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Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

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Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

819 posts

in 2985 days

Seen 5 yrs ago

Bio

Welcome to my collection! Here you can see my addiction to hiders, gifs, Fontmeme.com, British faceclaims and DRAMA. Maybe One day I'll get my act together and create a table of contents...

It's worth noting that these aren't all the character sheets I've ever used on this site, just the ones I'm most proud of.

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

Raw —

Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

Member Seen 5 yrs ago

Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

819 posts

in 2985 days

Seen 5 yrs ago

Bio

Basic Information

| Name |
Freddie Milton (for his mother's favourite musician and his father's favourite author) Hughes-Jackson.

| Age |
21, born in the year 1999.

| Gender |
Male.

| Sexuality |
Not sure, would quite like to fine out, hasn't managed anything of that... sort yet.

| Occupation |
Librarian.

| In-Depth Appearance |
Taller than average, Freddie stands at just the right height for most people to be talking to his chin rather than his face and to bang his head on door frames but not quite tall enough to be stand out. Similarly, his hair is just red enough that it can't be described as brown but not red enough to merit anything interesting adjectives like 'crimson' or 'scarlet'. In fact, much of Freddie's appearance has someone hit a sweet spot between attractively average and interestingly extreme, landing somewhere in the vicinity of embarrassing, though hopefully endearingly so. His dress sense is, like most things in his life, a product of his mother's extremely careful upbringing. If one is going to dress, she is want to say, one aught to dress well. Freddie spent a lot of his childhood in bracers, ties and woollen tank tops. He's managed to rebel somewhat no he lives alone but meticulously drilled habits die hard.

When seen in public, his back is generally bent by a weighty book bag or heavy box full of newly acquired mystical merchandise. Or extremely bent because he's just dropped whatever he's carrying and is desperately trying to gather it up and continue on his way before his ears catch alight from concentrated cringe. Even when caught without a bag or box, his posture is still terrible. His stance suggests he's in a permanent state of apology, with hunched shoulders, a slightly lowered head and hands almost always covering his mouth. However, Freddie's manner and voice depend very much on his surroundings. When in the hallowed halls of the library, he walks confidently and talks with a quietly authority. If in the confines of his own home and talking about his magical work, he's energetic, rambling and supremely enthusiastic. Anywhere else, however, and he becomes the more familiar bag of nerves, mistakes, blushes and apologies.




Who am I?

| Personality |
♦ Dedicated ♦ Shy ♦ Enthusiastic ♦ Apologetic ♦

Freddie really, really likes magic. The sight of a newly animated teapot pouring itself, the sound of enchanted brushes polishing boots in another room or the taste of a cake infused with magical tastes beyond human understanding, they all excite him. It was probably his constant tinkering with spells as a child that caused him to forget to make friends. Or talk to people. Or even go outside. As an adult, he's not much different; he still spends most of his life on a groove between the library where he works and his home where he animates, avoiding people and human interaction on the way wherever possible. It's not that he doesn't like people, it's just that he makes such a fool of himself every time he's with them that he'd rather just spare himself the blushes.

What he lacks in social acumen, however, he makes up for in enthusiasm. Once Freddie has decided he's going to do a thing, a dam breaks somewhere in him and a flood of energy, excitement and ideas come bubbling forth. Whatever the task, he sets his whole mind and body into making sure it's carried out to the best of his abilities. It's just a shame that generally only those people who are extremely interested in the theory and practise of magical animation every see this passion and even then only if they hang out on the more esoteric of internet forums.

Recently, Freddie has been doing his best to 'put himself out there' and 'go out and see the world'. It's definitely because he thinks he aught to see some more of the world and definitely not because his mother is applying a gentle pressure to make him leave the house for a social interaction at least once a day. So he's now not an uncommon sight in local cafés and bars, sitting in a corner nursing a drink and looking quickly away should he catch anyone's eye.

| Likes & Dislikes |
✔ Magic, Magic, Magic!
✔ Hot tea with milk.
✔ Autumn leaves.
✔ Fantasy novels.
✔ The smell of old books.
✔ Well ordered book shelves.
✔ Messy, ill organised floors.
✔ Magic again, he loves it that much.

✘ People who talk loudly.
✘ Mistreated books.
✘ Coffee (read: caffeinated dirt).
✘ Fog and mist.
✘ Angsty Fantasy novels.
✘ physical sports.
✘ Games of chance.





| History |
As the only child of two witches, one might expect that the youngest member of the Hughes-Jackson household to quickly accept magic as a natural part of life. But both parents practised their trades but rarely, preferring to write about the theory than actually cast spells. As such, Freddie grew up with a fascination for magic even greater than most of his classmates. In their non-magical homes, his contemporaries never expected to see magic once the world stripped them of the idea it was real. In Freddie's home, magic was not only possible but the focus of much of his parent's conversations. He survived on the occasional glimpse of a divination, the odd sight of a talking animal, but the restrained style of his parents made him hungrier for magic than he was for anything else. It came as no surprise to them when he started making a study of magic at the age of ten.

Now, it must be understood that the Hughes-Jacksons were serious people and did not intend for their son to simply grab a wand and start throwing fireballs in his first week, good gracious no. Instead, he was given two years worth of text books to read. When he had finished them, he was treated to a gruelling interrogation about the minute details of each one. After that, more text books and lengthy, lengthy essays. After this, his parents reasoned, Freddie would surely have grown out of this foolish and vulgar fascination with the practise of magic and have grown to share their love of the theory. They were surprised, therefore, when he asked for permission to attempt a simple piece of animation on his fifteenth birthday. Given he had written a PHD sized piece of writing on this specific spell, they could hardly say no. It was everything he'd imagined and somehow even more.

From then on, he managed to work even harder, squeezing the day for every possible hour. What few friends he had retained before now ceased to see him anywhere other than school and even then his mind seemed to always be somewhere else. Before he was allowed to use even the simplest of spells, his parents required him to have read every relevant thesis on the subject ever committed to page and after he was done he would need to write detailed analysis's of the shortcomings of all previous works on the topic. Freddie didn't mind though. Whatever work he needed to do to earn a few moments of tentative spell casting was worth it for the joy of the spell and the satisfaction of seeing the results exactly as he pictured them.

On his eighteenth birthday, however, he realised something; it didn't have to be this way. If he didn't live with his parents, if he was his own person, he could do magic whenever he liked. A thought so electric, so powerful, so... magical that it almost seemed unreal. But from that moment of realisation, he shifted his considerable abilities from studying theory to making this daydream reality. He got a part time job, then a full time job and then another part time job to do on the side. Freddie saved, Freddie scraped and Freddie made it. By his twentieth birthday, he had enough for a deposit on a small flat in London. He decided on the Edgetoun area and eventually got a place in Faraday Heights, flat 24B.

So here he is, newly settled into his very own flat and his new job as assistant librarian at on of London's more central libraries. During the days, he works hard at the library to make sure he has enough money to buy new sorcerous supplies. In the evenings, nights, mornings and weekends, he revels in the joy of being able to animate what he wants, when he wants. There are currently almost no non-enchanted objects in his flat.

| Family |
Cynthia Evergreen Hughes
Strict, calm and fiercely intelligent, Cynthia has ruled over every room she's been in for her whole life. While she managed to instil her powerful work ethic into her son, she didn't quite pass on her cool and collected self control. As he's now something more of a mess socially, she's now rectifying this by pushing him to be more active and adventurous. She more or less treats everyone in this way, making them fix their lives whether they want her to or not. And woe betide the person that goes against her attempts to better their existence.

She is an expert at Divination but finds the practise of magic to be far less intellectually stimulating than the theory, an attitude she has, for once, failed to pass on to her son. The Hughes family are longstanding members of the Mutandum Coven.

Marcus Obadiah Jackson
Strong, silent and thoughtful, Marcus took a much less active hand in raising Freddie than his wife. He would have preferred to allow him to make a few more of his own choices, maybe even to practise magic more freely. But he long ago discovered that going against his wife's idea of the right course of action is an exercise in futility. Despite having the strength of will necessary to be a powerful elementalist, he can offer no more resistance to her than a picket fence can to a steam roller.

| Strengths |
Excellent understanding of the theoretical basis of magic.
Well practised at magical animation.
Puts his heart and soul into everything he does.


| Weaknesses |
Socially inept and incredibly shy.
Has lead a sheltered life and is a little naive
Hasn't had to cope with failure or rejection much.





The Other

| Theme Songs |
I am a Rock – Simon and Garfunkel
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Put the book back on the Shelf - Belle and Sebastian
You wrote a book about yourself
The people left it on the shelf
You’ll write another one
Now you’ve got a story that’s worth talking about

| House Number |
Farady Heights, 24B

| Extra Information |
His parents are members of the Mutandum Coven but Freddie has learned much from the Circle of Sorcery's internet resources and occasionally contributes an article to their forums.
He plays a mean game of chess.



Blake Preston
"I overheard someone says she has a Youtube channel, which is really great. She's got a look in her eye though..."
Freddie hasn't exchanged more than the smallest of greeting with Blake yet but she currently scares him.


Daniel Belson
"He seemed a little prickly but maybe he was just having a bad day?"
You wouldn't judge someone based on one snarky remark, would you? I mean, would you? Well Freddie wouldn't.


Alistair Queen
"The landlord? He was really nice to me, really kind and a little bit flirty."
You don't have to flirt with Freddie to make him boil, drop his keys, fall over while picking them up and then apologise for scratching your shoes with them. But it might be the most direct route.


Mariska Costas
"The singer? She must be good, there's a way people move when they're confident in themselves."
It's often easier to spot something you don't have.


Nikita Yankovsky
"I don't think she liked me very much. Maybe she doesn't like anyone very much?"
Nikita seems to be quiet like a volcano about to go off. Freddie is quiet like a hare about to take off. Opposites don't always attract.


Mordred
"It's January and he was wearing sunglasses."
In the Hughes-Jackson household, one wouldn't think of wearing sunglasses on the sun.


John Taylor
"You know the expression 'Old soul'? That's about him."
You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to tell there's something eating at this guy.


Eve Lumiére
"Uh... she's... uhm... and... yeah."
Imagine putting the bunny's hutch outside the wolf's den. That's Faraday Height's 24A and 24B.


Catherine Reid
"I'm not saying she reminds me of me of my mother... but mum used to tell me I was too skinny as well."
Self reliant, decisive and supremely confident? Freddie has met one of those people before and it took him many, many years to escape her.


Opallum
"Generally you get an impression that the homeless would rather be somewhere else. Not that guy."
There's nothing more self assured than being able to walk off in the middle of a conversation. Unless it's because you're too embarrassed to continue it. Freddie's been there.


Andrew Mordekai
"I always though smouldering was something that happened at the end of a fire, not in someone's eyes. Wait, did I say that out loud?"
Freddie hasn't been exposed to a lot in life so injustice as a concept is pretty new to him. Someone who fights against injustice with mind, might and magic? Mother probably wouldn't approve but Freddie thinks he does.


Suriel Anne White
"Healing people is about as noble as you can get, isn't it?"
Freddie hasn't had a day of illness in his life wouldn't hear a bad word said about those that work to prevent them in others.


Miles Catrose
"His clothes were quite something, very... imaginative."
Before coming to London, Freddie would have assumed only super-villains wore clothes like that. He's quite happy to be wrong though, in this case.


Yukiko Abe
"I don't think I'd manage to talk to her very well."
Remember the bunny/wolf comparison from earlier? Foxes eat bunnies too.


Mona
"Was she lying to me? Because I'm pretty sure that the Queen hasn't got a long lost daughter."
Naive, yes. Thick as a post, No.


Faron Romane
"Maybe I should try and make friends with that one, we witch child survivors must stick together."
If anyone knows what it's like to need to escape the all encompassing influence of one's parents, it's Freddie.


Nicolas Black
"Detective inspector must be a dangerous job. Somehow I'm not worried about him though."
Freddie's never met a werewolf before but there's something wolf like in Detective Black's manner.


Maggie Spencer-Adyemi
"She seems very quiet. Oh, that was the pot calling the kettle a recluse, wasn't it?"
Maybe all Witches don't get on with their parents? Freddie might start to suspect he's actually the lucky one.


Megumi
"She seemed a nice little girl, very friendly. Very perceptive too, especially for her age."
Freddie isn't much of an enigma and someone with the experience of Megumi probably didn't have to look twice to understand him.


Stefani Roche
"She seems like your average teenager; happy one moment, stopping the next. Still, we were all young once."
Not entirely accurate, Freddie's childhood and teenage years were mostly spent carefully studying magical textbooks with nary a tantrum in sight. Still, he understands that sometimes people need to vent.


Ari Amari
"I think he was patronising me but I think he also let something slip about the fall of Rome so maybe it was justified."
Freddie doesn't tend to get offended, not least because he's too busy being deathly self conscious.


Katharine Haynes
"Speaks her mind and does what she thinks is best. I'm sure the world would be a better place if we were all like that."
As nice as she is, Freddie has picked up on the deep undertones of sadness in her. Were he a more confident type, he'd probably try to make sure she stays on this side of despair. Unfortunately, he's not.


Felix Underwood
"She's a librarian too, isn't she? Great, we can swap dewey decimal tips. Oh, and I've read some of her articles on the nature of the afterlife! Fascinating stuff, far more grounded than much of the rest of that fields canon."
Though he practises Animism, Freddie's education in the magical arts was broad and he tries to keep up with recent developments in all the different fields.


Elise Callaghan
"Quiet is fine by me."
Freddie would be the last person to complain that someone else is too quiet. Literally, he'd be the last because that's far too much of a remonstration for him to even consider saying it.


Claire O'Malley
"Loud people are a nuisance in life. At least in the library you can get them to leave."
Don't shout, don't be a lout and don't muck about. Rules to live by.


