. They didn't look close enough to be brothers, but they could have easily passed as them, in her opinion.
As for Garret, their newcomer, she scanned his face, momentarily confused. Had she seen him before? There was something familiar about him - his face, his voice.
Pausing in her racking of her brains as Rain began speaking, Angel's smile returned as the other girl mentioned what her powers were.
"Super speed?! È fantastico! I'd love to have something like that - all I get is sparky fingers that only work how I want maybe two times out of five." Said with a jokingly tired sigh, her eyes then darting back to Will as the motormouth kicked off again. Sheesh, did the kid never shut up?
Judging by what Will blurted out with, things clicked into place in her memory. She had seen Garret before! At the Avenger's tower, when she'd been there last week. They'd been nice enough to let her stay until everything was settled with Avenger's academy - besides, she hadn't really been in a good state to travel anywhere. Just getting to the damn tower in the first place had been hell - Angel had been scared witless that she was going to pass out or something again in the middle of flying. Anyway, she'd briefly seen him - either heard his voice in the distance, saw him with either Black Widow or Hawkeye, but never had any proper contact with him. Deciding that now wouldn't be the time to bring it up - Angel instead turned her attention to yet another girl boarding the jet. Upon hearing her talk, Angel was astounded to realise what country they'd landed in - did they really just cross the Atlantic in a manner of minutes?
"This jet is better than I thought - doesn't just look good, it is good. I wonder what kind of firepower it has?" The thought was an exciting one - although she didn't use them herself, Angel enjoyed a good gun. Hell, she admired any kind of sexy looking machinery - especially things like vehicles. this jet, classic cars...Oooh, Harley motorcycles. Goddamn.
During her swift hello to Jen, and then a content daydream about motorbikes or taking this jet for a joyride, yet another passenger boarded. Looks like they were back in the states, if one were to assume from the guy's outfit and accent. In fact, this had been the first cowboy Angel had met. Sure, she'd seen plenty of Texan barons that her father mingled with, all of them wearing those stupid white suits and bolo ties - and awful ten gallon hats - but this guy was a proper cowboy, right down to the boots.
When she was younger, living in Italy, her aunt and uncle had lived out in the countryside, with a gorgeous farm that had horses. A distinct lack of cowboys in Italy, naturally, but the horses were glorious. The amount of times she'd visited as a child just to watch them run free in the fields, or to groom them in the stables, were countless. Yet another thing he missed of her home - and the subtle smell of horses that Scott had brought onboard with him just brought all those memories back.
"Ciao! Nice to have you onboard!" She welcomed him from her seat with a friendly grin, considering the guy looked kind of skittish to be here. Perhaps he was claustrophobic? Or didn't enjoy flying? Whatever it was, she felt the need to try and make him feel somewhat better. He reminded her of her cousin, in a way - he'd practically lived in the stables with damn horses, much to the ire of his parents. Naturally, at that age, he was more of an older brother to her than just extended family. | Full name: Angelique "Angel" di Diavolo
Alias/Codename: Nightingale
Age: 18
Country of origin: Rome, Italy.
Basic appearance: Stands at 5'4 with a curvy, yet slim physique. Her black hair is long and curly, usually worn in the same style most days - unless she can't be bothered with it. She has an undoubtedly pretty face, despite being an unfortunate sufferer of RBF Syndrome, with eyes that are an almost ethereal shade of bright blue; upon using her powers, the entire eye, sclera and all, becomes a shining silvery-blue, that matches the colour of the energy she uses.
Costume: Costume comprises of a lightweight hooded cape, in addition to a mask covering the bottom half of her face. Fortified leather armour pieces sit on top of black lightweight cotton; allowing her some protection without disrupting her speed or dexterity. The light-weight armour pieces sit on her chest and stomach (the latter in the form of a corset); shoulder and elbow guards; gauntlets; knee guards, and her own stolen carbon-fiber boots with installed jet propulsors, reaching her mid-shin. Most of the outfit is in shades of black, dark grey, or dark brown - how else is she to blend with the shadows?
Skills:
Language skills - Fluent in Italian, Latin, Nordic Runes, and Ancient Greek - is still picking up some more complicated terms in Arameic, but can translate the basics. Oh, and she also knows Sindarin and Quenya... because knowing the Elvish languages of Middle Earth is very important to her, okay?
Expert gymnast - whether this is borne from her powers or not, she doesn't know; but boy, can the girl climb. What she lacks in physical strength is made up for in her ability to work her way into the most awkward, high up places. How else is a girl meant to infiltrate shit?
Adept Technological intelligence - knows the basics of hacking, although more specifically doors than actual computers. Can work out a more complicated firewall given enough time, but she certainly doesn't know enough to be considered an expert. Additionally, she's somewhat skilled in robotics, as made obvious by her adaptations to her boots that allow her to fly without needing stabilizers in the palms, like with the Iron Man suits.
Nerd Lord supreme - Will beat your ass when it comes to nerdy trivia. Seriously, she can quote Lord of the Rings down to the Orc screeches, and knows every single time the Wilhelm scream has been used in something.
Did somebody say Thieves Guild? - Not only do her talents lay in infiltration, but Angel has some seriously sticky fingers. She reckons she could steal Nick Fury's eye patch without him noticing. It's not uncommon for some items - mainly junk food - to go missing on the Helicarrier when she's around. Not that anyone can prove anything, that is. Cameras aren't fast enough to notice her slipping her hands into your pockets.
Powers:
Energy Manipulation - this is a very broad and vague term assigned to Angel's powers, as no-one really knows what kind of energy she uses, herself included. Some say it's biological (making her a mutant), while others suggest it's magical; or, the old favourite, some form of radioactivity. As she's never really spent time near a power plant or plutonium rods, and Professor X himself stated she wasn't a mutant, it's a mystery for now. As such, she can summon some type of energy and manipulate it to her will - either in the form of high powered beams to use offensively, or to turn it into a malleable shield. It's kind of tactile in what it can be used as, but it comes at a price. Overuse can lead to a great toll on her own body, weakening the lining of her blood vessels and causing haemorrhaging at various points in her body. Although she hasn't used it often enough to ever cause lasting damage (yet), she's knocked herself out a few times from over-exertion. It leaves behind a killer headache, too.
It's a kinda Magic - Angel enjoys spells - they don't give her annoying nosebleeds or migraines, and there's just so much you can do with it. She also has a real knack at picking things up, without causing many explosions. At this point, she can't do any really powerful, earth-shattering magicks; she's still in the realm of setting fire to shit and maybe throwing a few things like cars or people around. As for magical defence, er... there's defensive spells? Meh - her own shields can handle that. Hopefully...
Angelique was born to a sweet, loving, Italian mother by the name of Vittoria di Diovolo, and - unfortunately - the weasel of a man that is Justin Hammer. As luck would have it, she was born out of wedlock while her father was married to another woman - unbeknownst to Vittoria. Disgusted with his actions, she returned home to Italy, having Angel in Rome and raising her herself. And truly, it was a good life. Vittoria had a large family who, although many were not happy about her having a child out of wedlock, still supported and loved the newest member of their family all the same. She lived there until the age of ten, when the worst thing that could happen to a child did occur - her Mother died.
It something unavoidable - a clot on the brain, giving her a swift, painless, but all the same unexpected death. Angel was inconsolable, and matters were made worse when her Father swept in to take her with him. Being her father - and also could afford better lawyers than her mother's family - meant she could do nothing to try and stay with people who she actually loved. And so began her new life in America, with her turd of a Dad.
He attempted somewhat admirably to gain her affections - what with his marriage having fallen through and no other children - but he did it in all the wrong ways. Firstly, he'd ignored her for her entire life, and then took her away from everything that she knew and loved. He then attempted to simply get her to like him just by buying her things - the best private education, the newest gadget (Unless it was Stark technology, of course), the fanciest brand of clothes, the poshest of meals... ugh. There was love to be found in such materialistic things, and quite frankly, she despised both him, and his work ethic. Justin had one thing on his mind at all times, it seemed - how could he be better than Tony Stark? And well, when that eventually traversed to the realm of villainy, she was less than amused.
This brought forth a rebellious streak in the young girl - along with some mysterious powers.
Roughly a year after the death of her mother, this energy manipulation made itself known. At first it was in small things - like lightbulbs popping when she sneezed or something... when she eventually discovered it was an actual power manifesting, Angel worked as best she could to try and make it go further, without her Father finding out. Thankfully, he was very pre-occupied with his new villainous lifestyle to even notice.
By the time she was fourteen, she had some kind of control over her powers... and she had also picked up quite a few other skills to try and sabotage her Father's work. It started out small - just altering certain documents to see if it would have any effect. It rarely did much other than confuse Hammer, but it certainly made her better at sneaking around, learning to find blind spots in cameras and motion sensors, and some basic hacking and lock-picking skills. Over time, she made her way into the labs of her Father's research facilities, re-wiring and sabotaging the more dangerous looking things, and... acquiring other gadgets. One in particular were carbon-fiber boots; quite stunning things, and obviously modeled on the thrusters on Iron Man's Suit, only far more light-weight. After making a few modifications, she took them for herself - thus beginning her super hero costume. It was around this time that Angel branched out into more solid forms of magic, hoping she could perhaps find out the source of powers by studying it.
When she turned 18, her sabotage became known to Hammer - and unfortunately, his villainous "friends", if you could call them that. Becoming an enemy to AIM, agents of MODOK were sent after her to put her down, and hopefully teach Hammer a lesson. It was here Angel discovered just how useful her powers were, as she blasted the agents to pieces; additionally, finding out the downsides to said powers. After finding safety in nearby woods, she passed out, completely spent after having used up so much of this mysterious energy.
After a day and a half, Angel awoke - with a migraine, blood still trickling lazily from her nose and ears, and a price on her head. After re-gaining her bearings, Angel fled to the safest place she could imagine, a place she knew that heroes stayed that could help her: Avenger's Tower. Thankfully, flying there was the easy part. It was landing that became problematic, with alarms blaring and the Avengers leaping on out with the whole weapons drawn and "Tell us who you are, and who you work for" schpiel. Anyhoo, they were surprisingly kind to her, despite the amount of times Hammer had fucked with the group, Stark in particular. After telling her story, the Avengers helped clean her up, directed her towards the Academy, even ran a few tests for her to see if they could find out what was going on with her wacky powers; they even went as far as to contact Professor X to see if she was a mutant, and that came up with a big ol' nope too. Although they didn't find anything concrete, she was happy for the help given all the same, and was recruited into the Avengers Academy in the next few days.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report: Energy manip. coming from unknown source; potentially magic, must be discovered, along with any dangerous potential. Can control it well to an extent, need to see how far it can go. Picks up spells swiftly, has a natural talent for it despite the amount of electrical appliances she sometimes blows up in the process. Expert at falling off the radar - keeps finding ways into the secure areas and the kitchens.
Training regimen/expertise:
Robotics Class
Infiltration training and simulation
Power Management and Dev. Class
Advanced Mysticism
Potential outlook: Unknown - affiliations with Justin Hammer appear to be sour, if nonexistent, but trust must be gained before deciding if she is truly an ally. If trust is gained, high potential.
Best case scenario: Intelligence gathering and undercover work - could also be useful in offensive capabilities, depending on potential power levels which remain unknown at this time.
Worst case scenario: Team infiltrator, perhaps back-up; depends if powers develop further. Although, penchant for stealing (We suspect, anyway) could make the life of a criminal look quite appealing to her, considering how easy her talents and powers would make that. |
44,825 | 1,220 | 20 | 438 | 562 | Copen glanced down at Damon as he murmured something in that deep, accented voice of his. With English being his own second language, it was slightly difficult to discern just what he was saying sometimes. The most understandable, to him, were English and American accents - English due to his teacher, and American due to television. Thankfully, the majority here spoke fairly well. He turned his attention to Angel as she explained, his blond eyebrows rising in an impressed expression. Granted, he was. She was sort of like a modern-day witch, really. Maybe the stories of old really did have some truth to them. It wasn't completely strange to think that mutants could have existed back then. After all, it turned out that Thor was real... (And to be honest, he had fangirled a fair bit. Along with the professors of mythology in Scandinavia.).
He was relieved that no-one had reacted badly to his explanation, though. He wasn't a criminal - not in the true sense of the word. He hadn't intended to hurt anybody, and he'd barely understood his own powers. But it still ached from deep inside his heart that he had killed someone. Sometimes, he woke up in a cold sweat at 2 in the morning, lost in the memories of that awful day. And he'd swear, and swear again, that nothing like it would ever be allowed to happen again. He would not let it.
Shaken out of his reverie by Nick, he grinned back at the boy. He was speaking French, and it was sort of understandable with his tourist knowledge - something about being a Frenchman, despite the fact that he'd declared himself as Canadian. Huh. Copen wasn't too sure why he was dipping in and out of the language when not everybody understood it, but... Perhaps that was his own quirk. What followed was the arrival of a new guy, and a whole lot more French. Jesus.
The new girl explained her own fast powers, and the blond nodded with a reassuring smile. That was pretty awesome. It was the sort of thing that you could use in everyday life, and couldn't really hurt anybody unintentionally. Will seemed hyped up on caffeine still, and he chuckled at the boy's rapid-fire speaking. Ah, this was going to be an interesting year. A girl entered next, her accent obviously English, and greeted the two girls. Rain answered back with a quiet, 'Hello,' and Copen raised a hand in a wave. "Hey," he greeted her, leaning forward slightly.
It was a short time later that a truly unbelievable event happened. They gained a cowboy. A cowboy, boots and all. The right side of Copen's mouth raised in an amused grin, chuckling softly as the guy took a seat near Garrett. He watched him for a moment, before giving his head a small shake and running a hand through his blond locks. "Hej, Cowboy," he greeted him, loud voice reverberating off the walls of the Quinjet. He seemed almost embarrassed at the tip of his hat - Copen ended up grinning even more. It was sort of endearing, to be honest.
~~~
Rain opened her mouth to reply to Will, but was overrun by his chattermouth. She slowly closed it, giving her head a small shake as he spoke. Her lips had formed an amused little smile, although it was kind-hearted. He was an excitable person and that was all that there was to it. His mind probably worked faster than his mouth. Her costume indeed was not spandex (how embarrassing), but a small blush rose in her cheeks as he commented on how she'd probably look good in it. The girl ducked her head, thankful that he'd moved on to paying other people attention.
Angel's compliment on her powers also made her smile abashedly, before another girl arrived and Rain looked up to say hello. "Hey. I'm Rain," she greeted her quietly, blue eyes taking in the interesting haircut. It was kind of cool. She couldn't help but admire people who had the confidence to pull off styles like that. And then, their next arrival was... a cowboy?
Her eyes went round with amazement.
He even smelled a bit like horses, she noticed, as he walked past her and onto a seat in the same row. Her chin tilted up as she stared for a few moments - before realising just what she was doing, and quickly glancing away. Her pinkness had not receded due to this further embarrassment, and she held her hands in her lap. She wasn't the only one excited, either. "Hi," she squeaked (to her horror) as she glanced sidelong at him again, before determinedly looking at the floor once more. It was still shiny. | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,826 | 1,220 | 21 | 2,683 | 178 | ⌘ ⌘ ⌘
Between everything from being incredibly crowded and the shock of seeing an old friend, the only thing Garret caught onto: that kid could talk for the entirety of this group and then some. Garret narrowed his eyes, letting Nick slide off of him as his eyes roamed Will's face. Everyone around continued speaking, volume a steady beat in his ears. Politeness took over his mind, at this point, even if the look on his face spoke louder than his actual thoughts. Without having accessed the data files on any of his peers (nor wanting to; what was the challenge in reading dossiers? Getting the taste of wine out of your mouth?) Garret relied entirely on his own perception to figure out the people around him. That, of course, wouldn't take a few moments - those things took lengthy amounts of time. However, if Garret learned anything, patience held priority over everything else.
Once everyone pitched down and the Quinjet slowed it's course, Garret tilted his head to observe the kid in front of him. "Stark's got a lot of photos, kiddo," Garret said. His brow arched and he folded his arms over his chest, "You've gotta be more specific." Of course, Garret didn't actually know what Stark held on any of his files; he hadn't taken to Stark like he had any of the other residents of Stark Tower. Didn't mean he didn't like the man, it just meant he didn't find a passion in the things Stark did. And Clint had Lucky, so, that decision had been obvious.
Poised to continue speaking, Garret found himself clamping his mouth shut again at the sight of one of the other passengers staring intently at him. At least she tried to be subtle - Garret didn't appreciate prying, especially when it came in the form of loud yelling. Even though Will's normal voice didn't actually reach a higher decibel than the others, Garret couldn't help but hear a constant crescendo when he opened his mouth. Didn't need to say anything, just needed to part his lips and suddenly white noise. Garret shook his head and returned his focus to the girl, Angel? He didn't feel like asking out of simple embarrassment.
"Do I have something on my... face?" once he noticed her eyes dart to the door as soon as he brought her ogling to attention and he slowly followed. His nostrils flared almost immediately.
Alright, so Clint Eastwood and the original True Grit did absolutely nothing to prepare him for the moment an actual, real life cowboy decided he wanted to kill everyone with his freckled, sun kissed face and a hardy, 'Howdy'-doo. Of course, Nick chose that moment to goad him on and Garret took an elbow to Nick's ribs, hard and relentless. He hissed while Nick beckoned the guy over, "I'm not blind, asswipe-" Garret interrupted himself to say, "Howdee-uh... hi!"
After ten or so breaths and numerous times resisting tucking his knees into himself and laughing all giddy like, Garret turned toward their new arrival. Once Rain introduced herself - sometimes he really wished he could just be an asshole for once, however, he knew Rain didn't deserve that - Garret stuck out his hand, slow, in order to rain himself in, and flicked it up to reveal the red tinged face of their resident cowboy. "I love that accent," Garret offered, soft and almost to himself, "is it Texan? It's gotta be a little to the west of Georgia; that accent's got a Doc Holliday quality to it, ey, Huckleberry?"
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
"You have everything you need?" like any mother still trying to grasp her son leaving the nest, Jane Foster fussed every ever bit of Magnus' she could get her flustered hands on. This happened to be the collar his outfit, tugging the leather toward her in vain. "Are you sure it's a good idea to wear full leather and plate armor on your first day of school - Jesus," Jane said it, finally acknowledged it, "This is your first day of any kind of formal education. You just bypassed twelve entire grades. This should be kindergarten. Oh my God, I'm freaking out. I'm hyperventilating. I don't hyperventilate. I don't panic. I get control of my feelings and... and... and..."
"Whoa, Odinsdottir-in-law is going timber. Catch her, kid! I got the brown bag of shame," Darcy timed her arrival perfectly, said paper bag in her hand. Magnus eyed it wary while he assisted his mother in standing. She shrugged, "I figured she'd go into frantic mom-mode. I've seen this happen before. Granted, I was a baby and it was my own mom, but same difference."
"I don't think that means anything."
"It's a saying, Mags. Look it up," Darcy came with her retort immediately while shoving the paper bag into Jane's chest. Any time she told him to look something up, Darcy usually meant it. Magnus took the words to heart and shifted his mother's weight onto one arm as he fished his phone out. Darcy's eyes followed the gesture and it took a moment before she realized what was happening. "Oh, my God. Don't actually-" her own huff interrupted herself and she took Jane from Magnus arms while she breathed deep, "You're going to be late. I've got Little House on the Prairie."
Magnus narrowed his eyes a second time and he opened his mouth to speak only to be shoved forward. She didn't actually have the strength to move him, but he humored her when she wished to by aggressively physical in her motions. After taking nearly ten minutes to frown down at the both of them, he took Darcy's second 'Shoo' seriously and turned to leave with his shield clasped to his back and his sword sheathed. The rolling bag his mother had stuffed full of an assortment of things, mostly clothes and sentimental objects, clattered down the steps of the RV as he made his way a safe distance from the vacation vehicle turned mobile science lab (that people likely mistook for a meth lab)
To say his mother picked out the rolling bag would have been a misstep. Darcy had picked it out; Jane paid for it. Darcy loved Hello Kitty and he could tell she wanted him to love it too. Either that or she thought a big, tall demigod dragging a sizable Hello Kitty suitcase was hilarious. He assumed the latter held the truth, however, Magnus didn't doubt she also liked it enough to pick it out herself. Lucky for Magnus, he had his father's lack of embarrassment to account for. He didn't mind. He thought it was cute and it served its purpose while benefiting him aesthetically.
So, when the jet finally touched down after Magnus found a stray log to sit upon and fiddle with the suitcase on his lap, he wasn't expecting the door to open to a nearly crowded room of kids. Or. Not kids. They looked too old to be kids but too young to be adults. That baffled him often and Magnus had to shake himself before standing and wheeling his suitcase onto the Quinjet. He stood in the middle of everyone, decked out in his armor with this helmet on tight. He shifted on his feet and secured the belt that held his holstered sword.
Raising a gloved hand, Magnus greeted everyone in his unbelievably deep voice, "Hello." And that's... that's all she wrote. | "I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
- Sylvia Plath
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⟐] F U L L N A M EMagnus Foster
⟐] A L I A SMagni
⟐] A G E21
⟐] C O U N T R Y O F O R I G I NUnited States
⟐] A P P E A R A N C E
Physical Examination of Subject:
(There's an incriminating amount of drool on this clipboard. The good doctor, one of my colleges, can't keep it between his legs apparently. At least this one isn't a minor)
A tall specimen (and a specimen, at that) standing at 6'3" and weighing in a whopping 233 lbs. Musclebound and stunning, practically shining with ethereal light under our godawful fluorescent fixtures. Man is blonde; shaggy hair; shorter on the sides with a floppy top. There's a large dusting of blonde facial hair that covers most of his face. Eyes appear small, shrewd with a penchant of looking through people and objects than at them. They seem narrowed perpetually, slanted toward the nose with a curious tilt. Branching from his straight nose, flared and bulky to add to the hard lines of his face, the subject has a numerous amount of freckles dotting his nose and high set cheekbones (visible whenever he smiles as his cheeks have a slight puffy quality). As stated before, his complexion is impeccable - a light hue of pink tinged with a light, bronze tan that make his face, in particular, shine with golden quality.
Honestly speaking, it is of no surprise that a god's child would boast a physique that could take an entire house of delicious, carb filled donuts and still retain every sinew of muscle without gaining one ounce of fat. Well rounded throughout his entire body, the subject is at peak human health, in terms of physique. Hard muscle lines every inch of his body, mostly comprising of lean muscle rather that allows him a lithe build over a stocky one. It helps that his incredible height stretches the fair amount of muscle out in an even spread. There's literally nothing wrong with this man's body (other than maybe the lopsidedness of his ears and the terribly high arches of his feet; would make a great dancer) and that's apparently par for the course for demi-god to be superheroes. (Bound to make a lot of people jealous or ogle - that's a given. Have you seen his dad?)
⟐] C O S T U M ENot really considered a costume, but rather armor. It remains unpainted and moderately uncolorful, in regards to the costumes most heroes wear. For Asgardian armor, it's of usual standard with it's bright metal and gold trimming. It's designed to contain a cape, however, Magnus prefers not to wear one into battle (the cape, to him, is more ceremonial than combat ready). It's very sleek and form fitting, tight and leather around the metal of the abdomen which presses hard into the sides. It doesn't allow much for flexible movement and rather exonerates Magnus' role as an individual who can take hits rather than dish them out. The leggings are much the same, gold and silver etching down the thighs and calves to the nearly knee high greaves that cushion his feet. A helmet accompanies the armor that embellishes his status as Thor's son, but cements himself as a warrior of his own right. It's looks much like a face visor, coming to cover his face in a protruding V that flares above to curve in a hard knife edge, embellished in gold and trimmed in silver. Cascading from the helmet's flair, are ridges that fall ontop of each other in a feather like display. The rest of it hides behind the visor, a solid top that's silver in color that encases his entire head. There are slits in the front that give him the vision he needs but the metal has been worked fabulously so that when he needs to, it can be completely transparent over his face.
⟐] S K I L L S▣ Expert Swordsman and Shield Bearer
Being trained by his father in combat has its benefits: Magnus can wield a sword to an expert level, but he excels the most at using a shield not only to block, but also to parry and attack. While Magnus has many who are exceedingly better at him when it comes to the art of swordmanship, not many people can find themselves matching his shield bearing abilities. This particular skill gives him the upper hand in a lot of melee situations because people expect the sword to be the danger, not the protection.
▣ Archery
A pretty basic knowledge of how to shoot an arrow. He's moderately accurate. Nothing special, but definitely something to note. It could very well be built upon, since Magnus has all around potential.
▣ Physics and Biology
While his mother is an esteemed astrophysicist and that's where his roots tend to spread toward, Jane always encouraged her son to pursue whatever caught his mind. When away from his mother for a substantial amount of time, Magnus often took towards the plants of the world he and his father had been secluded to. Most of his time outside of battling for his life and surviving had been surveying and cataloging what he could. Once he'd arrived back on Earth (and Asgard) he'd been encouraged to explore this curiosity and so it took him to studying their components rather than what they did. Botany intrigued him, but it was more the molecules and the composition that made his mind spark. Thus, most of Magnus' scientific prowess is in the study of life and its make up. Of course, he still loves the idea of physics and learning and researching with his mother, which he's done countless times after coming back.
▣ Internet Savvy
Let it be known that Darcy Lewis is the best teacher when it comes to tumblr, reddit, twitter, and all other platforms of social media. Magnus definitely knows his way around a computer now because of her and not only that, but his curiosity can never be sated and thus he's made a numerous amount of internet connections that he's more than proud of. Need a place to lay low? He knows about ten areas in the local vicinity that are willing to hold a few rag tag superheroes until the coast is clear.
▣ Survival
Due to his past, Magnus has had a need to hone his survival skills above all else. That means adaptability and improvisation that allows him to survive for longer than should be possible. This gives him the skills to scavenge and use materials for whatever purpose his mind can think of. Noticing things out of the ordinary and knowing when to pull out and when to go into a situation. Judging the odds and working on the fly.
⟐] P O W E R S▣ Superhuman Durability
This boy can take an absolute beating, even for an Asgardian - though not on par with his father. While he isn't invincible, Magnus can take more hits than he should ever have the right to. So, while he's able to get through most dangerous situations alive, he knows that there's a bit of luck in there when it comes to surviving things he shouldn't. He doesn't take his chances. Regardless, he's able to he's able to take a single punch from the Hulk without being absolutely obliterated. That's not to say he won't be injured or disoriented, though, it just won't severely injure him.
Drawback: Even though he is extremely durable, it's rather simple to disorient and stun Magnus. If you can impair him in some way, he won't be able to do the job he was made to do: soak up all the damage. If you allow him to take the beating, then you're doing what he wants. If you bat him away and get passed him, you've effectively negated his use.
▣ Electrokinesis
At the moment, Magnus can only control lightning; he can't create it. However, he definitely has the means to due to the fact that electricity is an abundant feature in the modern world. He can control a small amount, about 10 million volts of electricity - 1/10 the power of a natural lightning bolt. It sounds like a lot, but it's actually only capable of stunning a person. Most of his shocks depend on the Amperes of the electrical currents he's using, most of which are below 0.1 milliamps which isn't enough to kill.
Drawback: Can only manipulate electricity, cannot create it. However strong the bolt of electricity he controls is, it can only ever stun a person for a small amount of time before they regain control over their body.
▣ Superhuman Endurance/Stamina
It's essentially how long this guy can stand before exhausting. He can go for twice as long as a normal human doing physical, strenuous work and endure pain for even longer. That's the essential gist of the power. It's nothing special, just allows him to keep standing under pressure longer to protect those he's entrusted to.
Drawback: Like his durability, it's negated completely if you literally pluck him out of a fight and keep him separated from his team. Isolate this guy and that makes the situation substantially easier.
⟐] B I OFor as long as Thor spends time on Midgard, it's a wonder how a man such as he can spare the time to procreate. A surprised Jane Foster didn't get the memo until she'd been bent over the toilet of her small RV in the middle of the goddamn desert, letting Darcy hold her hair while Ian freaked out. A baby. She was pregnant and the moment Jane could stand, she did everything in her power to contact her extraterrestrial boyfriend. Worked out better than she thought when he dropped out of the sky panicking in what looked to be like sleepwear - very comfy sleepwear, who knew Asgard had material softer than silk.
Thus began a very turbulent 9 months of containing a demi-god child inside her uterus. Eventful, being whisked off to Asgard where Thor's friends and family could literally pamper her to the brink of death. There were times where she didn't want to get out of bed and times where she needed to that she could barely even think about the fact that she'd been laying there for maybe a day too long. The birth of her child came smoothly and Magnus Thorson had come into a world like she would expect: the politest fucking baby in all of the universe. She'd asked immediately if it was normal for a baby not to cry and she'd almost freaked out until she saw her son in the arms of the doctors stationed to her suite (she refused to call them anything else).
Unfortunately, Jane Foster could only savor her time with her child for a good two days. Loki, upon discovering the happy parents to be immediately went into plotting. Thor would do anything for a child of his own and that was what he was counting on. After months to plan and concoct, Loki went into action the moment Thor and the baby were the only ones alone together. In the shadows he threw a bomb he'd made especially of the magic he could contort. It exploded above Magnus' cradle where Thor had stationed himself to care for his son, not harming the two but rather destroying the barrier in dimensions and thrusting both the child into a world millions of years away from Asgard or Midgard, so away from civilization it would be impossible to return home. Thor knew not to do but jump after, hoping he could do his best to protect his own charge.
The world they landed in was teeming with odd flora and fauna, a world likely stuffed with dangerous. Unarmed and with only his inherent powers to rely on, Thor didn't know if that would even help. Luckily, the world wasn't as odd as it looked at first glance. It could very well be treated as any other alien world within their galaxy. That still didn't bode well. It took quite awhile before Thor could find a way to feed his child, finding nutritious in plants that he had to test himself before finally being able to feed the boy nectar from a plant that only served to fill his own empty stomach. With that out of the way, it was only a matter of establishing himself and making sure he could care for his son before he could find a way home.
After finding a suitable home in a cavern carved into the side of a mountain whose tops floated into the pink-purple sky as if they longed to escape the world, too. He did his best to clear the space out for him and his son, making sure to fortify the area as best he could. At that point, it seemed quite impossible that he'd find a way home. A way to Jane and the Earth. A protector who was absent could no longer be accounted on to do their job. Thus he'd failed. Failed everything, but most of all he failed his son. That didn't mean he couldn't raise him to be the man he knew Magnus could become.
From that point on, Thor's goal had been to protect his child. His job was to raise his son. To be a good father in spite of their situation. Thus, years went on, Thor fortified their home and went to work making it actually feel like a home rather than a temporary space purely for survival. And Magnus grew from babe to child and Thor took his boy's ability to defend himself into his own hands. The wildlife ranged from harmless to insurmountable. Danger came around every corner and Thor could only protect their home on his own for so long before someone wanted the space a lot more than he did.
Armed with whatever they could fashion with weapons, Thor trained his son in swordsmanship and a variety of other fighting styles that could save him in a pinch. Being his son, he took to combat quite easily. Not enough to allow himself to rely on his abilities to save him as a seven year old kid, but it was enough of a foundation that Thor could continue building and building until his son's safety was no longer a concern. Once he reached pre-teen adolescence, Thor could finally search for ways off the planet and back home. That came in large and wide searches for years and years.
It wasn't until the boy turned sixteen, nearing adulthood with rapid pace, did they both find a crashed ship in the deep jungles hundreds of miles from their allotted home. It took years delving through the ship itself to find what he hoped he would. The FTL driver, if the explosion could be contained and the driver itself was mostly intact, he could potentially send them home. Of course, even that last bit was a long ass shot - it was either home or in deep space or a maybe even the middle of a burning star. It was, honestly, a better chance than they'd ever get. After two years of planning and finding the right supplies within the ship (after hauling the driver closer to home and in a wide clearing), they'd finally hit the switch. Not only had it sent them through the entire universe in a quantum leap, it had potentially sent them back in time. However, that was mostly speculation; the time dilation on the planet itself seemed like it'd been more to blame than the FTL driver.
On both Midgard and Asgard, it had only been three years. Once the Avengers had found them stranded on an island after a huge blast of quantum energy flared on every screen tracking for high energy fields, they'd brought the two home. They'd been disoriented, dirty, still battle ready and it took days for both to come down from their constant state of alert and paranoia. It wasn't until after a month of examination for serious injuries (of which they both found that they'd been slowly poisoning themselves) they were finally released to the world and to Asgard (Thor constantly argued that their technology would be able to do this quicker, but the team insisted and quelled his thoughts with their need to see Thor safe and sound, "Three years, man; we thought you'd both died," Sam had urged and it had brought Thor back to his bed where Bruce examined him as best he could).
Jane finally, finally got to see her son, who'd surprised her by coming home 17 years a little too old. She'd knew it was him, though, and by the brightness of his eyes, she knew Thor had told her son everything he could about her. Maybe a little too much. Mostly, he likely embellished everything to make her seem like some kind of saint. They took an entire year to reconnect and for Jane to come to terms that she had the misfortune (some would say fortune, ahaha) of missing out on her child's actual childhood. It took that year for Magnus to adjust to a life not constantly lived out of fear but pleasure and relaxation - comparatively, that is. It was an experience sleeping on an actual bed when you have no clue what an actual bed is but a cushion of leaves on hard, stone floor. More so, it came difficult to adjust to socialization. The boy had taken his father's politeness and upped it by a hundred, though, so that definitely helped his experience thin out easy. Darcy Lewis became quite the aid, as well, teaching him everything she knew when it came to people, the internet, and society, as a whole. He took everything she said to heart and she had quite a bit of fun using that to her amusement.
Now, a whole person instead of the frightened, paranoid survivor, Magnus can't help but attend Avenger's Academy at the behest of his parents and a few of the Avengers themselves.
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⌘ ⌘ ⌘
⟐] I n i t i a l O b s e r v a t i o n R e p or t"The Avengers seem to have a flexible roster. But one constant: gotta have a demi-god on your team."
There's quite a bit of potential in this particular subject, a lot to build upon. Thor did a good job training him for survival, now it's just a matter of refining those skills and channeling them into something more specific.
Subject is inhumanly durable and can take hits that would kill most people, even some heroes. This could potentially be honed, however, increasing his durability seems to be a conundrum. If that could be taken to greater proportions, he could be a great support asset to a team desperately in need of someone to protect them from heavy fire.
⟐] T r a i n i n g R e g i m e n▣ Power Management
▣ Biology/Xenobiology
▣ Advanced Combat Training
▣ Astrophysics
▣ Asgardian Artifacts and History
▣ Tactics and Battle Strategy
⟐] P o t e n t i a l O u t l o o kBeing the front line for any heavy combat oriented operations seems to be the absolute best position for Magnus. However, there's quite a bit of things that he could potentially do. There's honing his electrokinesis into something he can use at a respectable range. Being trained to aid in more covert operations. There's the potential for use in rescue operations, as he has an amazing sense of survivability that goes so far as to allowing him to search and find things, as well as perceive a lot of things other people might just miss.
He's a solid addition to any team, but will often find himself shining in more supportive roles. Thus, Magnus should always be paired with more than just one other hero or student to achieve the best possible outcome.
⟐]S c e n a r i o : B e s tWe've got ourselves someone who can dish out damage capable of leveling battalions of footsoldiers, definitely. But that's nothing special; a lot of students can do that already. However, what we can get out of him at his absolute best is someone who can draw attention toward himself and take on an insurmountable amount of damage and pressure and just a number of things and still coming out standing tall. Not the best combatant, but when you're looking for someone to defend another person, defend an area, defend anything, well you've got someone with the potentially to be one of the damn best.
⟐]S c e n a r i o : W o r s tLike Thor, we don't quite know if he intends to stay for as long as we need him. His loyalties are clearly with his family, most of all. If they ever choose to leave the world in the hands of everyone else, well there's really no stopping any of them from leaving. Most of all, though, Magnus has a tendency to self-sacrifice - he knows his limits and he knows when they're about to break, so he knows what he's doing when he does it. There's a stubbornness in him that'll keep him from thinking of any other solution, as well, that quickly needs to be tampered. |
44,827 | 1,220 | 22 | 2,389 | 901 | He didn't like being confused or in the dark about these sort of things, about any sort of things actually. And right now Garret was being that confusing thing and it was even more frustrating because he was so absolutely sure he had glanced over his file while going through the system and that he had definitely seen his picture on Tony's computer and this had to be true because he swore he had a photographic memory and just a problem of taking too many photos, making it hard to find the exact photo-er-memory to remember. But he was really sure he had seen him on that monitor screen! And not just because he was a curious kid that wasn't allowed any toys, because he had made a promise not to ever hack into Stark Tech, he probably couldn't anyway. He had gotten a glimpse at that code just once! Once! And he had been confused! Him! Confused! And he hated being confused, but he was sure he had already thought that thought already. Speaking of thoughts, was it weird that just they got a cowboy come on board just as the conversation about whips were being brought up?
Well, cowboys didn't really use whips, but there was like some...weird connection between the two right? It was like trees and green ice cream right? Technically they had no connection unless someone liked trees as much as they liked pistachio, or maybe if you were a deer, technically both would be edible, but in the normal context, one didn't usually see a connection between the two, but there still was to some extent and he was frankly sure that the both of them were somehow connected to Christmas, but getting back to the point. Cowboys. AND whips! And hello cowboy! They had a cowboy now!
He wondered if making cowboy themed gear was beneath him, then decided that it wasn't because he could probably make something really really hilarious out of it or he could just get on someone's nerves. Cowboys and blue birds, they really had a lot of characters already, they weren't as colourful on their files as they were on their files, most of them had been really dull sounding. S.H.I.E.L.D probably didn't have any creative writing classes, which was a good thing, because he was sure that was his only real weakness. It was lucky that that wasn't one of the essentials of being integrated into the learning world, though it was probably all the parental unions that pushed for 'real' academic subjects to be integrated into the school. He just hoped they didn't start putting in actual 'curfews'. Oh, he shuddered to think about that, though he was pretty sure he could get around the security system at least after a couple of days or so.
He shouldn't be thinking so much about it, they weren't even there yet! And he was partaking in a conversation wasn't he? Speaking of which,
"Like your face is that memorable." He retorted, rolling his eyes as he grinned at the guy. If this was going to be a competition of wit, than it was actually going be fun because winning was fun no matter what anyone said. The newer people that had climbed on board had caught his attention for the time being though and he took his time glancing from Mr Cowboy over to bluebird over there. He supposed there were a lot students spanning across this region, for what ever quota the academy had to fill. He was frankly sure at least one of them would end up being his bunk mate, best to start getting on their good sides. It was exciting to have so meet so many new people, but it was going to be a little bit of a hassle keeping track of everyone and he was frankly sure tracking devices were readily becoming banned in an increasing number of countries. Sure the Hellicarrier technically wasn't over any country, but he was still frankly sure that Fury as a dictator wouldn't condone that sort of act unless he had thought of it first. Oh, he just got a little chill from that. Note to self; check for bugs in his room.
Speaking of bugs, which had absolutely no relation to the current situation whatsoever....no he couldn't think of a seamless transition for his thoughts because they were all sort of jilted when the Quinjet's door started to lower again, having docked once again without anyone having really noticed of felt it and-hello Adonis. Was there some kind of gene really being passed around? Because he was frankly sure by now that hotness was a gene and for some reason it was in abundance for all the testosterone that was occupying this space a hundred miles above the land by now probably. Off course it wasn't a hundred, Will knew the exact number, but really he was more preoccupied wondering if there was some relationship between being a hero and being a 10 on the hotness meter. Even the girls were pretty hot after all, he couldn't rely deny that looking at all of them, but the guys were really built like gods, most of them and that just wasn't fair. Even Damon had his wings to admire when he chose to hide himself behind them, speaking of which, he hadn't forgotten about him either because one way or another he was gonna get permission to study those things of beauty.
"Now that we have a cowboy and spy, you gotta be a pirate or ninja right? One of you?" He called out as their newest arrival greeted the lot of them, eyes darting from Magnus to Jen, before the automated voice of the Quinjet filled the chamber again.
"Target destination changed, on route to; Avengers Academy"
"Finally!" He piped up, turning to stare at the small overhead set above them, the geo map on the screen flashing as the Quinjet started on route towards the academy. Typical that the dotted lines that indicated it's path was non existent on the screen as the map flashed out of view, seems like it was supposed to be a secret from the students themselves, though the Helicarrier did constantly move around, there was no tracking it's exact location if one could even get past it's cloaking cover, speaking of which;
"Entering Stealth Mode"
He could feel the tingle of the electric signals coursing through the jet's body, behind the smooth wall that he pressed his back against, pinging softly. It probably looked cooler on the outside, where one could actually see the full form of the jet start to melt away into the background of the sky. He swore he could feel the arching branches of electricity spreading across the curves of the Quinjet, routing around wires, following the laid out paths of circuits and sensors, creating crystalline patterns that hummed softly to him before it screeched violently and started to scream in his ear.
"CREEEECH!"
The sound broke through the metal walls and Will winced as the jet lurched violently, throwing him off of his seat and many others off their own feet as the lights momentarily flickered and he knew the power was being directed somewhere else before the jet righted itself and the screen flashed a solid red before the calm automated voice started to fill the cabin again whilst he picked himself up,
"Please remain calm, the Quinjet is currently experiencing 'mild turbulence'. Please remain calm and seated, a new route has been selected to avoid turbulence."
"That's bull." He muttered as he picked himself up from the floor, before another screech bombarded his ears and the jet lurched again, albeit less violently this time and the screen flashed once more, this time giving way to the man himself, Nick Fury glaring up at the screen like it had wronged him somehow, then again, had anything not wronged him in some possible way?
"Recruits, we are experiencing a mild problem with the Quinjet, you are to remain in your seats until you reach the academy and not to act on your jurisdiction. I repeat; do not act on your own jurisdiction."
And with that his image flickered and flashed out as the jet finally seemed to settle for a few seconds anyway, another jerk rocking the them. It had dwindled down into something akin to actual turbulence on a plane flying through a storm, but anything able to rock the Quinjet just the slightest was worrying to him, probably the same to his rattled classmates around him, but they had all heard Fury and he was frankly sure that the doors had gone on lock down if any of them decided to go against his word.
Right now, he was just glad that no one had fallen on top of him because all that muscle probably weighed a ton and he didn't want to suffocate before he even got to lay eyes on the academy, though it wouldn't be the 'worst' way to die.
"So...you think this some weird hazing ritual?" He piped up, sitting up straight on the floor whilst he nursed his sore head. | Full name: William Maximoff-Shade (Unrelated to canon son of Scarlet witch)
Alias/Codename: Cybernetic
Age: 19
Country of origin: "Eastern Europe" Sokovia
Basic appearance: 5'6 of varying mass. His overall appearance doesn't change, keeping his lean build and boyish looks. Keeps his hair short.
Costume: Having control over technology and nanites, a metallic suit is the only way to go. Composed of the nanites that make up his blood stream, the suit is a living part of himself and serves mostly to conceal his identity, provide his flight capabilities and act as a suitable material for him to create his weaponry using his Technopathy. And to some extent, it's a small statement of his idolisation to Stark.
Skills: -Technical prowess outside of powers
-Snark master 2000
-Blackmail skills
-Hacking ability outside of technopathy
Powers:
-Synthetic body: Like his father, Will's body is composed of entirely synthetic material and his blood stream is basically a stream of nanites. As such, he is able to control his own density, mass and temperature to a small extent, as well as his own pain tolerance. However, he can only ignore any physical stimulations for so long until it overrides whatever 'firewalls' he puts up against it and incapacitates him. Luckily, his synthetic body also allows him to regenerate from his injuries, anything too grievous, however, will force a shut down on himself. He's stronger and faster than the average human, but his ability doesn't surpass other's with actual superspeed and strength
-Mild immunity to toxins: Toxins, drugs and foreign chemicals still afflict him, but effects show up at a slower compared to an completely organic being
-Immune to electrocution: You may not want to touch him whilst he's statically charged though, it's like a live wire
-Superhuman intelligence: Having a computer as a father and a super genius as a technical grandfather has it's perks to one's intelligence.
-Techno-pathy: Limited to his own creation and technology outside of Stark Tech.
-Limited control over Chaos magick: Unlike his mother's natural prowess over magick, Will can only summon up small bursts of chaos magick to act as a projectile. Used as a last resort as it is physically and mentally very draining.
Brief bio: After a slew of adventures and risking their lives, the superhero known as Vision and Scarlet witch (a.k.a Wanda Maximoff) finally tied the knot and settled down to have a child. Unable to conceive a child by natural means, they turned to magick and technology to fulfil their wishes. After many failed attempts, a young boy was conceived and named "William Maximoff-Shade" using part of Vision's human alias; 'Victor Shade'. 3 years into raising their child, a new threat arose that required them to once more take up their superhero mantles and return to saving the world, resulting in Will growing up experiencing the superhero side of the world through every cut, bruise and hospital visit that his parents brought home. The worry of losing a parent ever present until he figured out that he was able to shut off the 'unpleasant' feelings and turn to the more infallible logistics of numbers and possibilities. Calculating the survival chances of his parents becoming a game to him and a growing concern to his parents.
