[color=gray][CENTER][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][img]https://i.imgur.com/JPPcXdp.jpg[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=978184][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Southern Plateau[/I] - [I]Pacific Royal Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#978184][b]Welcome Home #1.067:[/b][/COLOR] [I]purgatory.[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][INDENT][sub][color=#978184][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]&&[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#978184][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [color=gray][I]immortal.[/I][/color][/right][/SUP]
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[i]	She does the only thing she knows how to do when everything just becomes too much. When the voices in her head ping and scream and wail and the cries of a banshee shatter betwixt her waking world -- within and without. When everything crests over the veneer she has locked in place [the lie, the mask, the glare and bite and blood of anger washing over her teeth] the fissures of a girl lost and toiling beneath the exteriors of a vain creature that lashes out at the sky. The world. Everything.

She destroys.

From stadium to dorm room, she walks a path alone and forsaken, marked and marred by coils of red and silver and plumes of black that rots the air feathered through her lungs. It is woven deep into blood and bone and disfigures her pale skin in lines of black and gray. The scars laden beneath every flightless bird and coiled snake, those bright and striking moths, the abstract profiles and the skulls gaped wide in silent screams. Each a tale. Each a story. Each a reminder and each a sin.

And when she finally makes it back there to her room, it all stops.

Within her grasp, the box is nothing but ashes and within it --

-- [b]her old uniform.[/b][/i]

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	Everything is new to her: these trials and ceremonies, and despite the introduction of the Alexandria Foundation onto their proverbial doorstep, this united front was nothing if not steeped into tradition. It's admirable, she supposes, or perhaps sheer stubbornness which drapes the entirety of the island in sheer abundance. Amma plucks at all the black and Gulo yellow on her person; her hooded jacket gaped at her front where her inked and exposed midriff flexes with every shuddering breath; shorts clinging to her inked thighs and sneaker clad feet in black kicking up rock and dirt when she exits the Minotaur carrier. In her detached musings, she claws through her ebony hair, half up and half down whilst wisps and curls frame her critical gaze distant and lost. Amma is silent, as is her eternal renown, for there are little words to be spared and said and what mindless conversation was there that she could offer was bartered for contemplation. In hindsight, she knew the moment she left those pyramids within the sea, she would never be truly bereft of those chains and whips and the muzzling of her powers to condition her self to be all withstanding to hardship.

She knew in her nightmares, just as she knew in her dreams, of every damning lance and every peeling of flesh and manipulation of bone. Every stitch and every time someone held her close and held her down. From the screaming faces lost in shadow as she lost control -- to the hand offered to a little girl barely thirteen.

	[color=black][i]"Hey, what's your name?"[/i][/color]

Her eyes drift, half-lidded, melancholic delicacy laced across her expression before she slips her scarred fingers into the pockets of her jacket, back heavy with supplies and aimlessly chooses a tent for her belongings. This one situated closest to the cliffs, something of a preference drawing her near. The plateau, if anything, is a secondary favorite next to the beach where she often wonders. Those sloped edges bleached by sun and salt, craggy faces eroded by time and pocketed in shadowy recesses where flora and fauna remain. Amma is tempted to the edge, the roar of the surf that crests over the spires of rock below in tandem with the roaring lodged into the deepest edges of her mind.

Somewhere at her back, others whisper of potential bunkmates and she glances to the cot lain there, cares little for it [she doesn't sleep much these days] and shrugs around the unlikelihood that any member of Blackjack is going to inquire about sharing quarters with her. Katja, maybe, but if the utterances of co-ed arrangements was an actual chance rather than speculation. [i]Well, maybe not.[/i]

She had proven her unwillingness to befriend anyone aside of knowing their names, their powers -- their dreams, she remembers -- and has left it as such. Never mind Katja's many attempts to coax Amma from yonder the chasm she has built around herself. 

She is nothing but the void and she will keep it that way.