Barachiel Alexander Eamon
"Some people have got real presence, real gravitas. Alexander is one of those people."
The Hughes-Jackson's were very pointedly not religious so Freddie wouldn't know an angel unless it revealed its wings in front of him. Even then, only maybe.


Ethan Cooper
"A doctor and a librarian? And he looks like that? Wow."
Even without such impressive credentials and such a lovely personality, Freddie probably wouldn't mind spending more time in Ethan's general vicinity.


Alfie Liau
"Chocolatier must be a nice trade. I wonder if you start to hate the sight of chocolate though? I know I like books less since I started working as a librarian."
Much like Miles Catrose, Freddie had never seen people dress quite so flamboyantly before coming to London. He can't say they don't look good though.


Astrid Kitchener
"Doing the thing that makes you happy is all any of us can hope for. Even if we have to wait tables or look after books to pay for it."
Work hard now so you can work harder later at what really matters.


Michael Harel
"I don't really listen to records but maybe I should look into his store anyway? He seems really friendly."
Opposites sometimes do attract, even if it's a supernova of confidence and a black hole of lack of confidence.


Aila Atleo
"Another one of my neighbours, another one that scares me a little."
Survival senses tell Freddie that this one might be better not to annoy. And he thinks he might annoy her by being near her but hey, that's just him.


Emerson Maddox
"He was rude about my freckles but maybe he's right, they are quite distracting."
At least Emerson is very self confident, even if it could be channeled in less abrasive ways.


Talia Halbrook
"I felt like she was looking through me, not at me."
Another predator, Freddie should probably invest in some personal protection.


Loki Van Stenberg
"Some people look at you like they're thinking about you, others like they're thinking how to get away from you. This guy looked more like he was thinking about how to use whoever he was looking at."
Criminality isn't something that's even entered Freddie's sphere of experience but it's not hard to pick up the dangerous magnetism coming off of Loki.


Liam Woodsworth
"This is going to sound hypocritical coming from me but he really needs to eat more."
Indulgence is fine in Freddie's book, or it would be if he'd gotten to that chapter yet, but one should look after one's health all the same.


Aiden Phillips
"I haven't talked to him yet... but I'm sure I'll make a fool of myself when I do."
Does a blush count as a rise? If so, Aiden can have hours of fun just talking to Freddie.


Ryan Croft
"I felt like I was being sized up, recorded and put under surveillance. And he only said hello."
Laid back intensity is a powerful aura to have but Ryan has it in spades. More than enough to put Freddie on edge.


Eternity Illuria Loveless
"Some people are loud with their voices, some people are loud with their personalities. Somehow, some people manage to be both."
Freddie finds people that put themselves out there to the point of interfering in other people's business quite difficult.


Patrick Kershner
"We haven't had a chance to talk yet but... I think he might be a kindred spirit."
There's something about the walk, the downcast gaze and the slightly slumped shoulders that tell Freddie he's looking at someone a lot like him. Now if only one of them were brave enough to introduce themselves to the other, things might improve for both.


Nicodem Kaminski
"I didn't think that faces scarred like that, I thought there was a maximum amount that a face could take."
You don't have to be as closested as Freddie to be surprised at Nicodem's collection of wrinkles and scars.


Anastasia Psomas
"So many of my neighbours are artistic, maybe I should take up an instrument?"
Freddie is a little envious of all the talented musicians in his block, given that he himself ditched the recorder in favour of magic at the age of eleven.


James Bright
"Excuse me, who?"
Uh, I don't know him either.


Naomi Ishiguro
"Uhm, I haven't talked to her. Is it rude to say she creeps me out?"
Rude or not, Freddie's fight or definitely flight instincts are on the money in this case.


'Kei'
"Don't think we've met, does she live in Faraday Heights?"
What, he can't be everywhere!


Zoey Alston
"She seems like a bit of a party girl. Not that that is a bad thing!"
Freddie hasn't really done parties yet but one can live in hope.


Ramiel
"Aheh, he talk a lot, doesn't he? And yet, somehow, you end up talking too."
Even Freddie starts talking when Uncle Rammie starts listening.

All IC posts about or mentioning Freddie.
Waking up
Shutting Down
Cooling Off




Basic Information

| Name |
Currently Nicodem Kaminski, adopted the name a century ago in Poland.

| Age |
Unsure, likely born somewhere around 1000 A.D.

| Gender |
Male.

| Sexuality |
Asexual Aromatic 

| Occupation |
Deputy Police Commissioner.

| In-Depth Appearance |
Turned late in life, or at least late in life for the period, Nicodem gives off the impression of someone who has been tired for a long, long time. His face is lined and his eye sockets sunken, a few old wounds buried under the weight of wrinkles. His whole body hints at a past full of fights and criminality, in fact, faded tattoos and ancient scars jockeying for position all over his chest, back, arms and legs. Yet he simultaneously projects the air of a coiled spring, ready to unleash energy at a moment's notice. His gait says something similar, every step measured and assured, feet landing precisely where they're supposed and never moving faster than he wants to. Nicodem stands with his back straight and shoulders held high, like a man constantly on the parade ground.

In the past, Nicodem would normally wear whatever was cleanest or whatever suited his current job. But today, even those with average jobs can afford to dress in well tailored clothes, beautiful ties and shiny shoes. So he chooses to dress in nice coats, fine suits, an array of formal ties and boots or shoes that he personally cares for like children. In the course of his duty, his outfits occasionally become become spattered with blood or smeared with grime which is, of course, annoying. On the other hand, at least no one washes clothes in a river with a handful of sand anymore. Nicodem's long hair tends to start the day gelled back across his head and, depending on how stressful the day is, slowly frees itself to swing free, much to his annoyance. His voice is deep and earthy but his accent an enigma. If European accents were spices, Nicodem's accent is what happens when you accidentally knock the spice rack over into a ditch; there's traces of Russian, Spanish and English in there, along with unplaceable touches of rural slur and old fashioned syntax.






Who am I?

| Personality |
♦ Pragmatic ♦ Weary ♦ Disciplined ♦ Unsympathetic ♦

Nicodem judges people with the standards that he places on himself and therefore sees them as falling into two categories; those who control themselves and are to be respected; and those who don't and aren't. For him, control is the one true measure of worth and of success. If you can control yourself, you can do anything, be anything. And if you can't, you're not worth the time it takes to insult you. The philosophy arose from his own long history of drink and anger fuelled violence, which wrecked one stable lifestyle after another. He doesn't drink anymore and if he gets angry, you'd never know it to look at him.

Nicodem's self control manifests itself in a few ways. For one, his face is impassive and immobile unless he wants it otherwise. Another, he has certain schedules that he sticks too with unflinching perseverance. Rise, exercise, languages, training, work, study, sleep. Leisure time and meals have their own set times, balanced his other obligations. Thirdly, he doesn't drink human blood, not ever. Rat blood might taste like mud, piss and vinegar but that's what Nicodem survives on. To remove temptation from his life, he habitually files down his fangs. It's a painful process (though not as bad as the bayonet in the guts he got in Warsaw) but means that's he's got no choice but to harvest blood with a syringe and drink it from a glass. It's also responsible for his belief in the sanctity of law; if you can't make sure you follow the laws, you deserve the punishment.

Apart from that, he's generally kind to those who need kindness and indifferent to those who don't. It's not that he doesn't like people, it's just that he doesn't particularly feel the need for companions past those he already has. He doesn't like seeing people suffer and will lend a helping hand to anyone who needs a step up, whether that means giving them a sofa to stay on or helping them to find a job through his contacts at work. If you ask him for help, you better be sure you need it though. If you tell him your problem and he decides it's all your own fault, he's more likely to shake his head and walk away than anything else.

| Likes & Dislikes |
✔ Cigarettes, brand and flavour irrelevant.
✔ Black drinks, tea or coffee.
✔ Historical fiction.
✔ Television shows, the longer the better.
✔ Sugary Sweets.
✔ Dressing well, hasn't always been possible.
✔ Ties, both smart and silly.
✔ Well maintained shoes, treat 'em right and they'll treat you right.
✔ Modern sausages.

✘ Vampires and Dhampires.
✘ Human blood.
✘ Rat blood, but he drinks it anyway.
✘ Being called 'Nic', 'Nico' or 'Demi', makes an exception for Ryan.
✘ Milk, tastes all wrong nowadays.
✘ People who encourage violence.
✘ Hot weather, ties become uncomfortable.
✘ Alcohol.






| History |
Up until about five years ago, Nicodem had no idea when he was born or for how long he had walked the earth. He knew he'd been around for some time and seen a lot things change but numbers and dates eluded him. Since then, he spent some weeks in a library, first chronicling his living memories and then trying to relate them to real life events. Unfortunately for Nicodem, history books can only take you so far when your earliest memory is of being a full grown man, fighting in a muddy field for a long forgotten cause. After almost a month of searching and wracking his brains for any scrap of recollection, he sighed and gave it up as a lost cause. Should anyone be searching enough to ask him his age, he'd tell them he's too old to start answering questions like that. On the rare occasions he's discussed such matters with other immortals, he's been surprised at how well they remember being alive. He can barely even recall what his name was back then, let alone where he grew up.

What he does know is that in his life, he's had a lot of jobs. He ran a tavern in Sicily and market stall in Madrid. He collected debts in Moscow and scars in St Petersburg. He fought for money in Poland and for revenge in the New world, now called America. In fact, there are few cities on the face of the earth to which Nicodem is truly a stranger. Equally, there are few jobs that he hasn't tried his hand at once or twice, from banker to bouncer to butcher. There's only ever really been one constant in his life; violence. When he was a mercenary, Nicodem wouldn't think twice about killing a man. That was the job. When the job changed though, somehow the man didn't. He gave scaffolding a go, working on the construction of a great cathedral in Italy but left within a month after a barroom brawl turned bloody. He tried again with different jobs but the outcome was always the same.

For a time, Nicodem simply accepted that it was his lot in life to be stained in blood. God wants what god wants, he used to say. But eventually he could no longer blame the blood on circumstance or or fate. It was unpleasantly clear to him that the only reason people died around him was his own lack of control. A spilled drink, an unkind word, a nasty look, anything was enough to set Nicodem off when he was in the mood for a fight. Or had a skinful of alcohol. Or both. Since this revelation, Nicodem hasn't touched a drop of alcohol (this was somewhere in the 1800s) and has dedicated almost every waking hour to learning indomitable self control. It started with small things, ritual exercises and the like, before moving to tougher endeavours, like holding hot coals, before moving to the big ones, filing down his fangs and weaning himself off of human blood.

Today, Nicodem's will is an iron bastion and his daily routines are engraved in stone. Somewhere along the line, he picked up the idea that languages are important and you have to keep speaking them in order to not forget how. So he spends an hour a day running through monologues in the handful of tongues he speaks and listens to 'teach-yourself-[insert language here]' tapes whenever he can. He's also decided that, on the whole, he's not ready to stop moving around yet and would like to make sure no one can make that decision for him. As such, he exercises to keep in peak condition and trains in the use of blades, both with knives and a Polish Hussar's cavalry sabre he brought with him to Britain before security was so tight. He knows he's unlikely to participate in a cavalry action any time soon but he'd rather not be rusty should the occasion arise. Nicodem was given the job of Deputy Commissioner by Ryan Croft, who saw potential for good in the vampire's control. In this position, Nicodem helps pursue whichever case currently has Ryan's attention and pitches in with making sure the police station runs smoothly. The job has made him far more suspicious and methodical than he previously was and he eventually took a leaf out of Ryan's book, keeping notes on who is who in Edgetoun.

| Family |
None living that he knows of. Has no wish to sire a Dhampire, might be interested in adopting a child.

| Strengths |
Physically fit and extremely well trained.
Incredible discipline and self control, would make a good teacher/trainer.
Doesn't mind taking on burdens to help those who are unable to help themselves.

| Weaknesses |
Not particularly skilled at social interactions, apart from intimidation.
Personal philosophy doesn't leave much room for what he perceives as weakness.
High standards that he expects everyone to aim for.






The Other

| Theme Songs |
The Cruel Wars – The Dreadnouhgts
 The recruiting sergeant marched away
From the Inn near town at the break of day,
Johnny came too with half a ring
He was off to be a soldier to go fighting for the King
In a far off war in a far off land
To face the foreign soldier,
But how will you fare when there's lead in the air,
Oh poor Johnny what'll happen to ya?

| House Number |
14 Pratchett Road, Faircourt.

| Extra Information |
Speaks English, Spanish and Italian fluently, conversational in French, Polish and Russian.
Hasn't been a soldier since the time of muskets, still practises with his cavalry sabre.
Has been smoking tobacco, either in pipes or cigarettes, for centuries and it has never occurred to him to quit.
Keeps a group of six rats in a hutch in his garden, occasionally takes blood from them with a syringe. He hasn't named them but still cares for them, feeding them often and occasionally letting them free to run around the house.
Been on the wagon since the early 1800s.



The following assessments and notes are scrawled into a small notebook Nicodem keeps on his person at all times. Some names have photos next to them, other merely brief descriptions. For those who work for the police, small stars are drawn by their names. Those who Nicodem suspects of illicit activities get skulls.


Blake Preston
"Almost certainly human. Seems confident in herself, perhaps a little too much?"
Nicodem doesn't boast or challenge people to fights. If you're going to fight, fight. Don't tell people that you're going to fight them before hand though.


Daniel Belson
"Doesn't quite smell human, looks at the people around him like they're his property. Demon?"
The latter trait isn't necessarily demonic.


Alistair Queen
"Definite Vamp, Owns property, seems sharp enough. He smiles well, very good at hiding his fangs."
Nicodem knows that filing your fangs off isn't for everyone and applauds the skill it takes to smile but not make people instantly move to protect their neck.