Even more so when he found himself surpassing his peers his schooling, making education by the normal means redundant and to him, human life and mortality. He failed to understand or comprehend the flaws he saw in his classmates, the flaws in his parents, the investment they had in protecting what was inevitably going to self-destruct itself. He had experienced their flaws and subservient 'emotions' and he found them a hindrance at best compared to that of artificial intelligence and the machines he'd come to consider his superior allies. Vision, seeing his son's start upon a darker path, sought to prevent it and consulted the greatest minds of the generation. Those consultations of which led to Will meeting one of the initial founders of the Avengers, Stark.
Never before had he met a human so...like him. Stark was a man no doubt, but Will found fascination in the reckless and brash nature he displayed intertwined with the calculative numerics of machines. He grew to idolize and respect Stark and even more so, his humanity. Which eventually led him to a heavy decision; knowing he could never fit in with humanity with the constant reminder of his connection to the machines, Will decided to start over by erasing all files and traces of him being an Android from the database, including his own memory, making it so he was an adopted child with Technopathy powers and turning what he really was into a secret that not even he knew.
Freed from the knowledge that alienated him the most from his peers, Will found new life in living in the moment and experiencing the human emotions he had previously locked away from himself. And when a school came up that could maybe finally keep up with him, he decided to throw himself head first into it, with the recommendation of his parents off course who accepted that he would eventually follow in their footsteps one way or another.
(For official use only)
Initial observation report:
Subject shows lack of magical ability, but is adept at technopathy, continually hacks into own files to change recorded data. I think I 'improve' on it, you guys don't record down enough of my awesomeness
Training regimen/expertise:
-Obedience protocol training (A.k.a Detention, you guys need to stop using such fancy terms
-Lab work I get to blow up stuff?
-Robotics class It's the age of the machines!
-Partying 101
-Finding Nick's other eye 102
-Curing Baldness
-Seeing if you can survive jumping off the hellicarrier
Potential outlook:
High potential if- Got that right
Best case scenario:
Technical infiltration unit or taking control of the hellicarrier"
Worst case scenario:
Shut down protocol if any signs of threat to organisation They catch me before I take control of the hellicarrier
FunFacts:
-He likes to pretend he's a robot, but any memory of him being an Android has been erased from his memory and from his files
-The word 'Android' still sets him off
-He may or may not have a Tony stark poster in his room...and an Ironman action figure
-He can understand binary better than actual speaking sometimes.
-Monster trucks, don't mention them...ever. |
44,828 | 1,220 | 23 | 438 | 562 | After that slightly embarrassing greeting, Rain pretty much avoided looking at the cowboy sitting a seat over from her. What would he think of her, all pink and barely able to say a word? It was ridiculous, but try as she might, she couldn't control herself sometimes. Their final stop picked up yet another godlike young man, and she decided to not try to greet him right away. She'd introduce herself later. It would probably only come out as another small sound if she said anything right now.
A moment later, there was a loud screech and the jet lurched. Being rather light, Rain did not manage to stay put (in hindsight, she probably should have been wearing her seatbelt). She was jolted to the side, toward the cowboy - and yep, straight into his lap. A soft scream had escaped her at both the noise and the way her world had turned. She'd managed to elbow the guy next to him, too.
The next jerk frightened her even more, and she ended up clutching at the poor cowboy's arm out of instinct, trying not to fall off him and onto the floor. "Sorry!" she squeaked (again) amongst all the turmoil and voices in the background. Her small hand didn't even fully go around his bicep, what with him being so big. | Full name: Jennifer ‘Jen’ Winters
Alias/Codename: Dissonance
Age: 19
Country of origin: UK (London)
Basic appearance: 5’7, lean, dancer’s build
Jen doesn’t have a costume per se, often just wearing lightweight combat gear, such as a pair of light canvas trousers and a grey tshirt.
She also wears these gloves to help contain and focus her powers.
Jen is skilled at both ballet and modern dance. Due to this, she is quite flexible, and relatively strong, though mostly in her core and legs.
Jen is very adept at baking and art.
Jen has a ridiculously strong liver, completely separate from her powers. It’s incredibly hard to get her drunk (though not impossible), and she almost never suffers from hangovers.
Jen has training in hand to hand combat, being able to beat a grown man without using her powers. Her style focuses on hard, fast punches and kicks, to complement her powers and strength.
Jen is relatively smart, having shown potential with statistics and data analysis.
- Force Jen's main power is force. Her hands emit a field of outwards pushing force from her hand that decreases the further away you are from her. Unfortunately, this field acts in all directions, so is not particularly strong unless you are very close. Jen's gloves help to focus and control this force. With her gloves on, Jen can fire concentrated blasts from her hand, though beyond a range of 10 metres they are practically useless. Another (and a more preferred) use whilst her gloves are on is to enhance her punches, creating an effect similar to super strength, though limited to short bursts. Don't expect her to lift a car or anything (though she could probably punch one a few metres). Jen can vary the strength of these punches and blasts, often using low powered ones whilst training.
- Endurance A side effect of Jen's powers is increased endurance, allowing her to take more punishment than the average human. The lab researchers reckon that this is due to her Force extending over her body, creating something akin to a miniature force field, albeit not an incredibly powerful one.
Jen was never really a normal child, even before she discovered her powers. She was always daydreaming and skipping class to go and watch the clouds. She dyed her hair blue at the age of 14, despite her parents protests. Most kids at her school avoided her, calling her 'weird' and 'freak'. Jen didn't care. She was happy with who she was. Around the age of 16, Jen started to visit nightclubs, using fake ID and charm to get in. She found herself enjoying the club scene massively, becoming embroiled in the club life of alcohol, drugs and sex. She found herself spiralling out of control, not wanting to be free of the trap of pleasure and addiction. When she was 18, she bought some drugs of a shady dealer. She took them that night, and her life was never the same again.
The drugs activated some genes in Jen's DNA, causing her powers to arise. She was terrified by this sudden turn of events, finding herself on the streets by herself. SHIELD found her within a week, and offered her a way out of her current lifestyle. She took it tentatively. In her first year, she didn't engage with her classes. That was until one day, Natasha Romanoff visited the Academy. She had a personal meeting with Jen. Nobody knows what was discussed between them, with all video and audio feeds being knocked out during the meeting. Whatever happened, Jen came out with some newfound determination, ready to participate in class and fulfill her potential. She has returned this year to continue her classes.
Initial observation report: Subject's powers seem relatively weak, will need training and possibly equipment. Keep a close eye, background checks suggests drug/alcohol problems.
Training regimen/expertise:
Administration and Data Analysis (complete)
Basic Combat Training(complete)
Advanced Combat Training (in progress)
Tactical Planning (in progress)
Infiltration and Information Gathering (in progress)
Potential outlook: Medium potential, improved by subject's willingness to learn
Best case scenario: SHIELD Agent - Frontline assault team, Solo potential
Worst case scenario: Regression to previous behaviour and addictions - incarceration in low security facility |
44,829 | 1,221 | 0 | 1,044 | 4,440 | r e s e r v e d | "Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today."
-James Dean
→ Name;
Charlotte Sydney Cunningham.
→ Nickname;
Charlotte likes to be called Char or C.C. by her peers and people that really know her. If she doesn't know you for real then she'd prefer it if you call her by her name, Charlotte.
→ Birth Date;
October 1st.
→ Age;
Twenty-three.
→ Zodiac Sign;
Libra.
→ Gender;
Female.
→ Sexuality;
Heterosexual.
→ Rich or Poor;
Rich.
→ Trust Fund or Scholarship;
Trust Fund.
→ Major;
Journalism.
→ Minor;
Psychology.
→ Occupation;
Charlotte models part time.
→ Social Status;
Upper Middle Class.
→ Spending Habits;
Avid Spender.
→ In Depth Appearance;
Charlotte's looks are one of a kind as she is known for her notable beauty. She has the looks that almost every girl wants and a smile that is to die for. She has blonde locks of her that cascades down well pass the middle of her back. Her hair is very voluminous as she likes to keep it straight or tied up in a ponytail. She is a very tall female, standing at a height of five foot ten. Charlotte has the perfect, slender figure as she weighs about one hundred and thirty-four pounds. Her eyes are a very bright, ocean blue colored and they are well rounded. Many people have said that her skin is so free of blemishes and flawless that even when she wears no makeup, she still looks stunning.
→ Clothing Style;
Charlotte wears anything that is trend or season, of course. She has to look fabulous or glamorous whenever she goes out. Charlotte wears only high end fashion designer labels. She likes to wear dark colored clothing along with scarves and shoes, too. Every outfit she has is color coordinated and she has an assortment of dresses and skirts along with a couple of pants, too.
→ Likes;
✔ Social Media {Has a Twitter, Instagram, SnapChat & YouTube}
✔ Social Gatherings
✔ Crime Drama Shows {Law & Order: SVU and How To Get Away With Murder}
✔ Watching The Sunrise and Sunset
✔ Beaches
✔ Romance Novels & Movies
→ Dislikes;
✘ Losing Her Social Status
✘ Late Afternoons
✘ Reality Television Shows {Especially The Real Housewives ones}
✘ Plain Ice Cream
✘ Being Compared To Other People
→ Habits;
• Applies makeup and lip gloss at least twice a day
• Snickers during awkward silence
• Stutters whenever she is about to lie
• Curses like a sailor when she is upset
→ Hobbies;
• Fashion & Photography
• Planning Events
• Binge Watching Netflix
• Archery
• Tennis
→ Fears;
• Gaining Weight
• Tight Spaces
• Suffocation & Choking
→ Personality;
→ Charismatic ♦ Cunning ♦ Free Spirited ♦ Flirtatious ←
Even though Charlotte has a slight temper whenever it comes to certain situations, or whenever she doesn't get her way, she will still have that natural, charismatic charm about her. Charlotte seemingly lives to inspire others to focus on their goals in life and follow their dreams without consequences. She likes living her life on the edge and to the fullest, instilling that towards just about anyone and everyone she meets. With that, many people find Charlotte to be very kind and a free spirited person. But other people or her haters, think that she gets whatever she wants just by snapping her fingers. Her charm and laid back persona actually attract and gravitate people towards her.
While Charlotta have many, many great traits, she also has some not so great traits, too. When she wants to be, Charlotte can be very cunning towards anyone that crosses her the wrong way. She will go to great lengths to make sure the person that crossed her will never be able to show their face anywhere within whatever region they are in. She also has a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder and you will definitely see it if you stick around her longer enough. Charlotte doesn't really like to flirt with others but if someone was to come up to her and try to flirt, she'll definitely do it back. But it won't be to get far with that person unless she was truly attracted to them, she would mostly flirt for the adrenaline rush.
Place of Origin;
Beverly Hills, California.
Background;
Charlotte and her mother were not really rich for the start. It was when her mother, Sophia, became a widow after her husband died in a tragic and fatal car accident. At the funeral, there was a man that was a little bit too close to comfort around her mother and she grew suspicious. About a week later, her mother had packed up her things and told Charlotte to do the same because they were moving from California to go to New York City with her new husband, Ben Maddox. Ben is the CEO of several hotels in major cities within the United States and had a three bedroom penthouse in the Upper East Side of New York.
While Charlotte did not really like the new beau within her mother's life, she was honestly loving all of the perks that came with it. Ben supplied them with just about anything and everything they could ever think of. He ever started putting money in a trust fund account for Charlotte but kept quiet about it until she was to graduate high school but then she had to turn eighteen, as well.
Attending an elite private school in New York was not easy for Charlotte. Friendships have already been established and people felt a little bit threatened by her appearance. It wasn't until fashion week when she started to make friends because she was participating in the show. She quickly rose up to the ranks at school and within her social life. People were loving her more and more as she was very good at listening, understanding and giving advice.
A few years went by now and Ben finally told Charlotte about her trust fund. She was oddly excited to have one but knew she could not touch it until she was eighteen years of age. Her mother scowled at the thought but it was Ben's way or the highway. Upon graduation, Charlotte did not know which school she was going to. Around that time, her mother and went back to California and starred in a few films and television appearances. Charlotte called her mother and told her that she wants to go back to California, too and her mother had the perfect college for her.
As Charlotte said goodbye to Ben, he handed her a credit card and told her that was her trust fund. Even though she wasn't quite at eighteen, he thought that he had better give it to her now rather than later. Charlotte and Ben never really got along but in that moment, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek then left for the airport. She met her mother at LAX and toured the campus of Hollywood University together. Her mother immediately approved and Charlotte was going to attend the prestigious collegiate institute.
She has been attending the campus since her Freshmen year, as she is now coming on to her Senior year. Charlotte has been given a part time job as a model but it doesn't really affect her grades or anything, neither. She adores the campus and glad that she attending the university. Charlotte would not really want to go anywhere else after being back in California for so long now and rekindled most of her friendships with her best friends.
Extra;
Viola Davis.
"Insert a Character Quote here."
-Author
• Name;
Edgar Sean Beechman.
• Nickname;
Edgar does not like to be called by his name, at all. He prefers to go by Eddie and will even introduce himself as Eddie towards other people.
• Birth Date;
September 6th.
• Age;
Twenty-two.
• Zodiac Sign;
Virgo.
• Gender;
Male.
• Sexuality;
Eddie is openly Bisexual but has a preference for males than females.
• Rich or Poor;
Poor.
• Trust Fund or Scholarship;
Scholarship.
• Major;
Criminal Justice.
• Minor;
Legal Studies.
• Occupation;
Eddie works at the on campus bookstore, Books of Hollywood University.
• Social Status;
Middle Class.
• Spending Habits;
Eddie likes to spend his money carefully.
• In Depth Appearance;
Eddie's appearance is something that is particularly model like. With an impending height of six foot two, Eddie towers over just about anyone that he meets - Unless they are taller than him, of course. His hair is more of a onyx and raven colored as he likes to keep it unkempt but runs his fingers through it to make it look somewhat stylish. Eddie has a very slim but athletic body built. He weighs about one-hundred and seventy-two pounds with a few muscles here and there. His eyes are a shade of grayish green but whenever he is upset or aroused, they turn to a gray, crystal blue color. Eddie's skin complexion is very pale - Yes, he goes outside but his skin doesn't tan or get sunburned or anything. While he doesn't have any scars, his body is practically his canvas. Eddie has a plethora of tattoos, at least two on his back, one on the right side of his neck and one on each of his wrists and even a few going up to his upper arms. He also has his earlobes pierced and usually keep stubs in them. He also has an industrial piercing in his left ear.
• Clothing Style;
Eddie's appearance is that of a laid back, grunge type of ordeal. He only wears dark colored clothing, shirts and pants. His style of shoes go hand in hand with his whatever he wears. Eddie only likes to wear Converse shoes though.
• Likes;
✔ Cigarettes, Marijuana & Alcohol
✔ Rainy Days
✔ Working Out
✔ Kissing & Casual Sex
✔ Flirting
✔ Partying
• Dislikes;
✘ Bad Kissers
✘ Being Rejected
✘ Hangovers
✘ People Coming To Him Asking About Drugs {The Heavy Kind}
✘ Failing
• Habits;
• Usually goes for an early morning walk or jog
• Bites his nails
• Cracks his knuckles at least three times a day
• Licks his lips throughout the day
• Hobbies;
• Video Games
• Listening To Music
• Crossword Puzzles
• Creative Writing
• Fears;
• Drowning
• Spiders & Other Insects
• Public Humiliation
• Personality;
→ Responsible ♦ Arrogant ♦ Ambitious ♦ Self Confident ←
Even though Edgar takes on that bad boy persona, he is actually quite responsible when it comes to his actions and other things. Edgar will admit his own faults and take the blame for something that he knows that he did. He isn't afraid of any consequences that are going to be thrown his way and in fact, he encourages the person giving him the consequences to make it severe as possible. He's quite the tough guy in terms of words and actions, too. Having an ambitious side to his personality is something most people don't even see when they first glance at Edgar, they naturally see danger, danger and stay away from him because he's nothing but trouble but just like every other human in the world, Edgar has hopes and dreams, too. He dreamed about becoming a World Class Model, full time shooting for any magazine and advertisement but that really not something he wants to do anymore. He wants to get his degree in Criminal Justice so that he can be a detective.
Edgar is a bit arrogant and full of himself, too. He thinks that people should kiss the ground he walks up on and worship him whenever he crosses their path. Most people just look at him and shake their head and thinks that he is stuck up. But since he hates stuck up people, he simply tells them that he is comfortable in his own skin and isn't afraid to show it towards anyone that steps in his way.
Place of Origin;
Salt Lake City, Utah.
Background;
At least a two paragraphs or more. Also include their family and relationship with family.
Extra;
Make sure you've read the rules. |
44,830 | 1,221 | 1 | 2,708 | 1,210 | I drank too much…
Helena found it rather painful to turn on her side, the headache she currently had unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. The poor girl didn’t know what time it was, and she honestly couldn’t care less. She tried to remember what had occurred the previous evening towards the last half of the night, but unfortunately, she was drawing a blank.
I can't continue doing this to myself, she thought, pulling the covers off of herself before taking her time getting out of bed. Without caring much for the fact that she was barefooted, Helena headed for the door to use the bathroom.
"Good morning!" her roommate Clara chimed in from her usual spot in their small kitchen.
"Hey," she replied, rubbing her face in agony.
"Rough night, huh?"
"Mhmm..."
When Helena turned to face Clara, she noticed the time on the clock hanging from the wall. Clara followed Helena's gaze, then smirked.
"You should get going."
"No kidding," Helena replied, hurring off the bathroom to get ready. She quickly brushed her teeth before combing her hair up into a ponytail, then she grabbed the clothes she had set up the night before from the rack and got dressed. Helena looked down at her watch, yet she was still cutting it close with time. Denying herself the time to worry about whether she'll be late, Helena quickly put on her shoes so she could finally grab her stuff and be on her way. Breakfast would just have to wait until lunch.
"See you later," she waved to her roommate before she hurriedly stepped out of the door to head to the gym. | "Wise men wonder while strong men die"-Breaking Benjamin
Helena Marie Kovachek
Lena
February 13, 1996
21
Aquarius
Female
Heterosexual
Slightly poor
Scholarship
Sports Science
Biology
Fitness coach within the university's gym
Lower-middle class
Budget Spender
Helena is a woman of medium height, standing at 5'5 and weighing roughly 125 lbs. She has a lean body type which she maintains on a regular basis. Her skin has a slight tan from all the time she spends at the beach as well as running outside. Helena has a tattoo of a quote: "Non Omnias Moriar", which translates to "Not All Of Me Shall Die" in Latin, in the center of her back right between her shoulder blades. Additionally, she has a tongue piercing. Dark brown hair and brown eyes complete the look.
Aside from special occasions, Helena wears gym clothes most of the time, whether that's to class or to do groceries. Those consist of black leggings, a sports bra, and a light jacket for better cover.
ExercisingMusicAnimalsSuspense moviesSkydiving
DramaSeafoodStuck-up peopleReligion
Maintaining a clean roomAvoiding procrastinationDouble-checking everything she writes
SwimmingReadingPlaying recreational hockey
PainScorpionsThe dark
FunnyEmpatheticA problem-solverEnergetic
For the most part, Helena has a pretty laid back personality. She loves cracking jokes whenever she gets the chance, and she doesn't sweat the small stuff as often as others. With that said, she's also very caring by nature. She'll often give whatever little change she has to the homeless and she'll even entertain them with small talk if they engage her. On the other hand. Helena is quite the monster when she's pissed off. She doesn't care who's in her way if she's out for blood-so to speak-and people that know her well have learned to just give her space whenever she needs it.
Chicago, IL
Helena was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois to a father who was a police officer and a mother who made her living as a nurse. She had a rather decent childhood and despite the absence of siblings, she was friends with enough kids from around the block to never be lonely. Helena excelled in school given the fact that she liked learning new things and was more often than not engaged whenever she was in the classroom. From a young age, she was very active girl. In the playground, she could be found playing tag or hide-and-seek, and once she was old enough, she became involved with sports. That competitive side of her stemmed from her father, as whenever he wasn't working, the two would go on their own adventures.
Such happy upbringing was cut short when Helena was only 12 years old. It was a cold Saturday evening when news arrived home that her father had gone missing after they weren't able to get a hold of him as he and a few other officers attempted to catch an escaped convict. When she found out, Helena disregarded the news since she figured that he would eventually turn up. But as the days, weeks, and eventually months passed, the truth finally sunk in for Helena: her father was dead and she would never see him again. After graduation, Helena attended a local college to get her Bachelor's, and she contemplated going out of state for her graduate degree, maybe somewhere warm and far from home and the bittersweet memories that came with it. Eventually, she got a scholarship to Hollywood University and that's how she ended up there.
Kevin Spacey |
44,831 | 1,221 | 2 | 2,708 | 1,210 | Raylan loved the school gym on Saturday. It was almost always empty, meaning he pretty much had the run of the place. It was also nice to get away from his home. Since he lived and worked in the same place, it was nice to be able to workout away from where he had do so much. He just got a nice and relaxing workout, hit the heavy bag, whatever he needed to do, he could do it here and mostly be left alone. There was always one or two maybe three people milling about but for the most part he was left alone.
Raylan's hands and feet unconsciously moved as one as he punched one of the few hanging heavy bags in the schools gym. He decided to forgo his boxing gloves in favor of think hand wraps. He had no intention of hitting the bag hard, the full intent of this was cardio and quick strikes versus power hits. He worked in kicks when the moments were right but for the most this was an all hands training session. With every punch he threw, he was just as concerned about what his hips, shoulders and feet were doing. Everything had to work as one, solid unit. Most of the time he did without ever thinking, but right now he was think about each and every moment.
He was into his fifth, five minute round. He was breathing heavily, and covered in sweat. Raylan's watch went off signaling the end of his last round. His last combo was a right hand cross, followed by a lead leg round kick and ended with a right elbow crashing into the bag. With each of the hits, the bag jumped and the steel chain holding the bag snapped and made a ruckus.
As the sweat dripped from his hair, Raylan poured some water on his head than drank from his steel bottle. The chill from the water was wonderful. It was then he noticed someone else was in the gym. His eyes searched for the newest entrant. His biggest concern was making sure he had shirt on if it wasn't an employee.
He smiled when he saw Helena. She was a regular in the gym and maybe the only person he knew that worked out as much as he did. The two had always gotten along and were relativity close. If Raylan was honest, he had a pretty big crush on her as well. Raylan always liked her dedication and work ethic, it did hurt that she was smoking hot either. However, he did everything he could too never let it show. You never get involved with someone from the gym or work. It was a strong personal rule that Raylan had learned the hard way.
Raylan slipped into his shirt and walked over to Helen. He let out a small giggle as he notice just how hungover she was. "Damn Girl. You look liked you tried drink the county dry. You get far?" Raylan said smiling, not at all hiding his accent. His accent only came out with people he trusted. If someone else came within ear shot, his accent and playfully demeanor would disappear without a trace.
"Here, take a drink." Raylan said offering her his water bottle. | "Wise men wonder while strong men die"-Breaking Benjamin
Helena Marie Kovachek
Lena
February 13, 1996
21
Aquarius
Female
Heterosexual
Slightly poor
Scholarship
Sports Science
Biology
Fitness coach within the university's gym
Lower-middle class
Budget Spender
Helena is a woman of medium height, standing at 5'5 and weighing roughly 125 lbs. She has a lean body type which she maintains on a regular basis. Her skin has a slight tan from all the time she spends at the beach as well as running outside. Helena has a tattoo of a quote: "Non Omnias Moriar", which translates to "Not All Of Me Shall Die" in Latin, in the center of her back right between her shoulder blades. Additionally, she has a tongue piercing. Dark brown hair and brown eyes complete the look.
Aside from special occasions, Helena wears gym clothes most of the time, whether that's to class or to do groceries. Those consist of black leggings, a sports bra, and a light jacket for better cover.
ExercisingMusicAnimalsSuspense moviesSkydiving
DramaSeafoodStuck-up peopleReligion
Maintaining a clean roomAvoiding procrastinationDouble-checking everything she writes
SwimmingReadingPlaying recreational hockey
PainScorpionsThe dark
FunnyEmpatheticA problem-solverEnergetic
For the most part, Helena has a pretty laid back personality. She loves cracking jokes whenever she gets the chance, and she doesn't sweat the small stuff as often as others. With that said, she's also very caring by nature. She'll often give whatever little change she has to the homeless and she'll even entertain them with small talk if they engage her. On the other hand. Helena is quite the monster when she's pissed off. She doesn't care who's in her way if she's out for blood-so to speak-and people that know her well have learned to just give her space whenever she needs it.
Chicago, IL
Helena was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois to a father who was a police officer and a mother who made her living as a nurse. She had a rather decent childhood and despite the absence of siblings, she was friends with enough kids from around the block to never be lonely. Helena excelled in school given the fact that she liked learning new things and was more often than not engaged whenever she was in the classroom. From a young age, she was very active girl. In the playground, she could be found playing tag or hide-and-seek, and once she was old enough, she became involved with sports. That competitive side of her stemmed from her father, as whenever he wasn't working, the two would go on their own adventures.
Such happy upbringing was cut short when Helena was only 12 years old. It was a cold Saturday evening when news arrived home that her father had gone missing after they weren't able to get a hold of him as he and a few other officers attempted to catch an escaped convict. When she found out, Helena disregarded the news since she figured that he would eventually turn up. But as the days, weeks, and eventually months passed, the truth finally sunk in for Helena: her father was dead and she would never see him again. After graduation, Helena attended a local college to get her Bachelor's, and she contemplated going out of state for her graduate degree, maybe somewhere warm and far from home and the bittersweet memories that came with it. Eventually, she got a scholarship to Hollywood University and that's how she ended up there.
Kevin Spacey |
44,832 | 1,222 | 0 | 1,098 | 1,153 | A Few Days Earlier
"Come on. Don't be scared, Olivia." A female voice sang out as a trio of girls rode their brooms to the old Hogwarts building, which was basically nothing but ash but also protected by Dementors. Olivia looked at the two girls, who were teasing her as they landed on their feet and stared at the rubble before them. "So, let's see who can get the closest." A girl named Natalya cooed as she skipped closer to the rubble then turned to face her friends. "Whose next?" She giggled as Melinda shrugged her shoulders and walked a little bit past Natalya as they now eyed Olivia. "This is stupid." Olivia said as Natalya and Melinda looked at each other and laughed then taunted Alyssa. But they didn't know that Dementors were scaling behind them. Olivia froze with fear as she stammered but raised her index finger then screamed as Dementors began sucking the lives out of Melinda and Natalya. Olivia turned heel, only to fall on her face then had multiple Dementors tower her and began sucking the life out of her as well. It was really a gruesome sight to witness and their bodies have not been found till this very day.
Tate Cummings & Tatum Cummings
Tate had just got done packing his bag as he muttered a checklist to himself, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything. After he was finish with everything, he picked up his bags and exited his room, running down the stairs. Tatum was already downstairs, having himself a small breakfast as he eyed his brother with a head nod. Tate dropped his bags at the door and walked over there towards him, looking into his bowl of cereal. "Did mind fixing me one, huh?" Tate said with a chuckle then Tatum got up from his seated position and dropped his bowl in the sink, rinsing it out and staring at Tate. "You got two hands, bro." He snickered while looking at his brother again.
"Are you okay?" Tatum asked Tate sincerely. "I don't want to talk about it." Tate said while eying his brother a little and sighing a little bit. "I'm not even hungry anymore." Tate walked off and grabbed his bags, slinging them over his shoulders but having one in his hand. Tate walked out the front door and Tatum slowly trailed behind him as they packed up their bags into their vehicle. "I didn't mean to bring it up." Tatum said while getting into the passenger seat and buckling up his seat belt. Tate looked at him, a little bit angrily but sighed instead of speaking.
As they neared their way towards the train station after buying and getting all of their necessary supplies for the school year, Tatum saw that the train station was nearly empty. "I am going to guess that we're early." Tate said as he grabbed his bags along with Tatum, whose eyes trailed all over the train station. "Guess so." Tatum shrugged his shoulders while walking towards the train station and going the route where the platform 9 3/4 was located. "This is our last time going through this." Tate eyed his brother with a soft smile as Tatum agreed with him by nodding his head with a sigh. "Here we go."
Tate was the first to run through the platform and Tatum followed shortly behind him. The train station was emptying but platform 9 3/4 was booming with first years and their parents, along with the returning students. They didn't really look around for anyone that they knew since looking for seats were a tragedy so they did that first. After looking for their seats, they realized that there was an extra seat in their compartment. "I hope no one tries to come and sit with us." He asked while sitting down and immediately plopping his head against the window. Tatum got up and locked their compartment door, ensuring that no one will get in. "Dude, you've got to cheer up. I'm sorry what happened to Olivia but you've got to look towards the future." Tatum said sincerely while sitting back in his seat as he stared out of his window.
Seeing the first years get a kiss from their parents and eventually made their trek onto the train, which departed when everyone was on board. The train ride took longer than usual, simply because the school was rebuilt right down the road, a few blocks down. They did pass through the old Hogwarts and most of the kids stared at the gruesome site and couldn't imagine being there during that battle. As the train came to a screeching halt, Tate realized that they didn't have to take a boat to the new school and that it had a train station on the outskirts of it. "Well, bro, this is it." Tate said while getting up from his seat and unlocking their compartment.
Tatum followed behind him as they were pushing their way through the sea of kids and eventually ended up off of the train. They both stood there and glanced up at the new school, seeing if anything had really changed. Nothing. It was almost an exact replica of the old Hogwarts but the only thing different were the pictures. Tate and Tatum stood just a few inches in front of the doorway, basking in the new school year smell. | Name:
Alyssa Mehgan Jessup.
Nickname:
Unlike everyone else in Slytherin, Alyssa adores nicknames. She likes to be called Lysa or Aly. She also likes to be called Meg or Jess, deriving from her middle and last name. She will basically accept anything that is not derogatory or cutesy.
Age:
Seventeen; 17.
Gender:
Female.
Sexuality:
Heterosexual.
Ethnicity:
American.
Blood Status:
Pureblood.
Wand:
10.5 Oak, Dragon Heartstring. |
44,833 | 1,222 | 1 | 1,450 | 319 | |Julian Wolf|
|Location: Home, Hogwarts Express, then Great Hall|
Wolf had not had the best of mornings. His sister, Estel, who had a week to go before she needed to return to Durmstrang, had decided to hog the bathroom, knowing full well he’d need to leave early. His mother had no sympathy, telling him only that he would need to wait until she was done.
Because of this, he missed breakfast and had to content himself with an apple, hastily snatched from the table before his mother could object, for she had rules about any food being eaten in the kitchen or dining room and nowhere else in the house. This included ALL food. Estel sat with toast and marmalade, a sadistic smile on her face as she took a bite.
He was out the door and in the car with his father, his bag being packed the night before. Murphy, his owl, had a static cage/perch at home but no transport one, so he would meet Wolf there.
His father gave him a funny look as his son took a bite of the apple, but nothing was said, their journey a quiet one. His father didn't get out at the train station, leaving Wolf to get out his own things and head off.
Some might have been saddened by his family’s treatment, or annoyed at his father’s indifference, but Wolf had made this journey the same way since the beginning. He didn't know different, so it was normal to him.
On the platform, he normally would have found a compartment with the other boys from his house, but being a Prefect had perks, and he made his way to the compartments that were especially for him and those chosen few.
The journey was uneventful, mostly because he didn't go patrolling like most of the others, choosing to stick with his Slytherin counterpart and lounge in the compartment, which was on the opposite side of the train to the “old Hogwarts.” He had no desire to look at the old wreck.
“Hey Wolf,” one of his chums called as he disembarked the train, causing him to glance over and not see the pair of boys who had stopped a little way in front.
He walked straight into their backs, surprised then giving them a dirty look, followed quickly by a smirk.
“Oh look, it’s Twincest,” he said, not seeming to care that someone else might hear him, or rather making enough noise so that they would. “As ugly as ever, and twice as stupid. This is a path, not a stop.”
He didn't wait for their retort, or to see if they’d try and do anything. He walked around them and, giving them a look which said they were less that the dirt on his shoes, and headed into the school.
|Jean Clements|
|Location: Home, Hogwarts Express, then Great Hall|
Jean’s summer had flown by, what with all the chore at home to do and trying to do homework set for summer. Her wellies had seen better days and had decided to spring a leak the second week in, whilst she was up to her ankles in mud. It had taken her mum a few days to get a new pair, meaning she either needed to wear her “good” shoes (a pair of ratty trainers) or wear the broken ones until new ones could be gotten.
She was up early the day she was due to leave, having to feed the chickens and check for eggs, before showering.
Her house was always a bit mad, no matter the time of day. Even at 2am, if you needed a glass of water, at least 1 other person would end up in the kitchen.
This morning was no different. Jean had managed to get into the bathroom once her ma had vacated it, but there was knocking on the door before the shampoo was in her hair, wanting to know how long she’d be. She shouted back that they’d need to wait, but that never kept anyone at bay for long, more knocking and shouting part of their morning greeting.
Breakfast wasn’t much better. With 8 children and 2 parents, sometimes her grandda, meals had always been hectic. Even though 3 of her brothers no longer lived at home, they popped in most days. Today they were all there to see her off from the house, though not all of them would be coming to the station. The first time she had, they’d all come, though 3 of her elder brothers were also attending the school. Now they’d all left, and for 1 year only, she would be the only Clements at the school.
She loved her family, but it had been somewhat embarrassing her first year when the whole clan, including her grandda, had decided to see her off. Too much noise and red hair, everyone staring. It was too much, but she’d missed them when she was gone.
She enjoyed her breakfast, smiling as she watched the triplets pass plates to each other, occasionally slipping food under the table to Goober and Gobber, the 2 farm dogs. Her ma leaning on the oven, a cup of coffee held in both hands and surveying her family. Her grandda shouted for things which no one passed to him, making him bellow and snatch as they plates whizzed by him. He was a big, burley man, with a red beard and a great knack for cursing (though non magically).
The trip to the station was as loud as anything, with her grandda shouting at his son–in-law about how he should drive and about the stupidity of motorists, the triplets, along with baby George, who was now 9 but still kept his nickname, and her ma. IF her father hadn’t bewitched their cars, or in the case of today’s journey, the jeep, they never would have all fitted, never mind the luggage and an owl in it’s cage.
They swarmed onto the magical platform, causing stares from those who had seen them before and those who were knew it all. Her grandda gave her a whiskery kiss and told her he’d see her at Hogmanay, then letting everyone else do the same. It was mostly uneventful, apart from the Triplets getting aboard the train and having to be chased off it again.
Then the train was moving and Jean watched her family until they were out of sight.
She spent most of the journey petting Juju, her minute owl, or giggling with the girls in her compartment.
When the old Hogwarts came into sight, she gazed at it with an awed longing.
“It’s creepy,” another girl said when they asked Jean what she was staring at.
“It’s beautiful,” Jean said, seeing how the shadows reached to the sky, the fossil of an amazing building. Jean liked ruins and manor houses, her favourites including Newstead Abby and Annesley Hall. They were near where she lived and she loved to walk around them, imagining how they must have once looked.
“You’re weird, Jee,” the girls said, causing more giggling to take place.
They were at that age, when boys were far more interesting than they’d been before and, as the journey continued, they discussed the ones they liked the best, which continued all the way off he train.
A couple of those who had been mentioned were stood not far, and she shushed a couple of girls, which made them all begin to giggle. Another couple of the boys they liked were seen heading into the castle. They were all older, because boys their own age hadn’t yet figured into their minds.
“I wonder if we’ll all have boyfriends this year,” one of the girls said, which was the typical frivolous thing that one girl amongst a group of girls will say, even if they are normally sensible.
Jee rolled her eyes and, as they entered, left them. They were form different houses to her, having met in their different classes, rather than in their houses.
Jean went to take her seat among the other Ravenclaws to await the start of the sorting and arrival of the new first years. If she'd been anyone else, Jean would have taken a seat and been able to sit doing nothing more than enjoying her first day.
Because she was Jean, she tripped, landing face down on top of someone else, between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table.
This caused howls of laughter from the Slytherin table, and Jean, her knees sore from landing hard on the floor, took a second to realise that her face was now on someone's chest and not on the cold floor of the hall.
Her face burned as red as her hair as she pushed herself off.
"I... I.... I'm so sorry."
Her voice shook as she stammered her apology, staring in horror. It was bad enough to be that girl who'd fallen on the first say of term, worse because she'd landed on someone else. The only way it could have been more mortifying was if she'd been carrying food. | Name: Julian Wolf
Nickname: Jules, Wolf
Birthday: 31st August
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Ethnicity: White British
Blood Status: Pure Blood
Wand: Wood: Black Limba. Core: Murtlap Tail.
Familiar: Murphy, the owl.
Appearance: Jules is tall for his age and slim, but not skinny. Brown hair, blue eyes, thin of face.
Distinguishing features: He has a small scar on his left cheek.
"You want to know how I got it? Grow a pair and ask."
House: Slytherin
Likes: To charm girls, to be center of attention when it suits him, DADA
Dislikes: Boys who try and take what he sees as his, stupid people, flying
Personality: Jules is the cool, quiet type, though he has a fast tongue for anyone trying to be smart. He can seem distant, but if he wants something, he'll do anything to possess it and will fight to keep it. He isn't dumb, but also won't shy away from a fight, preferring hands to wands
Place of Origin: England, the East Mindlands
History: Jules is one of 3 children, the only boy. His older sister attends Durmstrang, whilst his twin is at Beaubaxtons. It is unusual for family members to attend different schools, but that was his mother's wish. Their father does as he's told.
Being one of a pair, Jules and his sister were pretty close, but their mother had always been very clear that when they went to wizarding school, they would be separate.
His eldest sister, Estel, was cruel and harsh to him, mimicking his mother. In their family wit and brains won out, and his mother always encouraged his sisters to treat him as a rival. Boys, she said so often, are prized in the world over girls, so you must conquer them. It didn't give any assistance to sibling affection, especially once his twin, Gianna began to attend an alternative school. Since then she has become somewhat distant. Both sisters, and his mother write, and he writes back, but their letters are not full of affection. He is bitter toward those who have "soft" families, seeing it as a weakness and not being prepared for real life. Only when you met people and became part of the food chain were you able to attain worth.
Other
Song: TBA
Can speak Italian, German and french |
44,834 | 1,222 | 2 | 647 | 1,506 | Demetria Graves
The morning of returning to Hogwarts was a relaxed one in the Graves household. Demi woke up early to make a special breakfast for the men of her life, since it would be months until they could see each other again. They talked and laughed their way through freshly-baked cinnamon rolls with icing, scrambled eggs, bacon, turkey ham, hash browns and milk or orange juice. Having packed their belongings the following night and leaving them at the center of the living room, the family moved there to say goodbye to their father before apparating to the train station; Demi having just earned her Apparating licence that summer. Kaden, like the gentleman his mother had raised, carried Demi's trunk and owl cage until they had reached the crowded platform. Luke gave his brother a big hug before mounting his and Demi's trunks onto the train. Demi followed suit, giving Kaden a peck on the cheek.
"I'll miss you so much, big brother!" she told him sweetly, breaking the hug and looking into a pair of eyes just like her own.
Kaden smiled, ruffled her hair a little and kissed her forehead. "I'll be counting the days until you guys are back, lil' sis. That's how much I'll miss you," he replied before turning to Luke, his face getting serious. "Make sure no bastards want to or even try to mess around with her, okay? Keep your eyes peeled.
Luke nodded. "You know it, Kae. I'll protect her with my life."
Demi rolled her eyes, a playful smile on her full lips. "Guys! It's always the same thing every year! You two and dad are the only men in my life. Quit being so darn overprotective!" Giggling, she pulled her brothers into a group hug and said a last goodbye before Demi and Luke walked inside the train.
They quickly found an empty compartment in which they settled their things and discussed the upcoming Quidditch season before the train began to move and they were joined by three scared-looking first years, Chris, Stella and Leslie, that couldn’t find anywhere else to sit. Demi, always having a soft spot for children, quickly erased their fears away and made them feel right at home. Before long, the five were sharing their background stories and talking animatedly.
“What does that badge on your robes mean, Demi?” asked Chris, pointing at a badge that was neatly pinned onto Demi’s robes. “How come we don’t have one?”
Demi smiled proudly, plucking out the badge from her robes, placing it on her open palm and offering the kids a better view of it. “I’ve been named the Quidditch captain of the Gryffindor team this year, so they gave me this badge to let people know. Only the team captains get it.”
“Woah…” Leslie whispered in awe, her brown eyes staring at the badge in reverence.
“What’s Quidditch?” asked Stella. The question was no surprise, seeing as the young girl was a Muggleborn.
The rest of the trip went on with Demi and Luke trying to explain the basics of Quidditch to the kids while they shared the Chocolate Cauldrons that the Graves had bought. The fivesome was so immersed in conversation that they failed to see the Old Hogwarts’ ruins. Before long, they had arrived at the platform just in front of the old school. The first years, having heard the call for them to step outside first, exited the compartment, giving Demi and Luke warm hugs before departing. Demi carefully stepped off the train, being hit immediately with a warm breeze and the smell of pine trees. She looked around at all the hassle, suddenly missing the days when Kaden joined them. She dreaded to think that she would be on her own next year.
Pushing the unwelcome thoughts aside, Demi made her way to the Great Hall alongside Luke. Her blue eyes wandered to the Quidditch field, with its house flags waving high in the air, seemingly calling out to her. She bit her lower lip longingly, wanting nothing more than to take her broomstick and get the buzz and freedom that could only be reached by flying through the clouds. Of course, she'd had to wait until the next day. They were now inside the castle and facing the stairs of the Great Hall when a crash and laughter reached Demi's and Luke's ears. Going through the double doors, Demi had just enough time to notice that a girl she only knew by sight was lying right on top of someone else's chest before a round of cheers and appoause suddenly filled the dining hall. She whipped her head in the direction of the noise, only to notice that it was coming from the Gryffindor table, where all the students were standing and beaming in her direction.
It seems word got out FAST that I'm captain... she was thinking, right before she let out a shriek of surprise when Luke and the rest of the Gryffindor team all took Demi into their arms and made their way to the table singing:
Demi is our Queen
She will not let the other teams win
That's why Gryffindor's all sing
Demi is our Queen.
They carefully sat Demi down in the middle of the table, where the other students made their way to congratulate her. Her face bright with embarrassment, she shook hands and thanked fellow students for what seemed like forever, when they heard a familiar voice of the Slytherin table say: "Who in their right mind would let Graves of all people be Captain? It seems we'll have an easy win this year."
The whole Hall went quiet. Standing up and smiling confidently, Demi turned to face the person. "I hope you keep that same train of thought when we win the Quidditch House Cup this year again, just like it's been for the last two years." she said cheekily, blowing them a kiss before taking her seat again. | Deleted |
44,835 | 1,222 | 3 | 1,098 | 1,153 | Tate Cummings & Tatum Cummings
As they continued to stand and stare, they felt someone bump into them as they eyed the male before them. "Julian." Tate spoke through clenched teeth and reached for his wand but Tatum stopped him. Tatum's ears twitched at Julian's words as he turned to stare at him as he walked away, not waiting for their comeback. "At least we don't walk away like a bitch." Tate and Tatum both snickered and fist pounded each other before heading towards the Great Hall. Once they entered, they realized that they had to go their separate ways.
"Well, I'll be at Gryffindor's table." Tate said while locking eyes with his brother. "Yeah and I'll be at Ravenclaw's." Tatum countered as they gave each other a quick hug then parted their way.
Tate Cummings
Tate walked over towards the Gryffindor's table and heard them all muttering to themselves about Demetria being team captain. His nose scrunched up as he couldn't believe that they gave the position to her. Her parents probably paid someone to give her the title. He sat beside his best bud in the house, Marshall and began conversing with him. "So, how was your summer?" He'd ask him as Marshall did nothing but shrug his shoulders while answering. "Eh, learned magic, hung out with parents, learned more magic and had the annual cookout. Same thing every summer." Marshall responded while grabbing a muffin before him. Tate nodded his head then looked as some people carried Demetria in. He looked at them with a sneer then removed that look when they sat her down right beside him, in the middle of the table. 'Why me?' He thought as he wanted to congratulate her but waited until the ensemble dispersed. Once they did, Tate cleared his throat and turned towards her. "Uhm, I guess congratulations are in order for you, Captain." Tate nudged her a little bit with a chuckle then looked over towards his brother, who was sticking his index finger in his mouth and imitating a gag. Tate shook his head and turned his attention back towards Demetria.