Amma vaguely catches the information provided about their directive and aimlessly changes direction to the field. The idea of building anything is a foreign concept, the idea of being trusted with such a task even more so. But, it is a part she is to play in the inevitability of failure as they cling to their traditions, for Amma cannot forget or forgive the gift she has been given by those threatening to unravel this heritage at its core. She thinks, was it irony that saw the the material indestructible? For she had sunk nail deep and true and could not pry apart the chain and latex and lace, even the delicate gossamer had mocked her with the fragility of its make. 

So, Torres wanted Tiamat.
And Amma was going to give it to her.

Her arched brows plummet low in thought, lashes framed around an ethereal glow that emphasizes the planes of her countenance drawn into a frown. They made and conditioned that beast within, all the destruction she bore and wrought, all of the endless nights gushing in red. The welcoming bliss of nihilism every time she sunk into that epitaph that sired a creature of cruelty. 

She wasn't always this way. But how does one even cleanse that much taint and ruin? Where does one even begin. Where is the line drawn in the sand of both human and monster, the concept of the soul and heart, she thinks, but did she even have one anymore?

Amma Cahors closes her eyes. Soft and swift, she bows her head and palms away the ache settled at her crown, nails raked against her temples to dispel the doubt she has nurtured and when she opens her eyes once more, a beauty of deadly intent - purpose -  glares back. 

She is at the field soon enough and approaches perhaps the first person that had genuinely welcomed her to the island. The first name she had learned and the one who saw her as a student rather than what she was: Thaddeus. In that, he is perhaps the only one Amma has ever acknowledged with a slight cant of her head, one that remains tilted just so with her eyes panning down the gargantuan man beside him. Somewhere in those depths of blue, femme appreciation flickers.

	[COLOR=#978184]"Tad, and..."[/color] Amma pauses, deliberate, an inquiry hovering there. [COLOR=#978184]"Not sure what I'm doing here, honestly."[/color] With a breath she crosses both arms, weight rolled to one heel whilst she sighs. 

	[COLOR=#978184]"But, none the less. I am. So - instructions?"[/color]

	[color=ffffff]"Oh Amma, right,"[/color] Tad replied rubbing the back of his head. [color=ffffff]"I forgot you joined after the Trials last year. This is a bit of an annual tradition to welcome students back and induct the new students in a House. Teams like Blackjack compete for the best time in the Trial and then individual performance and contributions are used to send students invitations to at least two school houses."[/color] He explained before gesturing to the looming man beside him.

	[color=ffffff]"This is Robert Arkwright, he's this year's coordinator and architect for the Trial."[/color]

	[color=ffffff]"Au chanté, mademoiselle."[/color] Robert replied bowing his head towards Amma.

	[COLOR=#978184]"C'est pour moi un plaisir, Robert."[/color] A grin blooms across her cheeks, teeth and all, paired with a subtle bite colored in mild surprise.

	[color=ffffff]"Robert has asked me to pair you with Rory and Lorcán. You three will be helping with the structural component of the build."[/color]

At the mention of both Rory and Lorcán though, her smile falters, softly edging away into a peculiar grimace. 
	[COLOR=#978184]"I... see."[/color] A panning look over her shoulder, she sees the former and not the latter and it is that realization that makes Amma suddenly hyperaware of her surroundings. Scarlet flame and crimson power coil and collide within her mind, those molten eyes haunting and memorizing in their wake. 

	[COLOR=#978184]"What does that mean... structural."[/color] She mutters, witnessing the incident of feminine energies colliding in the distance, the not so subtle displays projected by Mei and Haven; Rory as the epicenter of their combating desires. It would appear that the theory of competition had begun here already and she can't help but reflect on contests she had competed in. If those moments of contention could even be called such a thing. Amma would refer to them as executions for all the madness that compounded them.

Best to leave that alone, she thinks and sways back on her heels.

	[COLOR=#978184]"All right then. Thank you, Tad."[/color] Amma winds a lock of black around her finger, and says: [COLOR=#978184]"Au revoir, Robert."[/color] Her goodbye purred around his name before bell-like laughter drips off her tongue, her figure waltzing away further into the field.
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