Mariska Costas
"Very strange, can't place the smell. Good singing voice?"
Nymphs don't tend to hang around battlefields, barrooms or police stations so Nicodem hasn't met one before.


Nikita Yankovsky
Star
"Smells like sex, constantly. Her time, her business but she doesn't smell all human, probable demon."
Nicodem doesn't go in for that sort of thing personally but doesn't judge those who do.


Mordred Hame
"Definite demon, probably not a threat though."
Some people exude charm, others menace. Demons tend to give off both and Nicodem isn't bad at spotting them.


John Taylor
"Another strange one, wouldn't like to have to fight him without more information. Demon? Werewolf? Unsure as of yet."
Not an expert in supernatural creatures (despite being one), Nicodem wouldn't know a Wendgio if it Wendiwent.


Eve Lumière
"Either a succubus or completely insatiable. Unlikely to be a threat."
Hey, whatever you need to survive, some of us have to drink rat's blood.


Catharine Reid
"Definite vamp, works events managing, least criminal business possible."
Come on, can you imagine anything sinister happening while someone plans an event?


Opallum
"Living homeless during an Unseelie winter, not human, demon?. Smells of smoke, all the time. One to watch."
Nicodem has been homeless himself often enough in his existence to not want to judge but it's god damned cold and Opallum doesn't seem to have noticed. One to watch indeed.


Andrew Mordekai
"Witch, smells of smoke all the time, fire? Activist leanings, should be watched for own protection."
Changing the world is all well and good but burning people is against the law for a reason.


Suriel White
"Reminds me of Ryan, unsure why. Healer, strangely good at job?"
We all need healers, occasionally, but Nicodem can't help but be suspicious of a success record like Doctor White's.


Miles Catrose
"Smells delicious, why? Plenty of bravery, lacks common sense. Occasionally in scuffles, nothing major."
Getting into fights at pubs isn't important enough to warrant the official attention of the Deputy Commissioner but Nicodem tries to notice everything.


Yukiko Abe
"Definite hints of foxes, some sort of fox werewolf? Investigate further, not pressing though."
Tattoo artists might be rock 'n' roll but they're generally not criminals.


Mona
"Walked through a wall, seems to be a ghost. Might need her murder solved? Ask if encountered again."
Nicodem has some other experience of ghosts who can't move on.


Faron Romane
"Definite Witch, possible drug user, likely to be small time."
Nicodem has no time for people who give in to physical addictions.


Nicolas Black
Star
"Smells like wet dog, likely a werewolf, also a good officer."
Werewolf, vampire, ghost, everyone except slackers are welcome in the Edgetoun police department.


Maggie Spencer-Adyemi
"Student, works a part time job. Smells of earth and plants, some sort of druid?"
The intricacies of Witchery are alien to Nicodem.


Megumi
"A child and a vampire. Old, much older than she seems. Should be watched as all children should."
Nicodem has never had children but instinctively wants to protect them as they are, by almost any definition, helpless.


Stefani Roche
"Another young vampire. Is a vampire choosing to target the young? Worrying."
Nicodem would be most displeased to find such a vampire. The other vampire would probably end up pretty damned displeased as well.


Ari Amari
"Smells of cats, might own cats, might be a werecat?"
Nicodem hasn't talked to Ari enough to pick up the intolerable air of smugness some people get from being old.


Katharine Haynes
"Student, works as a barista. No threat."
What? It you aren't a criminal or potentially dangerous, you don't get much space in the book.


Felix Underwood
"Publishes articles on the internet on witchery, definite witch. Unlikely to be a threat."
Not hiding terribly well, says the man that openly drinks rat blood.


Elise Callaghan
"Quiet, doesn't smell like food, no ideas yet, continue watching."
Do Sirens smell of anything other than human?


Claire O'Malley
"Teacher, possible witch? Continue watching."
Normally Nicodem wouldn't suspect teachers but he just finished watching Breaking Bad.


Barachiel Alexander Eamon
"Human? Strange but doesn't smell wrong and strange is normal today."
Using gender neutral pronouns are a new one on Nicodem but he's willing to learn.


Ethan Cooper
"Seems to be human but smells of wolf. Small mystery, solve in time."
Not high on the list of priorities, Aila is to be trusted in her judgement.


Alfie Liau
"Probably vampire, always smells of chocolate so blood and decay are masked."
Nicodem never thought of chocolate as masking agent.


Michael Harel
"Related to Michael? Can't work out how they're connected but they... feel similar."
They might not be quite the same but there's certainly something similar about the two of them.


Aila Atleo
Star
"Definitely a werewolf, I suspect violence in her past. Would make a damn good officer, must talk to Ryan about that."
Nicodem doesn't just watch people he suspects but also people he likes. Because he suspects them first.


Emerson Maddox
Skull
"Very self assured, apparently a lawyer, slimy enough to need watching."
One of the few jobs Nicodem has never tried; Lawyer. He has a prejudice.


Talia Halbrook
"Smiles like a demon and smells inhuman, could be up to no good with her housing business?"
Let's face it, you don't need a reason to be suspicious of a real estate agent.


Loki Van Stenberg
Skull
"Definite Vamp, old acquaintance, not to be trusted and almost certainly into something"
They met once, back in the day, and played a game of poker. Nicodem won but Loki cheated, something Nicodem hasn't forgotten or forgiven.


"Low Key", "The Kingpin", "Trickster
"Probable other, deals in narcotics for others, keeps his dealers at arms length. Smart, Ryan and I's no. 1 priority case."
We'll see how long it takes for things to come together.


Freddie Hughes-Jackson
"Most likely a witch, smells nervous all the time, up to something?"
Nerves don't necessarily mean criminality but they're a good indication.


Liam Woodsworth
"Definite Dhampire, seems to have a deathwish, fine by me."
Nicodem doesn't like Dhampires much. He doesn't like Vampires either but he has to put up with at least one.


Aiden Phillips
Skull
"Definite Vamp, apparently a doctor, check credentials, smells of blood from different creatures, no. 2 priority"
One explanation for the smell of different people and other types of blood on Aiden might be that he runs a small others only healing business. But it's not the one that jumps to a suspicious mind.


Ryan Croft
Big Star
"Smells human, isn't. Have tested silver and wolfsbane, not a werewolf at least. Needs further investigation."
He may live with him, work with him and owe him a lot but Nicodem still wants to know just what the hell Ryan is.


Eternity Illuria Loveless
"Human? Unsure, smells confusing, ice, cold, strange, tasty. Investigation pending."
Fae are not a common sight but Nicodem will work it out, eventually.


Patrick Kershner
Star
"Definite werewolf, tested with silver, good at his job, nervous. Needs help?"
Nicodem appreciates anyone who works well and only stings them with silver very lightly to make sure he's right. And now it's confirmed, he'd be happy to help any nervous young men with any problems they might have that can be resolved by a scarred, intimidating vampire.


Anastasia Psomas
"Not human, I don't think, feels wrong, no ideas on what she is though, investigation pending."
Phoenixes? Nicodem didn't know about fae until a few weeks ago, phoenixes are going to take a while.


James Bright
"Definite Ghost, wants own murder solved, priority no. 3, investigation ongoing."
Nicodem doesn't like murder and especially doesn't like murders that make the victim have to deal with the after effects.


Naomi Ishiguro
"One of the strangest others encountered. Smells human but also of insects, I think. Needs close watching."
Spiderwomen of obscure Chinese lore? Good luck with that one, Nicodem.


'Kei'
"Probable human, smells of... ice cream? Sweets? Strangely smells delicious. Seems unlikely to be a threat."
Nice people have nothing to fear from the police or, at least, this specific officer.


Zoey Alston
"Human. Young, impatient, headstrong, smells of alcohol and recreational drugs. No threat, minor offences"
Nicodem doesn't approve of recreational drug use but you're not getting dragged to the cells for it either, not unless you're distributing.


Ramiel
"Excessively friendly, extremely French. Human? Strikes me as very old but smells of human. And cake."
If Nicodem knew there were three Archangels wandering around Edgetoun, he'd start getting suspicious. Luckily for everyone, he doesn't.

All IC posts about or mentioning Nicodem.
Rise and Run
Breakfast
Further Breakfast
Still Breakfast
Breakfast Ends




Basic Information


| Name |
"Ramiel but you must call me Uncle Rammie, mon chéri."

Ramiel or Uncle Rammie, as he insists people call him.


| Date of Birth |
"Ah, too old for you my darling."

Who knows? Around the Boulangerie there are pictures of him from long, long ago that he doesn't talk about.


| Gender |
"Does it matter? I am who I am."

His true form is essentially a genderless spirit though his mortal body would traditionally be considered male.


| Sexuality |
"Why, are you looking for tips? Then you came to the right place!"

Asexual panromantic, not that you'd know it from his bawdy jokes, knowledgeable tips and general air of sexual confidence.


| Occupation |
"Working hard or hardly working, non?"

Owns and manages a boulangerie in Edgetoun called Heavenly Treats.




| In-Depth Appearance |
"Uncle Rammie keeps himself healthy, even amidst all this sugar, I'm sure you've noticed."

Clean cut features that settle easily into a grin or laugh suit Ramiel well, he's very pleased with his earthly form. So pleased that he makes sure to keep it fit and healthy though not always clean shaven. He's experimented with a pencil moustache and a roughish five o'clock shadow but always gravitates back to a smooth jaw line within a week or two. There's something about the honest appearance of being well shaved that appeals to Ramiel, he thinks it makes him look more approachable. For the same reason, he likes to wear glasses when reading, despite having extremely good eyesight, because it humanises him. He prefers to dress in clothes that are comfortable, well fitting and slightly revealing. Shirts with the top three buttons undone and well cut v-neck jumpers are two of his favourites. For colour, Ramiel likes starched light whites offset by blacks or pastel paint colours like chalky reds and cloudy blues. Cheerful colours that make you think of boating on the Thames in the sunshine on a summer afternoon.

Perhaps Ramiel's best tool for putting people at their ease is his voice. It's like syrup to the ear, sweet and soothing. His accent is almost aggressively French, h's disappearing and r's going on forever. Though he's technically not French, he's spent enough time in France and speaks the language fluently enough to not really see it as lying to pose as a Frenchman. To be fair, he doesn't actually tell people he's French, they just hear his accent, notice the French words he uses in regular conversation and see that he runs a boulangerie and make their own assumptions.


Who Am I?

| Personality |
♦ Caring ♦ Friendly ♦ Bawdy ♦ Nosey ♦

"I'm just a man, just a baker. Here, have a croissant."

If you come into Heavenly treats, the first thing that hits you is the delicious smell of baked goods. The second things is the riot of pastel colours, from the marigold floor to the rainbow hued pastries shelf. The third thing will be the boisterous, heavily accented voice calling "Bonjour! Welcome to Heavenly Treats! Are you here for sweet food or some naughty gossip because, darling, I have plenty of both!" And you have entered the world of Ramiel. He'll leave one of the young employees to work the till, sit you down, pour you some of his delicious coffee, put an eclair in front of you and draw out your deepest, darkest secrets with a knowing smile and a cheeky wink. And you'll tell him, because the longer you sit there and talk, the more you feel a warmth in your chest and a smile on your lips. So you'll throw your secrets into the deep well of Uncle Rammie's twinkling eyes and leave the boulangerie feeling like you're walking on clouds. He'll welcome the next person into the shop, do the same thing again and never tell the secrets entrusted to his care. Instead, he deals in gossip that doesn't matter to anyone (what Sharon is naming her new child, what Damien's new tattoo will say, whether Lucy will enter the talent show), trading silly jokes with leather wearing bikers and woollen clad grannies alike.

That's Ramiel, Archangel of hope. To him, there's nothing more important than listening to you talk yourself into a better mood and nothing more enjoyable than trading in trivial gossip. Take care of the little things and the big things will take care of themselves, he says as he puts another delectable baking masterpiece in front of you. One might think he's given up on the great fight between good and evil but in fact he's decided to... creatively reinterpret his own role in the battle. He's seen the hope of millions crash and burn, the dreams of the people crush them and the heroes of the past become the twisted villains of history. So now he works on changing the little things and spreading hope on a personal level. Happy people make a happy world and lovely cakes make happy people, though he'll help with more than cakes and a shoulder to cry on. Ramiel has more than a few contacts, old friends who owe him a favour or two, who are happy to offer a job to anyone recommended by Ramiel. So if you need help not thinking dark thoughts or paying your rent, come and talk to Ramiel, knowing that the only price is that you do the same for someone else when he asks you to.

He doesn't just deal in your anxiety and woe, though. Did you forget your fiancé's birthday? Don't worry, Ramiel is waiting for you in the shop with their favourite cake in their favourite colour with a personal message from you to them in icing. He knows you'll do better next time and that the two of you will be very happy together. Did your class run late, your bus get delayed, your lunch not quite happen and you're late for your night job? Don't sweat it, he's got your favourite sandwich in a bag and refuses payment until you're back on your feet. He doesn't forget your birthday or wedding anniversary, he remembers your favourite food and drink, what days you tend to run late and forget to eat. He'll do his best to smooth over the crinkles in your life and shake it off with a grin and a wink.




| Likes & Dislikes |
"I like what any cultured person likes and dislike what every sensible world citizen dislikes."

✔ Good food, fine drink and lovely company.
✔ Gossip, the more trivial the better.
✔ Making people feel happy.
✔ Romantic comedies, the cheesier the better.
✔ Karaoke, though his singing voice is awful.
✔ Making people blush with his jokes.
✔ Anyone who can have a laugh.
✔ Puns, the more awful and corny the better.
✔ Cigarettes, for full the image of the French Man.