Tatum Cummings
Tatum really hated being away from his brother and couldn't wait until the sorting of the first years and breakfast was over. His eyes flashed up above and saw the starry sky begin to form as he loved that the rebuilding of the school kept that magical effect. Tatum sat down and got instant glares from the Slytherin table as it seemed that they all hated him now, after he changed houses. Slytherin wasn't the rightful place for him and he knew it but Ravenclaw was exactly where he belonged. A soft sigh parted over his lips as his eyes looked up at a group of people, carrying Demetria in. His brow raised as he muttered out loud. "What's going on?" A female turned towards him. "Didn't you hear? Demetria has been named team captain for Gryffindor." Tatum had a look of disgust plastered on his face as the female turned back around. His stare went towards his brother as he showed his disgust towards him with a chuckle. | Name:
Alyssa Mehgan Jessup.
Nickname:
Unlike everyone else in Slytherin, Alyssa adores nicknames. She likes to be called Lysa or Aly. She also likes to be called Meg or Jess, deriving from her middle and last name. She will basically accept anything that is not derogatory or cutesy.
Age:
Seventeen; 17.
Gender:
Female.
Sexuality:
Heterosexual.
Ethnicity:
American.
Blood Status:
Pureblood.
Wand:
10.5 Oak, Dragon Heartstring. |
44,836 | 1,222 | 4 | 1,804 | 386 | Lucas Calloway
’I can’t wait till the banquet’s over.’
It was all Lucas could think about as he sat at the Ravenclaw table, amidst the cacophonous chattering of everyone else in the Great Hall. While the first years seemed utterly awestruck by the starry sky above them, it had long since lost its charm for him. The trip to Hogwarts was exhausting, as always, and right now, all he wanted to do was sleep - something that all this noise made nigh impossible to do. Why his aunt insisted on him travelling all the way back to Wales every year was beyond him, all it seemed to be was a waste of time and energy. Perhaps she simply wished to lessen the window of opportunity he had to cause trouble? Lucas wasn’t sure, though he didn’t exactly care, either. But he supposed that there was some merit in being borderline notorious in school. No one bothered him, and if they did - he had no qualms with using a couple of hexes to shut them up.
This period of quiet didn’t last long, however, as he heard some kind of commotion unfolding somewhere down the table. Craning his neck, Lucas had to squint slightly to get a better glimpse of the situation.
Oh. It was her.
Lucas could barely contain a snicker as he watched the girl stammer her way through an apology. What was her name again? Jennifer? Janet? He didn’t know, but whatever it was, it started with a ‘J’, and that falling right into someone’s chest thing? Priceless. With luck, this year’s Sorting Feast would prove more entertaining than the last, though he didn’t exactly set his expectations high. A long, shuddering yawn from escaping him as he looked around at the rest of the Great Hall. Christ, he really should’ve gotten some sleep on the train instead of just trawling through Twitter like an idiot. There was never anything interesting on there, anyway.
Still, even with his fatigue-dulled senses, Lucas managed to listen in on a conversation happening not too far away. Something about the new captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team? Big fucking deal. It sounded boring, really. News like this had never been up his alley, and the most amusing thing was how everyone seemed to be talking about it. While he could’ve done the sensible thing - keeping his head down, and his mouth shut - Lucas and ‘sensible’ had never, in all his 17 years, been put together in the same sentence.
“Whoop-dee-fucking-doo, Demetria’s the new Captain. Who gives a shit?” Lucas muttered, though it was definitely loud enough for those in his immediate vicinity to hear, as apparent from the dirty looks his little comment earned him. Hey, he was in a bad mood, alright? The last thing on his mind was school spirit, and from what he saw, he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. While he didn’t have a personal vendetta against her, stirring up trouble was always a guaranteed way of keeping things fresh. | - |
44,837 | 1,222 | 5 | 156 | 2,749 | |BLEU DELACROIX|
Bleu startled awake, falling out of her seat and onto the floor of the train. She slowly sat up, tucking her legs beneath her and rubbing her eyes in annoyance. She stood up gradually, tumbling in the small compartment with every lurch of the train. It was with a sweet finality that Bleu slumped into her seat, tangling her hands in her brown hair and sighing. Her little nap had left her feeling groggy and gross, oil gleaning her face and a sluggishness remaining in her limbs. Bleu ruffled through her messenger bag that she carries around and pulled out a wipe, sliding it across her face and removing the grease from her face, leaving her fresh.
Grey, Bleu’s calico cat, jumped onto her lap as they pulled into Hogwarts and Bleu felt anxiety build up inside of her. The anxiety increased with every step she took – off the train, on the ground, into Hogwarts, towards the Great Hall. It took her a moment to figure out that Hufflepuff’s – the house which she had been sorted into over the summer – table happened to be the one swathed in yellow. While Bleu, personally, looked good in blue, she didn’t mind yellow that much either.
When the Gryffindor’s – or that’s what she was told they would be considering they were dressed in a fiery red and wondrous gold – erupted into cheers at some girl and Bleu just wished it would stop. She held a hand to her aching head and bowed her head, thinking about food, food, food. Over to the next table, almost directly behind Bleu, a boy exclaimed over the annoyance of it, and despite his uncouth language, Bleu had to reluctantly agree.
|BARNY ARKWRIGHT|
The morning had been dull, the ride had been dull, everything had been dull. So, it was obviously Barnaby Arkwright’s job to make something interesting happen. After the ride, he intentionally hid behind some trees, waiting for the crowd to leave, before he crept into the school. He stalked towards the Great Hall and, holding in a breath, placed his hands lightly on the door. And then, he flung them open and slid in on his charmed knees, his arms outstretched from wall to wall and a huge grin on his face.
“HELLOOOO HOGWARTS!!” He hollered, a blonde curl flopping in his face. | BLEU DELACROIX
Birthday:
February 21
Age:
16
Gender:
Female
Sexuality:
Pansexual
Ethnicity:
French
Blood Status:
Muggleborn
Wand:
Apple with phoenix feather core, 10”3’, quite flexible
Familiar:
Grey, a calico cat
Appearance:
Bleu is an exuberant girl with a healthy pink-peach complexion and wavy chestnut brown hair. Her eyes are an incredible light blue with an outer ring of dark blue; the blueness of her eyes is best seen when she smiling, because they seem to glow with her happiness. Her smile is wide and reaches from cheek to cheek, radiating on her face. She stands at 5’6” and is a healthy weight, though she has slightly chubby cheeks.
Likes:
Reading, animals, adventures, hanging with friends, tulips, sweet foods, crepes, and milk
Dislikes:
Bullies, unnecessary meanness, spicy foods, and apple juice
Hobbies:
Doodling and collecting dried flowers
Year:
Fifth year
House:
Hufflepuff
Personality:
Bleu is a generally easy-going girl with a kind heart. She tries to help people whenever she can and goes out of her way to do it. Blue trusts people easily and wears her heart on her sleeve, but when someone hurts her, she tends to hold a grudge. Optimistic, Bleu is always looking on the bright side and attempting to cheer people up with it, and her optimism goes well with her hard-working nature. She is intelligent and , as such, she has many important values and opinions, and when she is hot about a subject, she is loud, opinionated, and outspoken. She never gives up, which is actually a bad thing because it tends to cause tension between her and her friends in arguments. Stubborn as a bull, even when she knows she is wrong, she will fight to the death to prove she is right. Bleu is easily hurt and, though she tries to hide it in a martyr way of helping her friends, she can be susceptible to bouts of depression because of it. Adding to this, Bleu suffers from clinical depression, and if she does not take her anti-depressants regularly, then she will have bouts of crying and suicidal thoughts. Bleu is extremely claustrophobic.
Place of Origin:
Paris, France
History:
Bleu comes from a family of muggles and was born and raised in France. However, she speaks really good English and has been to America and England many times due to having extended family living there. When she was six years old, Bleu’s mother attempted suicide due to her clinical depression and was admitted to the hospital. She attempted four more times throughout Bleu’s childhood until she was placed into the mental ward for two years. When she returned, she was a whole new person, and she tried her best to be there for Bleu. However, Bleu is still scared that her mother might try again, and might die, and so she keeps her at a distance.
At the age of twelve, Bleu was admitted into Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Excited and astonished, Bleu ate up knowledge like it was her nutella crepes. However, when she was in her third year, despite everything being fine, Bleu felt immensely depressed and attempted suicide. She was sent home, where she received therapy, until they discovered she had inherited clinical depression from her mother. She still continued to attend Beauxbatons Academy until the end of her fourth year, when she discovered her mother’s sister had breast cancer. The Delacroix moved to England in order to be with her aunt and Bleu transferred to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Other:
-This is her first year at Hogwarts, despite being in the fifth year
-Her favorite class is transfiguration
-She hopes to be a professor |
44,838 | 1,222 | 6 | 1,450 | 319 | |Jean Clements|
|Location: The Great Hall|
The other person had given her a glare and had practically pushed her off, stomping off down the table and leaving her kneeling on the floor, shaking. It was taken her a minute to realize it was a Slytherin and now they were back among their own, who were laughing and jeering, and pointing at her.
Sometimes, she wished she'd never found out she was a witch. She didn't even have anyone here who would stand up for her. Her friends either hadn't seen or were disowning her for the moment.
A chant had gotten up somewhere at the far side of the room near the Gryffindor but she had no interest in it, nor in the random shouts and calls across the room. It was Slytherin closest to the door, then Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and finally Slytherin. She'd always thought that it was this order because Gryffindor and Slytherin were like bitter rivals, so they needed to be as far apart as possible. Hufflepuffs were sweet and therefore an easy target, leaving Ravenclaw to be a small barrier between. Quite frankly, she wished to as far from the Slytherins as she could get right now.
She'd gotten to her feet, shaking a little and had taken a couple of steps toward a seat when the great hall doors had sung open and Barnaby Arkwright came skidding down the isle. In her haste not to be knocked over, she landed with a thump on the bench, looking shocked.
She'd never felt worse, biting her lip and shaking.
"M...m...mind if I sit here?" she asked the students who she landed among. They were 3rd years, much younger than her, but didn't seem to mind and nodded. "Thank you."
She sat miserably, head in her hands. She wasn't cool, like Tate or Tatum, or popular like Demetria or even funny like Barnaby. She was a joke.
"Well...." she said, and then stopped herself. Finishing that sentence with something like it couldn't get worse was asking for trouble.
She gave a small groan and put her head on the table, wanting to go to bed. The second time it was louder, when the Slytherin's began to sing. She wasn't sure who had it worse, the badgers being next to the lions, or her
house being next to the snakes.
|Julian Wolf|
|Location: The Great Hall|
Julian could give a flying rat about Quidditch. He'd never been interested in being on the team, but when the chanting started, he whistled to the rest of the Slytherins, most of whom started up the song, starting low and building. Most people might have recognised the tune, but the Slytherins certainly seemed to find it funny, Wolf conducting with his wand.
"Who do we feel sorry for?
There's no way that they can score!
Gryffindor, Gryffindor.
Who is easy to ignore?
They can't handle what's in store.
That's Gryffindor!"
Many Slytherin's laughed and grinned, the noise building as they laughed and sang, but Wolf the loudest as the second verse started.
"Who are we fighting for?
Slytherin, Slytherin.
Who's the ones who always win
Slytherin.
Against the Quaffle we defend
Winning is all that we intend
Slytherin." | Name: Julian Wolf
Nickname: Jules, Wolf
Birthday: 31st August
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Ethnicity: White British
Blood Status: Pure Blood
Wand: Wood: Black Limba. Core: Murtlap Tail.
Familiar: Murphy, the owl.
Appearance: Jules is tall for his age and slim, but not skinny. Brown hair, blue eyes, thin of face.
Distinguishing features: He has a small scar on his left cheek.
"You want to know how I got it? Grow a pair and ask."
House: Slytherin
Likes: To charm girls, to be center of attention when it suits him, DADA
Dislikes: Boys who try and take what he sees as his, stupid people, flying
Personality: Jules is the cool, quiet type, though he has a fast tongue for anyone trying to be smart. He can seem distant, but if he wants something, he'll do anything to possess it and will fight to keep it. He isn't dumb, but also won't shy away from a fight, preferring hands to wands
Place of Origin: England, the East Mindlands
History: Jules is one of 3 children, the only boy. His older sister attends Durmstrang, whilst his twin is at Beaubaxtons. It is unusual for family members to attend different schools, but that was his mother's wish. Their father does as he's told.
Being one of a pair, Jules and his sister were pretty close, but their mother had always been very clear that when they went to wizarding school, they would be separate.
His eldest sister, Estel, was cruel and harsh to him, mimicking his mother. In their family wit and brains won out, and his mother always encouraged his sisters to treat him as a rival. Boys, she said so often, are prized in the world over girls, so you must conquer them. It didn't give any assistance to sibling affection, especially once his twin, Gianna began to attend an alternative school. Since then she has become somewhat distant. Both sisters, and his mother write, and he writes back, but their letters are not full of affection. He is bitter toward those who have "soft" families, seeing it as a weakness and not being prepared for real life. Only when you met people and became part of the food chain were you able to attain worth.
Other
Song: TBA
Can speak Italian, German and french |
44,839 | 1,222 | 7 | 1,813 | 471 | Damien Anderson
"Come on Jullie, come here! We're going to be late if your done napping now" Damien said to his cat, arms crossed as he waited for the thing to finish its stretching and yawning. It was Damien's 6th year as a student in Hogwarts and he couldn't wait, picking up his bags and cat in the other hand, he looked back. Where he was staying was his muggle friend's place, where he was his roommate and paid for part of the rent. It was a nice time staying there with his friend but Hogwarts was calling to him and left his friend a brief reply with this month and next rent on his table and the spare key. The door was already locked, so he didn't have to worry about it and the windows were closed and latched so no one could enter. With nothing else to check, with bag and cat in hand he appirated to Hogwarts...
His eyes were closed as the sensation passed, taking a deep breath as the tight squeezing grip on him disappeared, he looked at his cat and luggage before confirming they were still there. He was running slightly early however, he was in Hogsmead and would need to get to Hogwarts so, he began his trek to the school.
It hadn't taken long as Damien dropped off this belongings and soon was in the great hall more or less on time with everyone in, sighing as he already wanted the feast to end even though he had just got here but at least he was going to see everyone again. Looking around, Damien saw the three other houses besides his and observed the newcomers to the school, keying some key individuals both new and reoccurring faces. He soon left his standing position and sat down at the Hufflepuff Table where he began to give small talk to his other members of the house. It didn't take long for his foul mood to disappear as he was captured back by his other peers and soon began talking about each other experiences while they were gone and many more other things. However, soon the room became more interesting as the Cummings Twins had a encounter with the Slytherin Jullian. It wasn't anything to be excited about but, there was always drama in the school that was happening that had to be sorted out somehow during the year.
His gaze soon diverted from them and looked at his 'would-be' house, the Ravenclaws who had serious competition over their intelligence which made him glad to stay out of that house. He already knew that he wouldn't survive the backstabbing the house did to each other and was glad to be in Hufflepuff. However, a loud bang and a meek apology from a shy girl, on her was her house being Ravenclaw. Then there was Lucas, another Ravenclaw who was being given some disdainful looks for probably something he said, in which Damien wondered about his upbringing however, kept that to himself.
Then there was the Slytherin household, which he absolutely gave no fucks, besides keeping some tabs on some annoying snakes he honestly didn't even want to give them any of his two cents. So, back to his table his gaze went where he observed who else was sitting at the table who he knew, which in this case everyone so, he looked for someone he talked to more than the others before pinpointing out Bleu. Despite his nature to be quiet, he went over to socialize instead deciding to be reclusive latter.
"Hey, your name is Bleu right? You are in the fifth year, and..." He said next to her ear "your first year here. Yay!" He exclaimed with happiness oozing out of his words. He looked at the girl before he sat next to her and decided to pursue the conversation more, as he wanted to know more about her. She was eerie and seemed to have shown faint signs of fatigue that he noticed but if the girl wanted she could explain or not as it was none of his business. "So, since this is your first year, how was your other school like? I only been to Mahoutokoro in Japan, which I went to before moving and then coming to Hogwarts! I transferred here during my fourth-year if I remembered correctly and was sorted into this house! Also if you know why I know your a transfer student, its because of how nervous you are. You need to relax before our classes come attacking us with homework!!!" Energetically his words came out of Damien's mouth with a zap of energy and were in a friendly and welcoming tone, as he knew what it was like transferring schools especially as a wizard. | Holding up a figure of 5'10", and having a weight of around 135 pounds, Damien isn’t intimidating person as he gives off the air of 'Care-Free', 'Energetic' and 'Quirky'. From his posture he always haves his arms in a 'L' shape with his dominate hand sticking out and leans slightly onto his right side being slightly more feminine form. He also seems to never stay in one place or stay still as he is always seen moving around the room and starting every step with a burst of energy. He’s also is always seen smiling and never having a negative emotion spread upon his face keeping it relatively positive or neutral most of the time. However, on occasion you catch him scowling or rolling his eyes before brightening up to talk to someone.
Name
Damien Anderson
Birthday
June 22th
Age
17
Gender
Male
Sexuality
Pansexual - Panromantic
Ethnicity
Half-American, Half-Korean
Blood Status
Half-Blood
Wand
10'5" Cherry, Dragon Hearstring
Familiar
Likes
A good old simple talk - A shoulder to cry and lean on - Reading Books - Photographic Designing
Dislikes
Having no purpose in life, Being viewed inferior by others, People with a stick up them, Giving up too early
Year
6th Year
House
Hufflepuff
Personality
Damien is an outgoing person who likes socializing with real people but prefers to socialize over the internet where he can talk to anyone in the world. He hates being doubted wrong by his friends and other people and easily holds grudges on people, however feigns it off with a mask that he wears nicely to hide his opinions about them, always looking to be a happy individual. His ability to hide his emotion is a good thing however, he often holds them in instead of releasing it and confronting making him get into trouble more when it all just... pops. When he is not on the web or speaking to his friends his most common hobby that he likes to do is read and be alone. He has a blend of both halves, almost perfectly between and introvert and extrovert maintaining good relationships whip leaving enough time for himself as well.
Place of Origin
Liverpool, England
History
Being the oldest son of the two couple, Andrew Anderson and Naomi Anderson, Damien grew up in England for a some time up of his 11th birthday before his family soon moved to Tokyo, Japan for a job that his father could get. There he mostly grew up in Japan and lived there for the majority of his life where he attended the wizarding school of Mahoutokoro in Japan where he made many friends and learned much. His time spent there however, was up to the third year, before life at home was beginning to become rocky and unstable due to the hospitalization and coma of his mother but the father and son managed to strive on during hard times. With two managing by themselves, Damien grew distant with his father as he was spending more time in the Wizarding School and doing other things before soon rarely saw either. They had now had their separate lives as wizard and human with no, to little association with either.
However, the time came when the group was again swept away to England once more due to finical crisis of his father's job once more and had to move for an available job to support himself and his wife. Soon in England he received a letter allowing him to transfer to Hogwarts from Mahoutokoro and he agreed since it would be closer to his mother. There in Hogwarts he was able to be sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff but was given Hufflepuff due to his choices that he had made. Soon, against all odds, it was not to be as Damien's mother died and passed away leaving the Damien and his father alone. After the incident Damien practically stopped coming home and his father deciding that his son had left him to abandoned him leaving Damien to the world of Wizards and Witches and left as well. This left Damien by himself having to support himself, he informed the school at first and was given a small allowance with money he earned from odd jobs. With his new found situation, he managed quite well on himself and decided to go along with Hogwarts and finish his education and basically a new life.
Other
Apologize
How To Save a Life
Good Time
He knows how to speak English and Korean from his parents, and Japanese while he was living in Japan. |
44,840 | 1,222 | 8 | 2,364 | 66 | MircusAshby
The platform was crowded and Mircus and Nyra had to weave between the mass of families saying goodbye to their families. Their parents always sent him off alone, and they appeared to be treating Nyra no different. A small Kestrel Falcon jumped around in its cage as she didn't like being shook around, and it gave a loud screech to let her friend know she was unhappy. "I know Talon, but we'll have you on the train shortly." Once their luggage had been placed into the undercarriage the sixth-year student led his eleven-year-old sister onto the Express.
They moved down the narrow path as Mircus checked for a place to sit. He found some long-time acquaintances sitting in one and gave the Cummings twins a smile and nod as he passed by. It looked as though they were in the middle of a serious discussion, and given what Tate had been through recently he understood and continued moving. Soon he came upon another Gryffindor. He poked his head in the doorway. "'Ey there, 'team captain'," he smirked. "Aye, I'd heard. I'm sure you'll do well, but good luck." He smiled at the fellow captain before squeezing past three first years. He finally found a small compartment already occupied by two others, but since there we no other available compartments he and his sister sat down.
"You look nervous, sis. Don't be. No matter what House you get sorted into, you'll do fine. And I'll be there to protect ya' no matter what." She finally grinned up at her older brother. "But, honestly, I hope you get sorted to Hufflepuff. We are going to need a new Seeker this year." They had a makeshift quidditch match in their yard and practiced constantly. Nyra had always been great at catching the snitch. She had gotten the talent from their mother.
~*~
Mircus had been one of the first in the Great Hall. He loved seeing all the new faces and reconnecting with old friends. Suddenly a commotion arose behind him and he turned to find that the Gryffindors were carrying their new team captain to the table. An exchange between the girl and a Slytherin only hinted at the rivalry. "Hell, she can't do any worse than your captain, Slytherin," Mircus coaxed up, using the House name as he didn't know the loudmouth. "Ye haven't had the trophy in three years." Mircus had been made team captain three years ago when the previous captain had graduated and drove his team to break the Slytherin's win-streak. Then, the bane of his quidditch career, Thunder Graves, had begun focusing him. And since, he'd been unable to be as successful on the field.
Putting the banter behind him he looked down the Hufflepuff table, finding a familiar and friendly face. "Damien!" He shouted, moving behind the Korean and placing his hands on his shoulders. "I've missed you all summer, mate. How've you been?" He looked down, spotting a new face. She was unfamiliar but looked as though she was in her later years. Must be another transfer, Mircus thought. "Who's your friend."
Not long after, the sorting ceremony had begun and Mircus had taken a seat beside Damien and Bleu. His sister was around the tenth to be sorted. When she came up onto the dais Mircus smiled brightly and lifted a hand to her as she waved fervently at him. He waited, watching eagerly as the Hat spoke confidently to her. "Yes, you are a bright one, aren't you. Perhaps you belong to Ravenclaw. No, you're too nice for that, they'd eat you alive. Maybe you belong in Hufflepuff then, huh, with your brother. You'd like that, I can tell. But you would have no room to truly prove those talents you keep hidden away. Oh, yes, I know your secrets as I knew his. No, no, I know the spot for you..." Mircus leaned forward, anticipation at an ultimate high. "You belong in Gryffindor!" A sea of scarlet and gold rose, and Mircus along with it. "Wooh!" He shouted, clapping and whistling loudly as his baby sister made her way to her new home. | MircusAshby
Birthday
May 27, 2081
Age
17
Gender
Male
Sexuality
Hetero
Ethnicity
Irish
Blood Status
Pure Blood
Wand
121/4" Rosewood with a Phoenix Feather core
Familiar
Appearance
Mircus is 6'0 and has a toned, athletic build. His eyes are an emerald shade. He always wears is long brown hair in a messy fashion, although it takes quite a bit of work to make it look like he puts no work into it at all. Even when Mircus is wearing casual clothing he like to show his school pride by wearing some combination of black and yellow.
Likes
Irish Rock and Folk music|Quidditch|Kenmare Kestrels|Magical Creatures|Helping Others|Being Carefree
Dislikes
Hurting Others|Feeling Helpless|Orangemen
Year
6th Year
House
Hufflepuff
Personality
Mircus has always been a carefree person, even since he was a child. He would always run through the fields or fly around on his broomstick, exploring the land. He was also very loyal, to both his friends and family, coming to their aid whenever necessary. He was a kind-hearted person to everyone he met, until they had given him reason not to be. He could be very helpful to his allies and quite dangerous to his enemies.
Place of Origin
Dublin, Ireland
History
Growing up in a multi-generational pure blood family wasn't as demanding as most people would have you believe. At least, not for Mircus. His parents were a bit more liberal in terms of blood status and Hogwarts Housing. He was fortunate to not have the burden of such things placed on him at a young age. However, he did find conflict soon into his early teen years. His parents came to him, explaining the importance of knowing and practicing the Dark Arts. They believed that to be a true and powerful wizard one must be able to use every school of magic available to him, not restricting himself.
It made sense to a young child's brain. However, soon after learning to practice Dark Arts in secret during the summers at home, his parents began teaching him of the Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all time. Lord Voldemort. When he began his term at Hogwarts he had already been taught of the greatness of Voldemort and brainwashed against the "lies" he would learn in school. But he was also taught about the importance of secrecy.
Soon, though, Mircus began to slowly contemplate. He wondered, what if the books and histories were true. What if Voldemort truly was as evil as they said. What if he did do these horrendous things to people. Mircus would become internally divided, wanting to be a loyal son, but not wanting to worship someone who had done such horrid things.
Other
Mircus is a Chaser and Team Captain for House Hufflepuff, taking his team to the House Cup twice, but always falling short, due to their seeker's incompetence. He didn't like to blame anyone, but there was only so much that could be done. This year, however, the seeker had graduated, and it would be his job to find a new one.
Being a lover of all creatures, Mircus excelled at Care of Magical Creatures. His favorite was the Hippogriff. |
44,841 | 1,222 | 9 | 647 | 1,506 | Demetria Graves
Just as she had taken her seat on the Gryffindor table, she heard a familiar voice say: "Hell, she can't do any worse than your captain, Slytherin. Ye haven't had the trophy in three years." Her heart was now a hummingbird in her chest as her eyes landed on none other than Mircus Ashby, and a bright smile illuminated her beautiful features. She caught his eye, and muttered 'thank you' with the smile still in place. When her father and brothers asked her if she had any guys on her sight, she lied to let them breathe easily at night. But, in fact, she'd had a crush on the Hufflepuff captain since she'd transferred to Hogwarts on her second year. Tall, athletic, that angular face, those hypnotizing emerald eyes, her same passion for Quidditch... It would be a match made in heaven. Demi sighed happily as she remembered how he'd dropped by her compartment on his way to find one for him and his sister to congratulate her on becoming captain. It made the hummingbird in her chest soar with joy.
The sound of someone clear their throat brought her back to reality. Demi turned to her left side and found herself almost face to face with no other than Tate Cummings, one of the most popular and sought-after guys on her year.
"Uhm, I guess congratulations are in order for you, Captain." he said, softly nudging her with his elbow. He turned to took at his brother, and when Demi followed, the smile and thanks she was going to give Tate vanished on the spot. Tatum was mock-vomiting with his eyes on her, and Tate simply chuckled, shook his head and tuned his attention towards her again.
Anger flashed in Demi's eyes. It was enough that most people from other houses were doubting her (she'd felt it in he way they were whispering behind her back), but to have her own housemates underestimate her, the ones that cheered her on during each match and celebrated on every win, was just too much. She felt her blood beginning to boil.
"That has been the most hypocritical thing you've ever said to me. Next time you congratulate someone, be sure to mean it," she told him coldly. As if on queue, the Slytherins began to sing a chant in retaliation for the one the Gryffindors had been singing. Once again, Demi turned in the direction of the sound. A scowl took hold of her beautiful features when she saw Julian Wolf conducting the chant. Her breathing got heavy, and as he sang the second verse louder than the rest, Demi clenched her teeth. She was never good with handling anger: it always took complete hold of her and made her do things she would regret later. At the moment, all she could think about was making Wolfe pay for always being such a rude bully. Her hand went to her pocket, where she kept her wand. She was about to mutter a hex when Luke placed his hand over her wand, having sat between her and Tate without her noticing.
"Demi, drop it. Not right now. You wanna get detention before term even starts?" her brother whispered in her ear, keeping his hand over her wand.
Demi closed her eyes and took ten deep, calming breaths. She tucked her wand back inside the pocket of her robes and looked at Luke, clearly calmer. "That Wolf's got it coming. He keeps this up, I'm ripping his head off with a bludger."
Luke chuckled, giving Demi a one-arm hug. "Easy there, Thunder. Don't let him or anyone else get to you. They're not worth your time or energy."
Demi hugged Luke back, laying her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for always keeping me sane, Luke. I appreciate it."
"Hey, what are big brothers for?" he told her with a smile, kissing the top of her head.
Their brother-sister moment was suddenly interrupted when the double doors were flung open and a young man slid in on his knees, his arms outstretched from wall to wall and a huge grin on his face.
“HELLOOOO HOGWARTS!!” He hollered, a blonde curl flopping in his face.
Just then, they received the queue that the Sorting Ceremony was about to take place.
Soon enough, the double doors opened and a sea of scared-looking first years made their way to the front. The Sorting Hat was already in its place in front of the staff table, giving everyone a clear view of the sorting. Demi quickly picked out Chris, Stella and Leslie, who were fidgeting nervously. The three gave Demi anxious smiles as they waited to be sorted, and she told them 'It's okay' in an attempt to calm them down. Leslie was the first to be called, and she was placed in the Ravenclaw house. Chris was placed in Hufflepuff, while Stella became the first Gryffindor of the batch. She gave Demi a hug when she had arrived at the table and quickly sat down beside her.
"See? I told you it would be okay. And now you get to join me in our House!" Demi told Stella excitedly, to which the young girl replied with a beaming smile.
The tenth student to be sorted was Nyra Ashby. Demi noticed her waving fervently in the direction of the Hufflepuff table, and when she stole a peek, her heart melted at the sight of Mircus smiling brightly and lifting a hand to his sister. To her surprise and after an interesting evaluation of the Hat, Nyra was placed in Gryffindor. Demi got up from her seat, clapping, cheering and jumping with joy along with her other housemates as Nyra made her way to the Gryffindor table. Demi made a signal for the girl to sit beside Stella if she wished. As the cheers subsided and everyone took their seats again, Demi caught Mircus' eye. "I'll take care of her," she clearly articulated so that he could read her lips easily. Giving him a smile and a wink, Demi turned her attention back to the Sorting. | Deleted |
44,842 | 1,222 | 10 | 1,098 | 1,153 | Tate Cummings
As Tate waited for a reply from Demetria, he looked around the Great Hall and everyone in it, waving at some of his friends from other houses. His ears twitched and everything seemed to fall silent when Barny entered. His eyes rolled as it seemed like Barny always had to be seen by everyone - Attention seeker, as he like to call him. Tate couldn't hold back a slight chuckle as he watched Julian conducting the supposedly Slytherin choir with his wand. Tate was silent as he wanted to zap that little prick with his wand to tone him down a little bit but didn't want to cost Gryffindor points early on. Tate's gaze then turned back to Demetria as she basically spoke coldly towards him. "Well, uhm, I..." He couldn't even say that he was sorry after she had done jumped up and basically tackled Barny. "Or not." He quirked his lips to the side then watched as the timid little first years entered the hall.
A lot of them came to Gryffindor and Slytherin, you seldom heard Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw though they did get a few recruits. He greeted his now fellow Gryffindor recruits and welcomed them to the house. After the sorting was over, the new Headmistress stood at the podium and waited for it to become quiet before she began her speech. It was kind of weird seeing a woman in charge of Hogwarts but things are slowly changing and he was liking it so far.
Tatum Cummings
Tatum eyed Lucas as he caught his comments from him. Speaking of disgust, his comments were really not needed especially if he was going to be nasty. "Gosh, Lucas, just shut the fuck up. I mean, let them be happy." He said as it seemed all of the Ravenclaw's eyes were on them. "Just because you're in a bad mood, you do not have to drag everyone down with you." Tatum rolled his eyes at Lucas, not really caring for his comments as he turned his attention away from him now. He looked at Bleu as she went over to the Hufflepuff's table and was fixing to greet her but Barny came in, causing a ruckus as always. Julian's Slytherin chant made everyone's eyes turn towards him as he raised a brow. "Has everyone gone mad?" He whispered to himself then saw Damien as he talked to no one but Bleu. Once the double doors opened, he turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse of the first years and turned to his brother, remembering their first year together and people were stunned to see another pair of twins at Hogwarts. He applauded as a few people came over to Ravenclaw but gave smug looks when someone went to Slytherin.
Once the sorting was over, the new Headmistress came up to the podium and raised her hands up to quiet down the excited chatter. Her eyes bounced from table to table as a small smile began to form over her partially parted lips.
Headmistress Reynolds & Alyssa Jessup
She sat there and watched every individual student come in and smiled at them with sheer delight, it was basically a welcome back smile. Most students came up to her and congratulated her on being the school's headmistress, along with the new dark arts teacher. She thanked them with an ending smile and waved them off to their seats. She saw some people were causing a ruckus already on the first day and she just looked at them. Joselyn knew that one day, she was going to have them all under her control, under her spell and if they disobeyed her orders, she was definitely going to put an end to them. Just the thought made her lips turn up into a smirk as it quickly went away as the double doors opened and a flutter of timid, shy kids filled the middle aisle.
'Little bastards.' Joselyn thought to herself while eying them all. She couldn't wait until the sorting was over so she could give her first speech to the kids before her. And as soon as it ended, she immediately stood up and approached the podium, lifting her hands up to signal for silence and once it was, she breathed before speaking. "Hello there, everyone and welcome to a brand new exciting year at Hogwarts." She said while smiling brightly. "Sadly, we had to tear down the old school though it didn't really take long to build this one. But for those that don't know me, allow me to introduce myself, I am Headmistress Joselyn Reynolds and the new dark arts professor. I hope to see many of you in my class but not in my office." She said with a stern look. "I could stand up here and tell you about the year ahead but I am not. There will be surprises all year round." She eyed her fellow faculty and staff.
Joselyn eyed the kids again then waved her hands out before her and overhead of the tables, their respective flags showed. "Enjoy your year!" She shouted with sheer delight and turned heel as the applause of people echoed throughout her ears. "Great job, Headmistress." One of the faculty members spoke. "Thank you, dear. Excuse me a moment." Joselyn already knew the insides and outs of the school and she demanded or persuaded the builders to build her a personal dungeon, which she was making her way to now.
Upon entering, she smirked at the poor, little blonde headed girl in the corner. "Wake up, cupcake." Joselyn slowly made her way over towards the female and knelt down beside her. "You are never going to get away with this. People are going to worry about me. Ever thought about that?" She raised a brow towards Joselyn and basically spat those words towards her. "I'll just make them all forget about you, dear." She chuckled a little bit evilly then suddenly stopped. "Your my prisoner because you know what your family did to mine." Joselyn got up and walked out of the dungeon and closed the door then opened up the small flap. "Hope you rot in here." She then shut the flap after hearing the muffled screams of the blonde headed girl.
A few minutes passed and she sneaked back in and saw as the kids were dispersing to their respective dormitories. She eyed them and smirked and wanted to spit up with absolute disgust. This was her school and no one was going to her different, they could try but she still knew she ruled the camp. She faked yawn and turned towards her staff. "Well, guys, I should head off to bed. Make sure the kiddos are safe and well. See you guys in the morning." She spoke softly towards then trotted off and made her way to her room. | Name:
Alyssa Mehgan Jessup.
Nickname:
Unlike everyone else in Slytherin, Alyssa adores nicknames. She likes to be called Lysa or Aly. She also likes to be called Meg or Jess, deriving from her middle and last name. She will basically accept anything that is not derogatory or cutesy.
Age:
Seventeen; 17.
Gender:
Female.
Sexuality:
Heterosexual.
Ethnicity:
American.
Blood Status:
Pureblood.
Wand:
10.5 Oak, Dragon Heartstring. |
44,843 | 1,222 | 11 | 1,450 | 319 | |Julian Wolf|
|Location: The Great Hall, then Slytherin Dorms|
Wolf had enjoyed his spectacle, mostly because he knew it would annoy the other houses, mostly Gryffindor. The funny thing was that the chant wasn't as offensive as others, but other houses seemed more and more sensitive to any comments these days. He was glad this was to be his final year.
He didn't look at the other tables, as interested in their thoughts on his actions as he would be a worm. How they would manage in the real world if they couldn't even handle a bit of quidditch chanting was beyond him. They should try a night with Estel.
He grimmaced at the thought of her, and listened to the.... well it wasn't a speech, because it hadn't lasted long enough. He'd have called it a headline, but there was nothing interesting about it.
"Still, it was short and pointless," he said when another student had made a comment. "Better than long and pointless."
It was then he noticed Alyssa wasn't at the table, which was odd. She was in his year but she wasn't there.
"Seen Jessup?" he asked the person next to him, but they shook their head.
But soon dinner was in front of them and all thoughts of her were pushed from his mind. She might have missed the train, or gone straight to bed.
When they'd finished eating, he led the new Slytherin's proudly from the hall, ensuring they were out the doors. They looked like little ducklings following a mother goose, for Julian towered over them, leading them away and to their new home. The new password had already been issued and he spoke it to the wall which transformed into a passage.
The waited until they were within before passing the secret to the first years. He always worried someone might be listening and the Gryffindor prefects were known to pretty much announce theirs to the whole corridor.
Too tired to waste any more time, he headed to the sanctuary of his dorm, and was asleep the moment his head rested upon the pillow.
|Jean Clements|
|Location: The Great Hall, the Ravenclaw Dorms|
Jean heard the exchange between the two boys in her house from where she sat practically at the other end of the table. She wanted to tell them to stop, to speak, but she blushed at the idea, sinking into her chair. It would do no good. They wouldn't listen, even if she had enough confidence to try.
The speech was odd, she thought. Too short. It was Reynolds first year, but not even telling the young first years the rules? That seemed unfair.
Jean had not received a Prefect badge, and she was fine with that, but she wasn't going to leave their new housemates to themselves.
She got up carefully, as the food began to appear, and moved the short distance to the end of the table where the new first years sat, looking wide eyed and puzzled.
"Hi there," she said sweetly, for she was more confident talking to them than she felt in her own class. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Jean."
The first years looked surprised at find her talking to them, but they smiled and introduced themselves. There were only a few, but she was pleased. Those who had gotten in would fit in.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but would you mind if I sit with you?" she said, before lowering her voice to a stage whisper, "it's kinda noisy my end."
They moved up for her, the space where she had been dissolving by other students.
And so she sat with the first years during their first meal. She smiled as they told her about themselves, their blood, their families, and she in turn told them about Hogwarts and some of the rules that would be part of their life.
"And a Prefect will take you to your new rooms in Ravenclaw House once you finish eating," she told them. "They'll help you today, but you need to make sure your ready to answer the riddle. They can be really hard, but if you don't know don't panic. Just wait for someone to come and help you."
Jean had so far never been stood outside the common room unable to get in. Puzzles were one of her favorite things and she spent a lot of time on riddles. It was one of those things she could do under pressure.
Before long the Prefects came to collect the first years and Jean headed out ahead of them, looking forward to sitting in the Ravenclaw Common room. She looked at the doorknocked which yawned at her.
I'm part of a bird,
but not in the sky.
I can swim in the ocean,
and always stay dry.
what am I?"
Jean thought for a minute, then nodded.
"The shadow of a bird," she said.
"Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably the reason why so few engage in it," intoned the knocker, before revealing the Ravenclaw Common room.
Jeane went straight over to the windows which, in the old school had revealed views of the grounds of Hogwarts. This one was no different and she gazed at the mountain peaks in the distance with a smile, resting her chin on her arms. | Name: Julian Wolf
Nickname: Jules, Wolf
Birthday: 31st August
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Ethnicity: White British
Blood Status: Pure Blood
Wand: Wood: Black Limba. Core: Murtlap Tail.
Familiar: Murphy, the owl.
Appearance: Jules is tall for his age and slim, but not skinny. Brown hair, blue eyes, thin of face.
Distinguishing features: He has a small scar on his left cheek.
"You want to know how I got it? Grow a pair and ask."
House: Slytherin
Likes: To charm girls, to be center of attention when it suits him, DADA
Dislikes: Boys who try and take what he sees as his, stupid people, flying
Personality: Jules is the cool, quiet type, though he has a fast tongue for anyone trying to be smart. He can seem distant, but if he wants something, he'll do anything to possess it and will fight to keep it. He isn't dumb, but also won't shy away from a fight, preferring hands to wands
Place of Origin: England, the East Mindlands
History: Jules is one of 3 children, the only boy. His older sister attends Durmstrang, whilst his twin is at Beaubaxtons. It is unusual for family members to attend different schools, but that was his mother's wish. Their father does as he's told.
Being one of a pair, Jules and his sister were pretty close, but their mother had always been very clear that when they went to wizarding school, they would be separate.
His eldest sister, Estel, was cruel and harsh to him, mimicking his mother. In their family wit and brains won out, and his mother always encouraged his sisters to treat him as a rival. Boys, she said so often, are prized in the world over girls, so you must conquer them. It didn't give any assistance to sibling affection, especially once his twin, Gianna began to attend an alternative school. Since then she has become somewhat distant. Both sisters, and his mother write, and he writes back, but their letters are not full of affection. He is bitter toward those who have "soft" families, seeing it as a weakness and not being prepared for real life. Only when you met people and became part of the food chain were you able to attain worth.
Other
Song: TBA
Can speak Italian, German and french |
44,844 | 1,222 | 12 | 156 | 2,749 | |BLEU DELACROIX|
Bleu nearly jumped out of her seat when a handsome Asian boy approached her, her hand slipping from where it gripped her forehead and her head, losing its support, nearly colliding with the table.
“Huh?” She muttered blearily before she completely understood his words. Smiling easily, despite the tiredness in her eyes, she nodded, “Ah, yes.”
Bleu experienced a whiplash of sorts when he launched into talking, perhaps even creating an amazing monologue, but she didn’t understand a thing. Her mind was moving too slow and his mouth moving too fast. Smiling and nodding, Bleu laid a gentle hand on his forearm and made a motion, her hand fluttering in an upwards motion as she took in a deep breath, “Breathe.” She joked.
Waiting for a beat of silence, Bleu then said, “Yes, I am a transfer student. I come from Beauxbatons. What is your name?”
Almost as if the universe was against her receiving the aforementioned name, a man that looked as if he should be on the front cover of Vogue appeared and interrupted. However, he also happened to shout the Asian boy’s name and Bleu smiled happily. Smiling brightly, Bleu reached out her hand to shake his and crowed, “Hi, I’m Bleu!”
Luck has it, before anything could happen, they had to sit in their seats and watch the hat sorting. Bleu herself had been sorted over the summer, something about her fitting in? Bleu wasn’t paying attention; she was staring out the window at the time. And like so, Bleu didn’t pay much attention when the first years were sorted, but instead clapped when she saw everyone else clapping and cheering when she saw everybody else cheer.
Headmistress Reynolds took the stage and Bleu had to prevent herself from scowling – she didn’t quite like this headmistress with her brevity and shortness. Sometimes, Shakespeare, brevity is not the soul of wit. Sometimes it’s just down-right annoying. Despite her thoughts, when the Headmistress finished, she clapped.
“Should we go to our dorms now?” Bleu asked once she saw everyone getting up and did as well. She lingered, waiting for Damien and the mystery boy. | BLEU DELACROIX
Birthday:
February 21
Age:
16
Gender:
Female
Sexuality:
Pansexual
Ethnicity:
French
Blood Status:
Muggleborn
Wand:
Apple with phoenix feather core, 10”3’, quite flexible
Familiar:
Grey, a calico cat
Appearance:
Bleu is an exuberant girl with a healthy pink-peach complexion and wavy chestnut brown hair. Her eyes are an incredible light blue with an outer ring of dark blue; the blueness of her eyes is best seen when she smiling, because they seem to glow with her happiness. Her smile is wide and reaches from cheek to cheek, radiating on her face. She stands at 5’6” and is a healthy weight, though she has slightly chubby cheeks.
Likes:
Reading, animals, adventures, hanging with friends, tulips, sweet foods, crepes, and milk
Dislikes:
Bullies, unnecessary meanness, spicy foods, and apple juice
Hobbies:
Doodling and collecting dried flowers
Year:
Fifth year
House:
Hufflepuff
Personality:
Bleu is a generally easy-going girl with a kind heart. She tries to help people whenever she can and goes out of her way to do it. Blue trusts people easily and wears her heart on her sleeve, but when someone hurts her, she tends to hold a grudge. Optimistic, Bleu is always looking on the bright side and attempting to cheer people up with it, and her optimism goes well with her hard-working nature. She is intelligent and , as such, she has many important values and opinions, and when she is hot about a subject, she is loud, opinionated, and outspoken. She never gives up, which is actually a bad thing because it tends to cause tension between her and her friends in arguments. Stubborn as a bull, even when she knows she is wrong, she will fight to the death to prove she is right. Bleu is easily hurt and, though she tries to hide it in a martyr way of helping her friends, she can be susceptible to bouts of depression because of it. Adding to this, Bleu suffers from clinical depression, and if she does not take her anti-depressants regularly, then she will have bouts of crying and suicidal thoughts. Bleu is extremely claustrophobic.
Place of Origin:
Paris, France
History:
Bleu comes from a family of muggles and was born and raised in France. However, she speaks really good English and has been to America and England many times due to having extended family living there. When she was six years old, Bleu’s mother attempted suicide due to her clinical depression and was admitted to the hospital. She attempted four more times throughout Bleu’s childhood until she was placed into the mental ward for two years. When she returned, she was a whole new person, and she tried her best to be there for Bleu. However, Bleu is still scared that her mother might try again, and might die, and so she keeps her at a distance.
At the age of twelve, Bleu was admitted into Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Excited and astonished, Bleu ate up knowledge like it was her nutella crepes. However, when she was in her third year, despite everything being fine, Bleu felt immensely depressed and attempted suicide. She was sent home, where she received therapy, until they discovered she had inherited clinical depression from her mother. She still continued to attend Beauxbatons Academy until the end of her fourth year, when she discovered her mother’s sister had breast cancer. The Delacroix moved to England in order to be with her aunt and Bleu transferred to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Other:
-This is her first year at Hogwarts, despite being in the fifth year
-Her favorite class is transfiguration
-She hopes to be a professor |
44,845 | 1,222 | 13 | 1,096 | 835 | Emmet O'Faollin
Emmet sat at his table, moodily picking at his food. He wasn't hungry, even though he knew he should be. He ignored the other Slytherins and just sat there. He was lost in thought, thinking of how his foster sisters were doing in their houses. He knew he should go make sure Roselle was doing okay, but he just couldn't muster up the energy right now. He looked up in disinterest when Headmistress Reynolds stood up and started speaking, then jumped in surprise as Dawna leapt onto his lap with a soft meow. he smiled and picked her up, letting her drape her orange body around his shoulders. He stood up with the others, but went over to the Gryffindors and tapped Roselle on her head. She looked up and smiled.
"Hey wolf, whatcha doin?" Emmet grinned.
"what, I canna check on my little sis?" | Emmet O'Faollin
Nickname
Em
Birthday
December 10,
Age
16
Gender
Male
Sexuality
Gay
Ethnicity
Scottish/Welsh
Blood Status
Half-Blood
Wand
11" Cedar, Unicorn Heart-string core, Firm
Likes
Quidditch, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Music, Singing, Drawing, and reading.
Dislikes
Losing, Humiliation, Rude People, Cooking, Boredom, Snobs
Year
6
House
Slytherin
Emmet has always been relaxed and mostly easygoing, and is a fun person to be with. He appreciates a good joke or prank, and has a sharp wit that goes a long way, along with a weird sense of humor sometimes. He has an instinctual knowing of when it's time to be serious, or when it's okay to have fun. Emmet can be downright terrifying sometimes, the way he gets when he's pissed or scared, but trying not to show it. He is not someone you would want to mess with, whether it's on the Quidditch pitch, or in a magician's duel. But if he cares for someone, he'll do anything he can to make them smile, no matter how shitty he's feeling.
Place of Origin
Glasgow, Scotland
Emmet was a troubled young child; growing up with a mother that was absentminded at best, a father he had never met, and a younger sister who dies shortly after birth. When he was ten, his mother got into a duel and all of her memories were wiped out. since she was sent to St. Mungo's for treatment, she couldn't take care of him and he was sent to a foster home. For the next three years, he was sent to more than five foster homes until he finally found one that actually wanted him. He has been living with them for the past three years. He is the second oldest now, what with Valentine having already graduated last year to become an Auror. Then there is Valerica, who is fourteen years old, and then Zita-Rose, who is the youngest at eleven and a half. the parents, Lucius and Esmerelda Valentino, are very kind to him and all of their children.
Family
Other
He never takes this off. it was a birthday present from Lucius |
44,846 | 1,222 | 14 | 1,813 | 471 | Damien was grinning as he heard his friend, from the distance, "I've missed you all summer, mate. How've you been?" It was cute that Mircus remembered him over the summer, and he had missed him too. During the summer he was mostly separated from most of his wizardly friends as he had to work and when he had time, he spent it studying and practicing on spells. He didn't mind that the two were friends, as they were similar to each other yet not and besides they were from the same house anyways. The Irish was one cuter friends and he didn't mind being surrounded by attractive people at all, with more being the merrier. The only bad thing, was... he didn't swing that way and that serious put a damper on things. Despite that he made sure his gaze was never caught when he was checking him out or giving those jealous looks and was able to remain as good friends with him. It was amazing how he got away with some things, that he wondered why he wasn't secretly a Slytherin despite how much he hated them. He reverted his gaze from his friend looking at Bleu, as it was rude to ignore her but then there was Mircus as well...
When Damien looking at Bleu looked slightly overwhelmed with the amount of words that he just shove at her face, he wouldn't expect her to catch all of it. He apparently did that a lot to everyone, and that was the best reason why he was a hatstall, the hat didn't know whether if Ravenclaw could survive my chatter and inquisitive nature or simply put me in Hufflepuff to save them the agony. He chuckled to himself silently as he remembered he gave the hat an partially annoying time, as he spoke to the hat nonstop for that five and a half minutes basically sealing my spot in this house. “Breathe.” He heard Bleu said, and he grinned childishly. He gave a small laugh as he sometimes wondered if he even breathed at all, but for her sake he stopped for a moment. But he wouldn't spare her any details later, to make up for this...
Then after recovering from his brigade she finally said her introductions... sort of? “Yes, I am a transfer student. I come from Beauxbatons. What is your name?” He sighed slightly at her words at first but understood, transferring schools was hard but with the assistance of the twins, him and several others he would make her year great... Wait! Cross out Tat, as his brother was the better prankster but besides that her year was going to be a busy one with him! "Gimme a second, here he comes! Come lemme introduce you to another Hufflepuff who is in the same year I believe! Wait... your a fifth year darn it... Never mind now lets go meet him!"
"Who's your friend." Damien was beaten to his sentence but it had worked out perfectly in the end. Exchanging glances with Mircus before with Bleu and grinning mischievously, with arms extended he introduced the two with each other. "Mircus, this is Bleu who is transferring to our school from... Beauxbatons, I think thats what you said right? A real long name really but anyways, she also joining us in Hufflepuff as well! And then, Bleu this Mircus our team captain for quidditch. He's the one who scores basically... like scores, also know as the Chaser I believe, yes?! Then finally, there's Me! Damien, the social butterfly of death! Well, at least that's what I would be if I was one! So lets be nice to each other okay, I promise I wont bite, so you guys don't either, okay?" He said to them laughing slightly, before turning behind him. He was watching the sorting hat's decision for Mircus' sister right now, which he had taken a note of when he had came into the room with her.
"Daaaaw, that sucks really. I hoped your sister would join us but I guess to Griffindor she goes! At least the Ravens or Snakes didn't get her, she too kind for either of those houses. At least she'll have some reliable people to watch over her right? At least she doesn't have to deal with Tatum, his twin is apparently the more civil one of the set." He had said when the Hat decided its choice for the young witch. He silently wondered why the hat choose to put her in Griffindor but couldn't argue unless he put it on again. Which wasn't going to be a nice experience for either of them and besides the Sorting Hat knew best... for the most part and he wouldn't oppose its decision for other students.
“Should we go to our dorms now?” Bleu had said to the two, and he looked around him as everyone was standing up as well. Well... there goes the Head Mistress speech, or whatever it was down through the drain. He had heard it many times and doubt it was of any importance so placed it onto the back of his head disregarding it. Looking at Mircus and Bleu before he decided that he would like to get the first bed before either of the two or simply anyone else, which wasn't likely at this point he still didn't mind trying and abruptly got up as well. "Yes, yes we do! Now... 3, 2, 1, GO! Race ya guys!" He said childishly before jogging out to the Hufflepuff's dorms for them. Dodging some of the students and vanished out of the room slipping out easily with his lithe frame, leaving the two Hufflepuffs standing there... to talk and get to know each other if they wished. | Holding up a figure of 5'10", and having a weight of around 135 pounds, Damien isn’t intimidating person as he gives off the air of 'Care-Free', 'Energetic' and 'Quirky'. From his posture he always haves his arms in a 'L' shape with his dominate hand sticking out and leans slightly onto his right side being slightly more feminine form. He also seems to never stay in one place or stay still as he is always seen moving around the room and starting every step with a burst of energy. He’s also is always seen smiling and never having a negative emotion spread upon his face keeping it relatively positive or neutral most of the time. However, on occasion you catch him scowling or rolling his eyes before brightening up to talk to someone.
Name
Damien Anderson
Birthday
June 22th
Age
17
Gender
Male
Sexuality
Pansexual - Panromantic
Ethnicity
Half-American, Half-Korean
Blood Status
Half-Blood
Wand
10'5" Cherry, Dragon Hearstring
Familiar
Likes
A good old simple talk - A shoulder to cry and lean on - Reading Books - Photographic Designing
Dislikes
Having no purpose in life, Being viewed inferior by others, People with a stick up them, Giving up too early
Year
6th Year
House
Hufflepuff
Personality
Damien is an outgoing person who likes socializing with real people but prefers to socialize over the internet where he can talk to anyone in the world. He hates being doubted wrong by his friends and other people and easily holds grudges on people, however feigns it off with a mask that he wears nicely to hide his opinions about them, always looking to be a happy individual. His ability to hide his emotion is a good thing however, he often holds them in instead of releasing it and confronting making him get into trouble more when it all just... pops. When he is not on the web or speaking to his friends his most common hobby that he likes to do is read and be alone. He has a blend of both halves, almost perfectly between and introvert and extrovert maintaining good relationships whip leaving enough time for himself as well.
Place of Origin
Liverpool, England
History
Being the oldest son of the two couple, Andrew Anderson and Naomi Anderson, Damien grew up in England for a some time up of his 11th birthday before his family soon moved to Tokyo, Japan for a job that his father could get. There he mostly grew up in Japan and lived there for the majority of his life where he attended the wizarding school of Mahoutokoro in Japan where he made many friends and learned much. His time spent there however, was up to the third year, before life at home was beginning to become rocky and unstable due to the hospitalization and coma of his mother but the father and son managed to strive on during hard times. With two managing by themselves, Damien grew distant with his father as he was spending more time in the Wizarding School and doing other things before soon rarely saw either. They had now had their separate lives as wizard and human with no, to little association with either.
However, the time came when the group was again swept away to England once more due to finical crisis of his father's job once more and had to move for an available job to support himself and his wife. Soon in England he received a letter allowing him to transfer to Hogwarts from Mahoutokoro and he agreed since it would be closer to his mother. There in Hogwarts he was able to be sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff but was given Hufflepuff due to his choices that he had made. Soon, against all odds, it was not to be as Damien's mother died and passed away leaving the Damien and his father alone. After the incident Damien practically stopped coming home and his father deciding that his son had left him to abandoned him leaving Damien to the world of Wizards and Witches and left as well. This left Damien by himself having to support himself, he informed the school at first and was given a small allowance with money he earned from odd jobs. With his new found situation, he managed quite well on himself and decided to go along with Hogwarts and finish his education and basically a new life.
Other
Apologize
How To Save a Life
Good Time
He knows how to speak English and Korean from his parents, and Japanese while he was living in Japan. |
44,847 | 1,222 | 15 | 2,364 | 66 | MircusAshby
Mircus couldn't help but to laugh at his friend. He was such a ball of energy and constantly going. It was amusing. He always seemed to be in a good mood when Damien was around. He especially enjoyed listening to him as he tried to explain who Mircus was to the transfer student. Damien then commented on his sister's sorting. "Aye, it'd have been nice to have her here, but 'least I know she'll be safe in Gryffindor. Wouldn't be able to say the same about the other houses," he lied. He knew his sister was more than capable of taking care of herself. She'd been raised just as he had.
Finally, Damien announced a race back to the Hufflepuff basement. Mircus chuckled as he watched his friend disappear from the Great Hall before turning back to the new girl. "Bleu, was it," he said, knowing it was. "Come on, I'll show you to the common room. Just let me say something to my sis, real quick?" He gave her a smile before moving over to the Gryffindor table. The Prefect was gathering all the first years. "'Ey, Nyra," he called to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he gave her a squeeze. "Congratulations. You're a Hogwarts student now."
"Aye, thanks," the small blonde girl smiled up at him. "It feels weird, you know? Like a dream almost."
Her brother chuckled. "Yeah, wait til classes start, you'll lose that feeling." He saw Demi nearby and recalled her promising to take care of her. Mircus motioned her over. "You see that lass there?" He said.
"The pretty one?" Nyra asked, pointing back to Demi.
"Aye," Mircus laughed. "Her. Well, she's an ole friend. If you have any questions about anything, just ask her. She'll help you out. And if you're nice, she might consider you for Quidditch try-outs next year." He looked back to Demi and thanked her under his breath before waving to the two of them.
He returned to Bleu's side. "So, shall we?" he motioned to the door of the Great Hall. The Hufflepuff common room was in the basement of Hogwarts, and the entrance was just outside the Kitchen, so it was the closest to the Great Hall. Mircus led Bleu through the doors. "So, what's Beauxbaton's like? Any better or worse than Hogwarts, from what you've seen so far?"
After a bit of chat he'd finally arrived to the barrels that covered the Hufflepuff entrance. "Third one over, right here," Mircus informed before tapping it with his wand. The barrel opened up and revealed a small stairwell leading down to the Commonroom. It was filled with chairs and tables, bookshelves and chandeliers. Windows sat in the high part of the far wall, letting the sunlight shine on earthy looking basement (or it would, if it were daylight outside). "Right, so girl's dorms are that way," he pointed to a pathway leading out of the room to the side.
He turned and made his way to his own room. A familiar screech made his face light up. "Hey, Talon. Have you missed me, mate?" He opened the door on the small birds cage and let the Kestrel jump onto his hand. "I know, you want out. I'll let you off tomorrow, give ya a letter to take to mah and dah, eh?" | MircusAshby
Birthday
May 27, 2081
Age
17
Gender
Male
Sexuality
Hetero
Ethnicity
Irish
Blood Status
Pure Blood
Wand
121/4" Rosewood with a Phoenix Feather core
Familiar
Appearance
Mircus is 6'0 and has a toned, athletic build. His eyes are an emerald shade. He always wears is long brown hair in a messy fashion, although it takes quite a bit of work to make it look like he puts no work into it at all. Even when Mircus is wearing casual clothing he like to show his school pride by wearing some combination of black and yellow.
Likes
Irish Rock and Folk music|Quidditch|Kenmare Kestrels|Magical Creatures|Helping Others|Being Carefree
Dislikes
Hurting Others|Feeling Helpless|Orangemen
Year
6th Year
House
Hufflepuff
Personality
Mircus has always been a carefree person, even since he was a child. He would always run through the fields or fly around on his broomstick, exploring the land. He was also very loyal, to both his friends and family, coming to their aid whenever necessary. He was a kind-hearted person to everyone he met, until they had given him reason not to be. He could be very helpful to his allies and quite dangerous to his enemies.
Place of Origin
Dublin, Ireland
History
Growing up in a multi-generational pure blood family wasn't as demanding as most people would have you believe. At least, not for Mircus. His parents were a bit more liberal in terms of blood status and Hogwarts Housing. He was fortunate to not have the burden of such things placed on him at a young age. However, he did find conflict soon into his early teen years. His parents came to him, explaining the importance of knowing and practicing the Dark Arts. They believed that to be a true and powerful wizard one must be able to use every school of magic available to him, not restricting himself.
It made sense to a young child's brain. However, soon after learning to practice Dark Arts in secret during the summers at home, his parents began teaching him of the Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all time. Lord Voldemort. When he began his term at Hogwarts he had already been taught of the greatness of Voldemort and brainwashed against the "lies" he would learn in school. But he was also taught about the importance of secrecy.
Soon, though, Mircus began to slowly contemplate. He wondered, what if the books and histories were true. What if Voldemort truly was as evil as they said. What if he did do these horrendous things to people. Mircus would become internally divided, wanting to be a loyal son, but not wanting to worship someone who had done such horrid things.
Other
Mircus is a Chaser and Team Captain for House Hufflepuff, taking his team to the House Cup twice, but always falling short, due to their seeker's incompetence. He didn't like to blame anyone, but there was only so much that could be done. This year, however, the seeker had graduated, and it would be his job to find a new one.
Being a lover of all creatures, Mircus excelled at Care of Magical Creatures. His favorite was the Hippogriff. |
44,848 | 1,222 | 16 | 647 | 1,506 | Demetria Graves
Once the Sorting was over, the tables suddenly filled with all kinds of different foods. It was the moment Demi had been waiting for the whole day: the Start of Term Feast. Her blue eyes shone with excitement and her mouth watered at the sight and scent of so many delicacies. Without wasting time, Demi dug in. She indulged herself with a tender, juicy steak, a slice of turkey, mashed potatoes and French fries. Of course, she left some room for dessert: slices of chocolate and carrot cake. It was only after she was full beyond belief that she took a deep breath and looked around. Her eyes wandered to the Hufflepuff table, where she saw Mircus animatedly talking to some girl Demi had never seen before. She sighed in bliss, admiring his handsome features, before taking a quick peek at the Slytherin table. Her eyes landed just on Julian Wolf's face, and Demi quickly turned back to her table. Even after a couple of months, she still felt a sting inside her at the sight of him. Thankfully, she was distracted from giving what had happened further thought by the new headmistress taking the stand.
Demi scowled at the sight of the woman. She didn't give off the happy, compassionate aura the past headmaster had, but seemed to emit bad vibes instead. It was something the young student couldn't quite put her finger on, but made her feel on edge, like she needed to thread with extreme caution around her. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who seemed to think so.
"Demi, she scares me..." whispered Stella in her ear.
"Me too." Demi heard Nyra say. When Demi turned to look at the girls, their frightened expressions made her heart ache.
She gave their hands a soft squeeze. "She scares me too, girls. But as long as you keep in line and follow the rules, there's no reason to have any kind of contact with her."
No sooner had these words left her mouth that she heard the other students begin to clap. When Demi, Stella and Nyra looked at the stand, their headmistress was nowhere in sight and their fellow classmates had began to leave. The speech had been shorter than a blink of the eye, and absolutely meaningless.
"Some speech, huh?" Luke commented as the got up from their seats. Demi could only nod, distracted by Mircus walking to their table and calling his sister over. She turned around to talk to Luke, not wanting to seem like an eavesdropper. When she turned back to look at him again, Nyra was walking back to where the rest of the first yeard were gathered and Mircus thanked her under his breath before leaving with the new girl.
Demi felt a blush creep up her cheeks, and small butterflies in her stomach. It was crazy how the simplest action from that young man could make her feel so... Hell, she couldn't even explain how she felt. She hadn't even noticed that Luke and her had started to make their way to the common room until she heard him say "Hello, Earth to Demi?"
Demi looked at him, shaking her head a little to compose herself. "Sorry, Luke. Just got a little distracted."
Her brother's eyes were squinted in suspicion. "I saw that, you know. I saw the way your face nearly turned scarlet and how a little smile was on your lips when he talked to you. You sure there's nothing going on, D.R.?"
Demi rolled her eyes in annoyance. "No, Luke. And if something was going on, I'd tell you if you weren't so overprotective." That wasn't entirely true, of course. But Demi wasn't about to have a sudden inspiration to be entirely honest with her brother. Some things were better kept locked away.
Without having exchanged any more words, they arrived at the Fat Lady's painting, who was wearing a spectacular Victorian gown and her hair up in a flawless chignon. "Password?" she asked them in a serene voice.
"Leo Fortis Spectatosque," said Demi in a clear voice.
The Fat Lady's portrait swung open. "Welcome back," she told them as they stepped inside. The siblings managed to say a thank you before it closed behind them. The common room looked just the same: with its comfortable couches and armchairs, blazing fireplace, house banners hanging from the ceiling, and the table next to the window that gave a spectacular view of the grounds. It was empty, meaning that everyone was now tired, full and had gone straight to bed.
Luke turned to his sister. "Alright, kid. I'm off to bed. I'm tired as hell." He gave her a kiss on the forehead and ruffled her hair. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast, okay?"
Demi gave Luke a hug. "Okay. I'll go to bed later. Gonna write a letter to Dad and Kaden to let them know we got here safely. And sorry for snapping at you earlier," she apologized.
Luke simply shrugged. "That's okay, you're forgiven. Good night, sis." And with that, Luke went up the stairs and out of sight.
Demi walked to the table and conveniently found a blank piece of parchment, ink and a feather neatly placed on the table. She sat down, took the quill in her right hand, and began to write in a neat, curvy print:
My dearest Dad and Kaden,
Luke and I made it safely to Hogwarts. The feast was incredible as always, and you can bet I'm totally stuffed and happy at the moment. Headmistress Reynolds gives me the creeps and a bad vibe, but hopefully that's just me being paranoid and not something to worry about. I can't wait to start practice and whipping up potions to keep my mind busy. I'm debating whenever it's worth it or not to sneak out and take a quick fly across the grounds, but seeing as I don't know how the new security system works, I'll save the trip for later.
It hasn't even been a day, but I already miss you two. Though I love Hogwarts and being with my friends, I'd much rather be at home with my family. Take lots of care, okay? Especially you, Kaden. That Auror work can be extremely dangerous, and I'd be devastated if something happened to you. Not that I don't trust you and your knowledge, but I worry about you. You too, Dad. Stay away from the salty foods to keep that hypertension under control.
I can't wait to see you loves in Christmas.
Lots of love forever,
Demi
P.S.: Left the all the laundry clean and in their respective rooms, drawers and closets. You're welcome! XOXO
She neatly folded the letter, placed it in an envelope and sealed it with a drop of candle wax. It was as if she and Calliope were in sync, because when she walked up the stairs in the direction of her bed, the little brown owl already stood waiting for her in the window ledge.
Demi smiled and softly pet Calliope. "You and I have the best connection ever, don't we, Callie?" The owl chirped happily, and Demi placed the letter in her beak. "Take this to Dad and Luke. I know it's a long way, but you know you can expect a real treat when you come back, just like always." Calliope batted her wings as a sign of approval, then flew out the window to begin her journey to Rhode Island.
Demi changed to her pajamas and slid inside the bed's warm covers. Sighing happily once more, she closed her eyes and fell asleep before she could think about anything. | Deleted |
44,849 | 1,223 | 0 | 991 | 1,987 | The moon sat high in the starry sky above the city of Highmont, the capitol jewel in Ecen, the streets still busy despite the darkness that filled the land, torches lit up the city throughout it as people lived their lives. The talk of the city was the meeting that was going to take place within the castle, Dragonstead, a place few that were not nobles or worked within it's massive walls had been inside before. But for tonight it had opened it's tall doors for those that had witnessed the Sounding, an event even King Ethan Tirius saw firsthand, the vision plaguing his dreams the night it occurred.
At the main entrance of the castle a small line had formed, an old bearded man right in front of the doors, armor clad guards at each side of them as well. The geezer was the court mage, an experienced man that the King had chosen due to his magic prowess, which included an ability to see other person's pasts. While there was opposition to magic throughout the Kingdom, the man was someone the king's father had trusted enough to keep in his circle, so in other words he was perfect as the gate guardian for those that came, he able to read through their memories to see if the people were truthful of witnessing the Sounding. Some had already been 'checked' and allowed in, these people directed towards the main dining hall where the meeting would take place once the King emerged into the room.
Elden Fryar
The man of the King's Guard stood in the back, away from the long table filled with foods and beverages of all kinds, he stared into the fire burning in the fireplace, a hand rubbing his chin as he tried to calm his nerves. He was in armor like always, but a less noticeable kind than he would usual wear, if he was going to be traveling with a group like the King vaguely mentioned to him, then he did not want to stand out, the last thing he needed was to wear his armor which displayed that he was a member of the King's Guard, and thus a connection to the king, then have trouble caused because of that.
He let out a sigh, then turned towards the table and moved to pour himself a glass of red wine, as he took a sip of it he noticed that another person had entered the room, he figured he was the only one in it, but this person had strolled in while he had his back turned, now she was seated eating a plate of food, she was a black haired woman clad in a long dark robe, the hood down, revealing her face.
"You're the first one here other than me." Elden said to her as she looked up him, the glass in his hand.
Riya Rochette
Riya had entered the room quietly, as she usually did, she was surprised to find only one other person in the dining room, a long haired, armor clad man staring into the fire. She thought she was late, but she must have been early, so Riya moved towards the table and took a seat. She thought about saying a word to the man, but he seemed to be deep in thought. She composed herself a plate of food, her eyes brightening up as she glanced over the selection on the table. All kinds of wines, alcohols, meats, wheats, vegetables and deserts. A practical feast, she hadn't eaten since the morning and was practically starving as she took a bite of bread. The man by the fire turning towards the table, and her, as he poured himself a glass of wine.
"It appears that way, doesn't it?" Riya said before she took another bite.
"Did you travel far to get here?" The man said back.
"Just from one of the villages to the north. I'm guessing you say the Sounding? I did, that's why I'm here."
"I did. But I was already in the capitol. The name's Elden, Elden Fryar."
"Riya. I'm a bard." She said, not fully lying.
"So we'll have song on our journey?"
"Journey?"
"I heard whispers of it, but I'm not entirely sure. We'll see if it is true." Elden said, then took a seat at the table, right near the end nearest the fireplace, the glass in his hand as he took a drink. Riya didn't reply, she just continued eating. | Name: Ople Hendric
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Bread Saleswoman
Weaponry: Bread knife (slashing weapon, double as equipment); Rolling Pin (blunt weapon, double as equipment)
Apparel: Usually wears around low or medium class clothings.
Equipment: Bedroll, canteen, a book, a quill, an inkwell, a small bag containing some dough, and a few small changes.
Skills: Charismatic as a saleswoman, and able to cook decent tasting breads.
Magical abilities: Only knows, and adequate with, Fireball. She was born with the ability to use magic, but kept it a secret due to her family's strict religious outlooks. She practice in secret, with the little time she has.
Personality: Usually nice. Though if conflict does occurred, she prefer to handle it peacefully. But, she has been known, though rarely, physically hurt someone, that has hurts or threaten someone she cares about. Though, despite being known as one of the nicest people by many, her father consider her as hotheaded.
Backstory: Born in the household the Hendric, she was taught to care for others, as she would to herself. Her family weren't rich enough for her to attend to school. Her mother, Heather, taught her all that she knew in school, when she was younger. Ople learned quickly from her mother. Around the age of 7, she was already helping out the family's business.
Her family business took up most of her time, so she had little time for almost anything else. Because she never took school, she never had many friends. The ones she had are regular customers, or a relative of the customers. Around the age of 15, she secretly discovered her ability to use magic. When her hand appears to be engulfed in fire, but it felt natural to her. Unfortunately, because she lacked the knowledge on these set of skills, she didn't know where to began. For years, using the time she had, she practiced the only magic skill she knows.
This went on, until the age of 28, where she became a witness for the Sounding. With her family knowing this, they had one last hug, before she descends toward the capitol city.
Other Despite never going to school, she has been known to be smarter than other would've imagined. She is a quick learner, but it doesn't changed that she doesn't know much, at the moment. |
44,850 | 1,223 | 1 | 1,230 | 129 | “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Amy, the teaching assistant for “Magic 102: Introduction to Elemental Theory”, stood in the doorway of Klaus’s faculty quarters as he tripped about the room, stuffing various belongings into a travelling bag.
“Yes. Have you seen my spectacles?”
“In the sock pile.”
“Of course.” Klaus picked them up, wiped at the lenses, and put them on. He blinked owlishly at Amy. “Why are you still here?”
Amy sighed. “I just- well, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to travel alone.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, come on, Professor Banning.”
In many ways, Amy was Klaus’s caretaker as well as teaching assistant. She extinguished his wardrobe when he set it on fire, led him patiently back to his quarters when he got lost sleepwalking, and gently coaxed him down from rooftops whenever he got the urge to walk the railing.
(The faculty at Ironwood had drawn straws for that task. Amy lost.)
Klaus was not ungrateful. He was well aware of Amy’s utility and personal sacrifice. This, however, was not a conversation he wanted to be having.
“Don’t you have papers to grade?”
Amy heaved a sigh. “Professor Banning, nobody wrote their final papers. You failed them all mid-semester.”
This was news to Klaus. “Did I”
“You said none of them had a healthy respect for, uh, chaos theory.”
Klaus stiffened. “No, they did not. Good riddance. Kids these days, Amy, I swear. Where’s my butt plug?”
“Your what? No- you know what, never mind. Professor, I really don’t think-”
“That concerns me, Amy. You’re a degree candidate. That requires thought.”
“You’re not even allowed in the capitol!” Amy spread her hands in exasperation.
Klaus lifted a finger. “I’m not allowed on university grounds. The city itself is fine. I checked the laws.”
“See, the fact that you’ve done something- something so egregiously awful that the country’s best university won’t let you step foot on campus-”
“No, Amy, I will not tell you what happened at Highmont. Stop asking.” Klaus
“I wasn’t-” Amy was visibly struggling for words. “Sir, you’ve been perfectly happy in your lab the last few years. I just don’t understand why you think you have to go.”
Klaus paused. Amy watched him expectantly; eyes wide, questioning, innocent.
She hadn’t seen what he’d seen. She hadn’t heard the echoing roar; she hadn’t seen the flames and carnage, the horrifying vision of things to come.
He’d thought it was happening again. He’d thought it was just like five years ago at Highmont, when they found him shrieking in his lab.
But no- the King had seen it, and others had seen it, which meant that Klaus was not going mad.
Or maybe they were all going mad.
“No,” he told Amy, “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
~
“Please stop poking me.” The gatekeeper was visibly annoyed.
“I’m not poking you.” Klaus poked the gatekeeper. “Wow. What an art. You can see my past? You can see everything?”
“Professor Banning, you are holding up the line.”
Klaus glanced perfunctorily at those waiting behind him. “How much detail? Does it intesify when I touch you?” he demanded.
“Sir-”
“Why haven’t I met you? Were you at the university? I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve- you have to let me study you, this is incredible-”
“Sir, either get in the castle or get out of line.”
Klaus tripped hastily through the gate.
His self-directed tour of the grounds was sadly cut short by the aggressively polite wait staff, who directed him to a large dining hall. He strode in just as Elden and Riya introduced themselves to each other, and slid into the chair next to Riya.
“Klaus,” he added by way of introduction, “although I’m sure I’ll be repeating that throughout the evening. We should just assign ourselves numbers. I do that to my students. Makes everyone’s lives easier.”
He surveyed the table with glee. “Sprouts!” he said, pleased. “Helps you pass stool. The King’s a wise, wise man.” | Name: Klaus Banning
Age: Biologically 26, has the job of a 50 year old, and acts like he's 5.
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual. Seriously, he'll take what he can get.
Occupation: Assistant Professor of Elemental Magic at the University of Ironwood
Weaponry: A heavily modified crossbow that definitely has more features than needed in battle (cup-holder? Really?), none of which seem to have improved Klaus's melee ability. It's uncertain whether Klaus is aware that crossbows are suppose to be used to vanquish enemies and not to capture interesting insect specimens. Ah, well, academia.
Apparel: Klaus wears a simple brown traveling cloak and boots. He'll occasionally don faculty robes when he's feeling up to it, but those days are getting rarer and rarer.
Equipment: Scrolls, quills, and a butter knife. Various knick knacks stowed away in the infinite pockets of his cloak.
Skills: Klaus is an exceptionally talented at his specific branch of elemental magic and exceptionally clumsy at almost every other activity, including walking.
Magical abilities: Klaus is trained in elemental magic and has a particular affinity for summoning lightning, although he's only ever done it to study electric charges. Despite the obvious offensive potential, he has yet to display any talent for fighting. Years in the ivory tower will do that to you.
Personality: For someone with a history of manic outbursts, Klaus is remarkably stable. He's affable enough, albeit mildly autistic. He's a little too quick to laugh, a little too slow to appreciate the gravity of a situation, and prone to spouting irrelevant trivia at inopportune moments. For the most part he's chatty, funny in an off-kilter way, and enthusiastically curious about everything. Has an uncomfortable tendency to treat acquaintances like interesting specimens. He's unfortunately prone to arrogance when it comes to academics, but that's to be expected.
Backstory:
Nine years ago, the future looked bright for a young Klaus Banning. He'd just graduated from the University of Highmont with a degree in elemental magic at the precocious age of seventeen. The university had offered him a job as a teaching assistant, which he'd accepted. He could continue his magical research with the university's vast resources at his disposal. He was going to publish groundbreaking tomes on the nature of elemental magic. He was going to get tenure.
The first few years went well. Klaus became assistant professor, then professor, then chair of his department. He was young, brilliant, and respected. He was a prodigy, dammit.
Then the trouble started. Klaus had always been interested in the bizarre and unexplainable, but the university became worried that his research was crossing the line into Black magic. Above that, he wasn't sleeping. More than once he was seen with sparks flying out of his hair. He was summoned before the board more and more often, to no avail. Professor Banning was just getting weird.
Klaus's students vaguely understood that he thought he was on the brink of something groundbreaking, something that would fundamentally alter magical theory. But no one understood exactly what that something entailed, so they learned to avoid his office hours and to stop sitting in the front row on the days he was involuntarily breathing fire.
It's unclear what happened next. By some reports, Klaus had a manic episode in the lab and went on some kind of magical acid trip, destroying half the basement floor and costing the university thousands in damages. A more sympathetic story holds that government officials approached him about developing his electrical magic for military purposes, and did not react favorably when he refused.
Most of the students believed Klaus had simply been driven mad by his own research. Professor Banning had looked into the abyss, and the abyss had broken him.
In any case, Klaus was denied tenure, stripped of his position and research resources, and kicked out of Highmont to boot.
The details of the next two years are equally murky. Some former students believed that he'd set about traveling the kingdom. Some thought he'd taken up refuge in the Truesh Peaks. Others were convinced he'd been committed to a mental institution.
And then he was back, with no explanation as to where he'd gone. He looked a little worn around the edges, a little more manic if you looked closely at his eyes, but otherwise appeared to have recovered. Highmont refused to allow him back onto the faculty, but the smaller institution at Ironwood eagerly offered him an assistant teaching position. (This title is generous, as Klaus does very little teaching and very much jumping out at students from random corners on campus for fun.) |
44,851 | 1,223 | 2 | 1,248 | 1,805 | Ople Hendric
As Ople waited in the line, she looked at the front and back of the line. Seeing many strange looking characters, she nervously wondered what she doing at the line.
The court mage stood in front of her. The people in front of her were already either inside, or were removed for lying. She looked nervously into the mage's eyes, as he looked backed with confidence. This overwhelming feeling was not new to her, but it was the first time she felt this much pressure.
The mage spoke, "You will be directed to the main dining hall. The King will be there shortly."
As Ople was guided to the dining hall, she was awed by the inside of the castle. She never thought she would ever lived to set foot into the castle. Once in the room, she sat quietly next to Amy. She looked at everyone at the table, which included Elden; Riya; Klaus; and Amy.
"Um...Hello." She said it nervously, with a gentle smile. | Name: Ghisronia Vollis
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Performer/Cook
Weaponry: A variety of poisons, lightweight crossbow, and a slender short-sword.
Apparel: Ghisronia dresses in a motley combination of cloth and leather when not performing; with a hooded cloak, and trim shoulder pads for added protection. A simple leather mask is sometimes worn to obscure her features.
Equipment: Basic cooking supplies, materials for making a campfire (flint and steel etc), ornate necklace, and a handmade waterskin.
Skills: Acting, Cooking, theft, the art of disguise. Reasonably skilled with her crossbow and sword, but not at a remarkable level.
Magical abilities: Very mild understanding of healing magic. Can patch up minor wounds, and can prevent larger wounds from festering and becoming infected.
Personality: A self-aware narcissist, Ghisronia cares about one thing, and one thing only; Herself. Whilst not completely sadistic, Ghis does draw a slight sense of satisfaction from the suffering of others, and delights in meddling in affairs that aren’t her own. A survivalist at heart, Ghisronia is good at adapting to hazardous situations, and is able to keep a cool head in the face of danger.
An expert actress, Ghisronia will usually pass for a fairly eloquent teenaged girl with a slight air of spitefulness about her, working to shield the full extent of her dark side.
Backstory: Born to a family of farmers, Ghisronia suffered at the hands of her abusive farther, until the day she snapped and killed him. Running away from home, Ghis spent a few months as a beggar and a thief, before falling in with a troupe of traveling performers. Having always had a skill for cooking, Ghisronia worked as a chef for the performers, whilst they honed her acting skills in return.
Plagued by memories of her mistreatment at the hands of her father, Ghis spent the majority of her childhood in melancholy, feeling like a victim, until the day of her second kill.
After a performance, a spectator from the audience followed the young girl back to her tent, attempting to force himself on her. After she refused his advances, her stalker became feral and violen; giving Ghisronia a black eye and a split lip. Enraged, she killed the man in a fit of anger, slashing his neck with one of her cooking knives.
Horrified about what might happen if the body was discovered, Ghis began to cannibalize the man who’d followed her, finding that taste of human flesh send electric sensations through every fibre of her being, in a manner that she had never before experienced. Ghis cooked the remains into a stew, which she served to the rest of the troupe; thus awakening a dark thirst that she would never be able to shake. Wherever the troupe travelled, Ghisronia would pick off easy targets, before feasting on their remains, and satisfying her gluttonous desires.
Ghisronia has continued to develop her acting skills, becoming an extremely convincing actress, as well as her thievery, to the point where she is a formidable pickpocket and con artist.
Other |
44,852 | 1,223 | 3 | 1,535 | 4,350 | Jobe Robson, son of Rob, walked the cobbled road with an air of one completely oblivious to his surroundings. Fortunately, such a terrible habit on the roads had yet to cost him, as bandits were rarely seen on the King’s road and those that were about had obviously deemed him unworthy of their time. He looked every inch the peasant he was, with the fair hair and tanned skin of a western farmer, with a noticeably bulky build, and a bag over one shoulder and a lumber-axe resting on the other. Inside his mind bubbled with excitement at his chance to go on an adventure and escape his boring existence, but it was mingled with an ever-growing thorn of fear. Like any thorn it caused discomfort when he moved too fast, so he forced himself to slow down, until he was hardly moving at all.
His incredibly slow steps were drawing some ire from a carriage driver behind him, but he ignored the man’s yells as he plodded up a slight incline. As he drew close to the top an immense sight greeted his weary and travel-stained body, causing his mouth to drop open in amazement.
Highmont, and within the great castle of Dragonstead, the scale of which he could never have even imagined coming from his small farming town west of the Truesh peaks. The carriage driver had skirted around him now, taking the time to throw something that missed him by some distance, and trundled down the hill towards the city. Jobe ignored him again, because honestly he couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
The Guard stood before the castle gates looked up at Jobe in irritation, obviously weighing up his own stature against that of the farm-boy. The Guard had found himself lacking, and was clearly compensating for it, though Jobe just assumed being rude was the norm around those parts.
“Look, shove off peasant be’fore I cut you.” The Guard warned finally, resorting to petty threats to dissuade Jobe, who had requested entrance under the Sounding. Eventually a particularly tired and bored looking individual interjected with a wave of his hand, gesturing Jobe through. He looked at the man, deciding he looked exactly what he expected a mage should look like which was immensely re-assuring for the farm-hand, and then he walked on in.
---------------------------------------
There were perhaps six assorted individuals in the dining room when Jobe arrived, his axe taken from him at the entrance with promise of return. He looked around nervously, his past position making him incredibly uncomfortable in the presence of anything but locals. Everything to do with this quest was starting to feel like a very bad idea to him right there, with no guidance and only his own scant wits to lead himself. After a nervous moment chewing bread in the corner of the room he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for battle, and walked over to the larger group.
Introductions were flying around left right and centre, and until everyone arrived he doubted it would be all that useful for everyone to say their names. Still, it would have been impolite not to throw his into the mix, at least he thought so.
“Name’s Jobe.” He mumbled a little as a result of his trying for nonchalance and cool confidence, then repeated himself to ensure everyone had heard him, coughing awkwardly. No one was paying much attention, then again, with his thick country accent it was altogether possible they also couldn’t understand him.
He took a seat with a space in between himself and a larger woman and began eating earnestly, like a peasant, because he had built up quite an appetite on the road.
That was awkward, he thought to himself. | Name: Jobe Robson
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Occupation: Farmhand
Weaponry: Iron headed Lumber-axe
Apparel: Grey wool-spun tunic, leather breeches, leather boots
Equipment: Travel pack including basic supplies and a bed-roll
Skills: Farming, carrying heavy objects, dealing with animals, cutting wood, basic cooking. Has a knack for learning practical skills.
Magical abilities: N/A
Personality: Jobe is the classic country bumpkin, with no formal education to speak of he can carry out manual tasks adeptly and can work all day with scant rest, but tell him to use his brain or perform anything requiring artisans hands and he’s hopeless. This leads him to a certain degree of naivety, close minded-ness and other harmful qualities of limited broadening of ones horizons. He is however earnest, loyal and very honest, though quick to anger and short tempered. He’s no natural leader, and is as of yet untested in anything other than an unarmed brawl.
Backstory: Jobe grew up in one of the many towns devoted to farming the fertile lands west of the Truesh Peaks. His father was a farmer, his father’s father was a farmer, and one would probably expect his father’s father’s father to be a farmer as well. The middle child in a family of three sons, his mother passed three years prior and his father was woefully bad at securing his children good marriages. After having only recently found a place for his eldest the sounding couldn’t have come at a better time, giving him the perfect opportunity to send Jobe off on some obscure quest as a way of relieving the family’s money problems.
Jobe, as a young adventurous lad, had no issue with being packed off. Though his ignorance and naivety has served him poorly on the road so far, he has somehow survived long enough to answer the call, and considers himself the King’s most loyal subject, even if he couldn’t pick him out in a crowd. |
44,853 | 1,223 | 4 | 1,161 | 62 | The crew of the galley gave the longship hard, angry glares as they sailed past one another.
Seothrunn could hardly care about what the king's men on board the galley felt, he was just happy to have managed to sail into Highmont's harbour without having to kill anyone. His ship of forty oars was barely a threat to all but the smallest hamlets, but the city had sounded the alarm almost as soon as the tip of the longship's mast crested the horizon. Seothrunn had expected as much - the north-western coast was being raided by his own sister even as he intended to meet with the king - but he had hoped against hope that news of the raids had yet to filter down to Highmont. Were it not for the long, streaming white banner that flew from the top of his ship's mast, Seothrunn was quite sure that the king's fleet would have sunk him without a second thought.
"I do not like this, Fjallthrim." The old man standing next to Seothrunn said in a low voice as they passed the rear of the galley and approached the opening between the two large breakwaters that encircled the harbour.
"Nor I you, Maeryck." Seothrunn replied in a whisper.
Maeryck coughed into his fist and kept his eyes on the turrets that lined the tops of the breakwaters. Tall, barrel-chested and with a long, wispy beard that tickled his chest, Maeryck had been the captain of the first ship Seothrunn had set foot onto, and now that he was too old to captain his own vessel, served under the latter as the second-in-command. "They may very well trap us within the harbour and sink us there." He said even as the longship passed the two imposing towers that guarded the entrance to the harbour.
"We have the captain's word," Seothrunn said, more to reassure himself than anything else. The captain of the galley that had sallied forth to question the Bonemen's intentions had given Seothrunn his word that no harm would befall him, his crew or his ship as long as the white banner flew from the mast. Words made for weak shields, as the Bonemen often said, but in this instance, Seothrunn had little choice but to place his faith in the captain's sense of honour.
"The captain, not the king." Maeryck pointed out.
Seothrunn clenched his jaw and kept his eyes looking forward, towards the harbour. It was easily the largest he had ever seen, with close to two dozen ships moored at the various docks, piers and jetties. The ships ranged from small, single-masted fishing skiffs to massive war galleys of close to two hundred oars and boasting large, square sails hanging from three masts. A few galleys rowed past the longship, but otherwise they did nothing. "If he wanted us sunk, he would have done so by now." Seothrunn said.
Maeryck grimaced, but then nodded in agreement. "So what do you intend to find out with this meeting?"
"Answers," Seothrunn replied with a shrug. Just over a month ago, he had experienced a nightmare unlike any other. They usually involved drowning and the smashing of ships, but this particular nightmare showed him settlements in flames, fields covered in a carpet of corpses and once snow-capped peaks dyed red with blood. When he awoke, he had heard a loud, roaring sound. No one else had heard it, and for a while Seothrunn had tried to put the whole event out of his mind, but as more and more north-bound ships disappeared, he could not help but feel as if his vision had something to do with it. Thus, he had sailed southwards, asking questions wherever he stopped until he heard rumours of the king calling for a meeting of all those who had seen the visions and heard the roar.
"And if you do not get any?" Maeryck asked.
"Then I hope to find adventure."
Maeryck nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Kings and adventures always go hand-in-hand. You will find at least one of what you seek."
Did he really, however? Seothrunn was a capable warrior - the bone sword he wielded was testament to that, as well as the numerous scratches on his shield. However, he had no experience of the southern lands, and he could barely speak their tongue. His own father would call him a fool for venturing into strange lands while being so ill-prepared, and Seothrunn would be inclined to agree. However, what else could he do? A leader would risk everything for the safety of his people, and Seothrunn knew that he would not find rest until he found out what had happened to the vanished ships.