✘ Cheap, mass produced fast food.
✘ Action films, too loud and too boring.
✘ People who can't keep a secret.
✘ Angels that judge other angels.
✘ Humans that judge other humans.
✘ People that takes themselves too seriously.
✘ Cigars, eugh!


| History |
"I've been here and there, done this and that. Now enough about me, let's talk about you. How are you feeling?"

What is the history of any Archangel? Ramiel was put on the earth, along with his six siblings, to champion the cause of his virtue in the lives of mortals. Hope was Ramiel's cause, the light in the hearts of all men and women that helps them walk when tired, fight when weary and laugh when all is lost. And, in the name of the divine, Ramiel was the light of hope for many, many years. Hero, champion, leader, healer, Ramiel trained many of them to bring hope to the people and did his duty as he saw it for a long, long time. For the most part, he played the role of mentor and teacher, occasionally stepping into the limelight to play a small but pivotal role.

But things didn't seem to change. Heroes became villains, dreams became burdens and hope never seemed to prevail. History paints a sad picture of hope being the crutch of the desperate and the fantasies of the delusional and one day it got to Ramiel. The inherent hopelessness of his task bore down upon him and he teetered on the brink of falling. Some might consider that he did. To Ramiel, however, he merely choose a new approach to the mission. Rather than work at an international level where the consequences of failure are dire for millions, he chose to work at a personal level, bringing hope to one person at a time and sending them out into the world to spread it.

About ten years ago, he opened the Heavenly Treats boulangerie in Edgetoun's centre and has done a brisk trade in pastries, cakes, bread, gossip and hope since then. It has a high staff turnover as Ramiel deliberately employs ne'er do wells who have no job or prospects, taking them under his wing, training them up and then sending them on to higher paying positions in more central bakeries and restaurants. Is his method the most efficient way of pursuing his mission? Perhaps not but those people whose lives have been touched by his words can attest to its effectiveness.




| Family |
"Ah, you are are all my family, darlings! Everyone that comes in, for cake or for chatter, you are all part of my clan!"

Ramiel has six siblings, created at the same time as him and given their own missions. Two live in Edgetoun, a Police Commissioner and a record store owner. Apart from them, Ramiel has no children or significant others. As he says, he considers almost everyone he talks to a family member and genuinely tries to help each and every one of them.


| Strengths |
"As long as I've a cigarette in one hand, a glass of wine in the other and Cherry by my side, I'm as strong as I need to be!"

Charming, empathic and good at making you feel good.
Kind, likes nothing more than lightening another's load in whatever way he can.
World class chef, baker and listener.


| Weaknesses |
"I can resist anything. Except temptation!"

Apathetic about large scale, world changing events.
Doesn't really listen to people saying "No, I'm fine" or "I want to handle things myself".
Doesn't know how to deal with negative emotions, prefers to ignore them.
Finds it hard to accept thanks or payment.




The Other

| Theme Song |
Memories – Waldeck
”All those souvenirs in my memories
got me going down in strike
all those souvenirs in my memories
got me ruining my soul.”


| House Number |
"Are you going to come and visit me? Should I lock my doors and windows or leave them wide open?"

Probably somewhere in Faircourt.


| Extra Information |
"No, no, no! I'm the only one that gets to know all the juicy secrets! You've got this the wrong way round!"

Has excellent hearing and vision, good at picking up small details and things said under one's breath.
Loves a good French wine but will settle for an inferior nation's wine in a pinch.



Blake Preston
"Her blogging and youtubeing are very nice, I sometimes watch a video now and then. She's a little angry though, maybe she's frustrated? I will have to talk to her about it and see how she feels, maybe she needs a partner."

Hmmmm... Why not her roommate Eve? Yes, yes, she's a demon, I know, but she seems like a nice girl and she is French. I will talk to Blake and then maybe put a word in Eve's ear.

Daniel Belson
"Daniel and Ehtan, poor boys. Have they resolved their ‘confusion’ about the girl yet?”

Ethan helps Daniel, I believe, and the both of them help Aila.

Alistair Queen
"Ah, Alistair. He works hard and plays hard and who is to judge? The little girl, she has been a good influence on him, I think, and I imagine that another constant in his life might not go amiss either."

But who? Well, he seems fond of Loki but I'm not sure that he is a positive influence. If I am not mistaken and I rarely am, he and Nikita have done the deed once or twice but feel no particular fondness for each other. One to think about.

Mariska Costas
"Mariska seems to follow my own heart, the heart of hopeless romantic. Perhaps she would get on well with Elsie? Hmmm... I will talk them both."

Nymphs, what beautiful creatures! I remember other times when their songs were not such rarities. But that was yesteryear, we must concern ourselves with the now.

Nikita Yankovsky
”Apathy can be a sexy quality, ask all those mopey teenage pop-stars. It is not a healthy though and leads nowhere pleasant.“

I have no doubt she could be made to feel rather more content with her existence than she currently is but she would need to want it.

Mordred Hame
”I haven’t seen him around here recently, his loss.“

If he wants Uncle Rammie’s help, he’ll need to show his face now and then.

John Taylor
”Ah, John. A tragedy in motion, like a car hurtling towards a wall. I can help many people in many ways but I do not think I can help him, not yet.”

In fact, I think there’s only one way that anyone will be able to help him.

Eve Lumière
”Another citizen of the republic on this dreary little island? Hourra! True, she is a little bit too quick to make friends but I have never been one to judge too harshly. She is always welcome to my little corner of heaven.”

And she is so prolific in her work! Spreading the joy in her way might not get the divine seal of approval but it gets mine.

Catharine Reid
”She used to come in here all the time but I have not seen her in a while. Perhaps she moved?“

A shame, such a nice girl.

Opallum
”Such fire! A very hot individual, as I am want to point out now and then.“

Some demons try to hide their nature from mortals, especially before we ’others’ were outed but not this Ifrit, he’d prefer everyone see him sit in the cold of winter with not a visible sign of discomfort. At least he seems satisfied with his position, otherwise I might have to step in.

Andrew Mordekai
”Merde, I am sweating! I think we must find him a friend before I succumb to temptation!”

True to tell, it will take something more than a beautiful man to make me ‘fall’ but he is still beautiful. Fire in the heart, fire in the soul. I am sure there are many others who would appreciate such a man.

Suriel White
”Sometimes, I think that I am wasting my time with these delicious delicacies, you know? Mostly I feel that way after talking to Suriel. They work so hard and help so many people. I hope they know the work they do is so ”

“Some angels preach or overreach, but some are kind and humble
Forgive and forget they say, no matter the trip or stumble”

Miles Catrose
”Sometimes little people want to take up the whole world, because it’s that or be overlooked. Miles is a good boy who needs to be a little more sure and a little less insecure.”

Pixies are capricious and arrogant but good hearted. I am sure there’s someone around the place who could calm his temper a little. I should talk to him, I need a haircut…

Yukiko Abe
”What is the song, it goes “Heeey, foxy lady!” It’s funny, non?”

Well, I thought it was funny. Her kind are old and tricksy but not necessarily bad. I am sure she will be careful with her partners.

Mona
”Sad girl, I hope she finds herself. Or at least finds the way forward.”

Ghosts, poor creatures. Humans fear death so much that sometimes they opt out of the natural process, whether they meant to or not. If she comes to the shop, I will see what I can do for her but I’m not sure she will. Some people do not want to move on.

Faron Romane
”Sometimes it’s hard to escape from one’s parent’s shadows, I think. You should meet my parent one day. Or rather, you certainly will, eventually.“

People call him a fool or an idiot and I wonder whether some parts of him believe them. I am glad he has moved out into independence but perhaps he needs someone to build his self confidence.

Nicolas Black
”It is traditional for a Frenchman to object to the police on principle, particularly one with no discretion and a suspicious nose.“

He wishes to do good, I think, and how can I object to that? He has the look of a man with bad things in his past, things that are yet to leave him alone. Unfortunately he’s also one of those people who would rather suffer quietly than find a therapist. I must think on this.

Maggie Spencer-Adyemi
”I had a friend named Fiacre who loved plants very much, a long time ago now. He taught me a few little tips, small things he passed on to me which maybe I should pass on to her.“

Witches are like brandies; some are good, some are bad but they all pack a punch! That said, Maggie seems like she cares about doing the right thing and working hard.

Megumi
”A charming young lady with excellent manners. I find children who shriek and scream for cakes very annoying, none of that from her.”

But then, most children have not been children for as long as her, have they? I am glad she has found Mister Queen, they will be good for each other.

Stefani Roche
”A sweet child but a little moody, non? Ah, teenagers, we all remember those days, non?“

Another young vampire? Sad creatures in many ways, because they age but do not grow, get old but can not mature. I am glad both her and Megumi have found friends and carers though.

Ari Amari
”You know, I don’t like cats very much. They hunt for fun and sleep when they could be working. Why not get a dog? They’re hard workers and don’t kill for enjoyment.“

I did not think there were any Sphinxes left and I can not say I am particularly pleased to be mistaken. Many a stupid traveller was picked from the teeth of a sphinx in the old days. Still, he seems to have turned over a new leaf here. Let us hope it is sincere.

Katharine Haynes
”A charming young lady but I haven’t seen her in my shop recently.“

Does she still live here?

Felix Underwood
”Librarians are important, a society without librarians is just a group of people with no idea where to file things.”

Talking to the dead is… complicated. Some of my fellow angels do not like it, they see it as disturbing those who have earned their rest. And while I see why they might think that, it gives hope to those who can talk to their loved ones. And who am I to stand in the way of that?

Elise Callaghan
”Quiet people, I know I should not resent them but I always feel like they’re ignoring me. Me!”

Sirens, the call on the dark sea that drags you down and down. I had never heard of one that doesn’t sing, until now. One to watch, I believe.

Claire O'Malley
”I don’t know much about her, perhaps she doesn’t know much about herself?“

We’ll see if she drops into the shop at some point.

Barachiel Alexander Eamon
”Working with children is a noble calling. You build tomorrow by crafting the future’s builders.“

Like myself, Barachiel continues to fight the good fight but has put down the flaming sword.

Ethan Cooper
”Ouff! What a beefcake! I wonder if he has a sweet tooth…”

Lives with a demon and a werewolf but knows neither of their natures? He’s either dense or kindly doesn’t pry. Either way, I imagine he is a positive influence on both of them.

Alfie Liau
”My only rival in the field of sweet treats for the people of Edgetoun! I shall have the better of him yet!“

He seems to be a good sort, I hope he continues to enjoy chocolate more than blood.

Astrid Kitchener
”Artists, they work much better when they have little to eat!“

She seems more accepting of ‘others’ than her father, as always seems to be the way. Generations upon generations, each one struggling to try and make the next accept their ideals. She is a hopeful step, however.

Michael Harel
”A handsome man, non? Well be careful what you say about him, he’s my… he’s an old friend.“

Brother, we are more alike now than ever before. I wonder how the one above thinks of us, working down here in the squalor of humanity. I hope he understands why, if he even thinks about us at all.

Aila Atleo
”A lovely girl, she buys her bread from me and laughs at my jokes! And as we all know, that’s all you have to do to make Rammie your friend for ever.“

Her past is fraught and fractured but she seems to be happy here. A job, friends and two almost fathers. Let us hope things stay that way.

Emerson Maddox
”Lawyers, pah! If they are defending you, you’d better hope you paid them more than the prosecution did.“

He seems arrogant and sharp tongued, two qualities I can’t stand. I do hope he comes into the shop one day, so I can find out a little more about him.

Talia Halbrook
”I haven’t seen her around for a while, I wonder how she is.“

Demons, they seem to be everywhere these days.

Loki Van Stenberg
”A handsome man and we all like having those around, do we not? I am not sure he is one half so pretty under the surface.“

In fact, I am certain he is not. Were I forced to guess, I would hazard he lives off others in more ways than drinking blood, probably through theft or other criminal activities. Vampires, too many of them are the monsters from the night to remember those who aren’t.

Freddie Hughes-Jackson
”We all like books but people can give conversation too! I think young Freddie forgets that sometimes.“

A good boy who studies hard and wants nothing more than to be left alone to do his magic, what could be better than that? Of course, I still like making him blush when he comes in for a little treat.

Liam Woodsworth
”Another child with apathy issues, another day.“

Dhampires, yet more victims of the plague of vampirism.

Aiden Phillips
”A pretty boy, he can take my temperature whenever he wants!”

Another vampire, though this one seems a little different to Queen and Stenberg. He has a secret, that much I’m sure of, but I doubt it is a dark one.

Ryan Croft
”Ah, our hard working police commissioner! I’ll stand him a drink of coffee and doughnut whenever he comes this way.”

I think the end may be coming, the reckoning might be on the horizon. And when the rapture comes, I wonder if we will stand together or apart, brother. Justice and vengeance, rarely do they inspire hope.

Eternity Illuria Loveless
”What does she do? Night crawling? I think we are thinking of different things when you say that, mon ami.”

Fae, I cannot say I like them. They are outside of the jurisdiction of Heaven and have no interest in the morality of humanity.

Patrick Kershner
”In every group, there’s the one who’s quiet because they know what happens when they open their mouths, sadly.”

And in every pack, there’s a runt. At least he is now part of two packs, the wolves and the police. And the latter seem a little more ardent in protecting their members.

Nicodem Kaminski
”What a face, what a voice! I’ve clearly got a challenger for Edgetoun’s most attractively exotic older man.”

A vampire that files down his fangs and is accepted by Raguel is more than a curiosity, he is a minor miracle. One to watch indeed.

Anastasia Psomas
”She looks like she certainly needs a good night’s sleep and a healthy meal.”

Phoenixes, tragic beings. They burn on and on, no end in sight and no respite on the horizon.