"I do hope so," Seothrunn said as the longship approached an empty pier. "Maeryck, you have my ship until I return. Do with it what you will, but try not to sink her."
"She will be safe in my hands, boy, have no worries about that."
Seothrunn turned his attention back to the approaching waterfront. He never liked spending long periods of time on land, but now he had no choice. This could be his one chance to get the answers he sought, and he was not about to let something as minor as an aversion of land to get in his way. He had come to far to just turn around because of a few butterflies in his stomach. The longship came to a stop, and with just a nod to Maeryck and his crew, Seothrunn jumped over the side of the ship and onto the pier.
He knew that it was rude to just leave as he did, but he knew that Maeryck would understand. Had he delayed anymore, his nerves would have overcome his determination. It pained him to leave the ship he had called home for so long, but Seothrunn pushed all thoughts of the past into a corner of his mind and walked deeper into the city, never once looking back.
---
The walk towards Dragonstead had been less troublesome than Seothrunn had expected. It appeared as if only the upper echelons of society and the military knew about the raids along the north-western coast. The common folk were friendly enough, even though their gazes upon his face and armour lingered beyond what was comfortable. For the latter, there was not much he could do - taking it off was troublesome, and he did not relish the idea of carrying the cuirass in his hands - but at the very least Seothrunn could cover most of his face by pulling up his hood. With just a few questions, he managed to find his way to Dragonstead castle, and when he reached it, he wondered just why he even needed directions.
It was massive, or at least it was massive to him. The people around him seemed more interested in the open gates than the actual size of the building. Castles on the north-western isles were usually built low to the ground and wide. Tall buildings were easy prey for the gale-force winds that occasionally ravaged the isles. Dragonstead Castle would not last a year on the isles, that much Seothrunn was certain of.
The queue moved at a snail's pace, but eventually he made it to the gate. An old man stood in the way, and Seothrunn was about to ask him to move when the old man suddenly jerked, as if he had just woken up from a bad dream. The two armed guards by his side reached for their swords, but thankfully the old man recovered and stopped them from escalating the situation. He gestured for Seothrunn to enter the castle and stepped aside. Still, as Seothrunn walked past, he noticed the old man looking at him with a look that was a combination of fear and hatred.
With a shrug, Seothrunn dismissed that as just an oddity and continued on his way. Servants guided him to the main dining hall, where he found several people already seated at the long table. Some of them were eating, others chatting but most sat in silence. Deciding to join the last group, Seothrunn quietly walked over to an empty seat away from the others and sat down. If the others wished to talk to him, they were free to do so, but until then, he was content with just sitting and listening. | Name: Ople Hendric
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Bread Saleswoman
Weaponry: Bread knife (slashing weapon, double as equipment); Rolling Pin (blunt weapon, double as equipment)
Apparel: Usually wears around low or medium class clothings.
Equipment: Bedroll, canteen, a book, a quill, an inkwell, a small bag containing some dough, and a few small changes.
Skills: Charismatic as a saleswoman, and able to cook decent tasting breads.
Magical abilities: Only knows, and adequate with, Fireball. She was born with the ability to use magic, but kept it a secret due to her family's strict religious outlooks. She practice in secret, with the little time she has.
Personality: Usually nice. Though if conflict does occurred, she prefer to handle it peacefully. But, she has been known, though rarely, physically hurt someone, that has hurts or threaten someone she cares about. Though, despite being known as one of the nicest people by many, her father consider her as hotheaded.
Backstory: Born in the household the Hendric, she was taught to care for others, as she would to herself. Her family weren't rich enough for her to attend to school. Her mother, Heather, taught her all that she knew in school, when she was younger. Ople learned quickly from her mother. Around the age of 7, she was already helping out the family's business.
Her family business took up most of her time, so she had little time for almost anything else. Because she never took school, she never had many friends. The ones she had are regular customers, or a relative of the customers. Around the age of 15, she secretly discovered her ability to use magic. When her hand appears to be engulfed in fire, but it felt natural to her. Unfortunately, because she lacked the knowledge on these set of skills, she didn't know where to began. For years, using the time she had, she practiced the only magic skill she knows.
This went on, until the age of 28, where she became a witness for the Sounding. With her family knowing this, they had one last hug, before she descends toward the capitol city.
Other Despite never going to school, she has been known to be smarter than other would've imagined. She is a quick learner, but it doesn't changed that she doesn't know much, at the moment. |
44,854 | 1,223 | 5 | 1,973 | 19 | Korvo took a deep breath a drew back his bow, he took a deep breath and released. The arrow whistled through the air as it flew along its path and Korvo watched as the poacher, who'd had no business in the forest, took it straight to the pupil, skirting down the tree he had climbed the man turned to his companion when he had reached the bottom of the tree
"That'll teach him eh?" the smile apparent on the faces of both creatures they began to stride over to the corpse and go through his pockets, finding a few coins, and various other trinkets the two sat down for a nice lunch.
"I can feel your stare on me Menina" the large black dog would have shrugged her shoulders innocently if she could have
"You think I should go" The half-naked man looked back at his companion "Well I already said I wouldn't, besides I haven't left since...."
A few minutes later, after eating, the two lay under some trees in the hot sun.
"Although, It might lead to some adventure, which could be fun" Korvo could swear that Menina raised an eyebrow
"Don't get smug.....Yes I know......Alright Fine" Korvo got up and began to head for the castle
...
...
"Shut up Menina I knew it was that way"
Upon reaching the Castle the two saw the line and were a bit taken aback, what was everybody in the whole kingdom here, I mean that was very possible, of course it didn't make sense that the king would invite the entire kingdom in that fashion, Of course kings did strange things, though on the other hand this one seemed to have a pretty tight grasp of things hmmmm
"Reeaaallly?" said an old man at the front of the line who seemed to be some kind of guard, if guards looked like ancient owls who had taken human shape, with unbelief and just the slightest touch of
"Really...?" Korvo replied, meeting the old man's gaze a little confused.
"Please leave your weapons and continue inside" The wizened man said after a long moment of stare downs. Korvo did so, feeling naked and having Menina growling at the old man the entire time but shutting up after getting a taste of the delicious food on the inside. | Name: Korvo Volkot
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Guerilla Fighter, Hunter
Weaponry: Father's Curved Swords (One shown in picture), Bow and Arrow, throwing daggers.
Apparel: As pictured, with shirt occasionally
Equipment: Lucky charms, bag of money, various hunter's traps.
Skills: Hunting, Fighting, Surviving, Guerilla Warfare
Personality: Tenacious, Stout-hearted, and not afraid to stand up for what he believes in, Korvo believes in things bigger than himself. Duty, perhaps not honor but some form of Honesty, and Justice, an idealist, but a laid back one, at least after one gets a couple of drinks in him.
Backstory: The son of a soldier and a mother who had loved him but not survived long after his birth, Korvo's early life was spent learning two things, how to survive in the wilderness and how to use his father's swords. When the war arose and the call for soldiers came in, Korvo's father, who was a hunter in his spare time, was sent out to meet the enemy, to fight for king and country, and months later Korvo was orphaned. But the teachings of his father, Duty, Honor, Tenacity and the value of certain things stayed with him. Despite this Korvo got mad, very mad. Passion and anger swelled up within him and those who saw him were scared, not because the rage inside him was seething out of him like a sirocco, but because it wasn't, because it was cold and solid and terrifying. Korvo left his hometown after that, nobody there has seen him since.
What happened to Korvo was that he, unable to be around people, fled to the woodlands, where he lived for years, protecting his newfound home against invasions of all kinds, poachers, ragtag mercenaries looking to burn it down, really anything that threatened his Forest. Along the way he made a friend, Menina was but a pup when Korvo found her, a broken leg kept her from doing anything so her pack had left her. Caring for the pup and nursing her back to health, The two formed a friendship unlike anything either'd had before. One day, out getting food, Korvo heard a strange sound that startled him, but later thought nothing of it, until he heard a rumor from some passing travelers that the king was searching out for those who had heard the sound, and thought that perhaps it might be interesting to see what came of paying the king a little visit.
Other: Korvo has a companion, I say companion because pet is not a good word for the relationship the two have, named Menina who is a dark black wolf, the two are partners, comrades, and friends, Menina accompanies Korvo wherever he goes and vice versa. |
44,855 | 1,223 | 6 | 664 | 58 | They arrived at the city when the sun had already set, and Lilianna was wobbly in the saddle. She lazily pressed the back of her hand against her lips, stifling a yawn. The soft woollen hood of her mantle pleasantly concealed most of her features and for the better part of the past hour she had happily dozed off as the mare who carried her dutifully plodded on along the main road, following in the wake of her uncle Claas. The steed he rode was a proud one and the leader of the pack back at the horse farm, way up north in their home town Sinegi. Behind him trailed another three animals; horses for the royal army that would be delivered unusually early by grace of the vision Lilianna had witnessed, not so many days ago. When the vision found her, the sounds so intense and overwhelming that it had given her nightmares, Lilly had tried her best to conceal it had ever happened. It would have been but another strange event to make her stand out like so many things before had done, and she really could do with a bit of blending in. But when travellers brought word of the king's summon it wasn't long before her aunt and uncle, whom she had lived with for the past thirteen years, managed to draw the truth from her - she was an open book to most people, really - and now here she was, on Highmont's doorstep looking a lot less impressed than the city deserved.
She startled into a state of abrupt awareness when Claas Beaufort brought the procession of horses to a sudden halt. They had reached the gatehouse without her even noticing, and whilst the city had steadily been drawing nearer the girl had been blissfully oblivious of getting so very close to her destination; she would have spent a lot more time being nervous if she'd known how close they were to the palace. The castle towered over the city with imposing grandeur, and that was a sight she wasn't quite so accustomed to; Griffinmont, the city she had spent the early years of her childhood in, had been vast and beautiful, but lacked the tall spires Highmont had to offer. Lilly found herself gazing up rather slack-jawed, and it wasn't until her uncle addressed her, probably for the third or fourth time, that she managed to tear her eyes away from the sight and focus on the grey-haired and likewise bearded man instead.
“This is where we part ways, child,” he informed her after she'd dismounted and carefully guided her horse to the front of the line. The gatekeeper was leafing through the paperwork and not paying them much attention. “Are you sure you'll be all right on your own?”
Lilly nodded enthusiastically, bravely countering that awkward feeling of a stone settling in her stomach. “It's not like I haven't been on my own before,” she replied. “Besides, I'll be in the king's castle, I don't think there's a safer place for me to be than there!”
Claas cast her a warm smile, one mixed with feelings of a far more sentimental nature. He may not be her true father, but Lilly loved him like she did her own parents... and perhaps even more. When he reached out and cupped his hand under her chin she had to keep from getting emotional. “Just mind yourself, pumpkin,” he said, “People here aren't as accepting as they are up north.”
It was all she could do to wrap her arms about the – considerably larger – man and find herself disappearing in a bear hug instead. “Don't worry about me!” she chimed confidently. “I'll be back home with you and aunt Margaret before you know it!” With that, she handed the reins over to her uncle and quickly padded off, worried that if she stayed any longer she'd lose the courage to leave altogether. As cheerful as she had sounded, truth was that Lilly was feeling considerably anxious about this whole endeavour. It wasn't every day that you got summoned to the royal palace and although as a noble-born she wasn't entirely unfamiliar with life at court, it had been a long time since she'd attended any upper class event. She sure hoped she could fit in.
As she approached the castle, Lilly soon discovered that her concerns were perhaps unfounded. People of all walks of life were queued up in front of the gates, patiently or impatiently awaiting their turn to be examined by this stoic and enigmatic looking man who stood by the doorway. Lilly worried what he was doing; she also worried what he would think of her. Then she mostly worried about being warm; her clothes were more suited for the much colder climate of the north and had it not been past sunset, then she probably would have been sweating uncomfortably by now. She had little option other than to join the others in the weaving line and she timidly got in line behind a rather tall and somewhat exotic looking man. Before him stood a simple peasant-woman, probably twice Lilly's age. There were warriors and farmers, learned men and simpletons – all sorts had lined up in the hopes of making their way beyond the castle doors. Plenty of them were being sent away, but just as many seemed to be allowed inside, although Lilly did not know on what conditions they were permitted entrance. It made her rather fearful of this mysterious man positioned near the entryway and when eventually it was her turn to be inspected, she was just about ready to bolt off. He peered down at her with an intense gaze and she shrank back a bit, but didn't dare to seem impolite by averting her eyes.
“I'm Lilly,” she squeaked uneasily. No answer. “Are you here to- to-”
”Proceed to the dining hall,” the man spoke curtly, and Lilly, her cheeks flushed with misplaced embarrassment wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or upset that he had dismissed her so easily. And without even introducing himself!
Still a little overwhelmed, the girl daintily made her way to the room like so many before her. The dining hall had filled up significantly when she arrived; the buffet had been feasted upon and a lot of seats were already taken. Like outside, people of all classes and from all sorts of places were gathered, making it a rather unique and colourful ensemble. She eyed the abundance of food with wonder, approvingly admiring the many cakes and buns and slices of fresh bread that hid in the many baskets before grabbing a cinnamon roll and a drink she didn't recognize with a sweet and spicy fragrance. Carrying the two to the table, Lilly found a seat inbetween a fair-haired girl and a peasant boy, who both seemed to be particularly appreciative of the food they had chosen. Glad to be amongst friendlier folk, she cast them both a warm smile, letting her eyes wander the faces of her current company. “Hello!” she greeted merrily. Lilly took the mug of mead between her fingers, cradling the drink absently. Her curiosity soon got the better of her, anxiety had rapidly dwindled the moment the mage had allowed her into the castle, and she studied the people inside the hall uninhibitedly. “So many different people,” she observed out loud, “Aren't you curious what the king wants us he-- Oh, are those black trumpets?”
Without thinking, the girl reached over and picked up one of the dark mushrooms from the bowl on the table and popped it in her mouth. “Hmmm—Mwai wove dese”, she commented with great approval. Sucking the garlicky oil from her fingertips, she offered her neighbours some of the cinnamon bread as well, happy to share, even if the food was free for the taking anyway. This didn't seem so bad, she decided. Perhaps being off on her own wasn't half as scary as she'd envisioned. | Name: Lilianna Beaufort
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Oblivious - In certain aspects she's beyond naive
Occupation: Horse trainer/ Stable girl (and estranged daughter of a viscount and his wife)
Weaponry: Lily wields a bow and arrow for hunting; a skinning knife as well as a carving knife, carefully sheathed.
Apparel: She wears comfortable dresses of several layers for keeping warm. Each layer of the skirt has a slit running up to her thighs at different angles for added comfort (and revealing nothing) while riding horses. Over her daily attire she'll usually wear a woollen cloak.
Equipment: Furs for sleeping, a pendant bearing her family crest as proof that she's of noble heritage, a leather water skin, a small assortment of herbs for various purposes and a comb and soap (because cleanliness is a virtue).
Skills: Lily is a more than decent archer, although her skills are limited almost entirely to hunting animals. She is able to skin animals and prepare them for cooking; Lily can make a mouth-watering meal with just a potato and a dead squirrel. Above all she's an excellent horse rider with an affinity for animals in general and the noble equine creatures in specific. Considering her magical abilities though, some might regard it as slightly macabre.
Magical abilities: Lily has the ability to shapeshift into a number of animals commonly found in the vicinity of the farm she lives in (she doesn't know many others, after all), and although she has hardly mastered it to perfection, the girl manages to alter her shape with an apparent ease that stems from childhood. Her favoured forms are the robin and the red fox, and although she, by now, knows better than to risk being discovered for who - and what - she is, shapeshifting is a guilty pleasure that, much like an addiction, has to be satisfied regularly.
Personality: Lily is a sweet girl, a bit on the naive side and a somewhat odd mixture of noble heritage and farmer girl upbringing. Her mannerisms and politeness stem from what she's been taught as a child, even if her current life really doesn't lend itself for impeccable manners and straight posture. Her caring nature befits her healing abilities and she's generally friendly and open towards the townsfolk in a way that could almost be considered endearing.
Backstory:Lily is originally from Griffinmont, her family of lower noble ranking. She was brought up like a proper little lady, but her magical affinity became apparent at an early age. The first time she disappeared, her parents were in a total panic and convinced their precious daughter had been kidnapped by bandits who would demand their riches. How a small child could make their way all the way up the rickety ladder to the attic, they couldn't figure out, but after two painstaking hours that was exactly where they found Lily, contently playing with half a dozen mice who seemed delighted by her presence. The mystery grew when it happened two times more in that year, especially since the ladder had since been removed. Over the years Lily would leave her parents astounded several times over, each time she managed to seemingly tumble down high windows without harming herself - and never whilst being seen - or climbing up rooftops or getting into locked rooms with narrow windows not even a child could fit through. It wasn't until a few weeks after her seventh birthday that the mystery was solved, when Mrs. Beaufort walked into her daughter's bedroom unannounced to catch her, in all her youthful innocence, wandering up to her windowsill, her eyes longingly gazing up at the sky. Her mother just barely managed to stifle the scream that burnt on her lips as their only child seemed to leap to her own death, but fell silent at an unlikely sight: without any apparent effort the young girl abandoned her human form and instead reduced it to one much smaller, winged and feather-coated, flying into the sky without a care in the world.
Of course, once the truth came out, everything inevitably changed. Lilianna's parents decided it would be best not to have her raised in one of the most densely populated and harshly judgemental places of the kingdom, and so Lily spent most her life growing up in Sinegi, a small town in the relative north of Ecen. The frozen mountains have been like sleeping giants, lurking on the distant horizon almost as a warning, but Lily has been blissfully unaware of any truth to the rumours that surround the mythical north. Sinegi is a quiet town with few travellers. It has less than two hundred inhabitants, most of which are farmers and hunters. Surprisingly, the ground is rather fertile and though the harsher climates make the area only suitable for growing sturdy vegetables like carrots and potatoes, the village is pretty much self-sustaining.
Lily has been living in with her aunt Margaret and uncle Claas from the tender age of eight and grew up working at the horse farm that has been in their family for generations. The Beaufort horses are pure blooded creatures, strong, healthy and particularly composed, making them extremely suitable for battle. Which is likely why their mounts are almost exclusively sold to the royal army itself, despite the considerable distance between Sinegi and the capital. Lily has been hauling bails of hay, lugging pails of water and brushing the grand horses from the moment she could lift a full bucket and when she got older, she was allowed to break in and ride the animals as well. She has a natural way of handling the noble animals without the need of force or raising her voice (a talent no doubt to be attributed to her magical skills). Her ability to alter her form is something that her aunt and uncle neither encourage nor discourage, and although Lily rarely has need of her skills, her occasional (and generally accidental) display of what she's capable of has made the entirety of the small town all too aware that they have a mage in their midst. But the Sinegians are loyal folk and Lilianna is a girl easy to like; no one ever speaks ill of her and no outsider would know she's any different from the rest of the villagers. |
44,856 | 1,223 | 7 | 1,712 | 2,117 | “Hey, did you hear me?”
Jarin looked down wordlessly at the young woman speaking to him and noticed that she was rather plain in appearance. She was dressed in a cream blouse and brown skirt that just barely brushed the wooden floor. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back, accentuating her wide ears and narrow jaw. He hadn’t really been listening to the farmer sitting in front of him. He had been in fact trying his best to drone her out, but she went on regardless.
“You’re lucky you found me, you know. A nasty cut like this could have gotten infected.” She removed her hands from Jarin’s right forearm and revealed that the gash had almost completely closed. After wrapping the wound in cloth, she asked, “How did you know I was a healer anyways?”
“Lucky guess,” Jarin replied curtly as he pulled his robe’s sleeve back down and stood.
“Oh, so it speaks!” she said with a lopsided grin and crossed arms.
He narrowed his eyes in response and then pulled a small bag of coins from his robe and placed it on the cupboard to his left. “That should cover your services.”
“Well, I was going to ask you to clean the horse’s stall out back, but you don’t exactly look like the...manual labor type.”
Jarin paused and glared at her for another moment. He didn’t know whether to thank the woman or smack her. No commoner had ever been brave enough to insult him, let alone gotten away with it. Jarin opened his mouth to respond when the door behind the healer was smashed open. She jumped in surprise as three disheveled and armed men stormed into the house. One of them wielding a sword grabbed the healer by the hair as she tried to run. She shrieked as he pulled her into his arms and held the edge of his blade against her throat. The second man stood by the door and the third pushed forward to Jarin.
“Where is it!?” The man pointed a dagger at Jarin forcefully. “That key belonged to us, thief!”
The key happened to be in his pocket, and that’s exactly where it was going to stay as far as Jarin was concerned.
The man looked back at his friend holding the healer and nodded. She cried as the blade began to draw blood just above her collarbone. “Please…” she whimpered.
“I’ll ask one more time. Where is it?! Tell me, or we slit her throat!”
Jarin remained mute for a moment and then replied without a trace of falter in his voice, “Do it.”
The room fell silent in shock and Jarin glanced coldly back at the healer. She looked at him with nothing but confusion and betrayal in her eyes as the man’s sword sliced across her throat. Jarin watched her slump to the ground in a pool of blood. He then watched the other three eventually fall to the ground, choking and gasping at the air around them.
As he left the farmhouse and stepped out under the high sun, Jarin heard the sound. It stopped him in his tracks, as he had never heard such a noise. He then climbed onto the farmer’s horse and rode away, his dark robe fluttering behind him.
After hearing the Sounding, Jarin arrived in Highmont where he sold his horse and bought new supplies. After standing in line to pass through the gate for what seemed like ages he finally made his way to the front. The guard held up a hand and scanned Jarin with suspicious eyes. Jarin had to force himself not to roll his eyes or simply push the imbecile out of his way. Eventually he was let through to the castle and into the dining room.
Jarin surveyed the other people already sitting at the table for a moment before making his way over. He took long and brisk, yet quiet strides, his robe just barely brushing the floor. Jarin took a seat far from the door he had entered through, giving himself a clear view of everyone else. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his robe accordingly. | Name: Mytchel Isth'stezia
Appearance: The people of the eastern deserts are known for their dark skin and their height, and Mytchel is no exception. Tall even among his people, he stands at 6’5, towering above everyone he’s met so far. His hair is pure black, shaggy and cut choppily, long enough to mostly cover his ears and come near to landing in his eyes in disorganized wavelets. His eyes are the colour of coal, and his skin the colour of dark, sun-baked bronze. He’s lanky and thin, reminiscent of a lifetime of underfeeding, though he does have wiry muscle from manual labour. Notable (clearly visible) features include a thin scar running diagonally through his left eyebrow, starting above his nose and ending below his eye, having very narrowly missed the eye itself. This is accompanied by various other small and inconsequential scars, mostly on his lower arms.
A natural feature is that Mytchel, in places, lacks pigment in his skin, birthmarks. There are various small spots of this along his arms and legs, like large and oddly shaped freckles. However he does have two large patches of discolouration: One spanning from his right collarbone, up his neck and ending on the lower right side of his jaw, near the joint and ear. The other finds itself on his left hip, extending onto the flat of his lower stomach. If described simply, they’re shaped like tattered cloth, with uneven edges as opposed to smooth ones.
On his back and shoulders, normally covered, are a patchwork of savage scars, long deep gashes, sloppily healed. He is very self-conscious about them.
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Occupation: Servant
Weaponry: Mytchel knows how to wield a sickle, staff and dagger, but does not currently own any weapons.
Apparel: Currently, Mytchel wears a palace uniform: A long-sleeved tunic and trousers made from fine deep blue linen, trimmed in gold thread. The tunic is tied with a beaded gold belt. On his feet are sturdy leather shoes, suitable for spending long days on his feet. Around his neck is a wide necklace made of several gold panels, bearing the crown sigil, with matching cuff bracelets on each wrist. He is dressed more lavishly than most other servants because as one of many personal servants to the king, he is seen more than they are and must look impressive for visiting nobles and the like.
On his journey, he will wear a simple brown mid-sleeved tunic and trousers of more durable material with a light linen undershirt, and leather boots.
Equipment: When they set off, Mytchel will carry with him a small pack containing a waterskin, a knife, bedroll a small flute, a cloak, some basic medicinal herbs, and will carry a wooden staff (a sanded and glorified tree branch, really.) Both the staff and knife will have been given to him by friends in the servant's quarters. The flute is of his own carving.
Skills: Mytchel is a better skilled pacifist than any other form of combat, though if forced to fight, he can definitely hold his own. He is quite calming and can usually break up a fight, or calm a furious/hysterical person. He knows some remedies for common ailments, such as how to stitch a wound, or how to deal with a fever. His main affinity, though, is his skill with animals: Animals practically gravitate to him, and take to him easily. He seems to have a calming effect on them, too.
He has no formal education and is unable to write and reads very little, but truly wants to learn.
Magical abilities: Mytchel was born with the ability to shapeshift, primarily into snakes, but other animals being possible as well. However, due to his family’s hatred of magic, he’s been too afraid to practice at it and thus has poor control over it.
Personality: Mytchel is a quiet, soft-spoken individual, with a tendency to do what he’s told without much fuss. He has an innate ability to sink into the background, even with his height. He’s kind and gentle, and incredible grateful for any good done for him. He greatly values life of any kind, and dislikes killing without reason. He loves animals, and has been known to feed stray cats and attract carrion birds with scraps.
Unfortunately, Mytchel has developed a somewhat fearful disposition. He becomes very apologetic and nervous if he does something wrong, fearing, often irrationally, what they may do to him. He tries his best to please people, to the point where he becomes anxious if he cannot. He’s not one to raise his voice in protest of anything, though he, like everyone, has his limits. Being reprimanded hurts him more than he should, but he is more likely to stand aside and take abuse in silence rather than fight back. He tends not to care what happens to him; it’s what happens to others that gets to him.
Backstory: Mytchel was the only child of a very poor family in the eastern desert. Mostly, his parents paid him little heed; as soon as he was strong enough, he was working - herding goats, repairing fences, cleaning, whatever work had to be done. His parents regarded him as little more than a farmhand, and neither were very loving people, to say the least. However, it wasn’t really too bad until Mytchel started showing signs of magic.
A late bloomer, Mytchel only started showing the signs when he was twelve. He’d been watching their small herd when he nearly stepped on a desert cobra, lurking under a rock. The boy wasn’t sure how to react; he knew there were snakes in the desert, but never had he come so close to one. It hadn’t bitten him, but he was too frightened to move, and suddenly scales grew from his skin in patches, and his eyes became slitted and sand-coloured. Terrified, he ran home as quickly as he could, hysterical with fear and confusion.
When his father saw what had become of him, he was furious. In a fit of fanatic fear and anger he lashed his son with a livestock whip until his back was gashed and bleeding. In their village, magic was the darkest of evils, the worst crime one could commit, and Mytchel’s father strictly forbade it, promising to answer any other sign of it with similar punishment. Over the next two years, a few similar incidents occurred with similar repercussions, until Mytchel, at the age of fourteen, was cast out of his home as a dishonour and disgrace to his family.
It wasn’t long before a noble from the kingdom’s capital passed through Mytchel’s village. Mytchel, young, impulsive and most predominantly hungry, stole from the caravan. He was caught by one of the noble’s personal guard, received a glancing swing of a blade to the face, and was carted back to the capital with the irate noble. The noble, a greedy man, brought the boy to the royal guard expecting serious punishment. The royal guard saw little reason for that, but to satisfy the noble, agreed to have him put to work in the palace until he paid off the value of what he stole.
It’s been five years since he officially earned his freedom, but Mytchel has stayed, having found a home in the servant’s quarters and worked his way up to personally serving the king, alongside several others he's grown to know quite well.
Other: Mytchel sees his own magic as evil and is convinced everyone else does too, even having spent so much time away from his village and among more accepting people. As such, he hasn’t told the king, or anyone, that he bore witness to the Sounding. As of yet, he’s been too nervous to mention it, fearing that he’ll be cast out as a devil. |
44,857 | 1,223 | 8 | 1,821 | 1,697 | As more and more people entered the hall and took their seats, Seothrunn felt more at ease. No one had accused him of any wrongdoing yet, and that was always good considering his people's reputation. Although that eased his mind somewhat, he still worried about how the king would take to his presence, especially considering that it was highly likely that his sister was still raiding the coast even as he sat in the dining hall. Seothrunn had politely asked, then reluctantly begged her to cease her activities before he left for the capitol, but she had just brushed him off by reasoning that the raids were no longer just out of tradition, but out of necessity. The closure of the northern seas also meant the closure of their main fishing grounds.
His stomach rumbled at the thought of fish, and for a split-second he considered taking some salted fish from his knapsack, but then quickly decided against it. He was a complete stranger to the customs of the southern court, but he knew enough of courtesy to know that eating your own food when the host has provided their own was considered to be very rude. Looking over at the vast selection offered on the table, he searched for something which he had not seen before on his home islands. He did not sail halfway across the known world to simply eat fish - he could have done that easily enough at home - but perhaps because of the way they were cooked or the elaborate preparation, everything looked alien to him.
Southerners are odd. He thought to himself. Even the nobles on the north-western isles had their foods prepared simply. No efforts were wasted on decoration or making them look neat. No one cared about how the food was presented, only that it was safe to eat. Shrugging mentally, Seothrunn reached out and picked up a some kind of bun. It looked plain enough, and was at least something he was pretty sure he could eat without making a fool of himself. He took a bite...
...And promptly burned his tongue when the sweet, but scalding hot filling burst into his mouth. He choked and let out a garbled sound of surprise, but forced himself to swallow anyway. He placed the bun on the table, then looked at the other guests, or those who had noticed his little incident. "Hvarsk." He said as an explanation, but then quickly translated, "I mean, hot. It was hot."
Never once had he been so thankful for the hood which prevented others from seeing the sheepish look on his face. It made him feel even more ashamed that he was actually fearful of what others thought of him. He was a warrior, the veteran of a hundred raids and a scourge on the north-western sea. Why did he fear what was on these southerners minds? He took a deep breath and calmed himself. It was normal to want to make a good first impression, especially if that impression had already been marred by a family member of his. You are being a fool, just be as you would, and all will be fine. He told himself.
A serving boy asked if anyone wanted wine, and Seothrunn lifted his cup to catch his attention. "Here, please." He said in a hesitant voice. Saying those two words already required plenty of mental power; he had only just learned the southern language during his journey south, and he found it to be incredibly complicated when compared to his native tongue. His eyes glanced to his sides to see if anyone had taken note of his accent, and for a moment wished that he had turned around when he had the chance, to be out on the open seas and listening to his oars churning the water and sail catching the salty, sea breeze.
Just then, the candles wavered as a gentle breeze wafted in from the windows high above. | Name: Vala Lynstad
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Master-at-Arms for the Sae Hrafn
Weaponry:
Vala primarily uses a standard long sword with a rounded-shield for protection. As a backup, she has a knife. For variety, she is pretty accurate with a short axe, both as a primary weapon and a projectile.
Apparel:
Vala dresses rather plainly and conservatively in commoner clothing. For times of battle, she adorns herself in hardened leather armor.
Equipment:
Waterskin, scraps of cloth usually for the purpose of cleaning her weapons,
Skills:
Vala comes from a Northern Longship and has established her sea legs and can handle rough waters. She lead men into the defense of said Longship and can help direct forces in battle. Her primary skill is her ability in combat, both with weapons and without.
Magical abilities: None
Personality:
On first impression, Vala is a bit cold with strangers and first-time acquaintances. She isn’t outright rude, however, and she believes that everyone deserves a chance. Displays of serious determination or willpower go a long way in her eyes. Her humor is a bit dry or a bit harsh at another’s expense because that was a common go-to for her crew members. Despite being a bit rough around the edges, Vala does have some softness at her core. She is extremely loyal, to the point of blind trust, when it comes to blood brothers and sisters (anyone who fights alongside her after a while). She also secretly enjoys being courted by people, especially if she is being fought over. But she’ll never say that.
Backstory:
Vala hails from Northern Coasts of Ecen, specifically a lonely island just off the coast called Marstal, and if you are living in Marstal, you probably either fish or sail for the navy. The sea always plays a big part of those who live on that tiny island and for Vala, she grew up just like any kid, craving the adventure that the older generations tell tales of. Of course when you finally get there, life at sea is a bit crueler and less dreamy than the tales.
It wasn’t too typical for women to join up with fishing crews, as there was no guarantee that your shipmates would have pure intentions, and in order to join the military ships, where things like that would never happen, you had to have at least a year of experience on the sea. So Vala sighed onto her Uncle’s ship where she was protected as her Uncle’s attendant.
After her year was up, she signed into the navy. Starting as a simple oarsmen, she eventually rose to the rank Master-At-Arms at the age of 21. Four years she went from ship to ship, not really settling down anywhere permanently. Then the Sounding happened… Even though a part of her didn’t want to, she was being mandated to by her superiors. So she departed for the capital, missing the sea but also enjoying the break as she hoped the Sounding was good news and not bad. |
44,858 | 1,223 | 9 | 1,230 | 129 | Frændi.
That word caught Seothrunn off-guard as he had not been expecting anyone from his region, and for a moment he stared at the woman who had taken her seat beside him with a look of surprise and relief. It was nice to hear a familiar word and accent, even if the person who said it came from a person whose people the Bonemen considered to be their only equals and rivals at sea. Now, however, they were on land, and Seothrunn was in neither the mood nor the mindset to start a fight. "Skællmagde." (Shieldmaiden) He returned the greeting with a nod, noting the shield she carried on her back, and the bulky sack that had to contain her belongings.
Seothrunn had never personally faced the ships of these southern islanders, but from what he had heard, they were excellent sailors and fierce warriors. Worthy of respect, but ultimately the Gods saw fit to pit them and the Bonemen against one another. "Kjalleta Seothrunn" (I am called Seothrunn) He introduced himself with a respectful bow of the head. "Mär isk fjetta vasa dej Kjalle, varmlanda-tvester?" (May I know what you are called, southern sister?) He asked, wondering if she had any trouble getting her ship into port. Her people looked strikingly similar to the Bonemen, even though their actions were as different as night and day. Her people worked well with the kingdom, while the Bonemen raided their settlements.
"Isk hvapp vårakjalleset som mäk isvokk kasa-nejat rulvårr hir dej." (I hope the reputation of my people caused no trouble for you) He said. To these southerners, they might have looked close enough for the guards to treat her as they treated him. He reached out and took two more of the same buns he had taken earlier. Despite his earlier mishap with one, they tasted wonderful. Not too sweet, but not too tasteless either, and there was a hint of butter flavouring the pastry itself. He handed one to the woman beside him and took a bite out of the other. | Name: Klaus Banning
Age: Biologically 26, has the job of a 50 year old, and acts like he's 5.
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual. Seriously, he'll take what he can get.
Occupation: Assistant Professor of Elemental Magic at the University of Ironwood
Weaponry: A heavily modified crossbow that definitely has more features than needed in battle (cup-holder? Really?), none of which seem to have improved Klaus's melee ability. It's uncertain whether Klaus is aware that crossbows are suppose to be used to vanquish enemies and not to capture interesting insect specimens. Ah, well, academia.
Apparel: Klaus wears a simple brown traveling cloak and boots. He'll occasionally don faculty robes when he's feeling up to it, but those days are getting rarer and rarer.
Equipment: Scrolls, quills, and a butter knife. Various knick knacks stowed away in the infinite pockets of his cloak.
Skills: Klaus is an exceptionally talented at his specific branch of elemental magic and exceptionally clumsy at almost every other activity, including walking.
Magical abilities: Klaus is trained in elemental magic and has a particular affinity for summoning lightning, although he's only ever done it to study electric charges. Despite the obvious offensive potential, he has yet to display any talent for fighting. Years in the ivory tower will do that to you.
Personality: For someone with a history of manic outbursts, Klaus is remarkably stable. He's affable enough, albeit mildly autistic. He's a little too quick to laugh, a little too slow to appreciate the gravity of a situation, and prone to spouting irrelevant trivia at inopportune moments. For the most part he's chatty, funny in an off-kilter way, and enthusiastically curious about everything. Has an uncomfortable tendency to treat acquaintances like interesting specimens. He's unfortunately prone to arrogance when it comes to academics, but that's to be expected.
Backstory:
Nine years ago, the future looked bright for a young Klaus Banning. He'd just graduated from the University of Highmont with a degree in elemental magic at the precocious age of seventeen. The university had offered him a job as a teaching assistant, which he'd accepted. He could continue his magical research with the university's vast resources at his disposal. He was going to publish groundbreaking tomes on the nature of elemental magic. He was going to get tenure.
The first few years went well. Klaus became assistant professor, then professor, then chair of his department. He was young, brilliant, and respected. He was a prodigy, dammit.
Then the trouble started. Klaus had always been interested in the bizarre and unexplainable, but the university became worried that his research was crossing the line into Black magic. Above that, he wasn't sleeping. More than once he was seen with sparks flying out of his hair. He was summoned before the board more and more often, to no avail. Professor Banning was just getting weird.
Klaus's students vaguely understood that he thought he was on the brink of something groundbreaking, something that would fundamentally alter magical theory. But no one understood exactly what that something entailed, so they learned to avoid his office hours and to stop sitting in the front row on the days he was involuntarily breathing fire.
It's unclear what happened next. By some reports, Klaus had a manic episode in the lab and went on some kind of magical acid trip, destroying half the basement floor and costing the university thousands in damages. A more sympathetic story holds that government officials approached him about developing his electrical magic for military purposes, and did not react favorably when he refused.
Most of the students believed Klaus had simply been driven mad by his own research. Professor Banning had looked into the abyss, and the abyss had broken him.
In any case, Klaus was denied tenure, stripped of his position and research resources, and kicked out of Highmont to boot.
The details of the next two years are equally murky. Some former students believed that he'd set about traveling the kingdom. Some thought he'd taken up refuge in the Truesh Peaks. Others were convinced he'd been committed to a mental institution.
And then he was back, with no explanation as to where he'd gone. He looked a little worn around the edges, a little more manic if you looked closely at his eyes, but otherwise appeared to have recovered. Highmont refused to allow him back onto the faculty, but the smaller institution at Ironwood eagerly offered him an assistant teaching position. (This title is generous, as Klaus does very little teaching and very much jumping out at students from random corners on campus for fun.) |
44,859 | 1,223 | 10 | 991 | 1,987 | A knock could be heard on the thick wooden door which lead to the king's chambers. The old mage from before was there, the one that chose those that witnessed the Sounding to be let inside the privileged gates of the castle. Footsteps came from inside the room, then the lock coming undone as the door creaked open, the King in the doorway, blinking his eyes like he had just woken up from a long nap, his clothing more comfort than regal.
"All of those that were affected by the Sounding are present and awaiting your presence in the dining hall as you instructed." The old man said, bowing his head towards the king.
"How many are there? Is it a large group?" He asked, generally curious.
"I believe there are twelve. Though I may not be entirely correct, and for that I apologize if I am."
"No need to, you did just as I asked. Have someone inform them that I shall be there shortly, I have to get ready."
"Sir, if I may say so, you don't look like you slept very well, I can see the bags underneath your eyes. Something is troubling you, your father would display the same signs."
"You are correct, I haven't slept much since the Sounding, that coupled with some events before that have no set me in the greatest frame of mind. But I shall be fine, no need to worry." King Ethan said with a smile.
"As you wish, I shall send word to our guests of your upcoming appearance."
Elden watched all of the people as they entered, occasionally smiling or nodding at those that glanced his way. He didn't say a word to any of them, just took the occasional sip of red wine. He scratched his chin, partly bored, partly nervous. The people in the room were making small talk, from what he could tell they were from all over, far North, the east, it didn't really matter to him, they all hailed from Ecen from his guessing. He mostly phased out everyone in the room, and just waited for the King, a messenger, the old mage or just anyone that would give them word on this assembly of people.
"I'll take some more in this glass, boy. The finest red you can find on this mess of a table." Elden muttered to Mytchel, as the servant did his job. He knew the boy decently well, he served the king personally, a huge figure, someone that Elden always thought could be a good soldier if he knew how to swing a sword, maybe after some weight was put on his bones. Though he never recalled having a conversation with Mytchel beyond the standard greetings or orders he gave the servant.
---
"Maybe they've brought us all here to be executed. Hung by our necks and tossed over the side of the castle, right in view for any pirates to see." Riya said to Lilianna after the girl had entered the room and muttered a question about the group's purpose, before she had gotten interrupted by the sight of food. A smile on her face as she said the words.
"I wouldn't put it past those royals to something crazy like that." She added with another grin, taking a bite of food, listening to the conversations the group was having, Northerners speaking in their strange native tongue, Riya had forgotten people actually lived that far up, right by those blisteringly cold mountains.
"I'll also take some ale if you have any, friend. Goes great with chicken." She said to Mytchel, the other people having given their drink orders already. | Name: Ople Hendric
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Bread Saleswoman
Weaponry: Bread knife (slashing weapon, double as equipment); Rolling Pin (blunt weapon, double as equipment)
Apparel: Usually wears around low or medium class clothings.
Equipment: Bedroll, canteen, a book, a quill, an inkwell, a small bag containing some dough, and a few small changes.
Skills: Charismatic as a saleswoman, and able to cook decent tasting breads.
Magical abilities: Only knows, and adequate with, Fireball. She was born with the ability to use magic, but kept it a secret due to her family's strict religious outlooks. She practice in secret, with the little time she has.
Personality: Usually nice. Though if conflict does occurred, she prefer to handle it peacefully. But, she has been known, though rarely, physically hurt someone, that has hurts or threaten someone she cares about. Though, despite being known as one of the nicest people by many, her father consider her as hotheaded.
Backstory: Born in the household the Hendric, she was taught to care for others, as she would to herself. Her family weren't rich enough for her to attend to school. Her mother, Heather, taught her all that she knew in school, when she was younger. Ople learned quickly from her mother. Around the age of 7, she was already helping out the family's business.
Her family business took up most of her time, so she had little time for almost anything else. Because she never took school, she never had many friends. The ones she had are regular customers, or a relative of the customers. Around the age of 15, she secretly discovered her ability to use magic. When her hand appears to be engulfed in fire, but it felt natural to her. Unfortunately, because she lacked the knowledge on these set of skills, she didn't know where to began. For years, using the time she had, she practiced the only magic skill she knows.
This went on, until the age of 28, where she became a witness for the Sounding. With her family knowing this, they had one last hug, before she descends toward the capitol city.
Other Despite never going to school, she has been known to be smarter than other would've imagined. She is a quick learner, but it doesn't changed that she doesn't know much, at the moment. |
44,860 | 1,223 | 11 | 1,821 | 1,697 | Skællmagde
A swell of pride swept through Vala as she heard the term left his lips. Despite her elation, Vala noted a difference in how he talked, placing him somewhere farther North, presumably, as he talked like one and addressed Vala as a 'southern sister'. There were a few isles to the North that she could recall visiting but usually the ice made it difficult for the bulkier longships that the navies used.
"Heiketa Vala." (I am called Vala) And after she introduced herself, returned the Seothrunn's bow. She was warming up quite nicely to the man she had only met a few minutes ago. Kinship played a big part in that.
Seothrunn's next words, however, caught her off guard. At first she didn't understand it. Reputation? Why would I care? But it didn't take long for Vala to catch on. By that time she had taken the pastry from Seothrunn's hands but once she made the connection, she dropped it and shoved it away as if it were some pile of shit. A Boneman was sitting right next to her...
"Oú ert Bienmǫgr?" (You are a Son/Kindred of Bones?) She asked curtly, raising her voice slightly. "ótrúlegt..." (Unbelievable) She added without considering Seothrunn's defense. She felt her right hip burn as if reliving an old wound. "Ég skulda einn af mǫgrfólks þíns fyrir særa mig." (I owe one your kind for wounding me). As she said this, she leaned back in her chair, glowering ahead, and rubbed her right hip. "Hann stakk mig í bak." (He got me in the back). With that she leaned forward again and glared back at her dining companion. Taking up a different pastry, she took a bite out of it. Chewing, she took the opportunity to think on her situation. She didn't outright hate the guy because Bonemen never went that far South and her ships never went that far North. But the snag was that they were on separate sides until now.
"Anzvíti..." (Damn) Vala said aloud as she thought about it longer. She was probably stuck with this man for the foreseeable future and petty squabbles weren't something to have going on a ship, or whatever was in store for them. "Gleymdu því, Það mun vera langt ferðalag, ef við erum í hár saman." (Forget it, it will be a long journey if we are at each other's throats). She couldn't be 100% sure that it was a Boneman who had stabbed her, after all. There were a lot of folks who turned to brigands and Vala wasn't petty enough to assume all folks were brigands. No matter where they came from.
As a peace offering, she reached across the table and grabbed a plate of smoked meats slices, making it easier for both of them to enjoy something a little hardier. Taking one she shoved it down after taking another bite of her pastry. It was kind of a hazy area and Vala wasn't really sure how she felt, so she kept quiet and stuffed her mouth to prevent something petty from leaving her lips. | Name: Vala Lynstad
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Master-at-Arms for the Sae Hrafn
Weaponry:
Vala primarily uses a standard long sword with a rounded-shield for protection. As a backup, she has a knife. For variety, she is pretty accurate with a short axe, both as a primary weapon and a projectile.