James Bright
”He doesn’t come over to the shop anymore. A shame, I was considering employing him.”

I hope he finds his killer and his peace, he deserves it.

Naomi Ishiguro
”A little strange, non? You don’t feel quite safe near her? There’s a reason for that.”

Were I a younger being, still full of wrath and righteous fury, I would fall upon her with Heaven’s own might. Now… I only hope to steer her prey away from her.

”Kei”
”Happiness is good, whatever the source. It’s net gain for the world, I think.”

Happy fae are not always happy because something good has happened, however.

Zoey Alston
”How many bartenders can Edgetoun possibly need?”

And how many witches? I hope there’s not some sort of occult or alcoholic conspiracy going.




Basic Information

| Name |
Aed, of the first circle of the world
Nyx, of the breeze blown tune

| Age |
Older than the drums in the woods and more ancient than the song on the wind.

| Gender |
Male, in all likelihood.

| Sexuality |
Aesexual.

| Occupation |
After picking up the art of banking in the city of Babylon, Aednyx has become quite adept at moving money around to make it transform into more money. He has a considerable fortune at his disposal during his current holiday period and is acting as a patron of the arts and general layabout.

| In-Depth Appearance |
White of skin and hair, Aednyx's features are never quite settled. Today, the nose is sharp and straight, tomorrow short and cute as a button and so on. There are a few constants of course, favourite shapes like others have favourite clothes; elfin features, sharp cheekbones, a smirking mouth, deep eyes and sunken sockets. One might even theorise that his favourite shapes have, through the years, influenced the tradition of calling such features elfin or faelike.

He is generally quite tall (all the better to look down on you my dear) and thin. In previous years and centuries, Aednyx favoured sable black tunics and flowing cloaks that brought with them the dark of decades past. Nowadays, he prefers loose fitting cardigans, black T-shirts, skinny jeans and pointy shoes. Moving with the times is incredibly important to him and he wouldn't like to seem out of date. When he deigns to dress in a colour other than black, he likes reds, browns and oranges; the warm colours of autumn.

Like all fae, what people see of him is more glamour than not. But as a particularly old and noble faery, Aednyx's glamour is as thick as the age of wood and even harder to penetrate. Nothing less than a serious iron inflicted injury would force him to drop it so it is unlikely any will ever see what lies beneath. What all can be certain of, however, is that he will have no wings. When he gave up name and title, he cast those off as well and will never wear wings again, even in glamour. The skies are for others, Aednyx has contented himself with the earth. All of it.






Who am I?

| Personality |
♦ Patronising ♦ Caring ♦ Manipulative ♦ Teacherly ♦

It is a truth almost universally acknowledged that being old grants one certain privileges. Not having to wait for a seat on the bus, discounts at the cinema, bigoted thinking being hand waived and so on. When one is older than the society that enforces these rules, one comes to expect a different kind of special treatment and, equally, one acts in a certain way towards those so much younger than one's self.

As a faery of noble blood, Aednyx probably couldn't tell you exactly when he was born but it is safe to say that he is very old, if such a word can be applied to an immortal. It is because of this, then, that he is more than a little patronising to those younger than himself. Of course, that's not quite accurate. He's just as patronising to anyone his age and even those older than him, they're just much rarer. His manner isn't overly rude though, just implies a perspective that thinks in different terms to mortals. Where a human thinks in brackets of ten, twenty or fifty years, Aednyx might be thinking in terms of the next handful of centuries or the next few millennia.

Another cause for this demeanor might be his station in life. For the first portion of his existence, he was a prince of the Seelie court. For the past few ages, he has been the driving force in many events of human history, an immortal flame in a sea of mortal candles. It is rare that he meets his equal in mystical might or ancient ambition. That has largely changed since the incident of 2020, as now one can find archangels and demons on every street corner, practically. Aednyx is conflicted over how to feel about this. He quite likes having so many supernatural beings out in the open, as the clash of different species and magics forces more and more creativity and creation out of society. On the other hand, he quite liked being a genuinely mysterious figure of impenetrable mystery. These days, most people just assume he's a weird vampire.

Aednyx sees people not as pieces on a chessboard but rather as characters in a story, not an uncommon viewpoint for a fae. As long as an action or inaction betters the overall story, what does temporary inconvenience matter? True, you might dislike spending five years homeless as you study for a degree but won't it be an incredible story to tell your children? And speaking of children, Aednyx has seen how you look at so and so, and he's sure he could get the two of you together, just say the word. What, you'd rather he not interfere? Ah, bit too late, he's already scheduled a blind date for the two of you and paid for everything, surely you won't back out now...And so on. Aednyx truly believes that what he does is in everyone's best interest. After all, mankind has benefited plenty from his presence, why would individuals be different? It helps that he mostly prefers happy stories and doesn't inflict undue suffering on any of his 'characters'.

Apart from that, Aednyx likes people who respect him and are suitably interested in whatever it is he has to say. He likes teaching people things they didn't know and likes it when they're prepared to admit the gaps in their knowledge. He likes people who create and change, people who warp and shift. Stagnation is death, creation is life.

| Likes & Dislikes |
✔ People creating, be it poetry or painting, song or story.
✔ Rituals and traditions, especially old ones. Christmas grinches beware.
✔ Hot tea and heavy rain.
✔ Red autumn leaves and the season of change.
✔ Shipping people Playing matchmaker.
✔ Teaching others.
✔ People who listen to him.

✘ People who discourage creativity or progress, especially those who are narrow minded.
✘ When people don't examine their actions for their internal motivations.
✘ Snow and winter chills, frozen lakes, icy grass. Winter is the season of stagnation.
✘ Having his ships matches broken.
✘ People who ignore him or are easily offended.
✘ Unexpected gifts and token gestures of respect.
✘ Games of chance.


| History |
Long, long ago, there was the circle. It was a petty little thing, scraped in the dirt by a being more monkey than man and lined with scraps of flint. When it was done, the man's friends came and danced around it to the beat of their savage drums. As hidebound drum and thumping foot reached a fevered crescendo, something stepped into the circle from the other side of forever. The newcomer was pale as snow and looked waiflike compared to the proto-humans before him. And yet they cowered back at his sudden appearance, stumbling to distance themselves from the circle.

The newcomer looked at the strange beings whose music had attracted his attention. Huge hands, stunted limbs, large heads and wide brows. True, they seemed slow and thick, their skulls more suited to cracking nuts than thinking. There was something in them, something more than the need to eat, sleep, drink, mate. Or, at least, the seed of something else. Perhaps, with the proper guidance, they could learn to sing.

On that day, a fairy of Titania's own family did cast down his title, take leave of his duties and drop his wings into the mud. And for what? To dance with brutish monkeys? To teach them tunes and build them instruments? Madness. There again, what faery can said to be sane? He took up a new name, built of the circle and forged of the tune. Aednyx, a name that can be traced through all the ages of the world.

To follow his path through human history isn't easy, for he was ever shy of the spotlight. When men first put ink to page and made letters, he was dictating. When women first strung a strand of entrails between two horns to strum out a tune, he was conducting. When people first told legends by the fireside, he was doing shadow puppets. His role was the kindly teacher or helpful muse, giving great men and women the shape of the next revolutionary idea and letting their minds fill in the gaps. Music, the written word, theatre, and many more innovations since the first days were conceived under his gently guiding hand.

Less than loved by other faeries, Aednyx's insulting dismissal of his courtly ties burns in the hearts of many proud Seelie as hot today as it did so many years ago. His name was his own to lose and no other can find it, so they have no choice but to address him, should they meet, by his new title. But in their hearts, the more traditional of Seelie Court think of him as coward, craven and crook. To choose the man-things over the court of the Fair Folk... unthinkable.

For the past century or so, Aednyx has been taking a holiday. Mankind have taken his lessons well and are inventing like never before. It's gratifying to see them race forwards, new devices, knowledges and crafts being thought up every day, like a toddler who has gone straight from walking to sprinting. Someday soon, he's sure he'll get back to work and push humanity into the next era of progress. Really, any day now. At the moment, however, he's indulging locally in perhaps his favourite passion; the arts. As beautiful now as they were in a muddy forest near ten millennia ago.

| Family |
During his time with humanity, Aednyx has had many faery visitors. Some wanted to see his little project for themselves, alternatively laughing or marvelling. Others wished to 'avenge his insult upon the Seelie court' and challenged him to duels and contests. To their surprise but not his, they found that he had given up none of his power when he gave up his wings. The ashes of most of his challengers are spread across the earth, though some were allowed to go free. After all, what good is an example if there's none alive to spread it?

Though he has many siblings and uncountable cousins, Aednyx's family seem unwilling to visit. Most likely because none of them are prepared to go against the most prominent family member's example. Aednyx's mother, Titania the second and former Queen of the Seelie court, has never deigned to visit her wayward son. She has many others and at least this one isn't plotting to assassinate his brothers and sisters. Still, it is a little undignified for one of noble blood to squat upon the earth with such an uncivilised people. Perhaps one day she will arrive as a terrible tempest and wash away their cities before bringing him home. Not today though.

| Strengths |
Absolutely ancient, with all the old knowledge and mystical secrets that implies.
As powerful a magician as any fae, but with the advantage of long years of experience.
Well practised at getting people to do what he wants them to do, with sly words and guile.


| Weaknesses |
As vulnerable to iron as any other Faerie, it burns and strips him of his glamours
Unpractised in personal combat, more used to using magic or using people to fight his battles
Has very few allies to call on, most Seelie Faeries still hold a grudge about him leaving.







The Other

| Theme Song |
The Voice – Celtic Women
”I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain
I am the voice of your hunger and pain
I am the voice that always is calling you
I am the voice, I will remain”

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

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Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

819 posts

in 2985 days

Seen 5 yrs ago

Bio

Basic Information

| Name |
Andronicus 'Andy' Griffiths-Hopkins

| Date of Birth |
12th October 1997

| Gender |
Male

| Sexuality |
Homosexual

| In-Depth Appearance |
Standing at around average height, Andy tends to slouch a bit so most people think of him as small. He doesn't mind and has, in fact, taken steps to make sure that image of him is reinforced in people's minds. He sometimes deliberately wears jumpers a size too big or makes sure to look down at his feet, all to make sure he seems non-threatening. Apart from that, he likes warm clothes in a variety of colours, sometimes following styles and sometimes whatever's comfortable. He smiles often and laughs loudly, not afraid of seeming silly or of embarrassing himself or others.

Who Am I?

| Personality |
♦ Intelligent ♦ Manipulative ♦ Caring ♦ Lazy ♦

Given his upbringing, Andy would say he's come out pretty well. He's not a heartless monster, he doesn't see people as chess pieces to be sacrificed and he's never once talked someone into committing suicide. As Andy might say, he'll talk someone into giving him the last cookie but hurting others is where he draws the line, much to his father's frustration. Where his parents have missed a trick, however, is that they never quite understood that frustrating them was one of Andy's favourite outlets for his own anguish. As an only child who almost never saw his parents, a combination of anger at them and a desire for their attention caused him to have an almost pathological need to not meet their expectations.

As a person, Andy might not seem unique. There's one child in every class who is smarter than their fellows and never lets anyone forget it, not even for an instant. And upon first inspection, it would be easy to think that's who he is. A more careful study shows that, on the contrary, Andy does everything he can to make everyone forget how intelligent he is. For if people realised that their hand movements and sighs telegrapher their mood and intentions to him, they would probably be much less willing to talk to him. Thanks to his parents, Andy has inherited a dangerous ability to read people and use what he sees along with a tactical mindset that searches every situation for the optimal advantage and the most vulnerable pressure points. His skill at hiding this is incredibly important to him, because who wants to talk when they think they're being analysed or be friends with a user of people? No, better to keep some things hidden.

Of course, there's also the matter that Andy is incredibly lazy. As much as his parents have defined him, both through intention and inadvertently, they never managed to pass on their towering ambition. The name Andronicus is split between the meanings 'man' and 'victory' but Andy was content to drag his heels through school, party on the weekend and wander home to be reprimanded for the hickeys and the smell of smoke. "No ambition!" his father would storm, as his mother looked in silent judgment. But another part of their son they didn't understand was Andy's view of people. Where his father saw forces to be manipulated and his mother saw pieces to be positioned, Andy sees unique works of art, each one subtly different from the next and all beautiful in their impermanence. Occasionally he's tried to explain to others how incredible it is to watch someone until you understand them, the gaze into them until you can almost see yourself reflected. Whether Andy genuinely cares for people or just hates to see something so sublime ruined is hard to say, even for him, but it's safe to say he is more nurturing and kind than his parents will ever approve of.

| Likes & Dislikes |
✔ Happiness and the sound of laughter.
✔ Sweet things and sugary treats.
✔ Hot chocolate, marshmallows optional.
✔ Cooking and baking.
✔ Any game that is reaction based, he generally loses.
✔ 80s Action films, the cheesier the better.
✔ TV shows, the longer the better.
✔ Smoking, it annoys his parents.
✔ Drinking, it doubly annoys them.
✔ Telling people what to do and seeing them do it.

✘ Salty snacks, salty foods and salty drinks.
✘ Bad characterisation in fiction.
✘ Tactical games, he never loses.
✘ Having to clean up after cooking or baking.
✘ Insects, they're horrifying and irritating.
✘ People not prepared to listen to him.
✘ Having to play people to get them to listen to him.
✘ Being called Andronicus

| History |
Growing up is difficult for everyone. Rich, poor, smart, dumb, no one has an easy time navigating the pitfalls of childhood or the traps of adolescence. And, as Philip Larkin once said, they fuck you up, your mum and dad. In the case of Andronicus (no one but his father calls him that, everyone else uses Andy at Andy's express request), his parents could hardly have done a better job with the fucking up. As two people with towering ambition and incredible abilities, they decided that a child could be the perfect instrument to combine their two skill sets and further their legacy. So when he was born, George named him Andronicus and told him the world could be his. As soon as Andy could talk, the training began. It wasn't physically gruelling or abusive but it was constant, inescapable. Every interaction he had with anyone not his parents was assessed, graded and critiqued. Before he could properly walk, he knew how to persuade other children to let him have the toys he wanted without hitting them.