Apparel:
Vala dresses rather plainly and conservatively in commoner clothing. For times of battle, she adorns herself in hardened leather armor.
Equipment:
Waterskin, scraps of cloth usually for the purpose of cleaning her weapons,
Skills:
Vala comes from a Northern Longship and has established her sea legs and can handle rough waters. She lead men into the defense of said Longship and can help direct forces in battle. Her primary skill is her ability in combat, both with weapons and without.
Magical abilities: None
Personality:
On first impression, Vala is a bit cold with strangers and first-time acquaintances. She isn’t outright rude, however, and she believes that everyone deserves a chance. Displays of serious determination or willpower go a long way in her eyes. Her humor is a bit dry or a bit harsh at another’s expense because that was a common go-to for her crew members. Despite being a bit rough around the edges, Vala does have some softness at her core. She is extremely loyal, to the point of blind trust, when it comes to blood brothers and sisters (anyone who fights alongside her after a while). She also secretly enjoys being courted by people, especially if she is being fought over. But she’ll never say that.
Backstory:
Vala hails from Northern Coasts of Ecen, specifically a lonely island just off the coast called Marstal, and if you are living in Marstal, you probably either fish or sail for the navy. The sea always plays a big part of those who live on that tiny island and for Vala, she grew up just like any kid, craving the adventure that the older generations tell tales of. Of course when you finally get there, life at sea is a bit crueler and less dreamy than the tales.
It wasn’t too typical for women to join up with fishing crews, as there was no guarantee that your shipmates would have pure intentions, and in order to join the military ships, where things like that would never happen, you had to have at least a year of experience on the sea. So Vala sighed onto her Uncle’s ship where she was protected as her Uncle’s attendant.
After her year was up, she signed into the navy. Starting as a simple oarsmen, she eventually rose to the rank Master-At-Arms at the age of 21. Four years she went from ship to ship, not really settling down anywhere permanently. Then the Sounding happened… Even though a part of her didn’t want to, she was being mandated to by her superiors. So she departed for the capital, missing the sea but also enjoying the break as she hoped the Sounding was good news and not bad. |
44,861 | 1,223 | 12 | 1,248 | 1,805 | Seothrunn was not too surprised by Vala's reaction when she worked out who, or more accurately, what, he was. Still, he could not help but feel disappointment filling his heart as her indifference turned to slight hostility. His eyes were drawn to her hip as she rubbed it and made it known that it was one of his people that had injured her. "Isk år hvågur." (I am sorry) Seothrunn said rather stupidly, though in all honesty he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. On one hand, he did feel sorry for her; the bone weapons were impossible to make smooth, and so more often than not their blades had unintended hooks or snags that tore at skin and muscle with every swing. It must have hurt intensely when she received the wound.
On the other hand, he did not like how she acted as if he had any part to do with her wounding. As far as he was concerned, she engaged a Boneman in combat and came away with a wound. That was how fighting worked. You fought, you bled and at the end of the day, you rejoiced at simply having been given the chance to live another day while your opponent became food for carrion. Maybe that was one difference between the Bonemen and Vala's people. Seothrunn found himself wondering, much to his own amusement, just how she would react if she found out that the Bonemen actually respected her people by no small amount. The ships of her people were strictly off-limits to younger, less-experienced captains and at times some were even to be left untouched.
Still, Seothrunn knew that there was little he could do now; he could not speak for the future, but he was being carefully optimistic. Vala was a northerner, despite their differences, and he would have preferred it if they had not gotten off on the wrong foot. Now all he could do was just hope that their next step did not make things worse. He gave her a little, almost undetectable smile and said, "Isk hårt stjälunin-nejat et vesa sætt dejan sämnta." (I have no intention of being at your throat) She was a person of the sea - or at the very least she had the look of one - and Seothrunn felt confident that regardless of her misgivings, she would be willing to set aside her personal grudges endanger their mission.
If they were going to have one, at least. The king was certainly taking his own sweet time.
Seothrunn reached forward and picked up a slice of smoked meat from the plate and took a small bite out of it. Now that was something that reminded him of home, of the smokehouses filled with the scent of smouldering charcoal and raw fish, of his mother chiding him for eating too much of the stuff and his sister and him sneaking off a few slices for their own consumption later on. He glanced sideways at Vala and noticed her stuffing her mouth. She must be very hungry. Seothrunn noted. That, or she could just be eating to prevent any conversations from taking place. His own sister did the same, and once ate herself into sickness.
"Mäk isvokk fæthet dejarin." (My people respects yours) He said, not even noticing the words leaving his mouth until he heard them for himself. Quickly, he added, "Isk båri väskett dej skeld vasa." (I just thought you should know.) | Name: Ghisronia Vollis
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Performer/Cook
Weaponry: A variety of poisons, lightweight crossbow, and a slender short-sword.
Apparel: Ghisronia dresses in a motley combination of cloth and leather when not performing; with a hooded cloak, and trim shoulder pads for added protection. A simple leather mask is sometimes worn to obscure her features.
Equipment: Basic cooking supplies, materials for making a campfire (flint and steel etc), ornate necklace, and a handmade waterskin.
Skills: Acting, Cooking, theft, the art of disguise. Reasonably skilled with her crossbow and sword, but not at a remarkable level.
Magical abilities: Very mild understanding of healing magic. Can patch up minor wounds, and can prevent larger wounds from festering and becoming infected.
Personality: A self-aware narcissist, Ghisronia cares about one thing, and one thing only; Herself. Whilst not completely sadistic, Ghis does draw a slight sense of satisfaction from the suffering of others, and delights in meddling in affairs that aren’t her own. A survivalist at heart, Ghisronia is good at adapting to hazardous situations, and is able to keep a cool head in the face of danger.
An expert actress, Ghisronia will usually pass for a fairly eloquent teenaged girl with a slight air of spitefulness about her, working to shield the full extent of her dark side.
Backstory: Born to a family of farmers, Ghisronia suffered at the hands of her abusive farther, until the day she snapped and killed him. Running away from home, Ghis spent a few months as a beggar and a thief, before falling in with a troupe of traveling performers. Having always had a skill for cooking, Ghisronia worked as a chef for the performers, whilst they honed her acting skills in return.
Plagued by memories of her mistreatment at the hands of her father, Ghis spent the majority of her childhood in melancholy, feeling like a victim, until the day of her second kill.
After a performance, a spectator from the audience followed the young girl back to her tent, attempting to force himself on her. After she refused his advances, her stalker became feral and violen; giving Ghisronia a black eye and a split lip. Enraged, she killed the man in a fit of anger, slashing his neck with one of her cooking knives.
Horrified about what might happen if the body was discovered, Ghis began to cannibalize the man who’d followed her, finding that taste of human flesh send electric sensations through every fibre of her being, in a manner that she had never before experienced. Ghis cooked the remains into a stew, which she served to the rest of the troupe; thus awakening a dark thirst that she would never be able to shake. Wherever the troupe travelled, Ghisronia would pick off easy targets, before feasting on their remains, and satisfying her gluttonous desires.
Ghisronia has continued to develop her acting skills, becoming an extremely convincing actress, as well as her thievery, to the point where she is a formidable pickpocket and con artist.
Other |
44,862 | 1,223 | 13 | 1,535 | 4,350 | Jobe looked up from his single-minded campaign to consume every edible object in reach when his name was mentioned. He couldn’t help but start a little, hardly expecting anyone to have heard his introduction, but the hefty woman sat a space away from him had engaged him in conversation. He turned, bread dropping out of his mouth as he looked at her quizzically.
“Uh, hey Ghis.” He replied, acknowledging her pleasantries with a half-smile. His confidence was returning as he realised she was not all that unlike any farm-girl he had met in the past, and because she was a little on the round size her looks were not overwhelming his simple sensibilities. All of that changed rather quickly however when a demure, but undeniably pretty, young woman made herself known and sat down next to him. He quickly averted his eyes and returned to his food, replying with a half-hearted greeting, letting the two women talk.
Someone was walking around with wine, which Jobe refused out of principle, though when ale was called he was more than willing to call for a cup if Mytchel was making the rounds. After a few moments of quiet eating it became clear that the woman known as Ghis was not quite done with the small talk, drawing Jobe away from eating once again.
“I’m from Terh, west of the Truesh peaks, small farming town.” He replied quickly, trying to sound like he was too good for his humble origins. It probably hadn’t come out quite as he planned. He was about to get back to work when his eyes caught Ghis staring at him in that way he had noticed the older women tended to. It might have been his imagination, but it looked almost predatory, nothing like the coy eyed maidens of stories, he coughed a little as his nerves jangled.
“Some.” He replied, resisting the urge to answer Ghis’ seemingly layered question with a full account of his working life on the farm. He decided that probably wouldn’t be appropriate, and he wanted to leave that life behind him anyway. The natural break in conversation and his progressively full belly had opened up an opportunity for Jobe to look around at the assorted individuals that had been gathered in the hall. Though Jobe was not what one would consider a shrewd or talented observer, he couldn’t help but pick up the foreign look of Northerners talking together with no small amount of hostility. There was also a dangerous looking man watching over the table, and a flimsy bookish type gawking and conversing wildly with everyone around him. It seemed like a strange bunch of people had gathered to answer the call of the King, but when the call comes who wouldn’t answer? | Name: Jobe Robson
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Occupation: Farmhand
Weaponry: Iron headed Lumber-axe
Apparel: Grey wool-spun tunic, leather breeches, leather boots
Equipment: Travel pack including basic supplies and a bed-roll
Skills: Farming, carrying heavy objects, dealing with animals, cutting wood, basic cooking. Has a knack for learning practical skills.
Magical abilities: N/A
Personality: Jobe is the classic country bumpkin, with no formal education to speak of he can carry out manual tasks adeptly and can work all day with scant rest, but tell him to use his brain or perform anything requiring artisans hands and he’s hopeless. This leads him to a certain degree of naivety, close minded-ness and other harmful qualities of limited broadening of ones horizons. He is however earnest, loyal and very honest, though quick to anger and short tempered. He’s no natural leader, and is as of yet untested in anything other than an unarmed brawl.
Backstory: Jobe grew up in one of the many towns devoted to farming the fertile lands west of the Truesh Peaks. His father was a farmer, his father’s father was a farmer, and one would probably expect his father’s father’s father to be a farmer as well. The middle child in a family of three sons, his mother passed three years prior and his father was woefully bad at securing his children good marriages. After having only recently found a place for his eldest the sounding couldn’t have come at a better time, giving him the perfect opportunity to send Jobe off on some obscure quest as a way of relieving the family’s money problems.
Jobe, as a young adventurous lad, had no issue with being packed off. Though his ignorance and naivety has served him poorly on the road so far, he has somehow survived long enough to answer the call, and considers himself the King’s most loyal subject, even if he couldn’t pick him out in a crowd. |
44,863 | 1,223 | 14 | 1,161 | 62 | Anzvíti...
"Oú ert Bienmǫgr?"
"Gleymdu því, Það mun vera langt ferðalag, ef við erum í hár saman."
"Isk år hvågur."
All of the northern language Agnatus heard was foreign to him. The names he heard weren't though. Elden, Ghisronia, Lilianna, Jarin, and Jobe were the ones he had heard so far.
"Wine?" asked a servant boy who walked by, making a hand gesture towards the three bottles on a tray in his hand. Without saying anything he took the red wine from the tray and popped the cork. He caught himself going for a swig from the bottle and grabbed a glass from the table. After pouring himself, his fourth glass of wine Agnatus was chatting and laughing with a group of people by the names of Opie, Klaus, and Riya. Even through the wine he was thinking of Aurelia. He soon faded away from the conversation and thought of back home. The waves of the ocean bouncing off the beach sand and rolling back around. Laughter. He and his father were walking down the beach, talking of the current war while he was on his short leave. Agnatus treasured this memory, the last he remembers of his father, they were so busy they don't even notice the crabs scuttling towards their feet. Ouch!. His father starts to laugh at the baby crab latched onto Agnatus's big toe. He snapped out of the daydream and heard a voice, the voice of a boy he had heard before, The wine boy, he knew him. From back home, he was one of the lords servants. The boy was still walking around handing wine to people, but he noticed him look over every 30 seconds or so. What was he doing here? The lord wouldn't allow this, would he? Was the wine just a little stronger than his home brew? All he knew was he was getting a bit tipsy and a boy from his home village was here watching over him.
"Excuse me" Agnatus excused himself from the conversation and went over to the fireplace. He added some more wood to the fire taking some from a nearby stack of logs and started to prod the fire. He started to see something strange in the flames. It was Aurelia's face. The wine, it was the wine, he took the rest of the bottle and threw it in the trash, immediately walking over to the table and getting some food. He had to get sober before he did something irrational. Luckily for Agnatus he was tipsy, not drunk and quickly started to see straight after sitting down to eat.
After Agnatus felt alright he stood back and up and found his small group and join the chatter once again, he could still feel the slight push on his word from the wine but everything he said was all from him. He started to feel self-consciousness start to creep up in the back of his brain. Before he could mess anything up he just started his next sentence with this,
"Have any of you heard of the southern marbled quail?" | Name: Ople Hendric
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Bread Saleswoman
Weaponry: Bread knife (slashing weapon, double as equipment); Rolling Pin (blunt weapon, double as equipment)
Apparel: Usually wears around low or medium class clothings.
Equipment: Bedroll, canteen, a book, a quill, an inkwell, a small bag containing some dough, and a few small changes.
Skills: Charismatic as a saleswoman, and able to cook decent tasting breads.
Magical abilities: Only knows, and adequate with, Fireball. She was born with the ability to use magic, but kept it a secret due to her family's strict religious outlooks. She practice in secret, with the little time she has.
Personality: Usually nice. Though if conflict does occurred, she prefer to handle it peacefully. But, she has been known, though rarely, physically hurt someone, that has hurts or threaten someone she cares about. Though, despite being known as one of the nicest people by many, her father consider her as hotheaded.
Backstory: Born in the household the Hendric, she was taught to care for others, as she would to herself. Her family weren't rich enough for her to attend to school. Her mother, Heather, taught her all that she knew in school, when she was younger. Ople learned quickly from her mother. Around the age of 7, she was already helping out the family's business.
Her family business took up most of her time, so she had little time for almost anything else. Because she never took school, she never had many friends. The ones she had are regular customers, or a relative of the customers. Around the age of 15, she secretly discovered her ability to use magic. When her hand appears to be engulfed in fire, but it felt natural to her. Unfortunately, because she lacked the knowledge on these set of skills, she didn't know where to began. For years, using the time she had, she practiced the only magic skill she knows.
This went on, until the age of 28, where she became a witness for the Sounding. With her family knowing this, they had one last hug, before she descends toward the capitol city.
Other Despite never going to school, she has been known to be smarter than other would've imagined. She is a quick learner, but it doesn't changed that she doesn't know much, at the moment. |
44,864 | 1,223 | 15 | 664 | 58 | Ople mostly stayed silent. She was almost never the conversation starter. But, most of all, she didn't know what to talk about with these people. The people sitting around her, were almost nothing like what she usually encounters.
Out of the blue, a memory of hers: When she was younger, she got into a fight with some kid, because she accidentally offended him.
She sat quietly, listening to their conversation; Their introductions; Someone spoke in a language she never even heard of. But, something didn't felt right. She felt that something was off. Was it someone around the table? Were the consumption on the table, poisoned? And then she realized!
She just arrived, and already more worried about having a conversation, than remembering to eat more. She giggled at her own silliness, before taking a bite out of a bread, on the table. "Wow, these bread are better than the one at the store," she thought to herself. | Name: Lilianna Beaufort
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Oblivious - In certain aspects she's beyond naive
Occupation: Horse trainer/ Stable girl (and estranged daughter of a viscount and his wife)
Weaponry: Lily wields a bow and arrow for hunting; a skinning knife as well as a carving knife, carefully sheathed.
Apparel: She wears comfortable dresses of several layers for keeping warm. Each layer of the skirt has a slit running up to her thighs at different angles for added comfort (and revealing nothing) while riding horses. Over her daily attire she'll usually wear a woollen cloak.
Equipment: Furs for sleeping, a pendant bearing her family crest as proof that she's of noble heritage, a leather water skin, a small assortment of herbs for various purposes and a comb and soap (because cleanliness is a virtue).
Skills: Lily is a more than decent archer, although her skills are limited almost entirely to hunting animals. She is able to skin animals and prepare them for cooking; Lily can make a mouth-watering meal with just a potato and a dead squirrel. Above all she's an excellent horse rider with an affinity for animals in general and the noble equine creatures in specific. Considering her magical abilities though, some might regard it as slightly macabre.
Magical abilities: Lily has the ability to shapeshift into a number of animals commonly found in the vicinity of the farm she lives in (she doesn't know many others, after all), and although she has hardly mastered it to perfection, the girl manages to alter her shape with an apparent ease that stems from childhood. Her favoured forms are the robin and the red fox, and although she, by now, knows better than to risk being discovered for who - and what - she is, shapeshifting is a guilty pleasure that, much like an addiction, has to be satisfied regularly.
Personality: Lily is a sweet girl, a bit on the naive side and a somewhat odd mixture of noble heritage and farmer girl upbringing. Her mannerisms and politeness stem from what she's been taught as a child, even if her current life really doesn't lend itself for impeccable manners and straight posture. Her caring nature befits her healing abilities and she's generally friendly and open towards the townsfolk in a way that could almost be considered endearing.
Backstory:Lily is originally from Griffinmont, her family of lower noble ranking. She was brought up like a proper little lady, but her magical affinity became apparent at an early age. The first time she disappeared, her parents were in a total panic and convinced their precious daughter had been kidnapped by bandits who would demand their riches. How a small child could make their way all the way up the rickety ladder to the attic, they couldn't figure out, but after two painstaking hours that was exactly where they found Lily, contently playing with half a dozen mice who seemed delighted by her presence. The mystery grew when it happened two times more in that year, especially since the ladder had since been removed. Over the years Lily would leave her parents astounded several times over, each time she managed to seemingly tumble down high windows without harming herself - and never whilst being seen - or climbing up rooftops or getting into locked rooms with narrow windows not even a child could fit through. It wasn't until a few weeks after her seventh birthday that the mystery was solved, when Mrs. Beaufort walked into her daughter's bedroom unannounced to catch her, in all her youthful innocence, wandering up to her windowsill, her eyes longingly gazing up at the sky. Her mother just barely managed to stifle the scream that burnt on her lips as their only child seemed to leap to her own death, but fell silent at an unlikely sight: without any apparent effort the young girl abandoned her human form and instead reduced it to one much smaller, winged and feather-coated, flying into the sky without a care in the world.
Of course, once the truth came out, everything inevitably changed. Lilianna's parents decided it would be best not to have her raised in one of the most densely populated and harshly judgemental places of the kingdom, and so Lily spent most her life growing up in Sinegi, a small town in the relative north of Ecen. The frozen mountains have been like sleeping giants, lurking on the distant horizon almost as a warning, but Lily has been blissfully unaware of any truth to the rumours that surround the mythical north. Sinegi is a quiet town with few travellers. It has less than two hundred inhabitants, most of which are farmers and hunters. Surprisingly, the ground is rather fertile and though the harsher climates make the area only suitable for growing sturdy vegetables like carrots and potatoes, the village is pretty much self-sustaining.
Lily has been living in with her aunt Margaret and uncle Claas from the tender age of eight and grew up working at the horse farm that has been in their family for generations. The Beaufort horses are pure blooded creatures, strong, healthy and particularly composed, making them extremely suitable for battle. Which is likely why their mounts are almost exclusively sold to the royal army itself, despite the considerable distance between Sinegi and the capital. Lily has been hauling bails of hay, lugging pails of water and brushing the grand horses from the moment she could lift a full bucket and when she got older, she was allowed to break in and ride the animals as well. She has a natural way of handling the noble animals without the need of force or raising her voice (a talent no doubt to be attributed to her magical skills). Her ability to alter her form is something that her aunt and uncle neither encourage nor discourage, and although Lily rarely has need of her skills, her occasional (and generally accidental) display of what she's capable of has made the entirety of the small town all too aware that they have a mage in their midst. But the Sinegians are loyal folk and Lilianna is a girl easy to like; no one ever speaks ill of her and no outsider would know she's any different from the rest of the villagers. |
44,865 | 1,223 | 16 | 1,712 | 2,117 | Mytchel’s offer got several replies from almost every occupant of the table. It looked like this would be the lot of them, then. Twelve people who’d also witnessed the Sounding. The very thought sent a sliver of dread like a spike through his gut, though he kept himself outwardly calm, topping off goblets left and right without spilling a drop.
Still, the notion nagged him. He should have told someone, said something about the terror that had thrown him from his fit of sleep, the roar that rang in his ears even now, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter a word. He’d even tried his best to avoid the court mage, though he got the feeling that the old man saw straight through him. It probably wasn’t far from the truth. It was the stuff of black magic, that, strange visions of what may very well be the future, hearing things no one else seemed to. It was evil, all of it, and the very presence of those others whom it touched sent a shiver up his spine.
In any case, Mytchel busied himself with filling goblets. Under normal circumstances he’d never reach across the table, but the table itself was long and rounding it for so few people would take longer than it was worth. One woman at the table requested a harder drink, to which Mytchel, grateful for the distraction, simply nodded and bowed, turning around and whistling sharply to a serving girl nearby.
“Burada ağır bir şey,”(something heavy over here) he murmured when she approached. He almost sent her away, but quickly called her back when ale was requested. "Və bəzi pivə, ki, bir." (And some ale for that one) he finished, pointing out the woman who asked.
Otherwise, he simply went about his business, nodding a bow to Elden. He knew the man, had served him several times. He served in the king’s royal guard, and seemed to be a good man. Mytchel could respect him.
All went well until one guest, an eccentric white-haired man, gave Mytchel an invasive up-and-down look. It wasn’t so out of the ordinary, as visiting nobility liked to compare servants in their host’s household to their own, but then the man started yammering.
“So even the King’s got one, eh? You, the gatekeeper...damn, but I wish I were still at Highmont University. The magical to mundane ratio in this city is simply-”
Black spots swam before Mitchell’s eyes, and for a second, he was unsteady. At first, he wasn’t sure what the man meant; did he mean Easterners? People of all types worked in the palace, Mytchel wouldn’t know why it was so astounding to see an Easterner here. Then he continued on, mentioning something about magic. Half of it Mytchel didn’t understand in his increasingly shocked state, his command of the Southern language slipping in dread. How… How could he know? How could he know about the evil harboured inside him, the evils he’d worked so hard to hide?
Horrified, Mytchel’s face drained considerably of colour. His hands trembled, though he wasn’t sure if it was visible or just a feeling. He found it hard to shift his gaze, wide eyes fixed on those of the white-haired stranger, and for a second, he was still. His heart pounded in his ears, and the room became very warm and cold at the same time.
A drawn-out second later, Mytchel got ahold of himself. While dread still fluttered in his stomach, he controlled himself long enough to clear his throat, shake his head, and utter, “Oh, I’m sorry, I believe you are mistaken…” in a shaky accent before he opted himself out. By then, the serving girl he’d sent away had returned with pitchers of the other drinks in one hand. Mytchel could have kissed the girl, but instead simply bowed to the guests and retreated as quickly as he could manage, without running, to the kitchens. | Name: Mytchel Isth'stezia
Appearance: The people of the eastern deserts are known for their dark skin and their height, and Mytchel is no exception. Tall even among his people, he stands at 6’5, towering above everyone he’s met so far. His hair is pure black, shaggy and cut choppily, long enough to mostly cover his ears and come near to landing in his eyes in disorganized wavelets. His eyes are the colour of coal, and his skin the colour of dark, sun-baked bronze. He’s lanky and thin, reminiscent of a lifetime of underfeeding, though he does have wiry muscle from manual labour. Notable (clearly visible) features include a thin scar running diagonally through his left eyebrow, starting above his nose and ending below his eye, having very narrowly missed the eye itself. This is accompanied by various other small and inconsequential scars, mostly on his lower arms.
A natural feature is that Mytchel, in places, lacks pigment in his skin, birthmarks. There are various small spots of this along his arms and legs, like large and oddly shaped freckles. However he does have two large patches of discolouration: One spanning from his right collarbone, up his neck and ending on the lower right side of his jaw, near the joint and ear. The other finds itself on his left hip, extending onto the flat of his lower stomach. If described simply, they’re shaped like tattered cloth, with uneven edges as opposed to smooth ones.
On his back and shoulders, normally covered, are a patchwork of savage scars, long deep gashes, sloppily healed. He is very self-conscious about them.
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Occupation: Servant
Weaponry: Mytchel knows how to wield a sickle, staff and dagger, but does not currently own any weapons.
Apparel: Currently, Mytchel wears a palace uniform: A long-sleeved tunic and trousers made from fine deep blue linen, trimmed in gold thread. The tunic is tied with a beaded gold belt. On his feet are sturdy leather shoes, suitable for spending long days on his feet. Around his neck is a wide necklace made of several gold panels, bearing the crown sigil, with matching cuff bracelets on each wrist. He is dressed more lavishly than most other servants because as one of many personal servants to the king, he is seen more than they are and must look impressive for visiting nobles and the like.
On his journey, he will wear a simple brown mid-sleeved tunic and trousers of more durable material with a light linen undershirt, and leather boots.
Equipment: When they set off, Mytchel will carry with him a small pack containing a waterskin, a knife, bedroll a small flute, a cloak, some basic medicinal herbs, and will carry a wooden staff (a sanded and glorified tree branch, really.) Both the staff and knife will have been given to him by friends in the servant's quarters. The flute is of his own carving.
Skills: Mytchel is a better skilled pacifist than any other form of combat, though if forced to fight, he can definitely hold his own. He is quite calming and can usually break up a fight, or calm a furious/hysterical person. He knows some remedies for common ailments, such as how to stitch a wound, or how to deal with a fever. His main affinity, though, is his skill with animals: Animals practically gravitate to him, and take to him easily. He seems to have a calming effect on them, too.
He has no formal education and is unable to write and reads very little, but truly wants to learn.
Magical abilities: Mytchel was born with the ability to shapeshift, primarily into snakes, but other animals being possible as well. However, due to his family’s hatred of magic, he’s been too afraid to practice at it and thus has poor control over it.
Personality: Mytchel is a quiet, soft-spoken individual, with a tendency to do what he’s told without much fuss. He has an innate ability to sink into the background, even with his height. He’s kind and gentle, and incredible grateful for any good done for him. He greatly values life of any kind, and dislikes killing without reason. He loves animals, and has been known to feed stray cats and attract carrion birds with scraps.
Unfortunately, Mytchel has developed a somewhat fearful disposition. He becomes very apologetic and nervous if he does something wrong, fearing, often irrationally, what they may do to him. He tries his best to please people, to the point where he becomes anxious if he cannot. He’s not one to raise his voice in protest of anything, though he, like everyone, has his limits. Being reprimanded hurts him more than he should, but he is more likely to stand aside and take abuse in silence rather than fight back. He tends not to care what happens to him; it’s what happens to others that gets to him.
Backstory: Mytchel was the only child of a very poor family in the eastern desert. Mostly, his parents paid him little heed; as soon as he was strong enough, he was working - herding goats, repairing fences, cleaning, whatever work had to be done. His parents regarded him as little more than a farmhand, and neither were very loving people, to say the least. However, it wasn’t really too bad until Mytchel started showing signs of magic.
A late bloomer, Mytchel only started showing the signs when he was twelve. He’d been watching their small herd when he nearly stepped on a desert cobra, lurking under a rock. The boy wasn’t sure how to react; he knew there were snakes in the desert, but never had he come so close to one. It hadn’t bitten him, but he was too frightened to move, and suddenly scales grew from his skin in patches, and his eyes became slitted and sand-coloured. Terrified, he ran home as quickly as he could, hysterical with fear and confusion.
When his father saw what had become of him, he was furious. In a fit of fanatic fear and anger he lashed his son with a livestock whip until his back was gashed and bleeding. In their village, magic was the darkest of evils, the worst crime one could commit, and Mytchel’s father strictly forbade it, promising to answer any other sign of it with similar punishment. Over the next two years, a few similar incidents occurred with similar repercussions, until Mytchel, at the age of fourteen, was cast out of his home as a dishonour and disgrace to his family.
It wasn’t long before a noble from the kingdom’s capital passed through Mytchel’s village. Mytchel, young, impulsive and most predominantly hungry, stole from the caravan. He was caught by one of the noble’s personal guard, received a glancing swing of a blade to the face, and was carted back to the capital with the irate noble. The noble, a greedy man, brought the boy to the royal guard expecting serious punishment. The royal guard saw little reason for that, but to satisfy the noble, agreed to have him put to work in the palace until he paid off the value of what he stole.
It’s been five years since he officially earned his freedom, but Mytchel has stayed, having found a home in the servant’s quarters and worked his way up to personally serving the king, alongside several others he's grown to know quite well.
Other: Mytchel sees his own magic as evil and is convinced everyone else does too, even having spent so much time away from his village and among more accepting people. As such, he hasn’t told the king, or anyone, that he bore witness to the Sounding. As of yet, he’s been too nervous to mention it, fearing that he’ll be cast out as a devil. |
44,866 | 1,223 | 17 | 1,230 | 129 | Klaus wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd been expecting from Mytchel, but it certainly wasn't that. The servant positively quivered at his offhand remark. They stared at each other for a long moment, during which Klaus wondered if he should pat Mytchel on the shoulder ("You're magical! Congratulations! Sorry, were you not aware of this?"
And then the dark-skinned servant departed, without even filling Klaus's drink. He regarded his empty goblet with a disappointed look, then started when a heavyset woman dressed in black called out to him in a tone Klaus had only ever associated with thieves masquerading as prostitutes.
Klaus turned and subjected Ghisronia to the same full-body inspection that Mytchel and Lily had involuntarily received, tilting his head in a birdlike manner as he examined her. He'd passed over her at first in his magical sweep of the room, but upon closer inspection, there was a faint touch of magical ability about her. Certainly not a shape shifter. Parlor tricks? Healing magic? Klaus considered asking outright, but after the servant boy's startled reaction, he decided against it.
"I can't help but shake the feeling there's something more to you, sir."
What an odd thing to say. Then again, it was somewhat refreshing not to be in the company of scholars who both a) knew exactly who he was, b) knew exactly what he'd been banned from Highmont University for, and c) wanted to ask him questions about it.
"Just a man who enjoys his sprouts," he said, waving his fork at her.
He was about to launch into another tirade on the health benefits of eating your veggies when the copperhaired girl, the one who practically emanated "shapeshifter", whispered something to Ghisronia. From his end of the table, he couldn't hear what they were saying, but he got the faint impression that they were talking about him.
"Speak up, lassie, it's not polite to whisper," he said, bobbing his head at Lily like he would at any student caught gossiping in class. | Name: Klaus Banning
Age: Biologically 26, has the job of a 50 year old, and acts like he's 5.
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual. Seriously, he'll take what he can get.
Occupation: Assistant Professor of Elemental Magic at the University of Ironwood
Weaponry: A heavily modified crossbow that definitely has more features than needed in battle (cup-holder? Really?), none of which seem to have improved Klaus's melee ability. It's uncertain whether Klaus is aware that crossbows are suppose to be used to vanquish enemies and not to capture interesting insect specimens. Ah, well, academia.
Apparel: Klaus wears a simple brown traveling cloak and boots. He'll occasionally don faculty robes when he's feeling up to it, but those days are getting rarer and rarer.
Equipment: Scrolls, quills, and a butter knife. Various knick knacks stowed away in the infinite pockets of his cloak.
Skills: Klaus is an exceptionally talented at his specific branch of elemental magic and exceptionally clumsy at almost every other activity, including walking.
Magical abilities: Klaus is trained in elemental magic and has a particular affinity for summoning lightning, although he's only ever done it to study electric charges. Despite the obvious offensive potential, he has yet to display any talent for fighting. Years in the ivory tower will do that to you.
Personality: For someone with a history of manic outbursts, Klaus is remarkably stable. He's affable enough, albeit mildly autistic. He's a little too quick to laugh, a little too slow to appreciate the gravity of a situation, and prone to spouting irrelevant trivia at inopportune moments. For the most part he's chatty, funny in an off-kilter way, and enthusiastically curious about everything. Has an uncomfortable tendency to treat acquaintances like interesting specimens. He's unfortunately prone to arrogance when it comes to academics, but that's to be expected.
Backstory:
Nine years ago, the future looked bright for a young Klaus Banning. He'd just graduated from the University of Highmont with a degree in elemental magic at the precocious age of seventeen. The university had offered him a job as a teaching assistant, which he'd accepted. He could continue his magical research with the university's vast resources at his disposal. He was going to publish groundbreaking tomes on the nature of elemental magic. He was going to get tenure.
The first few years went well. Klaus became assistant professor, then professor, then chair of his department. He was young, brilliant, and respected. He was a prodigy, dammit.
Then the trouble started. Klaus had always been interested in the bizarre and unexplainable, but the university became worried that his research was crossing the line into Black magic. Above that, he wasn't sleeping. More than once he was seen with sparks flying out of his hair. He was summoned before the board more and more often, to no avail. Professor Banning was just getting weird.
Klaus's students vaguely understood that he thought he was on the brink of something groundbreaking, something that would fundamentally alter magical theory. But no one understood exactly what that something entailed, so they learned to avoid his office hours and to stop sitting in the front row on the days he was involuntarily breathing fire.
It's unclear what happened next. By some reports, Klaus had a manic episode in the lab and went on some kind of magical acid trip, destroying half the basement floor and costing the university thousands in damages. A more sympathetic story holds that government officials approached him about developing his electrical magic for military purposes, and did not react favorably when he refused.
Most of the students believed Klaus had simply been driven mad by his own research. Professor Banning had looked into the abyss, and the abyss had broken him.
In any case, Klaus was denied tenure, stripped of his position and research resources, and kicked out of Highmont to boot.
The details of the next two years are equally murky. Some former students believed that he'd set about traveling the kingdom. Some thought he'd taken up refuge in the Truesh Peaks. Others were convinced he'd been committed to a mental institution.
And then he was back, with no explanation as to where he'd gone. He looked a little worn around the edges, a little more manic if you looked closely at his eyes, but otherwise appeared to have recovered. Highmont refused to allow him back onto the faculty, but the smaller institution at Ironwood eagerly offered him an assistant teaching position. (This title is generous, as Klaus does very little teaching and very much jumping out at students from random corners on campus for fun.) |
44,867 | 1,223 | 18 | 1,248 | 1,805 | The farm boy’s brief responses stung slightly, but there was no wound to her pride which Ghisronia couldn’t heal by gorging on copious amounts of food, which is exactly what she did.
“Can I call you Ghis?”
“Sure!” Ghisronia exclaimed, beaming broadly.
“My name's Lilianna but that's such a long name, so everyone calls me Lilly. Or shorty",
“Liliana? That’s such a pretty name!” The words flowed effortlessly from the larger girl’s lips, an almost flawless imitation of the giggly young maidens she’d found intolerable her entire life.
Ghisronia scooped up a handful of fried squirrel, scoffing it down with a loud crunch, licking up the remaining crumbs with her thick tongue. She chugged down a few decent glugs from her recently filled wine cup, before ripping the meat off of a rack boar ribs with her teeth and snapping it up like some crazed reptile. A ravenous look flashing across her eyes, Ghisronia snatched a large powder-slathered pastry off of the cake tray, stuffing it down in several quick bites.
"Wow, you sure are hungry," chirped up Liliana.
“Not exceptionally so,” Ghis confessed, in a tone that was slightly more akin to her true demeanour than the bubbly manner she’d been adopting whilst talking to the girl next to her “just a smidge peckish.” The corpulent young woman picked a lightly crisped pork pie off of a nearby serving tray; promptly followed by the rest of the tray’s contents, which all ended up in her mouth. “Besides, it’d be a shame to waste all this food.” She mumbled between mouthfuls.
"Just a man who enjoys his sprouts," the white-haired fellow remarked, in response to Ghisronia’s earlier statement.
“That makes one of us then,” Ghis replied, only half joking “Can’t stand those sickly green death-balls….Eurgh…” She scrunched up her face for dramatic effect, letting her tongue hang out. Now plagued by visions of sprouts, Ghisronia took the opportunity to devour some crisp honeyed-lizards, and begin work on a greasy chicken leg.
"I think he's a learned man,” Lillian whispered in Ghisronia’s ear, whilst she still had a mouthful of chicken.
"Look at his clothes, he reminds me of my tutor, back when--" the young girl stopped abruptly, which served to pique the thickset woman’s curiosity. She’d be a fool to take each of these people at face value, everyone had secrets after all, and the prospect of unravelling whatever it was that this seemingly innocent girl was holding close to her chest enthralled Ghisronia, but before she could inquire further she was rather abruptly cut off by a loud "Speak up, lassie, it's not polite to whisper.", followed by some curious head-bobbing.
“Lilly was just sharing with me how best to savour the taste of the orange-spotted eastern lizard.” Ghisronia shot back, keeping her tone polite and well-humoured. “Apparently running one’s tongue along said spots evokes a rush of flavour, however such a display would be unseemly at the dinner table, so my new friend thought it best not to speak this aloud. I’m sure you understand, sir.” Ghis gave a gentle nod, smiling sweetly before she turned back to Liliana.
"I'm so glad you're here," Lilly bubbled in a slightly more reserved fashion. "I thought I'd be surrounded by dark warriors and black mages. Glad there's someone like me here,"
Ghisronia grinned inwardly at the notion that she and this copper-haired stranger had anything more than their gender in common, but aloud she said “Me too! I was absolutely petrified that I’d be completely out of my depth here, but I’m so relieved to meet someone so sweet and amicable,” topping it off with a sugary little “I really hope we get a chance to know each other!”
Ghis spent the next few moments waging war on the banquet table; tearing through a plethora of pastries, several slices of meat, a farm’s worth of roast animals, and a few generous handfuls of sea food. Once her excessive spree was over, the young woman took some time to relax as her stomach let out garish gurgles, and her chair continued to buckle beneath her. | Name: Ghisronia Vollis
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Performer/Cook
Weaponry: A variety of poisons, lightweight crossbow, and a slender short-sword.
Apparel: Ghisronia dresses in a motley combination of cloth and leather when not performing; with a hooded cloak, and trim shoulder pads for added protection. A simple leather mask is sometimes worn to obscure her features.
Equipment: Basic cooking supplies, materials for making a campfire (flint and steel etc), ornate necklace, and a handmade waterskin.
Skills: Acting, Cooking, theft, the art of disguise. Reasonably skilled with her crossbow and sword, but not at a remarkable level.
Magical abilities: Very mild understanding of healing magic. Can patch up minor wounds, and can prevent larger wounds from festering and becoming infected.
Personality: A self-aware narcissist, Ghisronia cares about one thing, and one thing only; Herself. Whilst not completely sadistic, Ghis does draw a slight sense of satisfaction from the suffering of others, and delights in meddling in affairs that aren’t her own. A survivalist at heart, Ghisronia is good at adapting to hazardous situations, and is able to keep a cool head in the face of danger.
An expert actress, Ghisronia will usually pass for a fairly eloquent teenaged girl with a slight air of spitefulness about her, working to shield the full extent of her dark side.
Backstory: Born to a family of farmers, Ghisronia suffered at the hands of her abusive farther, until the day she snapped and killed him. Running away from home, Ghis spent a few months as a beggar and a thief, before falling in with a troupe of traveling performers. Having always had a skill for cooking, Ghisronia worked as a chef for the performers, whilst they honed her acting skills in return.
Plagued by memories of her mistreatment at the hands of her father, Ghis spent the majority of her childhood in melancholy, feeling like a victim, until the day of her second kill.
After a performance, a spectator from the audience followed the young girl back to her tent, attempting to force himself on her. After she refused his advances, her stalker became feral and violen; giving Ghisronia a black eye and a split lip. Enraged, she killed the man in a fit of anger, slashing his neck with one of her cooking knives.
Horrified about what might happen if the body was discovered, Ghis began to cannibalize the man who’d followed her, finding that taste of human flesh send electric sensations through every fibre of her being, in a manner that she had never before experienced. Ghis cooked the remains into a stew, which she served to the rest of the troupe; thus awakening a dark thirst that she would never be able to shake. Wherever the troupe travelled, Ghisronia would pick off easy targets, before feasting on their remains, and satisfying her gluttonous desires.
Ghisronia has continued to develop her acting skills, becoming an extremely convincing actress, as well as her thievery, to the point where she is a formidable pickpocket and con artist.
Other |
44,868 | 1,223 | 19 | 991 | 1,987 | All of the conversation in the room stopped as two large doors on the opposite side of the room all of the group entered through came open with a resounding bang. Through them came four men, all clad in identical steel armor, each of their identities hidden behind the helmets which clad their heads. Elden's eyes payed special attention to the group, as he knew the men underneath the armors, they were some of those of his fellow King's guard.
They all walked in unison, like a marching band as the four then spread out with two on each side of the door as another figure entered the room, he was clad long fur tipped cloak over a beautiful blue and golden tunic, regal trousers and boots of the finest leather. A golden, jewel embedded crown sat on his long brown head of hair, a steel sword sheathed at his belt to show he was not a helpless royal, but a formidable warrior as well. It was the King, Ethan Tirius, who unlike many other nobles and royals from around the world was not fat and constantly drunk, but instead fit and watchful.
Deep eyes of green scanned the room as he moved towards the table, his guards breaking off as he reached the seat at the head of table, near Elden who had exited his seat and was knelt down on one knee, as was customary when a king made his grand entrance, though Ethan did not expect the others to do the same as his entrance was of great surprise to them. He then sat down, and let out a breath, using one ring clad finger to brush the hair from his face.
"I'd like to formerly welcome you all to my home, it pleases me greatly you all are here, my court mage informed me that you are the only ones that actually witnessed the Sounding, well besides myself, but I do not count when it comes to the next step." King Ethan said, his voice commanding and powerful, Elden still on one knee, which Ethan almost grinned at, motioning for the man to return to his seat.
"The reason I gathered you all here is indeed because of the Sounding, you all saw it, an ominous sight which has greatly limited my sleep since it occurred. My idea with your assembly was to create a task force to properly investigate the troubling sight before it comes to fruition, as I fear it may if we do not act quickly enough," He said, his eyes glancing around the table as he spoke. "Your journey shall begin tomorrow, I must warn you that it very might be a dangerous one, if any of you are having second thoughts then you are free to leave now. Any questions should also be raised now." He added. | Name: Ople Hendric
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Occupation: Bread Saleswoman
Weaponry: Bread knife (slashing weapon, double as equipment); Rolling Pin (blunt weapon, double as equipment)
Apparel: Usually wears around low or medium class clothings.
Equipment: Bedroll, canteen, a book, a quill, an inkwell, a small bag containing some dough, and a few small changes.
Skills: Charismatic as a saleswoman, and able to cook decent tasting breads.
Magical abilities: Only knows, and adequate with, Fireball. She was born with the ability to use magic, but kept it a secret due to her family's strict religious outlooks. She practice in secret, with the little time she has.
Personality: Usually nice. Though if conflict does occurred, she prefer to handle it peacefully. But, she has been known, though rarely, physically hurt someone, that has hurts or threaten someone she cares about. Though, despite being known as one of the nicest people by many, her father consider her as hotheaded.
Backstory: Born in the household the Hendric, she was taught to care for others, as she would to herself. Her family weren't rich enough for her to attend to school. Her mother, Heather, taught her all that she knew in school, when she was younger. Ople learned quickly from her mother. Around the age of 7, she was already helping out the family's business.
Her family business took up most of her time, so she had little time for almost anything else. Because she never took school, she never had many friends. The ones she had are regular customers, or a relative of the customers. Around the age of 15, she secretly discovered her ability to use magic. When her hand appears to be engulfed in fire, but it felt natural to her. Unfortunately, because she lacked the knowledge on these set of skills, she didn't know where to began. For years, using the time she had, she practiced the only magic skill she knows.
This went on, until the age of 28, where she became a witness for the Sounding. With her family knowing this, they had one last hug, before she descends toward the capitol city.
Other Despite never going to school, she has been known to be smarter than other would've imagined. She is a quick learner, but it doesn't changed that she doesn't know much, at the moment. |
44,869 | 1,224 | 0 | 2,093 | 262 | 6th August 2016: 7 days until the wedding
Sophia Mariah Mckenzie
It was a roasting Summers morning. Sophia awoke in the bed next to her best friend. She slid out from her 4 poster California King Bed. She stretched before heading into the shower. She could already hear the hussle and bustle in the house. It was now only 7 days until the wedding. 7 days left until she married her fiancé. 7 days until all the planning came to light. She smiled as she showered thinking about what they day ahead would have in store. She was going for a dress fitting, sorting the flowers and then spending the rest of her day on the beach. The beach was the very place that she would be marrying the love of her life. She couldn't help but shake off the feeling of nerves and butterflies though. Her life was going to change forever.