What was difficult for Andy was that the only contact he had with his parents was in the context of these examinations. They never played games with him, never took him to the park or told him stories. At first, he craved their attention and worked hard to get it through success on their terms. He studied psychology manuals, the art of war and every significant treatise on how to bend others to one's will written in the last few hundred years. He practised cons, tricks, characters, strategies and anything he thought might impress his parents. There's another saying though; the reward for digging the biggest hole is a wider shovel. Every accomplishment seemed to bring only more work and less face time with his parents. Andy was not to know that their plans, and those of the Syndicate, were accelerating and required them to be still more active in their various arenas. Had he known, he probably wouldn't have cared. All he saw was that no matter what he did, his parents didn't seem to care.

So he went in the opposite direction. If success wouldn't please them, he'd make them pay attention through thoroughly refuting all their lessons. Instead of careful interaction and long term planing, Andy did his best to live in the moment and react instinctually. He made friends and enemies quickly, getting drunk in the middle of the day and running from school whenever he felt like it. Needless to say, his parents were appalled and not just because of his activities. His antics were bad enough but what was more distressing to them was that he was now too well trained in both their strategies for manipulation that he could see them coming. For the first time in a long time, both George and Linda had to talk to someone without being sure what they were thinking. Predictably, it did not go well. Their attempts to put Andy back on the straight and narrow (from their perspective, anyway) did nothing more than push him farther away from it.

Unsurprisingly, someone as intelligent as Andy had long since worked out that his parents had been grooming and training him for something. He'd assumed they wanted him to run for President or the Senate one day and dreaded having to deal with their reaction when h eventually told them there was no way he'd be doing something like that. Of course, when he discovered what he had really been raised to do, he almost wished he'd been right.

| Family |

Personality:
Andy's father, George, is perhaps the most calculating and manipulative person to live since Niccolò Machiavelli. His ability to gauge people's buttons and then press them in such a way that they do precisely what he wants them to do is second to none, allowing him to manipulate adults like a parent governs their child. Body language, micro expressions, fractional changes in the tones of voice are all signs to him about what a person is feeling and how he might use that to twist them to his way of thinking. As such, he hates people in general and views them as stupid sheep, ubiquitous and easily scared but easy to herd into place.

Role in the Syndicate:
George has used his abilities to go far, building up political influence and power in America but especially New York City for years. His official title is 'senior political advisor to the Mayor' but those who truly know him know too that the Mayor hasn't made an important decision without George's approval since he was elected. Mr. Griffith's influence goes far further than NYC, however. Along with the rest of the Syndicate, he has power over half the congressmen, senators, lobbyists and candidates in Washington, as well as the criminal organisations over most of America. Whereas some of the members enforce, assassinate or cover up, George's job is perhaps more terrible than any of them; he is the face of the Syndicate, the person that visits those people who resist the organisation's wishes. He cajoles, threatens and bribes people into bending to his will and therefore the will of his shadowy partners.

Personality:
Linda Hopkins has always had a very singular view of the world; it's a board and the people are the pieces. You put them into position, you line them up and you send them to fight for your cause. Even in her earliest memories, she pitted friend against friend in school, coming out unscathed and ever more popular. She honed her skills in first the political arena and then as a director of covert military operations, finding both to be stimulating but neither quite challenging enough. Upon meeting her husband and joining the Syndicate, she finally found an endeavour worthy of her talents. Unlike her husband, Linda doesn't hate the people she uses, she simply doesn't see them as more than assets.

Role in the Syndicate:
While the Syndicate comes together and collectively chooses policies and goals, it is Linda's job to formulate plans to pursue them. She knows the strengths, weaknesses and capabilities of each other member intimately and plans accordingly. She is utterly ruthless, prepared to destroy any enemy in any way and sacrifice any operative for the sake of success. Without her guidance, the varied members of the Syndicate would still be forces to be reckoned with and the organisation would retain much of its power. With her as its brains, the Syndicate has undermined the process of law, order and democracy in the most powerful country in the world. All without any but a few meddling kids noticing. Check and mate.

| Abilities |
Andy has no magical or abnormal physical abilities and is not a mutant or an alien. As a specimen, he is simply a human being. His strengths lie in his far exceptional intelligence and extensive training in the fields of social manipulation and tactical leadership. Almost as soon as he was able to have meaningful social interactions with others, he was trained to make sure the interactions were steered by him to his own advantage. Similarly, he has spent an undocumented but nevertheless ridiculous number of hours running through complex strategy simulators, honing his skills as a commander if not a fighter.

| Strengths |
Good with people and good at getting people to be good.
Extremely intelligent, picks things up fast and solves problems well.
His skills are tempered with empathy, a conscience and a desire to help people.

| Weaknesses |
Is lazy, often resists doing things simply because he can't be bothered.
Has limited physical talent, below average hand-eye coordination and no personal combat skills whatsoever.
Little to no real life experience with commanding others or leading a team.

The Other

| Theme Song |
Goodbye Mr. A – The Hoosiers
”So busy showing me where I'm wrong, 
You forgot to switch your feelings on, (Oh-oh-oh-oh) 
So, so superior, are you not, 
You love a little bit but you forgot ”

| Extra Information |
Has a driving license but is a very nervous driver.

Andy

Tish
"Our little party Princess is good to have around. She's like a lucky charm or a mascot, she guarantees good cheer and can be squeezed into whatever space Jay hasn't already taken up. I kid, she forces us to be happy or else."

To be honest, I think Tish is dealing with recent events better than any of the rest of us. She's upset but nowhere near as confused about it as Malcolm seems to be or as broken up as Lia. I don't like playing psychologist too much with people but I'd guess her shifting lets her feel like she's bullet proof, like nothing can catch her or stick to her. She doesn't like talking about her parents and didn't even before we all suddenly had this great reason to not want to talk about or parents, so I'd guess her relationship with them was a little strained and her issues with authority probably come from that. Though who am I to talk about parents and authority issues, I imagine my own familial history would give most psychologists a field day.

Anyway, she's happy as anything, whenever and wherever we are. Lia keeps us sane and moving on but it's Tish constantly leading us in song or games of I-Spy who keeps us happy. And her shifting is ridiculously useful for us, no one is going to recognise her. Once she gets a bit better at the more difficult parts, we might end up relying on her for a lot more.

They're ready to go now they got their surfboards, And they're going to the discotheque Au Go Go
But she just couldn't stay she had to break away, Well New York City really has is all oh yeah, oh yeah

Jay
"Jay's cute. I mean cool, he's cool. We've met a few times when the parents get together but I haven't talked to him much."

Alright, he's totally adorable, I admit it. His whole 'I'm such a rebel' thing is dorky and absolutely hilarious because he seems to really believe. But he somehow still makes it hot and I am only semi okay with that. We haven't talked that much but he seems to like skateboarding a lot (could be fun, I could take lessons from him) and mentioned Battlestar Galactia in the same tones most people mention god. As luck would have it, I haven't seen that. Is that good (we could watch it together) or bad (I can't talk to him about it)?

But as gorgeous and charming as he is, there's something off about him. I don't know, he seems a little bit more aware of people's motivations than he has any right to be. Eh, it's probably nothing.

On his thin and wispy spindles, He was deft and he was nimble, His eyes were scientific, And his dancing was terrific

Malcolm
"He's alright, is Malcolm. A bit straight laced and it always feels like he's watching you but we've all got our funny little ways.”

I don't know much about animals but it's clear to see that Malcolm has lived his life in captivity. It comes out in lots of ways; disapproving looks at alcohol, raised eyebrows at at saucy jokes, wrinkling his nose whenever I smoke. If I had to guess, I'd say it was his father who enforced rules around his house. It's just a hunch, something in the way he looks away when Tish jokes about me being the father of this little band. Or, as she puts it, the papa bear. I don't think I've ever been called a bear before.

One thing that really comes through loud and clear about him is the way he watches things. I mean, I watch because I was taught to but he looks at us chatting like a hungry child looks into a sweetshop window. He's drinking in everything we do and say, because he wants to understand and he wants to join in. We'll have to see if we can get him to loosen his straight laces (not like that, mind, gutter, out), especially if he's going to be any help in the future.

I want to break free from your lies, You're so self satisfied, I don't need you
I've got to break free God knows, God knows I want to break free.

Ophelia
"Ophelia, no, I mean Lia, is the best. She keeps everyone moving, keeps everyone sane and even manages to keep us all happy. Without her, I think Tish would already have strangled me several times for sure but Oph--Lia makes it out like we're all just on a crazy road trip and acts like a playleader. And when you think about what's happened to us recently, what we've learned and lost, it's pretty incredible that we all join in."

In a way, Ophelia is like me or dad, only far less calculated. She doesn't think about why someone is sad or angry and she doesn't look for a pressure point to calm to them down. She just acts naturally and does her best to make everyone's day that much brighter. Ha, brighter. Because, you know, fire. Come on, it's funny. Fine, be that way, I don't care.

I think she's taking the... incident pretty hard. None of us are exactly happy about discovering our parents are cackling megalomaniacs bent on world domination but not all of us were that close to them. I mean, my dad hasn't given me anything close to a compliment since I was eight years old and mom told me sentimentality is a strategic weak point on my birthday once but I think Ophelia's parents looked after her and taught her how to not burn the house down. From what I can tell (I've really been trying not to watch her actions too much, I have, but it's hard to switch your brain off) she feels doubly betrayed because her parents are hero cops that set an example for her, only now she knows it was all a ruse. So she doesn't want to go back and wants to make sure none of us have to either.

Mostly though, she cares about us all and wants to keep us alive. She drives (I just can't do highways, too many cars, too scary) all the time, listens to me talk about anything, keeps Tish from driving us all insane. Without her, I'm pretty sure we'd already be back in NYC with our parents.

The ice we skate is getting pretty thin, The water's getting warm so you might as well swim
My world's on fire. How about yours? That's the way I like it and I'll never get bored.

Glo
"Glo's great, who doesn't like having their every move photographed while on the run? I mean, right? Seriously though, she's as good at looking after us as Lia is, we'd probably starve without her cooking skills. I mean, I'm not a bad cook but it's a lot of hassle..."

Glo is interesting in how she seems to have reacted to what I understand of her upbringing. Apparently she practically raised herself in a pretty bad neighbourhood, while keeping her grades high enough to stay in a pretty high end school on a scholarship. So she's a self made woman who pulled herself up by her bootstraps (we all know I'd probably have preferred to lay down and wait for someone to bring me a drink) but that's left her with a curious mix of nurturing instincts (doesn't want others to have to work too hard?) and trust issues...

Gah! I almost went full psychology! Better tone that down. On a personal level, Glo is just like Lia; she looks after us, makes sure we don't make a mess or starve but also doesn't let us take her or anyone else for granted. As many of our little group have had pretty comfortable lives (cough Jay cough) that's very important for us.

Cody
"It's the quiet ones you've got to watch, am I right? Cody a good kid, likes to listen and doesn't like to fight. Maybe the world would be a better place if we were all like him? It would certainly be a less noisy place."

Is there anyone in this little group that doesn't have issues with their parents? I say that both as someone with their own issues and as someone who knows everyone is affected by their parents in one way or another but man, we could pretty much perform group therapy. Anyway, Cody seems happy to keep himself in the background and take in conversation but not quite in the same way Malcolm does. I think Cody is more comfortable in the role as the quiet one than Malcolm is, probably because the former has been able to interact with people during his life and let that role develop naturally where the latter simply hasn't had enough experience in social situations to fulfil any other role.

I mean, I like getting a good bit of attention, talking, having people listen and so on but I can understand if others prefer not to be in the spotlight. That's fine as a thing to do, so long as it's a choice and not forced on them by lack of confidence or anxiety. So we'll see what Cody's really like before I try to give him nudges in any direction.

Oh no love! you're not alone
You're watching yourself but you're too unfair
You got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care
Oh no love! you're not alone

Amy
"Amy, Bella, Izzy, I don't like to let her settle on any one nickname. She's a good kid, always has been, but she's very much a kid. You know the expression 'born ancient'? That's me but I think the opposite is Amy. I reckon she'll still be acting pretty much the same way in thirty years or so."

Yeah, we used to see each other before the incident, now and then. Dad and mom liked her creepy parents, for whatever reason. It's weird though, her folks are weird on so many levels (their body language and micro-expressions are all wrong, not even starting on their language usage or tones) but Bella is just normal seventeen year old. Fun, creative, doesn't pull her punches (literally of figuratively, I have bruises) but not particularly unusual. I'll have to work that one out, one day.

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

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Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

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Bio

Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.


✯ Name ✯
Timmy, sometimes called the Tiger.

✯ Age ✯
22 years old.

✯ Gender ✯
Male

✯ Affiliation ✯
The 33rd Street Razors.

✯ Years With Gang ✯
Five years with the Razors.

✯ Appearance ✯
Scrawny and thin, Timmy looks like the exact opposite of a physical threat, apart, of course, from his snarling Tiger mask and agitated movements. His twitches, ticks and flicks would put you in mind of an athlete waiting for the match to begin or a warrior itching to get to the thick of it, except on a man more gristle than meat they look almost comical. It doesn't help that any clothes that Timmy chooses go from stylish to misshapen and tacky the second he puts them on, no matter how carefully the outfit is selected. He practically radiates an aura of 'unthreatening victim' to those people who look for such things and even those not so attentive are unlikely to be threatened or impressed by his lanky figure.