Amelia showered before changing into a loose white summery dress and white wedge sandals. Her hair was dried and curled and her makeup perfect. She headed downstairs talking to Nancy; The family's chef. She was busy preparing breakfast for the busy family. The downstairs of the house smelt of cinnamon from the pancakes and blueberry from the muffins raising in the oven. | Name: Sophia Mariah Mckenzie
Age: 26
Role: The bride
Occupation: Model/Actress
Personality: Sophia is a very family orientated girl. She loves nothing more than spending time with her friends and family. She's very bubbly and outgoing, which means that she makes friends easily. At heart Sophia is a complete and utter hopeless romantic. Sophia loves children and she can't wait to have children of her own in the future.
Bio: Sophia was born to the Mckenzie family. They were always in the public eye, however her parents gave her a very normal childhood. It was her choice to start modelling as she was interested in it aged 16. Modelling lead to some acting roles which Sophia loved. She loves being an independent girl making her own money. She would never be one to live off the money of others. Sophia has been lucky enough to have an amazing set of friends and family. She tries to spend as much time with them as she can. She's very excited about taking the next step with the love of her life.
Any other information: Sophia has a belly piercing and a tattoo at the top of her back a quote (Sometimes you gotta fall before you can fly). She also has a pug puppy called Cookie.
Cookie.
Likes:
Friends
Family
Acting
Cookie
Her Fiance
Being creative
The gym
Dislikes:
Liars
Rude People
Bullies
Classical music |
44,870 | 1,224 | 1 | 730 | 240 | ░Q░U░I░N░N░ ░E░L░I░Z░A░B░E░T░H░ ░M░C░K░E░N░Z░I░E░
"Love is when the other person's happiness is more important than your own."
Quinn Mckenzie lay face down on her bed, her breathing deep and even. There was a gentle snuffling of air through her nose, but gradually as she rose from the nightmare and awareness grabbed hold of the consciousness, it became a wheezing and whining sound interspersed with violent trembling of her body. The tone of her breathing deepened but took on a rasping, scraping, spluttering and ragged tortured noise, shallow and rapid, lips trembling with each outlet of air, the intake fluttering as it struggled to infiltrate her constricted throat and feed the heaving lungs and palpitating heart. With a dropped jaw, buggy eyes, and sweaty palms, Quinn's hot, salty head popped up from the warm pillow in a heart-pounding state of emergency. After a split second of massively intense panic, it suddenly dawned on her.
It was all just a nightmare.
There she lay, face down on her royal blue bed sheets, fully clothed and body reeking; It was a pungent mix of Vodka, Hennessy, Tequila, and pure body odor. She'd attended a party the night before - a wild, yet terrifically enjoyable party - right after basketball practice. She'd only had a couple of drinks, less than usual; the odor had come from many drunk and clumsy teenagers, spilling their drinks all over Quinn's jeans. The spills were accidental, of course. She'd been so drained from partying and playing basketball that upon entering the house at four o'clock, she'd gone straight to bed. Her extremely tight skinny jeans and tank top made sleeping a bit uncomfortable, but not unbearable. When she finally sat up straight in bed, though, she noticed that her once bright and clean white jeans were now covered in stains.
Sun rays beaming in through the window was reflecting off the white walls, making her want to close her eyes again. She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, but she knew that if she wasn't ready in time for the dress fitting. After a few minutes of absently staring at the wooden floors, Quinn finally stood up, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. Her muscles ached, and her legs were stiff, but she'd somehow made it all the way to her bathroom. She took a ten minute shower, the water slowly warming her body, soothing the ache that clawed at her limbs. The steam from the scorching hot water was thick and filled the air as the Quinn washed her body, hair, and face, slowly starting to come back to life. When she got out of the shower, she decided to blow dry her hair so that she wouldn't have to flat iron it later on. By the time she'd finished her morning routine and gotten dressed, it was nine o'clock, and the pleasant smell of cinnamon and blueberry filled her bedroom.
There were now seven days until the wedding; there were seven days before she'd have to put on a fancy dress and heels, wear makeup, curl her hair, and stand in the same spot for almost twenty minutes. Just thinking about it made her feet throb. She was excited, nonetheless, to see her big sister marry the guy of her dreams. She loved her sister very much, and would go to hell and back to see her happy. Quinn headed downstairs, her cell phone in hand and a smile on her face. She knew that Nancy was cooking up something good, just by the smell. When she got to the kitchen, she saw that her sister, Sophia was already awake. She was conversing with Nancy as she cooked. Quinn took a seat at the kitchen table, letting out one last final yawn.
"Good morning, Soph, Nancy." She tapped her fingernails on the table as she spoke, and let out a chuckle when her stomach let out a loud growl.
"Somethin' smells really good!" | Name: Quinn Elizabeth Mckenzie
Aliases: "Q"/"Liz"
Age: Seventeen.
Birthday: March 12th
Gender: Female
Education: High School Senior
Occupation: Waitress
Role: Sophia's little sister/Bridesmaid
Psychology
Outgoing * Competitive * Trustworthy * Confrontational
Sexuality: Bisexual/Prefers girls.
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Quinn is far from you "normal" teenage girl. Having grown up with a large number of male friends, Quinn is considered to be a "Tomboy." When going to the park, for instance, she'd rather get sticky and sweaty playing a game of basketball than sit and tan. She's outgoing, charismatic, and loves to be the center of attention. It is very easy for someone like Quinn to make friends, and it's hard for someone to really dislike her. She's competitive, on and off the court, but will never come off as arrogant. Once you get to know Quinn, you see that she is a very caring, intelligent, and trustworthy individual. She has her quirks, as does every other human being, but makes up for them by being an overall fun and generally happy person to be around.
Hobbies: Sports (Basketball, football, soccer, etc.)
Likes:
Basketball
Any and every sub-genre of rap music
Rescuing stray animals
(Underage) Drinking and smoking
Being the center of attention
Staying up all night, and sleeping all day
Dislikes:
Country Music/Heavy Metal
Being publicly embarrassed
Hot Drinks
Having to wake up early
Text Talk. "I mean, seriously? 'ROFL?' What? Are you really rolling on the floor laughing? Well, please stay down there a sec while I KICK YOUR ASS."
Gossip
History
History/BIO: Quinn was born into the Mckenzie family. Although her family was always in the public eye, her mother tried her hardest to give her and her sibling(s) a normal life. Ever since she was a little girl, Quinn has been an avid basketball fan. Every chance she got, she would play and attend basketball games with her guy-friends, slowly but surely starting to fall in love with the game. At the age of eight, she'd finally convinced her mother to let her play on a team, and the rest was history. Quinn grew up to be the star player on her high school team, playing the position of point guard. Everyone, including her coach, expects her to either make it to the WNBA, or move on to college basketball. Either way, she'd be satisfied; as long as she got to play the game.
Of course, being the star player comes with it's perks, but it also has a few significant disadvantages. Everyone has high expectations of her, which can be very stressful. Many of the girls on the team are also jealous of the attention that Quinn receives, either by their coach, classmates, or media. Although Quinn is very humbled and kind, the girls still secretly wish for her to fail. If they could take her spot, they'd do so in a heartbeat. They're what someone would call "fake friends," one of the few reasons why Quinn would rather hang out with the guys than with her girlfriends. Quinn loves her family, even though they can be a bit annoying, and simply cannot wait to see her favorite big sister marry the guy of her dreams.
Extras
Character Quote:
"I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow. I just know for sure I'm going to keep playing basketball."
Now basketball is my favorite sport (Uh huh)
I like the way they dribble up and down the court (C'mon)
I keep it so fresh on the microphone
I like no interruption when the game is on (Game's on)
Anything Else: Quinn has a pet Iguana, Lisa, and two hamsters, Jerry and Scooter. |
44,871 | 1,224 | 2 | 1,908 | 105 | It was early. Far too early. He wondered if Jack was even up yet. Or was he too early? Hell, was he actually invited? Sure, he was family. And his father actually had an invite. But did he get one? Jacob’s dad was kind of vague on the details. The phone call came sudden. For a moment, Jacob wanted to just hang up. But something had compelled him to take the call regardless. He and his father rarely exchanged more than 2 sentences, but this time around all formalities were skipped. His cousin was to marry, and he was the only Darcy presentable enough to go there. After that his dad hung up. Jacob didn’t try to call back.
Back then, he had walked several rounds around the house, smoking half a pack. Nervous as hell. What was he going to say? Maybe he should call Jack? He and Jack hadn’t spoken in over eight years. Jacob never went to family reunions. For hours he stared at his phone. Only to eventually realize that he might as well just go and see what would happen. But of course he had to convince the Board first to let him go. And to his surprise, they did. In fact they allowed him to go for two whole weeks, instead of the 3 days he requested. The paperwork was cleared in an afternoon. Before Jacob fully realized it, he was on a plane heading for LA.
And now he was here, the next day. His BMW i8 was driven over, so at the very least he didn’t have to miss his new, noble steed. An expensive piece of engineering but, more importantly, a gift from the Board after he closed the fiscal year 2015 with a profit in times of financial crisis. Once before the gate, he realized how little he remembered of the familial house. The Darcys have owned the complex for many years. Jacob didn’t miss it. It was far too big for him.
As one big block of nerves he grabbed his phone, checking his e-mails. None. The company seemed to run smoothly without him. At least during the next. But for the first time, Jacob actually got frustrated that nothing went wrong. “C’mon man! It’s just family. Damn I closed deals with god damned idiots from Silicon Valley. I shouldn’t be stressed for this.” In a fit of courage he drove up towards the gate, where the guard stopped him. “Jacob Darcy, checking in.” The guard checked his list and then let the gate open. Jacob let out a sigh of relief. At the very least he was on some list. | Name: Dominic Dalton
Age:28
Picture:
Role: Groomsman
Occupation: Bouncer, Ex-Army Vet
Personality: Caretaker
Bio: Dominic is from wealthy family that made it's money in Pharmaceuticals. His early life was spent in the richest part of Chicago - Millennium Park. He attended a private school for High School and graduated with top marks - enough of a student to earn a scholarship at any Ivy League college. He shocked and stunned his family when, instead of going into any form of college, he volunteered for the US Army. His family, absolutely betrayed by his decision, disowned him. For nearly ten years, his life and existence was a complete mystery. When he returned last year, he had a fair number of scars and no one to greet him. He learned then that his parents both died in a tragic car crash, but he was unable to be located. Contrary to his father's angry rantings, they never removed him from their Will. Their death meant the family's sizable wealth went solely to him. He currently lives in the same Chicago penthouse he grew up in, too nervous to sell his families things. Not long after returning, he reconnected with an old friend from High School. found him six months after returning, just about three months ago. Since then, they've reconnected partly. Dominic is much more reserved than the dramatic, thrill seeking pretty boy he'd known in college, but his good nature and brave heart hasn't changed a bit. He's very quiet about his time overseas. All that he tends to share is that he was a Helicopter pilot, and helped evacuate wounded soldiers.
Any other information:
Dominic has a very good collection of battle scars. He's been shot twice (once in the right thigh and once in the left shoulder) and has shrapnel scars covering his whole right side, from knee to cheek. While it's worst on his abdomen and torso with his skin looking almost twisted in places along his abs, his right neck and cheek are pocked with little dimples. With a shirt on, it looks like bad acne scars. Once the full sight is in view, it's obvious he's suffered some trauma. He may be incredibly wealthy, but he's notorious for living on a shoestring budget. His clothes are plain, rarely name brand, and generally out of fashion.
Likes:
Bike Riding: He absolutely loves getting on a bike and going until he has to stop.
Being Outdoors: He likes to find himself camping. Not that he has a preference for camping, but just any form of experience in the outdoors. He'll gladly run, hike, swim, or climb - as long as it involves a natural setting, he's likely in.
Dislikes:
Hostility: It may be cliche, but one of the biggest things he'll actively work to turn off or put out is hostility. Arguments, bar fights, or screaming matches - he'll do what he can to resolve a dispute. Not doing so will drive him off the walls. |
44,872 | 1,224 | 3 | 1,145 | 692 | Jack Darcy
All Jack could hear was the sounds of a tropical rainforest, with a light rain. He wasn't dreaming, he knew he was asleep and didn't want to wake up. It was peaceful, serene, then the phone rang. Jack opened his eyes wiping away the sleep, he grabbed the remote and turned off the ambience before answering the phone.
"Hello? he said groggily.
"Jack, it's Ryan." The familiar sounds of Jacks best man replied
"What is it man, you woke me up." he said slowly getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
"Listen dude i can't make it to your wedding. The wife and I are going to New Zealand for the week." Jack couldn't believe his ears, a mix of anger, hate and sadness rushed all over him.
"What are you on about? The wedding is in seven days. SEVEN DAYS!" His voice getting angrier and angrier "And you decide to go on a f*&king holiday now?" he was expecting some bull excuse but decided he wasn't having it and interuppted before Ryan could reply."You know what? forget it have fun on your holiday." he said hanging up the phone he threw it at the wall so hard not only did the screen shatter it chipped the tile in the wall. He showered and dressed himself in his usual button up shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans and headed downstairs to eat, but not before pulling the sim card out of his shattered phone and putting it in his back up phone. A text from Ryan apologising and explaining why the sudden change of plans but Jack just deleted the message.
He walked into the kitchen where his servant Henry was waiting, having been in the family for over 30 years, Henry was very good at his job and knew exactly what to do when he saw the angry look on Jacks face. He handed Jack a glass of juice and told him breakfast would be in a few minutes. Jack sat at the large table, no one else was there yet.
'I wonder where Dominic is?' He texted Dominic, saying that he had to discuss something with him, deciding that Dominic could be his best man, regardless of the fact that Jack and Dominic had only reconnected three months ago, Jack still considered Dominic to be a really good friend. After he sent the text to Dominic he then sent one to Sophia explaining what was going on, and that he was going to ask Dom instead, he knew this was a big day and to have plans change at the last minute could stress Sophia out but told her not to worry and that he was handling it. | Jack Darcy
Age: 28
Role: The Groom
Occupation: CEO of Terminal Technologies (A well known and reliable manufacturer of computing software, hardware, robotics and other technology company)
Personality: Jack is a bit of an introvert, most of his childhood he kept to himself, but during his teenage years he became more open towards others, he can be very sociable and light when around friends, but around his fiance he is the biggest romantic out there. However when he's working he can be very serious, and doesn't take things as lightly as he usually does.
Bio:Jack is the eldest son of the three children of Henry and Lily Darcy. Henry Darcy owns and runs one of the largest banks in the world, making him a very wealthy and powerful individual. Jack was meant to follow in his fathers footsteps but showing an aptitude for technology and robotics, Jack asked his father for a loan of half a million dollars to create his own company at the age of twenty.The deal was that if Jack could successfully build his company, his father would no longer expect Jack to run the bank and give it to Jacks sister Evelyn instead, if Jack failed he would start working at the bank. With the launch of Jacks first product, the Waiterbot, his company sky rocketed with no breaks. His father was proud of him and kept his deal, Jack ended up paying his father back one million dollars instead of the amount loaned to him. Jacks company now runs the market on leading technology, making everything from robotics, to phones.
However Jack did have time to meet the love of his life, Sophia McKenzie. Having met her at one of his fathers parties, he instantly fell in the love with her. Not knowing how to ask her out he was very reluctant to share his feelings, but one day he saw her leaving a coffee shop, he ran over to her and reintroduced himself, asking her on a date. She accepted and they were inseparable since. After three years of dating Sophia, Jack finally had the courage to ask her to marry her. He took her on a trip around the world, visiting everywhere they wanted to go, and in at the end of the trip, in Paris, France during the New Years celebration on top of a reserved Eiffel Tower he got down on one knee and proposed. Now they are two weeks away from their wedding.
The ring was an antique Diamond ring from 16th Century England
Any other information: Jack has two sibilings, his sister Evelyn, 25, and his brother Alexander, 22. Jack has two dogs, one named Omega, a female Siberian Husky x Wolf.
The other Epsilon, a Male Border collie x German Sherperd
Also he has two tattoos, an armour plated shoulder guard tattoo with the Darcy family symbol on it, and an angel wing tattoo on his back.
Likes:
Tinkering with robotics
His Dogs, he spends a lot of time caring for them
Scottish whisky
Spending time with his siblings
Spending any spare moment with his fiance
Dislikes:
Conflicts
Liars and thieves
Dog abusers
People who brag about their wealth and fortune |
44,873 | 1,224 | 4 | 1,570 | 4,053 | Sɪᴍᴏɴᴇ Mᴀʀᴄᴇʟʟᴀ Cɪᴇɴᴇɢᴀ
Simone had felt Sophia rise from the bed, but all she had done in reaction was turn over to her other side and fall right back asleep. She couldn't believe the fun night they had encountered previously. Simone had told Sophia she had to come down to The Mermaid with her for a few drinks and dancing, and the two did so for most of the night. It was a bittersweet feeling. On one hand Simone was happy that her best friend was in love and marrying the man of her dreams. On the other hand, she knew she'd be missing the times like the one they had last night. Things would be different after marriage, whether they wanted it to be or not.
Eventually Simone opened her eyes, she didn't feel like getting ready yet so she waltzed downstairs in her pajamas: a pair of shorts and a tank top. Her hair was a messy bun on top of her head, and she hadn't yet to take a shower or anything of the like. These girls were practically her family, so she didn't mind too much. Plus she would have time later to take a shower and get more prepared for the day; after breakfast.
Scratching the back of her head, she looked at some of the people in the kitchen with a smile. "Goood morning" she sung in a playful tone to everyone, a yawn escaping her lips as she placed her hand over her mouth to catch it, or better yet cover her morning breath. She felt a little bit of a hangover but nothing too serious. She definitely was ready to eat some good breakfast food though. | Sɪᴍᴏɴᴇ Mᴀʀᴄᴇʟʟᴀ Cɪᴇɴᴇɢᴀ
Yᴏᴜʀ sᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ
Is ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ ᴋɪss
♡ Name:
Simone Marcella Cienega.
♡ Age:
26
♡ Role:
Maid of Honor
♡ Occupation:
Club Co-Owner
Wʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ
Sᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴋɪssᴇs I ᴍɪss
♡ Personality:
- Fun - Carefree - Outgoing - Irresponsible -
Simone is someone that would see you eating lunch by yourself and not hesitate to walk over and keep you company. Granted, she might sit down and end up eating half of your sandwich while she explains to you why she thinks it'd be a good idea for you to go to her club with her that night to see some hot guys and get some free drinks- but she means well. She is not dumb, but can often appear air-headed and aloof based on her social activities and her tendency to go off on a tangent of something that she is passionate about or something that didn't really happen. Simone wants the best for everyone and herself, she just doesn't know how to go about it just yet.
♡ Biography:
"Estar a sombra da bananeira."
Roughly translated into "sitting under the shade of a banana tree" but to the Portuguese, it means that you have no worries. This was the type of attitude Simone was raised under. Born to Juan and Natalia Cienega in the city of Faro, Portugal. They lived in the country until Simone was about 3 years old and then they came to America settling in Los Angeles. They left behind her only grandmother and the woman she was named after, but kept in contact through phone calls, and the rare visits back home.
Los Angeles wasn't exactly the America that the Sanchez family had envisioned, but they made it along just fine, getting a small home and making it by with basic jobs. Johanna was spoiled endlessly by both her parents as much as they could offer. She very rarely was in trouble, or told that she couldn't do anything she set her mind to. School was a challenge to the very absent minded Simone but with her great group of friends she made it through, and even found romance her senior year.
Not going to college, and getting married not but a few months after high school graduation was probably not the best path choices Simone could have made, but with her parents and friend's support she dived right into the adventure. Things were amazing being married. She was Mrs. Warren Vanhaven. Fancy as fuck. Warren and her had a very fun and lavish lifestyle, he let her do as she please as long as she came home and did as he pleased as well.
A few years into their marriage they began trying to have a baby, and became successful very quickly after the first attempt. In tragic outcome, the baby was lost and their relationship soon started deteriorating. Warren blamed Simone for the loss of the baby because she wasn't 'careful' enough. It was a heated and hurtful relationship until the end where they decided it was best to just get a divorce and go their separate ways.
Since then, Simone took initiative in her life and began working at a bartender at one of the clubs she frequented. Eventually she rose to the top of the game, becoming more and more involved in the process until her name was on the deed to the place as co-owner of the establishment known as "The Mermaid." A dance club with the hottest new hits every night, and tango nights on Saturdays.
This will be the first time seeing her friends since the divorce, and she doesn't really want to talk about it too much, and hopes that this re-connection with old friends at one of her best friend's wedding will be just what she needs to get out of this slump of self destruction.
♡ Likes:
- Pretty drinks with long names
- Spending time with her friends
- Dancing until her legs ache
- Taking naps during all times of the day
- Sending photos on snapchat of random body parts
♡ Dislikes:
- Not being able to think of a word in English
- When people don't know how to relax or have fun
- Early mornings when she hasn't slept at all
- Hangovers that can't be cured with french fries
- Guys who don't text or call the next day
♡ Other:
- Speaks English and Portuguese
- Has a tattoo of a mermaid on the back of her thigh
💕 |
44,874 | 1,224 | 5 | 2,093 | 262 | Sophia Mariah Mckenzie
Sophia smiled as her sister entered the kitchen. "Good morning Quinny. How are ya? Rough night?" She asked. She took some blueberry muffins from the tray and sat at the table. "7 days to go and I'm huuuuuuuuungover." She said excitedly. Last night had been wild but she knew she wouldn't have much more of that. Jack would want everything to be more mature and dignified. It may even be the last time she could wear the LBD with the slits at the sides. She loved her best friend and the wild times that they shared together. She sure as hell was going to miss that side of life. Sophia noticed that Dom was in her home. She looked at him with a confused look on her face. "Hey.. Where did you come from?" She asked slightly confused by the male standing in her kitchen. He was part of the Darcy's side not the McKenzies.
Sophia ate her muffins and enjoyed the calm socialising going on in the kitchen. Soon the stress and excitement of the day ahead would commence. Much like the stress that would be ahead of them in the next 7 days. The beach wedding though she knew would be worth it. She knew also that being married to Jack would be worth stressing for. | Name: Sophia Mariah Mckenzie
Age: 26
Role: The bride
Occupation: Model/Actress
Personality: Sophia is a very family orientated girl. She loves nothing more than spending time with her friends and family. She's very bubbly and outgoing, which means that she makes friends easily. At heart Sophia is a complete and utter hopeless romantic. Sophia loves children and she can't wait to have children of her own in the future.
Bio: Sophia was born to the Mckenzie family. They were always in the public eye, however her parents gave her a very normal childhood. It was her choice to start modelling as she was interested in it aged 16. Modelling lead to some acting roles which Sophia loved. She loves being an independent girl making her own money. She would never be one to live off the money of others. Sophia has been lucky enough to have an amazing set of friends and family. She tries to spend as much time with them as she can. She's very excited about taking the next step with the love of her life.
Any other information: Sophia has a belly piercing and a tattoo at the top of her back a quote (Sometimes you gotta fall before you can fly). She also has a pug puppy called Cookie.
Cookie.
Likes:
Friends
Family
Acting
Cookie
Her Fiance
Being creative
The gym
Dislikes:
Liars
Rude People
Bullies
Classical music |
44,875 | 1,225 | 0 | 247 | 316 | The ringing of an iphone theme remix begins, then ends as Greg quickly turns it to snooze. It was 7:30pm. "Damn, already," he groaned out the words, falling back to sleep, not feeling up to getting out of bed. He knew it was a bad idea to procrastinate sleep, until 2pm, but he loved the internet, and could never turn away from it. "I'm such a internet whore," he always called himself, every time he would finally put is computer to sleep mode.
Ten minutes later, the iphone remix begins again. "Crap, I have to get up now," he thought, as he forced his still, tired body out of bed, to begin his day, or better yet, his night. "Well I have about fifteen more minutes," he said out loud, while turning his attention to his computer. Every time he booted up his computer, he would go to steam. Steam was a gaming application, that allowed you, to play, and buy games for your personal computer, or what most, to all, would call it "pc" for short. As he began browsing through the games that were on sale, a message popped up, on his screen. "What is it now?" he wondered as he looked at the message. Steam, would from time to time show messages about new deals for the day, or week.
"What the hell is this?" he wondered as he read the message out loud. He didn't care to much about cursing, after all, he had his own place, so he didn't care. "Will you accept my call?" he read aloud, raising an eyebrow. The message had an option of yes and no. Was this a promotion for a new game, or did he have a virus that he didn't know about. Either way the answer was obviously no, but before he made a choice, he glanced over at the time, on his microwave. "Shit, I'm going to be late!" the words screaming in his head, as he quickly tried to cancel all his apps, before shutting down, his computer. In the process he accidently clicked on yes, as an answer to the message that, popped up earlier. "Crap, I didn't mean to do that," he said, but shrugged it off. I have virus protection and other protection programs, I'll be fine. He quickly got his things together then headed out. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,876 | 1,225 | 1 | 499 | 417 | The weather's pretty nice out, and here I am. Stuck in this place again. It was kinda serene when no one was here, though.
Another night of helpdesk work at the shop as usual. 1800-0600 every couple of days rotating, doesn't get any more monotonous. I spend most of my off-time sleeping, getting a workout in, or trying to escape the monotony by writing online. It isn't so bad, I tell people. I've had worse. Camp guard was 0700-1900 for a straight week with the next week back at the shop, then you get that weekend and do the opposite shift. Four days off a month? Screw that noise, this is heavenly in comparison. The work isn't so bad tonight and at least I don't need to deal with people. Image a good 20-somethin' laptops to support a requirement by morning, it'll be a piece of cake. The hardest thing about nights was staying awake. And here I am, out in the smoke pit loading up on nicotine and sipping on my second Monster of the night. God, what I'd do without these. It was only 2124. The sun had already been down for a while, making for a cool night with that breeze rolling in. No rain, thankfully, the weather said it'd rain all week. It wasn't quite dead, though. I'd see headlights come down the road pretty regularly, and I could hear yelling over at the barracks across the way just like any other night. I was glad I slept during the day, that'd be a pain in the ass to deal with trying to sleep through. I couldn't have my phone in the building, so I started taking the time to burn one while texting my brother back and forth. Mostly nonsensical bullshit, word games, and funny videos.
♪♪♫~~, ♪♪♫♪♪♫♫~~...
Ahhh fuck. Nobody ever calls me unless it's about work or shop stuff, and it was nearly 2129. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't good. I would've felt better if I got called in after hours because I'd know it was about work and I was all too happy to deal with that. I love what I do, what I don't love is dealing with unit bullshit I don't need to. The number shone up at me from my heavily cracked Samsung screen. I didn't recognize it, down to the area code. But I couldn't just ignore it in case one of the Staff NCOs who never calls me was trying to reach me or it was one of the new Junior Marines. So I swiped up.
"This is Corporal T. speakin'," I answered as I always do.
"Will you accept this call?"
It was the voice of a woman, of course. All the automated messages were. I became annoyed at this point, it was another telemarketer. I stopped getting calls from one of them over a month ago when they were offering me ways to pay off my student loans. I told them I'd never been to college and had to go through 20 minutes I'll never get back to get off their call list. If this was them again, I'm gonna be pissed.
"*sigh* Yes," I responded, already sounding passive aggressive. I was a little curious to see what the fuck they wanted, but more importantly I wanted them to stop calling me. It used to wake me up during the day.
But I never got a response after that. Just a few seconds of silence and then my phone ending the call. I started to thumb through my recent calls to see if that number came up again, just so I could know if it was the same people. I don't know who they are, but I can find out and tell them to fuck off.
"Son of a bitch..."
The call must not've registered in my phone, so I didn't have their number. Awesome. I was done smoking anyway, so I decide to take my energy drink and head back into the windowless dungeon that is work, cracking my knuckles as I walk. I meander left off the path before committing to going in, right by the pull-up bars. I set my cover down, my energy drink down, and take my phone out of my pocket as I jump up for an agonizing seven pull-ups. My hands are still torn from my last two sets out here, and having pull-ups as part of my afternoon workout didn't help at all. It sucked, I hate pull-ups, but the only way to get better at them was to just suck it up. I yawn as I gather my things to head inside, already feeling the mental drain threatening to pull at me. It was gonna be one of those nights. Shoulda got more fucking sleep this morning. | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,877 | 1,225 | 2 | 1,489 | 1,400 | JD and Lemon, Santiago's two siberain huskies dragged him through the city streets like something which couldn't give much resistance to something with a much higher percentage of muscle mass. He didn't panic though because he was used to this and had selected his walking route accordingly. Basically, it was on a sidewalk that went on for forty five minutes with a road next to it a complete lack of houses on the other side. So there wasn't much trouble, or to be exact, and exactness is something worth working for, there wasn't much new trouble. Sure, there was still the occasional dog that wanted to try testing its dirty look, and even a couple of little dogs that nobody had told they were little dogs so the fact they couldn't do much against a big dog came as a complete surprise, and of course there was the blood running off Santiago's hands in tiny little crimson droplets from where the little dogs had bitten him while he did his best to pry them out of his much larger dogs' mouths. So all in all it was the kind of day where he wasn't worried about anything in particular which was terrible because that meant he had to make do with dealing with being afraid of everything in general.
"This is weird." He mumbled to what he considered his kids. "Its too quiet." The dogs paused to look at him while he stopped in front of their gate to pull his keys out of his shirt. "Not a threat all day." He chewed the words over before unlocking the gate to let the dogs inside. It too a moment to get them to stop running around so he could get their collars off but that was a daily thing like sitting down on the toilet and waking up thanks to the cold water you didn't normally expect on a seat. "Well, we'll see." He left the dogs in the backyard and headed around to go into the front.
There was a beep from his phone and a message asking if he'd accept a call. "Sure." He mumbled. He entered yes and hit send. It almost felt like some strings were doing something with his fingers but he discarded the idea like internal wind, not the sacred kind, but the one you have to hold on to until your alone or somewhere with a good breeze. | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,878 | 1,225 | 3 | 247 | 316 | Note: This is our posts before the dream
---------------------------
The night/morning went by fast today. It was a good thing that it did, because Greg didn't feel too good going into it. For some reason his body was abnormally tired. "Finally," he sighed as he dragged himself to his door, and into his apartment. He didn't even have enough energy to play on his computer. Bath, food, then sleep. The routine circled in his head as he began aiming for them. "Nope, bath, then sleep," he said as he did just that. He was too tired to even eat, and he loved to eat! What is wrong with me? I'm never like this.
Thirteen hours later, Greg's alarm went off. He barely heard it, as he tried to get up out of his bed. He could barely move, so he just rolled himself off the bed. Usually, he would catch himself before hitting the ground, it was one of his methods of getting out of bed fast, but this time was...painfully different. His awareness was completely empty, and with that, a painful crash to the floor, his body went. "Fuc-" he tired to scream the word, but it didn't come out. I can't even say fuck? I'm I dying?
He was surprised that he was able to stand on his feet. "I have to get ready for work," he thought, trying his hardest to prepare. He didn't like not showing up for work. It didn't matter how sick he was. It wasn't that he loved his job. Like I would love this job. In a way he sort of prided himself with not being weak like most people that, show up, with a small cold, then go home instantly. He worked, alone, in his department, what did it matter.
Somehow, Greg managed to get himself prepared for work. All that sleep (which he would never get normally), and he was still dead tired. "Well, lets get going then," he managed to say out loud as he headed for the door. Something was seriously wrong. He never felt this bad, it was as if something was killing him slowly. If you're going to kill me, please just do it already. The second he touched the doorknob, he collapsed, then passed out. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,879 | 1,225 | 4 | 1,489 | 1,400 | The day was long, but no longer than usual. It all started with the dogs, and then school. He loved school, but not for the learning. He'd managed to do that by himself. No, what he loved about school was the women, and the endless possibilities that waited for him for three hours of classes and always shrugged their shoulders and left when they realized he was still too chicken to make a move on any of the ones which interested him. Then there was work, and not even a lot of it. The shift was short, about four hours, and he didn't do much work. NOt that he ever did. Perhaps it was all the people talking to him, not costumers, that was always okay because they just asked about what they needed and went away. No, the issues he had were with his associates and their denial to accept the fact he wasn't interested in what they had to say. Really, it wasn't his fault. If there was anyone to blame it was them!
"That's probably it, my coworkers." He nodded, frowning because even though the statement made sense on paper there was something somewhere in the far back of his head that wouldn't stop pointing and laughing at him for even entertaining the idea that things could be that simple. "Er." He said as he collapsed on the bed like a brick would collapse anywhere that wasn't holding it tight. "Things will be better in the morning." They couldn't be worst. "Sure they could, I could be denying of a tumor that's starting late and making up for things with the kind of initiative that would bring about a basketball sized clump of retarded flesh in no time flat." He sighed. Stopped sighing and remembered how tired he was which resulted in a much longer sight. It took time and herculean effort but he managed to doze off.
"I'm awake" He said out loud to anyone that would listen. There wasn't a masked figure in the room with a machete looking down at him, which was really all anyone could hope for. "That's a start right?" He tried to pull himself out of bed but found the task too much for the body that felt like someone had injected full of raw dough. "I'll just wait her for a moment and rest my eyes. " | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,880 | 1,225 | 5 | 499 | 417 | I'm wired, way too wired to sleep.
It's a bad habit of mine during the nights. Most people would be bouncing off the walls after their second energy drink. I lost track after four and definitely had more just to get me through the twelve hours. It was small wonder that I was an insomniac. 'Sleep is a crutch' I'd tell them, and I'm pretty well known in the shop for staying late and not going the fuck home. Just like I did this morning. My shift ended at six, with changeover occurring 45 minutes past when it should've. That was my problem, I couldn't just step away and let someone else handle it. Everything I did or everything that was going to happen needed to be summed up to the best of my ability and neatly understood both at a professional level and at the level of the amateur. I might've been filling in for the helpdesk, but my other billet was that of a liaison. I take pride in my job and my ability to pick up on what others don't, explain things so that they could be understood, and give a full report. It gives me purpose and it's work worth doing. I was already changed over into civvies and walking around like a zombie when SSgt kicked me out at half past 0800, trying to perfect that report. I couldn't leave things lie like that, besides, there were a lot of things that happened during the day that I couldn't get done at night like collaborate with people. Same thing with at night, when it was daytime in other countries. When I joke with people at work about putting up a cot in the server room, I'm only ever really half-joking.
And now I'm finishing my day how I started it: in the smoke pit. I have a problem, I know, I just don't happen to care. The nicotine takes the edge off, it helps me focus when my brain gets spinning and de-stress when I'm overwhelmed. I practically live in the smoke pit though, and that's the problem. I used to try to rationalize it until I realized that I just didn't give a shit and there's no reason for me to quit. I shuffle my tired self inside, my backpack with my cammies and whatever food I didn't eat from the night before slung over a shoulder. I'm floating on my feet now, it feels like, like my body is a vessel for my brain to get to where it can do it's thing. I dig my room key out of my back pocket, a key card, and feed it into the reader on the door. It blinks red, no dice. Feed it again, no dice. Once more, red blinking... green. The door opens and I shuck my bag onto the empty rack. I'm fortunate enough that I don't have a roommate, and it was a blessing at times like these. The room is exactly how I left it, laptop charging on my desk, the only notion of disarray being my tossed sheets and my running shoes on the carpet with my sweat-soaked socks still in them. Fuuuuuuuuuuck I don't wanna work out todaaaaaaaaay. I don't even shower after getting home, don't eat, I set my alarm for 1600 instead. Should be enough time for me to get a 30 minute jog in, shower up, make it to the shoppette for chow and get ready to do this song and dance all over again this evening. It was past 0930 when I managed to get out of my clothes and into bed, and even later when I drift off to sleep. I tossed and turned for a good 20 minutes, but now the exhaustion is taking hold.
I enter the peace of sleep, the escape from reality that it brings as my heavy eyelids close and I sink into the covers. | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,881 | 1,225 | 6 | 247 | 316 | Darkness, nothing but darkness was all he saw. "I'm dreaming right? Why would I know, I'm dreaming if I were?" Greg wondered, while trying to move his body, but there was a problem with that, and that was, he didn't feel a body to be moved. He didn't feel anything. "Where's my arms? Where the hell are my legs?" we wondered. He couldn't even speak out loud, because he didn't have a voice either, he could only think. He wondered if he died, but tried to dismiss the thought, to keep himself from panicking. "Can I even panic?"
Suddenly a bright light flashed before him. The light was so bright, that the darkness vanished, like it was never there to begin with. Of course, Greg couldn't block his eyes, but for some reason he didn't need to. It was like the sudden bright light, didn't faze his vision at all. Then an even brighter light appeared, but this light began taking shape, and when it was done, he saw that it became a woman, or was it a man, he could tell. It wore a long, dark blue cloak. It's head, and face were covered with a hood. Only it's nose down to, it's chin, was visible, which was why Greg thought it, a woman, because of the shape of the lower face. The next thing was the first thing Greg noticed, and that was that, it was covered in chains.
The chains bound, it's arms and legs. He could tell what the chains were connected to, because it seemed, like the ends of the chains vanished, the farther he looked behind it to see what the chains were connected to, that were supposed to be holding it down. He took another look, at the figure, after viewing the chains. She had tears streaming from her face, but a happy smile on her face. He'd never seen an expression like that before. "What is going on? I'm dreaming right, but it feels to clear to be a dream"
"Thank you," it said, and that gave Greg, his answer on the gender. It was definitely a woman, or was it a girl. In his present state, the figure seemed huge, but the voice was soft, unwomanly. "Wait, what did she say?" Greg asked himself. What did she mean by, thank you? What was it, he did for her, then everything when dark again. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,882 | 1,225 | 7 | 1,489 | 1,400 | Santiago couldn't see the hand in front of his face, that is, there was such an overwhelming lack of light he wouldn't be able to see his hand if he was able to lift it up to his face. He couldn't though. There was a vague memory buried somewhere in the recesses of his mind which told him about his hand, where it was, what it did, and how to control it. Not that the knowledge made any difference where he was, wherever it was.
There was a lot of unknowns in the situation that he didn't like, and he voiced his complaints, which seemed to fall on deaf ears. It was oddly a relief because who knows what kind of ears you found in a place like this. They'd probably belong to something with a lot of teeth, and a sense of priorities that put its stomach's fulfillment way, way up to the top of the list of important things to keep happy, while he ended up somewhere so far down you'd need a shovel and a canary to get to him. "Probably better, if I shut up." It would've been nice to be able to nod to himself, as a way to let him know how happy he was with himself for making such a good decision, but there didn't seem to be a neck to nod with, or anything else which might explain how consciousness existed.
The young man tried to look one way and then the other, but that couldn't be done either, at least he didn't think it was done. Hard to tell if your moving without sight or feeling. "Okay." He said in a voice that would have been clear and calm had there been a voice box for it to come out of. "I'm going to panic now," and he did, but not for too long because without a screaming voice or randomly flailing set of limbs, what was the point. That done, he waited for something to happen.
And it happened. Not quickly at first, but whoever was pulling the strings didn't waste time with any of that unnecessary build up you got in some films whose makers didn't know the difference between an awe inspiring reveal and showing off just how much you could milk a single scene. There was a flash of light, a big one, the kind of light you got at the beginning of the universe, or when a fist slam you right in the spot that made your eyes think there was a universe beginning flash. Only, unlike the fist to the head it didn't hurt, at all. There was no pain. Really, his eyes should have been burnt into little black raisins you couldn't eat without going to prison, or later through up after finding out they weren't really raisins.
A figure appeared before him. It might've been a person, but it was hard to tell because something had gone through incredible lengths to make sure he had no idea what he was talking to. "Hello?" He thought(said(?)) There were tears running down the face which actually did look a bit womanly now that he paid a little bit more attention to it. "Why are you crying?" There was a pause before the woman, and it had to be a woman because males just can't sound like that, said "Thank."
He would've panicked again if there'd been any point to it; | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,883 | 1,225 | 8 | 247 | 316 | Wait, is the sun out? Greg wondered, waking up to the bright sunlight. "Wait a minute!" he yelled out loud, sitting up from his bed instantly, wondering about work, and if he were late, or overslept, but the thought instantly vanished, by another problem. Actually, there were many problems, going on at once. "What..the..he-" he didn't finish his sentence, because of one of those problems, that he just heard. It was a shock to the system, and he didn't know how to react. Panic seemed like a good idea right about now.
"Am I still dre-" he didn't finish his sentence again, hearing it again. The room that, he was in, wasn't his. The room that he was in, had colors that seemed off. Greg was very familiar with the colors, because he's seen them many times. The colors looked like something from an anime, and at the same time, felt real. He didn't know whether or not to panic, or be amazed, so he did both.
Another change that he notice first, and kept him from finishing his sentences, was his voice. It was different. Everything was different, nothing in the room looked familiar at all. It didn't look like realty, but felt like it. Even though the colors were different than normal, it all felt real. Greg reached to pull the covers that only covered his lower half now, and notice yet another change, or better yet more changes. "What the hell is this?" he said, trying to shove the thought, of his new voice, to focus on the next few changes.
In the realty, he knew well, Greg was African American, so his skin color was originally a brown color, but what he saw wasn't that. His skin was white, and like the room he was in, it was a color like that of an anime. He jumped out of the bed, he was in, and realized the next change, but ignored it looking around for something. In the room there was a door, that was to a small bathroom. The bathroom only had a sink, toilet, and a long mirror connected to the door, but the mirror was the only thing important at the moment. "What?"
His jaw dropped, at what he saw. Long silver-white hair, that went slightly past the shoulders, crimson red eyes, thin lips, and a average figure, was on the other side of the mirror. "This isn't me," he said, touching his new cheeks with his fingers, and by verifying if this was all real, pinched them hard, feeling the pain, he knew now that it wasn't a dream. The panic began roaring though him. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,884 | 1,225 | 9 | 1,489 | 1,400 | The floor met Santiago like a wall meeting anything that didn't have the right idea of what a wall was, or more importantly how it worked. That is to say he went into it, bounced, and the object in question could not have cared less even if it was imbued with a sense of compassion. There was no third bounce. There was just a young man laying on the floor, groaning, and doing whatever he could to keep himself from coming to the surface of his mind, and seeing what time it was. He hated to see what time it was, especially now that he could tell, even from eye lids closed so tightly you couldn't get them open with a crowbar, there was light peaking through curtains and that meant the babies were late for their walk, AND that meant he'd lose thirty minutes having to chase them around to get their collars on. "Oh!" He groaned, because it was all he could do, with what little strength he had, to let the universe know he wasn't pleased with how it had come out today. "Haven't even opened my eyes yet and already I can tell today's going to be a kick in the crouch, repeatedly, with steel toed boots all the while someone sings bad spanish in the background."
It was quiet. "It shouldn't be quiet." He said, jumping to his feet like a man half his side, and rushing to the window to see if his kids were alright. "Shit!" He shouted, looking around at the unfamiliar ground below him. The cartoon colored people didn't register. "Where are they?" He threw open the windows and leaned out, nearly enough to fall out, and shouted down below. "Hey there! Has anyone seen a couple of huskies running around? One looks like a wolf, and the other one looks like he could eat a wolf!" A few of the cartoon characters around stopped to look up at him, and then decided they didn't want anything to do with him, especially because he was half naked and so all of them like one big wave, hurried into away, in whatever direction wasn't currently occupied by someone else presently in the process of escaping.
"God damn it." He muttered and hurried back inside. He would've just run out like that, but caught a look of himself on a shiny surface. "Double damn it!" It wasn't the new face staring back at him that cause an impact. He hardly ever looked at himself and would've been the last one to noticed the change in everything, but the fact he was naked and that was possibly a reason why nobody stayed to talk with him. Somewhere, he hoped he hadn't leaned out far enough for someone to see his junk. Of course that was only a secondary concern. He needed to find out what happened to his babies, and then, if there was time, where he was. "Priorities." He told himself.
He threw open a closet door, and pulled out some random clothes. They weren't normally what he'd wear, because of something nearing an animistic hatred for pants(it was hot where he lived) but he was in a desperate hurry, and didn't know who he was steeling from, which somehow made it much easier to do. | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,885 | 1,225 | 10 | 499 | 417 | This darkness wasn't the familiar darkness I was accustomed to. It wasn't sleep, that was for damn sure. Y'know that completely sunken-in feeling that you get when you're dog tired and your eyes close after you hit the pillow? The feeling that the world around you slips away and leaves you to the inner recesses of your mind and everything around you melts into the black? This wasn't it. This was a little bit stranger.
I'm completely conscious here. There's no relief of the weary bodily shackles I cast off in my dreams, no deep breaths. I can't feel myself absorb into the covers because I can't feel myself. At all. I'm drifting here in nothingness so complete I can't see, hear, sense, or even feel my own arm pass in front of my face. I can move my head, but it doesn't matter. Everywhere I look is pitch black. I would be breathing heavily if I could breathe, but I can't. I don't want to anyway, there's no need. This must be what death is. However it happened, I died in my sleep and this is what lies beyond. I'm... a little surprised. I didn't think I'd actually be some sort of right about what happens when you die. Consciousness within nothing drifts back into the nothing, and time will pass and my mind will create it's own existence again. I'll probably go insane in the process, but there's not shit I can really do about that. The quicker I succumb and let my awareness dim, that's when I'll hallucinate another reality. At least, that's what I assume. If I have an fears at all, it's that I'm oddly okay with this. I'm dead, why aren't I upset? Maybe it's shock. Maybe. I'm only really worried about my father and my brother, mostly my father, but did they exist at all or did they only exist in a fleeting hallucination of the cosmos? Was my life before my death even real? Had this happened before.