Right up until he hammers a glass bottle into a bouncer's face with a gleeful cackle. Then people tend to revaluate his threat level.

✯ Personality ✯
You know that feeling you get when you score the winning goal, beat the unbeatable game boss, or kiss that special someone? The thumping in your chest, the racing of your heart, the sudden power that fills you up and makes you want to scream? That's adrenaline, liquid energy naturally produced by the body to help us when we're in a tight spot. With it pumping through your veins, you can run faster, punch harder and survive more. Some people describe an adrenaline rush as the only time they feel truly alive.

Timmy is not just one of those people, he's their king. Ever since he first tasted the bitter tang of adrenaline on his tongue, the rest of the world was painted over in grey and beige. Every moment was a drag, every day without it an eternity. In the space of but a few weeks, he transformed from a mild mannered, middle class boy to a first class adrenaline junky. It didn't matter what he had to do to get his fix; glass a bouncer, head-butt a priest, dirtbike while drunk, tightrope walk while high, he'd do it and then do it again. His antics brought him to the attention of the 33rd Street Razors who saw a kindred spirit in a frail body and invited him to join their ranks.

Ever since then, Timmy has been benefitting from the perks of being a member of the infamous gang, from easy access to narcotics, fast cars and weapons to many opportunities to to sate his lust for excitement. While he might not initially seem like a natural recruit for the Razors, his single minded determinedness to obtain an adrenaline high at any cost, to himself or others, fits in just fine with them. Having fully abandoned his former life, Timmy is all in as a member of the Razors, living by their rules and embodying their philosophy to the best of his abilities. In return, the gang's name and infrastructure protect him for the worst consequences of his actions. Without them, Timmy would likely not last a day.

✯ Strengths ✯
Berserker - Timmy's addiction to adrenaline and general bloody mindedness makes him a vicious beast when set loose in close proximities to a potential opponent. Where other fighters seek to guard themselves and harm the enemy without taking too much damage themselves, Timmy is all whirlwind of fists, feet, teeth and knives that only cares about savouring the feeling of dancing on the edge of knife, not about defending himself or surviving the fight.

Driver - There are few ways to guarantee a spike in one's pulse than racing a fast car round a hair-pin bend or executing a Lazy Boy on a dirt bike. As such, Timmy has spent many, many hours behind the wheel and all that practise has gained him some skill. In all fairness, his driving abilities aren't based on speed, safety or efficiency but on how dangerous and exciting he can make any given action.

Survivor - Despite his wiry frame, Timmy is both surprisingly strong and shockingly tough. A combined addiction to adrenaline and drugs have wreaked merry hell with his nervous system, heart and body in general. Due to this, Timmy can take more punches than most men several times his weight and still get up to give out a few hits of his own.

✯ Weaknesses ✯
Untrained - Although he's been in uncountable scraps and fights during his membership of the Razors, Timmy has never received any formal training for any of his skills. He fights like a rabid beast because he's got the same amount of training as one and drives like a drunken toddler because he hasn't got a license. While he can blunder through with luck and belligerence, many tasks call for a level of technical skill that he simply doesn't have.

Unhealthy - Almost all addictions have negative affects on both the victim's social life and physiology and Timmy is no exception. His old life has almost been completely lost in a haze of drugs and death, leaving him no friends outside the Razors. And his body is a twitching, scarred wreck, no longer able to properly regulate its natural release of adrenaline or balance his humours.

Unstable - When you're obsessed with finding excitement at any cost, even if it is detrimental to yourself and others, you're bound to get hurt and to do some hurting. Finding methods of obtaining that elusive high that were previously effective now dull, Timmy has to work hard to experience new thrills. So far he has managed to avoid breaking the Razor's cardinal rule, to not betray one another, but one of days he may slip up.

✯ Likes ✯
✔ Almonds, Kale and healthy, organic foods that boost the body's adrenaline output.
✔ Going out at night on the main streets, where the city is all neon and concrete.
✔ Driving to the edge of the city to drive in the dust and drink in the dirt.
✔ Partying until he can't think, always seeking to one up everyone else.

✯ Dislikes ✯
✘ Fast food, salt and other things that clog up the body and slow down the mind.
✘ Slow Sundays, boring Wednesdays and times when nothing happens.
✘ Situations and places where no one is supposed to move or make noise, like Churches or Libraries.
✘ Waking up after a good night and suffering for it.

✯ Relationships ✯
Blank, for now.

✯ Other ✯
Blank, for now.

✯ Theme ✯
Ballroom Blitz - Sweet

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

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Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

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Bio

Name

Sevrah, the Horned Snake

Gender

Male

Homeworld

Scurn, Desert World

An immense planet, amongst the largest ever found by Imperial ships, Scurn is little more than a giant desert. It has not a single sea, few rivers and the vast bulk of all water on the planet runs deep under the ground. The humans present on Scurn survive by harvesting moisture from beneath the earth with vast moisture gathering machines, the owners of which represented the planet's ruling class. The operation of the ancient machines were closely guarded secrets within the ruling families, for their ability to retain control was entirely contingent on maintaining an aura of superiority and mysticism. Their monopoly on the only sources of water on Scurn allowed them to rule more completely than most kings ever have, so long as they made sure none but them knew how to work the machines.

Apart from its arid climate Scurn has one other feature that makes it less than inviting to settlers; aggressive native mega fauna. Most of the species of Scurn either have no need of water at all or have adapted to make small quantities last for vast amounts of time. The result of the planet's incredible size and comparatively low gravity is that the beasts that walk its surface are larger than those seen almost anywhere else in the galaxy though some of them bare remarkable similarities to Terran beasts. Many Imperial surveyors have remarked that the Skeltraks of Scurn could be mistaken for massively enlarged Terran Scorpions, for example. Almost all of Scurn's beasts display the same attitude to visitors as that of the planet itself. That is to say, one of unflinching hatred and resentment.

Appearance

Sevrah is both alike and different to his brother primarchs in appearance. He is every bit as huge and formidable looking as his siblings, being twelve feet tall without armour and possessing muscles seemingly carved from marble. But where most Astartes and Primarchs are broadly muscled and almost as wide as they are tall, Sevrah is comparatively slimly built and wiry. His build favours reach, speed, agility and dexterity over sheer force. The vicious sun of Scurn has left a visible mark on his skin, giving him a dark complexion to compliment his sable black hair. In the desert, he was careful to keep his hair cut close to his head, both to keep it from his eyes and to deprive enemies of something to grab. In his new surroundings of wealth, he has decided on a new look; his head is completely shaved saved for a long, forked goatee. As long as he keeps his helmet on during battles, Sevrah reasons, the goatee will never provide an enemy with a handhold. His eyes are a striking green and have unusual slitted pupils that do nothing to reduce the mental image of Sevrah as a snake that strikes most people.

His power armour, much like that of his legion, is coloured to blend into brown and yellow environs without any vegetation. The armour itself is a miracle of human construction, designed to evade detection and tracking systems of all levels of sophistication. For formal occasions, Sevrah offsets the dull tones of his armour with a crimson cloak made of a rare silk but in the field he prefers the same robes his Sons wear to battle; rough clothes that do nothing to make one look appealing and everything to make one hard to see. His spear, affectionately referred to as the Snake's Horns by his legion, is another masterwork, standing a little taller than he does with a power field encased short blade on one end, a weighted striking pommel on the other and storm bolter affixed under the blade.

Personality

Sevrah was raised on a world of scarcity, where all things had to be rationed, even the truth. As a boy, he learned never to wear his heart on his sleeve, lest his foes seek to tear it away and use it against him. He learned to lie under the sand and wait until the perfect moment to strike, whether it took one hour or twenty. But most of all, he learned how to lie, with his tongue, his eyes, his army or with his weapon. As an adult, he has never forgotten the lessons of the dry desert and uses them to great effect as commander of the IVth legion. Diplomats and strategists need to be able to lie quickly and convincingly, sometimes to lead an opponent into a trap, other times merely to make a potential ally feel more at ease. In whatever way Sevrah chooses to lie or deceive, he does it subtly and well, displaying a calculating cunning second only to that of the Emperor himself.

But in the desert, he learned other lessons too. Lessons of scarcity and independence, of wariness and distrust. When every person you meet for the first dozen years of your life is intent on taking what's yours for themselves, it becomes hard to work oneself into trusting others. Sevrah could count on the fingers of one hand all the people outside his own legion that he truly trusts. Trusts with his life, soul and the wellbeing of his legion. The main lessons he learned in the dune sea, however, were of pragmatism and realism. If you can't do something, no amount of bluster or protest will let you do it. If someone else can, let them. Sevrah sees no use or merit in the qualities of pride and ego, unless it is to manipulate them in others. He himself uses words to often as weapons and armour to ever feel their sting.

Despite, or perhaps because of, his use of lies as a protective shield, Sevrah is incredibly likeable. Upon meeting him, most men and Astartes find him agreeable and affable, especially his siblings. Whether they initially trust him or not, the other Primarchs find him a charming fellow and witty companion, whether at a ceremonial banquet or on a battlefield. Since meeting the Emperor and leaving the desert, Sevrah has been surrounded by his legion and human followers, so conversing with his siblings is a rare chance to talk to an equal.

Skills

Sevrah's greatest skill is his capacity for deception. Few can claim to really know when Sevrah is telling the truth and when he is lying to them, nor can many see through his subtle bluffs on the battlefield. This skill manifests itself in him as a commander in his fondness for ambushes, misdirection and hit-and-run techniques. He only pursues open warfare when it is the last thing his opponent will expect. Apart from that, Sevrah is a skilled at hunting, tracking and the use of stealth. His patience is nearly endless, allowing him to wait for precisely the right moment to strike from an unseen position without flinching or attacking too soon. He is extremely dangerous with his chosen weapon, a two handed spear, and can use it to devastating effect whether he's attacking or defending, whether his opponent knows he's coming or not. He would be assigned Kappa level psychic abilities if he ever took the test, due to a latent ability to force enemies to freeze by looking into their eyes. This ability only occurs in times of stress and seems to be a split between psychic ability and a hypnotic gaze.

Biography

When Sevrah came crashing down onto Scurn, it was inevitable he would awake surrounded by sand. The planet was little more than an immense desert, riddled with the occasional dry sea bed. When Sevrah did awake from his first sleep on the planet's surface however, it was not to see vast tracts of sand in every direction but look into the slitted eyes of an enormous serpent. One of Scurn's most powerful predators, Serasti are horned snakes of immense size and incredible cunning. Their life spans are several centuries long and they are famous for tricking travellers and other animals into traps and snares. Some Scurn legends tell that they have their own language but no Imperial scholars have been able to find evidence of this. But when the snake looked down upon Sevrah, tiny and alone in the sand, it did not strike. Perhaps because of pity or for a later snack, it lifted the infant Primarch in its mouth and carried him to its cave lair. It allowed him to drink from a small pool of water and eat from a freshly killed carcass, watching him guardedly as he did so.

Whatever the reason that the Serastis saved Sevrah's life, it did not stop with giving him food and water. It nurtured him until he could walk and then it began to train him. Serasti need water in much the same way humans do and have evolved to prey on other animals that get their water from deep underground. Sevrah's new guardian showed him how to pierce the water sacks of burrowing beasts and to bite into the humps of desert mammals for sustenance. It helped him learn to hunt, showing him how to set a trap by concealing oneself in the sand near an attractive piece of shade. Serasti have no poison in their teeth but have not let that stop them from using attacks to weaken dangerous foes. In the desert, a small wound can quickly cause even the largest of beasts to slow, stumble and eventually fall. Serasti favour giving their prey wounds to their legs or mobility systems and simply waiting for them to stop moving before feasting.

Sevrah was an attentive student to the serpent and learned all the lessons it had to teach. He had no fangs or horns so he crafted himself a spear from the rib bones of one of their meals. He had no scales to keep him safe from the scorching rays of the sun so he used hide and fur to make a cloak. All that he lacked, he was able to cobble together from the wreckage of his guardian's prey. And for the Serastis's part, who can say what it gained? It was a truly ancient monster, having lived almost a millennia, so perhaps it wished to pass on its knowledge and skills. Without any others of its kind in the area, it settled for something else. Or maybe it was clever still than even Sevrah realised and used him as a tool to spread its influence beyond the atmosphere of Scurn, where it reigned as king of the beasts.

During this period of his life, Sevrah saw little of humans. Occasionally he spotted them in the distance but his protector found humans to be too much work for too little reward and tended to leave them be. Those humans that approached them invariably did so with the intention of stealing water or food. Most were lost and starving but Sevrah saw only invaders, come to pillage what he hd fought for and earned. Some were eaten by the serpent, some were slain by the boy but none ever got what they came for or escaped to tell the tale.

Nothing lasts forever though and, in time, even an ancient Serasti will make a mistake. Sevrah's mentor made his while fighting a younger snake for control of territory, misjudging the speed of his opponent and suffering a grievous wound. It still crushed the younger competitor and feasted upon the corpse but the injury sapped its strength and spilled its blood across the sands. The great beast dragged itself home to the lair where Sevrah awaited it. At first, the Primarch did his best to staunch its gaping wound and slow the ichor flowing from the breach. He was still a young man and had not yet even considered the possibility that his constant companion was mortal. He soon realised, however, that no amount of care would return his guardian to its former health. In its eyes, Sevrah saw a resignation and acceptance that scared him to the bone. But he knew what he must do and would not shy from the last lesson his protector had to teach. He took his spear and did what needed to be done.