It's small at first, but I pick it up instantly. Light. Light's incredibly easy to see in the darkness that is nothing. I must not be done yet, this probably isn't my final resting place. Reincarnation? Guess I'd find out. And then I hear the echo. Whispering, no, weeping. Someone's sobbing. I skim my head around as if I still had one looking for the source of the sound, but it comes from all places around me in the nothing. I'm a little frightened to do it, but I look into the light. It's blinding, but I'm not blind. It's like it's just there instead of radiating from a source. But it does have a source, a dark figure. It's covered in robes, as lame as that sounds, but it's like a priest or a monk in darker colors. I think blue, like a navy blue. The figure sparkles, and I recognize the twinkling. It's like water droplets through headlights. It must be the one who's sobbing. It gets brighter, but the figure comes closer, and I try to put my hands up defensively but they don't move. My head can't move to look down, and I realize that I never had them. As it approaches, I can tell it's a woman. I can hear her crying more clearly. I want to feel pity, but right now I feel all but frightened. This wasn't a good sign. If I'm wrong and this is God, then I've probably done something to make her cry at what she'll do to me. If it's not... I'm already fucked. I steel my resolve, I've already made my bed. Time to sleep in it. For good.
She's wrapped in chains. Second red flag. I want to run, but I get the sense that I'm the one that's moving closer and not her. I see that she's... smiling. Smiling. My mind is clawing at me to sprint, run, get the fuck away from the woman smiling and wrapped in chains floating toward me in the void but I can't go anywhere, can't do anything oh fuck oh fuck ohshitohfuckfuck...!
It opens it's mouth.
"Thank you..."
The whisper came in the echo, like it was everywhere, so soft and so quiet but deafening in the silence of the void.
And then everything stops and I'm screaming.
...
......
.........
"EEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!"
I shriek at the top of my lungs, shooting up in bed and attempting to get rightside-up as quickly as possible. But my right arm's asleep. I plant my useless arm down with force and fall, twisting my wrist violently and crashing off the bed. Reflexively, I roll underneath it if not for a little bit of cover. My skin is cold and covered in beads of sweat, as if I'd taken a short jog through the rain. My heart is pounding violently, threatening to escape my chest as I threaten to hyperventilate and dart panicked eyes across the room. It isn't mine, that much was clear. I don't even know if I'm alone in here yet. Dazed and confused, with sharp pain shooting through my wrist, I drag myself cautiously from underneath the bed. The satin of the... nightgown? O-o...kaaaaay... The satin of the nightgown I'm apparently wearing rubs against the rough carpet, telling me that I'm probably not dead this time around. I do a quick turn around the room to get my bearings, holding my injured wrist closer to my chest with my opposite hand out in a modified fighter's stance. No one else was here. And the room wasn't mine.
It was pretty small, a one room dorm much like my own if you filled in the expanse in the wall on one side. The first thing I noticed was all the color. Sunshine yellow plush rug on the floor, a single desk covered in stuffed animals and a few pictures, walls plastered with posters of... pop culture. I think. They looked like music groups, but they were filled with teen heart throbs. Whoever the fuck Desire Dawn was, they were on most of the pictures. Looked like pretty-boy douchebags to me. I tip-toed over to the desk and single computer chair, holding my breath as if anything could jump out at me, and a gingerly picked up one of the pictures. Now that was freaky. All of the pictures looked like cartoons. And then it hit me. A streak of light shone off the surface of the glass for a split-second, showing someone behind me. I threw an elbow behind me with a grunt and turned around, but no one was there.
BZZT! BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!
I hurl the picture in my hand at the offending noise on instinct, and a clatter and the sound of shattering glass rang out through the dorm room, although the alarm continued to sound. I missed. I was always a shit throw. Being careful not to step on any broken glass, I moved over to the purple novelty nightstand and complementing sunshine yellow bedspread where I threw the damn photo to punch out the alarm. I realize something. The alarm clock is a cartoon. So's the bed. My hand is a fucking cartoon. I feel the panic set in once more as my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, and I frantically dart my head around. I run to the window and look through. It's a sidewalk filled with what looks like highschool students in matching dress marching up and down the path that cut through a green patch flanked by hedges, one of the few points of greenery in the entire canvas of residential buildings and sky. And it was all a cartoon. I search again, finding the head just behind me. Uncertain, I dash in to check my own image.
It isn't me. Whoever it is isn't me. It's a girl in the mirror, a young stickly little one, with short messy mauve hair that I can feel clinging to my neck and reflective dark brown eyes that I blink. I bring her hand to my face. Her skin is soft. I'm wearing the nightgown. I look down and for the first time realize that I'm missing something veeeeeeery important, and check to make sure. Nope, nope, definitely not where it should be. I lean my face in close to the mirror, as does she. There wasn't anyone behind me in my reflection in the picture, I was the reflection. I begin to laugh, at first a giggle, and then louder and louder as I hear the sound of my own high-pitched voice until I'm crying from laughter. This was fucked up, it was so terribly fucked up that I just couldn't help but laugh at it. It was hilarious! In a cosmic sort of way. It finally happened. I've either completely snapped, I died and now the world doesn't make any fuckin' sense, or I'm lucid dreaming and this is how that happens. I continue to laugh and laugh, gasping for breath with tears streaming down my face as I sink to the floor and huddle myself into the bathtub.
I manage to calm down a little after a few minutes, at least I've stopped laughing like a schizo. I don't want to admit it, but I'm freaked the hell out. This is incredibly jacked up on a fundamental level, and I can only hope that this is a dream. My chest still heaving, I wander out of the head to find something to wear and what I find grabs me by surprise. Dayum, those skirts are short. I don't see any kind of jeans or anything sensible either. What the fuck, belly shirts? I give up and go to start my morning routine. This isn't the first time I've woken up in a strange place, just the first time as a... girl. The more I think about it, the more it bothers me. Maybe I'll just... go back to the closet and find something to wear instead... | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,886 | 1,225 | 11 | 247 | 316 | An hour passed, and Greg managed to accept the fact that he wasn't himself anymore, or at least he tried. He looked at his hands and noticed them shaking. He'd been panicking for 45 minutes to an hour. He took a deep breath and tried to meditate, for a while. He was able to calm down a little more, but that didn't completely extinguish his nervous shaking. "So I'm an anime character now? What do I do from here? How do I end this?" he asked himself, still a little in denial, that this wasn't a dream, not having the courage to move from the bed, after seeing his new self in the mirror. He took another deep breath, then opened his eyes, after having, closed them for about 15 minutes, while meditating. "Yup, wasn't a dream after all," he said, smirking a little, while his nerves began acting up again. "Fuck!" he yelled taking a deep breath, making an attempt to calm down again. He later, managed to calmed down a little, and because of that, he was able to think better.
The first thing he decided to do, was to look around the room more, to see if there was anything, that could tell him something. He hesitated a little before finally leaving the bed. He had a hard time walking, because, of him still being a nervous wreck. He saw a folder and a few papers on a small desk. "Ok that's one," he said, deciding on continuing to look for more clues, before viewing what, he already had. He then opened the closet in the room. There were quite, a bit of clothes hung up, of course. "Definitely anime-like clothing , or is this Japanese?" he said wondering, noticing a white and gold school blazer, white and gold pants, and other normal outdoor clothes, in anime standers anyway. "School Uniforms?" he wondered, then decided to just take a look at the folder, he noticed before. He saw a, folded piece of paper, on the top of the folder, and decided to take a look at that first. It was a letter, that had his real name on it, which freaked him out a little, making his nerves, which were calming down a little, begin acting up again, but that didn't stop him from reading it. "I already have silver hair now, what's stopping me from stressing out now."
Dear Gregory-kun,
If you're reading this letter, then that means that you haven't killed yourself yet, because of your sudden change. I'm sure it's obvious, but you are not in the world that you know. I cannot tell you much, for reasons. I'm already telling you too much now, but it can't be helped. Just know that you aren't forgotten, and we will come for you in due time. We have prepared, you a place to stay and money to help get you by. I'm sorry I can't tell you much, but you will be attending school in this city. Please do your best to adapt to your surroundings, and try to not stand out too much, but for a handsome man like you, that might be a problem. Everything that you'll need will be in the folder. You have others in this building, that are just like you. Please look out for each other. Do your best, and good luck Kuni-kun!
"Gregory-kun? Kuni-kun, was that suppose to be a name? School!? What!?" he yelled surprised, while glancing at the folder. He remembered, the school blazer in the closet. "So I'm suppose to wait for the one responsible for bringing me here? I'm also suppose to attend school again?" he said, as he tried to take it all in. The last time Greg attended any form of school was 5 years ago, when he attended community college, why would he want to go back? "What kind of school am I suppose to be attending?" he thought, then stopped. Was he just going to just accept these orders? He never did like be ordered around, so why should he allow it now? Although it would be dumb idea to not consider it. He was in a world he didn't know anything about. What else could he do? He ignored the thoughts, and focused on the contents of the folder.
30 minutes passed, and Greg started rubbing his temple, trying to put things together. "High school student, 17 years old, new name is Ichihara Mitsukuni," now he knew where the Kuni-kun came from. He had a hard time pronouncing the name. This is supposed to be his new name, and he couldn't even say it properly, normally. In the folder were documents on the school, that he was suppose to attend, an ID card for the school, a debit card for money, and other things. Was he really going to go along with this? It felt like he didn't have much of a choice. If he wanted to get back to his world, his best bet would be to go along with the mysterious person in the letter. He'd have to meet them, and the only way to do that would be to wait and stay alive. "Why school though!?" he argued out loud. A part of him told himself not to do it, but the smart part of him told him, that if he didn't, school officials, would probably take action, by looking for him, and that would be attracting too much attention, which is what the letter told him not to do. He took a deep breath, then sighed. "Well I guess I'm Kuni-kun then," he sighed again, wondering which was his first or last name was. "It sounds very Japanese, but how similar is this world to anime besides, the look?" he wondered, standing to his feet, looking at the exit door of the room. "Wait didn't the letter say, there were more like me?" he remembered. Then sudden he heard someone screaming.
"EEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!"
It sounded like a girl. Mitsukuni, wanted to see what was going on, but he was too afraid to leave the room. He shook his head, then gave himself a weak slap in the face, to reduce the fear. As he slowly made his way to the door, he pause a little before, turning the door knob, then he remembered something. "Wait a minute, did I-" before he could finish, he heard the sound of glass braking. "Ok, now I have to do something. Dammit all!!!" he yelled, quickly opening the door, running out to look for where the sound had come from. "Heeey!!! Are you ok!?," he yelled, knowing it was a dumb question indeed. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,887 | 1,225 | 12 | 499 | 417 | In moments the tidy room was a whirlwind of clothes, like the slide-open closet decided to vomit its contents everywhere in front of it. Why the fuck was I fixated on clothes, you might ask? Simple: it's productive. It's something to do that somewhat takes my mind off the fact that I'm probably a motherfucking Sailor Scout now. I'm not just searching for something to wear, though, I'm searching for any kind of hint on where the hell I am and why I'm a tiny little girl. This fucking suuuuuuuucked. I wasn't that coordinated before, but this was a whole new level. I'm not used to having such a short reach. Or hair that gets in the way. Or not having a dick, that's a big one. Yes, yes that's good. Stop panicking, get fucking pissed. I can use anger, I can focus on that, fear gets me fucking nowhere. Welcome to the shit show, front row seats. Outside of more shoes than I thought I'd ever need to deal with and lots of frill lacy things, I don't find a lot. Clothes mostly, some luggage, a hot plate. There's a schoolgirl outfit in there, a couple actually, what the hell else were striped skirts and long-sleeve button-ups for? But it looked a size too small even for this little girl. Was it supposed to be like that? No way in hell I'm wearing a skirt, fuck that noise. That limited my options, though, and they were already pretty goddamn limited. Short skirts, slightly longer short skirts, short shorts... Fuck yeah! Track suit, I can work with this! I don't know who makes a fucking tracksuit white outside of a music video, but I don't really care. I'm about to set it aside when I hear yelling. It's like barracks yelling. And that's not fucking good, not here it's not.
I freeze at first, and then I hear more coming from down the hallway. So my heart starts going turbo on me. I slink up toward the side of the door and lean in, trying to listen. There's conversation, mostly worried. Fuck, do they know I'm here? I need to be quiet, real quiet. Time seems to slow down as I hear movement. My breathing has slowed too, and I'm not moving. Still as a statue. If I shift my weight any someone might hear scuffs on the carpet. What then? They'd try to get in, could they get in? Do I lock the door fuck is the door even locked...!? Too late to check, don't move. The blood rushing into my ears makes it hard to hear and I can't stop trembling. If it's not locked, they'll get in. Weigh your options. If they slowly open the door and peer in, they'll see you so slam the door on their head then out the window if you have to. If they rush in and turn left toward you, step forward leg behind one hand on the throat and sweep. Shit I'm fucking tiny that might not work Alright, alright, if they barge straight in stomp on their calf, figure four variation. Fuck man, shoulda grabbed some glass or fucking something. Okay, if they come more than... thre-four! Four steps in you run for it. Doesn't matter if you're barefoot, doesn't matter where you're going, if they catch you you're fucking hosed because you're a tiny little girl. This is Hell, isn't it? Oh shit this better not be what I think it's gonna be. Seconds turn into minutes, and I swear it feels like half an hour's gone by but I haven't been standing here long. Shaking, I can't quit shaking. Fuck fuck fuck what do I dooo? Quiet, just keep quiet. They probably won't hear you, then you can slip by later. | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,888 | 1,225 | 13 | 1,489 | 1,400 | Santiago threw open the door hard enough to make it bang on the wall. He didn't see any point to closing it as he couldn't really care less to whom everything within belonged to and would've rushed straight off if not for the strange thump on the other side of the door. It sounded like a little booklet hitting the wooden floor. He stopped, momentarily confused, and moved the door a little to look at see what was behind it. On the wall there was one of those pocket things you tapped to flat surfaces because it was easier than using a filing system. It had been knocked askew thanks to the wall not moving out of the way when it came around. On the floor just under it was a yellow packed marked with his name on it. He could tell it was important thanks to all the exclamation marks after it, and then under that in darker letters it said, and this is a direct quote "Your dogs are fine. Promise. Nothings going to happen to them. However if you just go about running around like an idiot and get yourself killed you won't see them again."
"Hmm." Santiago rubbed his chin, and tried to pluck a hair from his chin that was always there. None were there. "Maybe their thinking of a different Santiago." He opened the packet and there was a picture of himself, the old one, before this morning, and under that there were a couple of his dogs. "Aww this is a good one." His eye twitched in that familiar way it did when danger was nearby or someone he owed money to had found him in their cross-hares. "Hey, I don't remember taking these pictures! Damn creeps, stalking the babies and me." He shook his head while taking a better look at the pictures. He turned one this way and then the other that way. He tried it again but with keeping the pictures still as he moved his head about. "How'd you get them to sit still like that and look at the camera?" He slumped a little a put the photos in his pocket for when he'd inevitably start missing them. "Two hour long walks and I couldn't ever get them tired enough for a picture like that."
something slipped out of the yellow packet and it the floor so lightly you could only be sure it happened because of the gentle gust of air he felt on the tiny area of his ankle that was open to such things. "Hmm?" He looked down at what was apparently the last sheet in the packet. A moment to verify proved this was the case. He picked it up and read it out loud because doing so quietly would end up with a completely different message thanks to all the ideas bouncing frantically around behind his eyes. "Dear Santiago." He mumbled, and then skimmed through the rest of the letter because he couldn't bring himself to say what he read out loud. Done, he through the packet and the letter in the room he came out of and closed the door just in case the stuff inside was his own.
"So there's others here in the same situation as me, huh?" He swallowed. "So, I'm in a group, at school." He looked down morosely at his feet, covered in leather he wouldn't waste money on back when he was stuck with the sickly thin wallet he hated pulling cash out of because it always felt like pulling innards out of a corpse that really wasn't much more than bone and some stubborn sinew. "God damn it. Well, there's no time like the present, right? Well I guess the past and the future are pretty similar to the present." He said, walking and wondering how'd he'd be able to tell if he met someone like him. "Their just not here at the moment."
He walked for a bit before seeing someone pale with a slightly freaked look in their face, the kind of look you'd get with someone that just learned about what sex was after walking in on their parents in the process of procreation and standing there, staring till the whole haunting ordeal came to an end. "Hey," he said as the pale guy hurried past him. "By any chance are were you in a real world just last night?" | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,889 | 1,225 | 14 | 247 | 316 | Would you like another, master? a woman holding a bowl of berries asked as she began stroking Jin's long blonde hair. She was standing to the right of him as he sat on his golden throne, with a smile on his face. There was another woman, to his left, fanning him with a huge paper fan, using it's handle to move the fan up and down. "If you would be so kind," he answered, as he began laughing out loud. "Beep!" said the woman feeding him berries. "Beep?" asked Jin, confused by the sudden outburst. The woman dropped the bowl of berries, and proceeded, kicking Jin relentlessly. "What are you doing!?" screamed Jin, while trying to protect himself from the blows. "Beep beep beep beep!!!" yelled the woman, continuing her onslaught. "Why is this happening to-"
Jin woke up, with a familiar female face, stomping him, nonstop, and to the sound of his alarm clock sounding. The girl had long, black hair, that was tie in a, twin tail hair style, with slight tan skin. Her golden-yellow eyes seemed bright with fury as she continued stomping her childhood friend. "Get up already, you idiot!" yelled Makoto, frustrated. "You were suppose to be up an hour ago! Don't you remember Yamoto-sensei's request!?" she yelled, when noticing that he was awake, she stopped her abuse, then folded her arms, waiting for him to get out of bed. "Ok , I get it already" replied Jin sighing, sad that his dream had come to an end. He didn't like waking up early, but Makoto pushed him into doing Yamoto-sensei's favor. Even though Yamoto-sensei was a woman, he hated how lazy she was. She would always force her assignments on her students, no doubt the reasons for it was so that she could drink her nights away. "How is that woman not fired by now," Jin asked himself, rolling out of bed. He noticed another familiar female face peeking into his room.
"I tried to stop her, I promise," said the girl, in a low shy voice. Nana, was another one of his childhood friends. She was always the shy type, which made her a target for bullying as a kid. Makoto saved Nana from her bullies, when she moved to this city 8 years ago. Makoto was a huge tomboy when Jin and Nana first met her. At first, they thought she was a boy, because of her slight boyish features and attitude. Now she looks more girly than Nana, if you take away the brute strength. Nana had long silver hair, that went pass her shoulders, to the mid section of her back. She had sapphire blue eyes, pale skin, and always had a shy, innocent look on her face. Both Nana and Makoto had on a white and gold sailor school uniform. Makoto's skirt was folded a little, making it look shorter, while Nana's were, slightly pass her knees, with was the normal length. Jin smiled at Nana, reassuring her, that everything was fine. He could never get mad at her, or Makoto. They were always great friends to him.
Makoto noticed their silent communication, and puffed her cheeks. "It's not like I'm mad or anything. Just get up already," he said sighing. Jin stood to his feet, feeling more awake than he was just a while ago. He bowed to her sarcastically. "As you wish Hime-sama," he said jokingly. Makoto may not seem like it, but her family is very rich. Her father owned, a weapons trading company in the Haggar Horr continent, but because of the war, it became to dangerous, so they moved to the Continent of Vera.
Twenty minutes later, Jin was prepared and ready to go. "If we're late for this, it's your fault, you know," said Makoto, still a little upset with him. "Ma..Makoto-chan," Nana timidly called out in a low voice, trying her hardest to calm the situation. Makoto glanced at her sighing. Jin began scratching his head, not knowing was to say. "We..Well haha..let's get going," said Jin trying to ease Makoto's temper, if not a little. "I just hope, they're more prepared than you were," she responded, walking off.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Mitsukuni , was a little worried about, the person, or people, that were possibly hurt. "Hey," said the voice of a person with red eyes, and red hair. Just like him, the guy looked like an anime character. "By any chance were you in a real world just last night?" he asked.
Mitsukuni stopped his pace to a complete stop. "Real world? Is he talking about the world, that I'm from? Is he from my world? Can I trust him? He's way too calm. Is he trying to trick me?" thought Mitsukuni, as questions continuously raged through his head. He was worried, he didn't expect this. He was planning on finding the others, just as freaked out as he was, but this wasn't it. Either, he's trying to trick me, or he took the change very well, which he didn't understand how he pulled that off. "Who are you, really?" asked Mitsukuni, taking a step back, preparing for a fight if it turned out bad. He was highly suspicious, but it wasn't a bad thing. It's always got him out of jams, and away from people he felt he couldn't trust, but then again, what was he going to do when he met the person in trouble. "Oh shit!" yelled Mitsukuni, remembering the screaming girl and the shattered glass. He had to help her, but what about this guy? He didn't have time for this, he needed his answer and he needed it fast! "Prove to me that you are, from where I'm from," said Mitsukuni, not wanted to waste time. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,890 | 1,225 | 15 | 1,489 | 1,400 | The pale young man whom Santiago had addressed didn't react to his greetings as he figured he would've. Actually, after going over the idea with a fine toothed comb, or at least a comb with a single tooth you might be able to leave a scratch with if you could hold someone down long enough to press it into the skin, he came to the realization he didn't have any idea of what to expect from the young man. REally, at the worst he didn't think anything would happen at all. There'd be a look you'd give to someone who it would be safe to bet got you confused with someone else. Instead, what he found himself getting was the kind of look you saved for someone who was sitting on the toilet(seat down) waitng for you to finish your shower, with sunglasses on, and told knew your social security number, birthday, every address you ever lived on, and the names of every girl you had a crush on from pre-k all the way through your third year in college.
"Whoa. Calm down." Santiago said, holding up his hands to prove there wasn't a blade in either palm. "I'm not here to hurt you, really. Have you ever seen someone get hurt? I have, and trust me its the last thing I'd like to do." He paused as a though tried knocking on the door to his mind, but he decided there was a time and place to entertain cerebral guests and this wasn't one of them. So he shook his head and the thought ran off screaming because of the category ten Earthquake that almost through it over a nearby cliff. "Look. My name is Santiago. SANTIAGO. You got one of those letters too, right? It gave you a strange Japanese sounding name like you'd see in an anime, video game, or on the name tag of an overly enthusiastic cosplayer right? Does Santiago really sound like one of those names? Really." | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,891 | 1,225 | 16 | 247 | 316 | Whoa. Calm down. said the kid. "I'm not here to hurt you, really. Have you ever seen someone get hurt? I have, and trust me it's the last thing I'd like to do." he continued, as Mitsukuni observed how the red-headed kid reacted to his sudden outburst.
"What to do? I'm I thinking too much? Do I even have time for this right now? I wonder if I'm being to paranoid. Nope, my worries are justified, but it doesn't look like he has a weapon " thought Mitsukuni, watching the guy, putting his hands up. He wondered if he should pat him down, but shook his head from the thought. He didn't like touching others, plus it was a little much. He was worried, but not so paranoid, that he would go that far. "This is stupid," he thought, feeling as though, the guy seemed legit, other than how well he's taking this whole ordeal. He began messaging his forehead, making his final thoughts. He was in a world, that looked, way too much like an anime. His main goal right now was to gather the other two for now and talk to them about this. Mitsukuni, wished that the letter told him the names of the two, but this guy just may be one of them after all.
If this guy was here to kill him, than it didn't matter. He didn't know if he would ever get back to his world anyway. If he dies, so be it. He decided to play along and trust him for now, until he learned the truth. "My name's Gregory, but you can call me Greg for short," he finally said, thinking of giving a hand shake, but knew that there was no time. "Did you hear glass breaking, a while ago, and that scream? I think a girl's in trouble, so I'm looking for where that sound came from. She's probably one of us, or basically in the same situation as us. We should probably find her now," he said lowering his arms, realizing they were still up for defensive purposes. "I'm sorry, what was your name again? I'm sorry but I'm bad with names," he said, looking at a door, which most likely was to another bedroom. He actually didn't get a good look where he was.
He was in a small hallway, with wooden flooring, and from what he could see, where at least 7 doors in it, probably seven rooms, one might even be a bathing room, remembering that there wasn't any bathtub in the bathroom in his room. He wondered how big this place was, from the look of the hallway, maybe not as big, but then again, there may be other floors. He remembered, that his room was at the end of the hallway, so there's six that need to be checked. The sound was pretty loud, so it had to be on this floor. "Hey, which room did you come out of?" he asked, focusing on Santiago. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,892 | 1,225 | 17 | 1,489 | 1,400 | Things were rough at first, very rough like running with your face pressed against a stone wall rough. There was panic in the air so thick you could break your legs trying to kick it away, but the other guy, Greg's breathing started to mellow and and he looked like the driver managed to get grab some of the reigns. "Yeah glass, or something like it." Santiago nodded. The guy was definitely starting to get a hold of himself, you could tell because Santiago had heard that sound too, which was good because he didn't want to be the one to have to pull him up over the edge. The last time he was responsible for bringing someone back from wherever it was they went when their fingers started loosing a hold on reality he got kicked in the nuts so hard he couldn't walk for weeks. Which he understood but still resented. Its just that how was he supposed to know the difference between a seizure and a honest mental break down? He'd only been twelve at the time and figured if it involved so much twitching and biting someone was going to the land of fruits and flying gummi bears.
"Er. It's Santiago, but you can call me Jimmy, or whatever it is I'm supposed to go by. I'll have to get back to you on that one."
There was a pause and it was from Santiago because he hadn't paid attention to anything really before meeting the guy. "Which room did I come from? That's a good question." He looked around. "Which room didn't I come from, I think that would be the best route for narrowing things down, don't you?" He scratched the end of his nose, but that just made the spot behind his ear tickle. "I'm pretty sure I turned a corner somewhere." He looked around and focused on a door. It looked like any other door he'd seen, at least the ones that didn't lead into the room of a teenager who was currently going through one of the kind of phases that involved leather, spikes and enough black to raise your body temperature ten degrees. "Let's go through this one." He said pointing. "I've got a feeling about it." He nodded at Greg Enthusiastically. | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,893 | 1,225 | 18 | 499 | 417 | The talking's still going on. It's in an urgent tone, but it's calmed down a little. I don't hear pounding on doors, so maybe they're not looking. Maybe they'll pass me by. Shit, do I have time to get a weapon? No, no I don't, and I don't even know if it'll help. What the hell could be dangerous in this room anyway? I made the better judgement not to grab any glass because that was some bogus movie special effects that would probably get my palms sliced open rather than help me defend myself. Unplugging the lamp on the desk would make too much noise, and the chair isn't the kind to pick up and hit someone with. Can't bar the door with a rolling chair. A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth as I thought of the grimness of the situation. Man, this was fucked up. Where even was I? It was too real to be a dream, I wouldn't remember the waiting, but everything looked like it was straight out of Adult Swim's Anime Saturday lineup. Was I really dead? Could this be what the afterlife's like? I mean, I always wanted to go back to Japan one day and I guess I could associate that with anime like everyone else does. Being a schoolgirl hunted in some kind of unkno- yeah, this was totally a dream. The more I think about it, the dumber it gets.
Unless... Unless I've completely fucking snapped. That makes so much sense. I wake up in a room that I don't recognize, I'm hallucinating some weird shit, and as soon as they heard me laughing it up in the bathroom people started looking for me. Orderlies. I've fucking lost my mind. But what do I do now? Do I risk the fact that I might be hallucinating and try to roll with everything like normal, or do I fight back because I might be dead? ...or does it even matter because I'm dreaming?
Fuck it. I'll figure it out once I'm sure that I'm good. If the orderlies storm in here and I take them out, I'll tell a half truth and say that I had a nightmare and I'm flipping the fuck out. PTSD, that sounds like it'll work. If I can confirm that something's trying to kill me, then I'll see what kind of damage I can do, but right now I need to be in a position of safety. I don't know shit about what's going on and I know that, I'll act when I find out more.
I hold my breath when I hear the footsteps. They're close, so close I can feel the weight of whoever's out there from the other side of the door. There are two of them, judging by the footsteps and the number of different voices that I heard. Fuuuuuuck this might not work the way I want it to. I can choke someone out alright, but nothing's going to stop the other one from ripping me off him.
"Let's go through this one. I've got a feeling about it."
That was close. That was either right outside my door, or the one outside of it. I remain still. If they don't hear anything, maybe they'll keep walking. I braced my weight on the wall, ready to react, ready to do something other than sit here and wait. Slam the door on someone's arm, run, take them down, something. | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,894 | 1,225 | 19 | 247 | 316 | Beep, mumbled Jin, still depressed about his dream. Nana glanced over her shoulder, to check on him, seeing that he wasn't keeping up. "Beep?" she wondered, slowing down her pace to let him catch up. "Are you ok Jin-kun?" she asked concerned for her friend. "Jin-kun?" she repeated his name to get his attention. She had a feeling that, he didn't hear her, because of her low voice tone. She was bad at speaking up. Makoto, had always told her to work on it. She would always say "that's the reason people pick on you. They think you're easy prey". She would also always say, with her nose high "but don't you worry, because I'll always protect yea". Nana always looked up to Makoto's strength and her ability to stand up to anyone. Makoto was always good to her. She tried one more time. "Jin-kun!" she yelled, shocking him out of his daze.
"Whoa! What was that all about!?" asked Jin surprised to hear Nana so loud. He knew that she would always practice making her voice louder, but she was terrible at measuring it. "I..I'm sorry," she responded, taking a few step back from him, realizing that she was too loud again. "No, it's fine I shouldn't hav-" said Jin not able to finish, his sentence, because of Makoto suddenly grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him down to her face, so that they could look eye to eye. Jin had his hands up, showing that he wasn't doing anything wrong to her. "Ma..Makoto, calm down," he pleaded, not wanting to face her wraith. "Makoto-chan It's my fault, please don't!" begged Nana, grabbing Makoto's arm. Makoto loosened, her grip, letting go of Jin's collar, realizing that she overreacted. "Hmph, if not like I was going to hurt him or anything, I was just showing you what to do in a situation like this. "What kind of situation what this, and what were you going to do?" thought Jin, looking at Makoto with a doubtful look on his face. "Anyway how far are we?" asked Jin. Makoto took a look at the directions and looked back at Jin. "Not much further, about a mile away," she replied, as she continued walking.
`````````````````````````````````````
Mitsukuni wasn't too sure about Santiago's response. He seemed so sure, but at the same time, it seemed that he was just guessing, either way, he had to check the rooms anyway. Might as well start with this one. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I'll check anyway," he said, hating, not trust other's judgments, but it was a habit, and because he had a feeling that Santiago, wasn't too sure himself. He went to turn the door knob, and stopped, remembering something, or at least almost remembering something, but because he couldn't see it, he shook it away. The door was unlocked, which made him think, Santiago just may have been right the whole time.
When he opened the door, he noticed instantly, how trashed it was. Clothes everywhere, and other items all over the place, and he noticed a broken mirror. "Could this be?" he wondered, while taking a few steps inside. "Or did someone get robbed?" he thought, looking at Santiago, to verify if this was his room. "Did you have to destroy the place?" he asked. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,895 | 1,225 | 20 | 1,489 | 1,400 | I won't take it the wrong way. Santiago said, walking slowly behind Greg. "I didn't know there was anyway you could take a statement other than as a bit of air your exhaled a certain way to make a certain sound that your brain recognizes as a certain message. How interesting. I'm learning stuff all the time. I guess the fortune cookie was right. Ha! That's two pounds that Britash man owes me! Oh wait." A shadow fell over Santiago's face. "He's back over..." He looked around. "Whichever way home is." He twirled his finger in a circle just to make sure he got the general direction.
He stopped talking when Greg entered the room and peaked around the man's shoulders. "I take some exception to that young(er) man." He said pointing at the contents inside without getting any closer. "The place isn't destroyed. There are still walls without holes around it, a floor beneath it, and if you look straight up your eyes won't sear in their sockets because of the lack of sunlight pouring in because of the roof still being a roof instead of a pile of... A pile of... a heap of was-roof!" He nodded and put his hands on his hips, a trait he'd gotten from his mother who did it every time she was right. "Er... Maybe it isn't my room" He said scratching his nose. "Check the closet for jeans. The room I showed up in had lots of jeans so I knew it wasn't mine as I never wear the bloody things." | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,896 | 1,225 | 21 | 499 | 417 | I can hear the blood pumping in my ears as the first one walks in. Tall, must be twice my size and maybe my weight, white hair. Looks like a cartoon just like everything else. The worst part is he's talking to someone. This is gonna be a problem. I'm gonna get my shit pushed in. I wouldn't get into a fight like this even if I was... myself. At least not without a weapon, but I really don't have a choice here. It was either rush him, do as much damage as I can, and hope I can take the other guy or risk going down here. My body tenses up and my head leans toward him a little. I'm not sure what I'm doing here, but I'm going to try a sweep takedown from behind. Chokes are out, I'm not gonna get one off with someone behind him, behind me. Sweep it is. This is it. Here goes nothing.
I breath out in a sharp huff as I push myself off the wall. I must've moved pretty quick because by the time I got to him he hadn't turned around yet, but it felt like it took a few seconds to reach him even if it was less than half of one. I took three steps, then a stutter step. Even up my right foot. I swam my right hand up toward his face to try to catch him in the throat, anything that I could grab onto and use to inflict some pain, but my short reach didn't help me and I grabbed him by the collar instead. My left hand shot an open palm into his stomach as I maneuvered my left foot as far back as I could manage between the gap in his legs. My hips swung into him from behind as I dropped my weight, pushing on his torso with my left hand and tugging on his collar with my right. Pain shot through my still-sore wrist and I felt the weakness in it but I couldn't stop now. My tiny frame worked in my favor this time around. I could drop my weight a lot farther to the ground, and he began to roll over my hip. I shouted at some point in the throw, a desperate war cry, but I don't remember doing it.
But I fucked something up.
It all happened in less than a second, but it felt like it took forever, and then I realized where I screwed myself down the line. From the very beginning. I threw the wrong guy. I jacked up the throat grab. The move took too long and I was too small and weak to do it right. He didn't hit the ground, he just stumbled backward over me as he tripped over my tiny body. The guy with the silver lockes ran himself backward into the arms of a punk behind him, a little shorter, black hair with red highlights. Now I was cornered. I attempt to correct myself by following with a push kick that would've knocked the two of them down if I was my larger self, but pushed me back as I rebounded off of the guy's torso. But they were in the doorway. Reacting quickly, desperately, and pretty damn retarded when I realized midway through doing it that I wouldn't be able to keep them out, I attempt to force the door close on them. Maybe I was thinking I could slam it in their faces and lock it, giving me enough time to jump out the window or at least grab some kind of weapon. Maybe I thought that I could catch an arm or a leg in the door and break it by torquing it against the door frame. Either way, it doesn't work. They caught the door, and I put my full weight against it in a pathetic and futile attempt to close it as I grunted against the strain, wrist searing with agony. | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,897 | 1,225 | 22 | 247 | 316 | Everything that happened, felt like a flash. Before he had time to realize, he was being assulted by a small girl. "What the-" his words being stopped mid way as the girl kicked him into Santiago after the fail attempt to flip him. He almost didn't have time to think about what was going on, then the thought hit him while everything was happening. "Is that the girl that screamed? Does she think we're trying to kill her?" he wondered in a rush, noticing that she was trying to slam the door shut.
His reflexes kicked in, as he ran towards the door, holding it to keep it opened. "Wait, hold on a second! We're not trying to hurt you!" he said knowing that, she probably wouldn't believe that. "I don't know if you'll believe me, but we're the same as you! we're not from this world either! Just calm down, so we can find out how to handle this!" he yelled, trying to get his message across to the hostile girl, knowing that he wasn't doing a good job, with his words, but at least he tried. He looked back to Santiago for help with the situation. | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,898 | 1,225 | 23 | 1,489 | 1,400 | Santiago nodded. "Could be. Could be." He tilted his head to the side as he watched things unfold. He would've gotten involved but everything looked like it was progressing smoothly from one panel to another. "We did kind of enter her room without permission and a lady should never just let something like that happen." He nodded again. "Most ladies don't attack though. They tend to point a finger at you, then the door, and expect that to be enough to end things." The words came out of him in a rush because there wasn't enough time to say the words in the long drawn out way that would've added some levity to the scene. He did manage to catch Greg while he tumbled out of the room though so that was a win.
"O that's nice." Santiago said, walking up to help Greg push the door open. "I say hi and ask if your from a different world and you act like I was the guy who used to hang around the park you played at as a kid with two dogs and a pair of binoculars, but this girl throws you out the door and tries to slam it in your face and your just blubbering the situation!" He leaned his body against the door and pushed. "See, it's things like that that make me like dogs so much, at least with dogs you can understand their reasons for doing things." He turned his attention and called to the door at the other side. "Will you cut it out, we're not trying to do anything to you. Do we come off as a pair that would do things like that? I think not. Those kind of pairs, for all their faults are at least usually on the same page!" | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
44,899 | 1,225 | 24 | 499 | 417 | Warning bells are going off in my brain as the adrenaline pours into it like a fountain. For one, I'd lost the door. They were getting in no matter how hard I pushed. I already have my full weight against and I'm barely able to hold it kind-of shut. For two, this was upsetting. It doesn't do my sanity any favors to have someone shout at me that they're from another world just like I am. Like they already know. Because I would know, and this is a hallucination or a dream of some kind. Of course my subconscious knows what I know. They bicker like a married couple, though. I'm not sure if that's part of my subconscious that represents the pettiness I had to go through in boot camp or the politics at work or... what. I'm thinking about this too much. Fuck man, I'd give both of my legs for a pistol right now.
As I struggle and strain against the losing battle that was keeping the door closed, I pick the best option I have available to me. I let go of the door and take an angle of movement backwards. Best case scenario one or both of them stumbles and falls in and I get an advantage. Worst case scenario I don't let them have the advantage of grabbing me through the door. That didn't look like it was going to happen, though. As I let go of the door the two caught themselves rather well. One of them stumbled a bit and I twitched on my feet, but I didn't go for it because he was a little too close to the other one. I was backed into a corner now. I don't see any kind of winning move for me. Next limb I get ahold of, I'm breaking it. Leg, arm. Neck. I'm going to do some damage next time.
I bare me teeth as I remain crouched in a fighting stance, right arm back and under my chin ready to protect my face, left arm forward, hand open, prepared to catch or block a strike or go for a grab. My eyes stare intensely past the both of them, keeping their movements in my periphery so I can react to both of them.
"Leave. NOW," I growl at them, sounding a lot less intimidating than I'd like with my freakin' Minnie Mouse voice. I give it a short moment before adding on to my statement. "You wanna talk you talk through the door. I don't wanna fight you but I WILL hurt you if you don't back the fuck up!"
I'm already thinking of options to carry out my threat. Small joint manipulations, breaking fingers, tweaked elbows. If I get put into a grapple I'm biting a chunk out of someone's arm, I swear to fucking Christ. If I had to start, I'd go for that trip throw and try to break an ankle while I was at it. I really hoped it didn't get to that point. I've never been in a real fight with more than one person at once, and they had a huge size and weight advantage. Truth be told, if I didn't fight absolutely filthy they could probably kill me.
Let's hope that I'm crazy and that they're orderlies. Please, PLEASE be orderlies! Orderlies probably weren't going to fucking break my face open. | Corporal Lance's Characters
Real Name: Tony
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Mazawa Sayuri (Sayuri being the 1st name)
Anime Gender: Female
Anime Age: 17
I'm pretty short and tiny in this body, about 4 1/2' tall and I can't weigh more than 100 pounds, if that. I'm pretty scrawny now, like a strong breeze would bend me in half. I'm also a little girl now. That part's pretty important. I don't know what the hell happened but now I'm all dainty and I have purple hair for some reason. I'm glad it's short, I can work with short. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with long hair. I've got the same brown eyes that look exactly like they did when I was... me. That's a really fuckin' weird thing to say. Anyway, I've got the same eyes, so that probably means something. Ah shit, people are going to expect me to put on make-up and wear skirts and shit...
Class: 3-D
Power: Hard Light Generation
So apparently I can make shapes and stuff like boxes and spears somehow. It's like crystal, a golden crystal. It's actually kinda tight. I control them by... I don't exactly know. It's like stretching a muscle I never had, and it feels like my heart drops when it happens. They're solid, I can stand on some of the rectangles I've made and lean up against them. I can move'em, too. I don't know how strong they are since I haven't tested it yet, but I can't kick through it, it's like kicking concrete. They don't hurt to touch, but they're pretty solid, so if I needed to keep someone at arm's length I could probably hit them with one. I can probably do more than just this if I practice, but I don't know what I'm capable of yet. |
44,900 | 1,225 | 25 | 247 | 316 | Mitsukuni began regretting the whole situation. Maybe it was slight anger for being attacked like that, but he understood her, and that's, when he decided that maybe, he should back down. While he was holding the door, to keep it from closing, he thought to himself. "What the hell am I doing? Is this what I'd do in a situation like this. I'm not really helping right now, by forcing her to listen," he thought, while easing up on the door to let it close, but before he could, the girl let go of the door, causing him to stumble a bit, before catching his footing. "Son of a-". He was pretty good at not completely falling, when tripped, or other situations, involving falling down. After catching his footing, he watched the girl, get into a defensive stance, protecting herself, from what she thought was a threat, and because of his actions so far, made him realize that, he couldn't blame her for it.
"Leave. NOW. You wanna talk you talk through the door. I don't wanna fight you but I WILL hurt you if you don't back the fuck up," she growled, obviously pissed off. "Do girls usually talk like that?" Mitsukuni thought, as he began scratching his head, sighing from everything that's happened so far. "Well I fucked up, but I don't blame you for being mad with me, but I am telling the truth," he responded, turning towards the door, then looking back at the girl. He began analyzing her a little. "For such a small frame, she packs one hell of a punch, or better yet, a kick" he thought, almost laughing, but smirking. "Yeah yeah, I'm going," he said walking towards the door. He didn't want trouble, but he didn't want to leave her confused either, even though he was still a bit confuse himself as to why, he was here, but at lease he could tell the girl what he knew so far.
"You don't look like you're in the mood to talk, but I understand that you are confused, scared, and can't trust anyone. Hell, I still can't trust this guy at the moment, but I guess I'm just stupid for accepting him so far," he said pointing at Santiago, then looking at him. "No offense of course," he continued, turning back to the girl. "I'll give you time to breathe, but I do need to talk to you," he said rubbing his chest a little. "Nice kick, by the way." | Real Name: Greg
Real Gender: Male
Anime Name: Ichihara Mitsukuni (Mitsukuni being the first name)
Anime Age: 17
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Look Descriptions:
Without the fangs of course.
Class: 2B
Power: Aura |
44,901 | 1,225 | 26 | 1,489 | 1,400 | The girl seems pretty mad Santiago noted, out loud like the master of ceremony at a painfully obvious convention. "Maybe its the time of day. Normally I"m not one for having company first thing in the morning." He pushed further on the door, stopping his advance only when Greg did. He opened his mouth to complain about doing all the work, but the guy opened his mouth too, and nothing ever got done when people trying to talk over each other; unless your goal was to get someone frustrated because nothing was getting done, which wasn't his goal at the moment. So he listened and tried not to talk, but it was hard, really hard, pulling a nail out of your foot while jumping around the other one hard.
"Okay. Fine. We'll do it that we." He mumbled. "God, I hope this isn't your way of going about getting things done, because then nothing is ever going to get done, and we're going to be here for a long time. I think" He said, stepping back and scratching the tip of his nose. "Not sure to be honest. I mean, not really sure how our own world works so can't imagine what the rules are for this little corner of reality are." He looked around and put his hands on his hips so he could stretch. His back made a series of popping sounds like kid with big feet jumping on a square of bubble wrap. "But I'm assuming(thinking(guessing(groping randomly in the dark for some thing that could resemble a hope for return))) if we fix whatever it is we're brought her for we'll get sent home, at least that's how it works in a lot of the anime I've seen."
He looked from Greg to the girl and back again. "Oh yeah!" He said, and grab the door by the handle. "Almost forgot." Gently as if the door frame was a land mine whose maker got the instructions mixed up, he closed the door and took a step back so he was standing next to Gret. "Okay. We're talking through the door just like you wanted." Santiago frowned and turned to Greg. "Why did we want to talk to her so badly again?" | Real Name: Santiago
Real: Gender: Male
Anime Name: Jynmi
Anime Gender: Male
Anime Age: 18
Class: 3B
Power:
Electrokinesis: Can create, manipulate, and shape electricity. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.