In the days that followed, Sevrah made preparations to leave his erstwhile home forever. He gathered food and water along with all the accoutrements he had crafted over the years. His last act was to cave in the entrance of the lair, leaving the horned serpent's body to lie in peace and not be picked apart by the next Serasti to settle the area. The Primarch himself set off across the desert in search of something new and yet familiar. He had lost one family and left one home, he now sought a new one.

The years that followed were busy for Sevrah and full of adventures, war and learning. For the first time, he spoke Low Gothic and learned to make symbols upon paper. He learned the principles of trade, diplomacy and military tactics, though all seemed to him to be merely new ways of lying. His education in deception was already complete, his guardian's greatest gift. It seemed that lying made all things easier for him, from lying about where he came from to why he carried the horns of a Serasti with him at all times. The truth frightened or confused people and some went so far as to call his truth lies. His natural force of character and innate gifts soon brought him to command a motley gang of nomads and traders, however and they all asked what to call him. Sevrah had never had a name before and could not come up with a lie that suited him. The crowd were happy to choose for him though and soon word of the Horned Snake spread far and wide. A hero of the nomad, the greatest of hunters and walker of the sands! And here came his first true test; the masters of the moisture gatherers saw his popularity and feared.

Leaders of the wasteland's people always caused the families that controlled the great machines to worry over their security. They were few but controlled access to the greatest sources of water on the planet of Scurn and relied upon this monopoly to keep their privileged positions. They were well aware that a gathering of the desert tribes could spell the end of their precarious power structure and strove to strike preemptively. They decided, as it were, to cut the head off of the snake. Their assassins expected the reports of this Horned Snakes skills and attributes to be nothing but rumour and hearsay and where therefore surprised when he woke to the sound of their stealthy footfalls, rose, towered over them and ripped them limb from limb.

Sevrah knew the signs; this was the start of an incursion. His protector had fought off many ambitious Serasti in the past and had been forced to fend off their tentative advances for some time before they fully committed themselves to the attack. When Sevrah had watched, he had always thought it odd that the older serpent chose not to pursue his opponent, hunt it down and dispatch it outright rather than wait for it to come to him. He did not intend to make the same mistake and wasted no time in rallying his forces behind him. If the masters of machines would strike at him through the shadows, he would show them their folly. The shadows of the desert belonged to him and no one else. His fighting force, made mostly of dissatisfied mercenaries and ambitious youngsters, followed him through the vast tracts of sand that surrounded the machines on all sides. With the failure of their assassination attempt, the masters sent out a proper fighting force to finish the job but all they found was dust. Dust and the occasional ambush.

For some weeks, the master's fighting force were harried this way and that across the dunes. Whenever they thought they had a trail to follow or a trap set, their foes would explode out of the sand at their feet or from behind rocks above them. Every battle took a heavy toll on their numbers for paltry results and soon they wished only to return to the relative safety of their machine fortresses. The march took far longer than it should have done and every day cost blood and flesh. And when they finally arrived at the machine's gates, their eyes beheld a terrible sight; the corpses of their masters hung from the battlements. None were sure when or how but the Horned Snake had been among them and take his revenge without a single member of the guard being any the wiser. To the Primarch, it was all one; battle, stealthy, ambush, leadership, all were just different ways of lying.

Within a week, Sevrah had been pronounced the new master of the machine. Within two, he had begun to train his new army properly, promoting those who served with him during the long weeks of battle and those who showed promise. Within six months, he had formed a dangerous fighting force and set his sights on expansion. Scurn was an immense planet, its dune seas nearly endless and there were many, many, more moisture gathering machines. His force would expand and expand until his territory encompassed every grain of sand the desert had to offer.

It was near the climax of his grand campaign that the forces of the Emperor of Mankind arrived upon the planet. Their chariots of fire fell out of the sky and annihilated the forces battling against Sevrah. And when the corpses had been piled high, Sevrah met his maker for the first time. The year was 815.M30 and the Emperor observed what his son had done with the wastes of Scurn and deemed it good.. He even gave Sevrah what he lacked most; a name. And so he arose to the stars, leaving the sandy winds of Scurn behind him to pass ont he lessons of his guardian to his own sons, the IVth legion. The Desert Sons. But while you can take a Primarch out of the dust, you can't take the dust out of a Primarch. Sevrah was ever the liar, ever the cunning one, ever the snake.

His Sons waged war across the stars, massacring enemy forces with campaigns of calculated cunning and cold cowardice, or so it was deemed by some. Sevrah never felt the need that many of his brother's and sister's did to seek out pitched battles. He preferred traps, ambushes, skirmishes and hit-and-run attacks. He never sieged a castle that could be unlocked by sneaking over the wall and never fought an enemy that could be exhausted by a prolonged effort of harassment. As such, his Sons suffered far fewer casualties than most of Imperium's legions which served to further tighten the familial ties between the Primarch and his legion. To him, every marine was member of his family whose life could never be priced too dearly.

This philosophy found a fellow practitioner when the Vth legion was named the Blazing Sisters and commanded by their Primarch, Farah. She too valued the lives of her legionaries and fought battles according to that principle. The Sister's style of continuous advance paired extremely well with the Desert Sons use of traps and ambushes. When working in concert, the two legions could drive foes into the perfect positions for devastating strikes that would remove command sections and shatter enemy morale. The two legions shared many campaigns over the course of the great crusade and the two Primarchs became friends or, at the very least, the closest thing to a friend that Sevrah had ever had outside of his own geneseed.

The Meeting

The golden figure stood, haloed in an iridescent glow. All around him, a host of impressively armoured warriors stood to attention, their weapons still soaked in gore. By contrast, the men who followed the Horned Snake seemed dirty, ugly and ill equipped. Their weapons were competently forged and they wore the best armour that the desert would allow those that traversed its lengths to wear but beside the gleaming cohorts of the newcomers, they were shamed.

Their leader stepped forward, raising one hand. Instinctively, every member of both assembled armies dropped to their knees, save one. The Horned Snake stood tall, staring at this new figure with a mixture of acute suspicion and cautious curiosity. He had an aura, an unmistakable air of power and control. The very air seemed to part for him and the desert winds fell silent. It had been many years since the Horned Snake had felt such a swell of awe and respect for another being. It brought back memories of a cave, of blood in his teeth and the sight of prey fallen before him. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts and stepped forward to greet this man.

Before the Horned Snake could utter a word, the magnificent being spoke with a voice of absolute authority. "Be at peace, my son, and know thyself. I am your father, come to reclaim you from the void. Do you know me?"

For a moment, the Horned Snake faltered. It seemed ludicrous, how could he know this man? He had descended from the skies with fire and wrath! He seemed as a god or avatar, not a father! And yet... something deep in the Snake's brain stirred and gave him a prompt.

"You... you are the Emperor."

The man smiled and his happiness lit up the world. "I am. And you, my son, are Sevrah."

The Snake rolled the name around on his tongue for a few moments. "Sevrah. Sevrah. Seeevvraah." He had never needed a name until he came amongst humans but this one felt right to him. And then he too smiled. "Yes, I am."

"My son, there are worlds beyond this one, beyond this endless sea of sand. I would take you to the stars so that you might take them in my name. I would have you stand as a champion of humanity, as a warrior supreme. I would have you take your rightful place as my son." The Emperor extended a gauntleted hand. "Will you accept?"

For a moment, Sevrah stood silent. When asked his plans and intentions, he normally deflected questions with a joke or a skilful lie. But with this man, his father, the Emperor, he felt that here was one who would see through even his deceptions. So he considered the question earnestly, his brow wrinkling and knotting. Then he looked into the face of the Emperor and spoke.

"Father, I would accept with all my heart. I must ask that you allow me to show you something first, however."

The Emperor seemed almost taken aback, just for a moment. Then a laugh that spoke of a rare intrigue in an age of repetition rang out through the air. "Yes, my son. You may show me whatever you will."

It took some time to travel to the cave and some more time to convince the Emperor's guards that the sight below was for him alone. Eventually Sevrah and his father stood at the entrance of the cave, once sealed by the young Primarch and now blasted open again by his father's weaponry. Together, they walked inside. Curled into coil in the centre of the cave was the colossal skeleton of Sevrah's guardian, the ancient Serasti that raised, taught and nurtured him in the early years of his life. In its withered eye socket, Sevrah's spear still stood.

It took some time for Sevrah to explain the significance of the beastly remains and even longer to relate how much he owed the old serpent. The Emperor took in everything said with steady interest and never once interrupted. At the end of Sevrah's explanation, he told of how his guardian perished.

"And when I looked into his eyes, I knew there was only one thing left I could do. Only one thing left it could teach me. So I took my spear and gave what help I could. Do you see, Father? I raised my hand against the first thing ever to show me affection, the being that taught me all I know. Can you still say you wish me to rise to the stars with you, knowing this?"

The Emperor's gaze was the patience of mountains, the depths of sea existed in his eyes. It seemed an eternity before he answered his son. "You say this Serasti made a mistake and it cost it its life?"

Sevrah nodded.

The Emperor laid a hand upon his son's shoulder. "Then you should not worry, my son, for I shall not make any such mistake. Our reclamation of the stars for humanity will be unmarred by failure, a perfect legacy for mankind. Now I ask you again; will you stand with me against the forces of the foe?"

Sevrah smiled, though his heart felt heavy. "I shall, father, I shall."

Desert Sons:
Formerly the Dawn Vipers

Legion Number:
IV

Legion Strength
14,000 Marines strong

Armour Appearance: 

Due to preferring to fight covertly in deserts or arid areas, the Sons find it necessary to use cloth robes to keep the heat and light off of their armour, even if the ceramite itself has been treated to avoid glare or reflection. The vast majority of the Desert Son suits of plate are bleached into muddy, sandy colours, some by design and some by the elements themselves.

Warcry:
"Blood on the sand!"

Dramatis Personae
Captain of the first company, Ipsa is playfully known as the laughing shadow within the legion, both for his skills and his mirth. Save for the Primarch, there are none who can match his skill with camoflague and stealth tactics. Many an ork and eldar have died without ever knowing what it was that killed them and hearing only the dry, rasping chuckle of their murderer. Off the battlefield, there is no jest too foolish, no joke too simple and no situation too grave for Ipsa. In most other legions, he would likely be stripped of his rank for his exploits but the informal nature of the Desert Sons allows him not only to survive but to thrive. Much like Sevrah, Ipsa is skilled in deception and misdirection though he too uses it primarily to disguise his true nature to those not of the legion.

His face is far more coloured by the sun than most of his brothers, leaving him with dark brown skin and flashing white teeth constantly visible in a grin. His hair is shaved close to his head and he bears a single century service stud above his right eyebrow. Somewhat unusually among the Sons, Ipsa's favoured weapon is a plain power sword. Most strive to emulate the Primarch and use spears or short stabbing blades like gladiuses but he says that the elegant simplicity of the average power sword suits him well.

Famed throughout the legion and Imperium as a whole for using a unique set of weapons, Urromah revels in his moniker as Scorpion of the Second. While he decapitates or dismembers foes with his pincer wielding right hand, he left hand wields the Sting, a complicated metallic whip with a barbed blade on one end. It's unusual for a member of the sons to use any weapons more complicated than a power-sword or spear, their battle philosophies calling for pragmatism and efficiency over martial flair and skill. Urromah, however, has honed his abilities to such a killing edge that not even the Primarch can reasonably object to him wielding such strange weapons. The man himself is quiet and patient, preferring to spend time in the training cages than anywhere else. He enjoys his fame and the reputation he has through the ranks of the Astartes but would rather spar with a battlebrother than talk to them.

Like many of the Sons, he closely resembles his Primarch in skin tone, facial features build. Urromah came from a particularly barbaric part of Scurn (and Scurn was never civilised at the best of times) and still bears the tattoos inflicted on his as young as four. They twist black lines of clan membership down his arms and legs, designs he has copied onto the exterior of his armour. He maintains a small beard but otherwise eschews facial hair.

Of all the Sons, Demruh is the one that most resembles his gene-father, both inside and out. He has the same poison-honey tongue, the same darting eyes and the same priorities. Within the legion, he is known as a man of great jest and constant laughter. Outside the Desert Son's ranks, he is viewed as a cold, hard commander by humans and an aloof stick-in-the-mud by his fellow Astartes. Both facades are entirely intentional, one to instil discipline and one to allow other Sons to use quietly expressing distaste for him as an in with members of other legions.

Demruh's physical similarity to Sevrah was once almost perfect; same face, same smile, same eyes, same hair. But in a recent battle, an Eldar blades carved a neat scar down his left cheek and ruined his mirror image of the Primarch. In an act of devotion, Sevrah used an enemy blade to mark his own cheek but his superior biology healed the cut in moments. The act was not lost of Demruh, however, who is even more fervent in his loyalty to the Primarch than the rest of the legion.

Most Desert Sons utilise close combat weapons that can hack, stab and mutilate enemies at close range. It allows them to burst from the terrain around their enemies and butcher them before any weapons can be readied. Sevrah himself finds this strategy most effective but some of his sons espouse a different way, using long ranged weapons such as Staker Bolters and Sniper Rifles to pick off their foes from afar. The Fourth company is home to many such Sons and Castus the Hawk is the best of them. His manner is as boisterous as any of the other company captains when within the confines of the legion but his manner is deadly cold and calm when on the battle field.

Taking his moniker very much to heart, Castus has had his face and body tattooed with various designs of feathers, wings and eyes. His armour is even drabber than the suits of his brothers, all the better to disguise with paint and powder for each new location. He ritually shaves his head before missions but lets his hair and facial hair regrow when off duty.

The Iron Fifth, Novrah is a traditional warrior through and through. He and his company's most skilled warriors wear the Desert Son's few suits of Terminator plate and act as the legion's vicious fist, hammering foes with tactics more commonly used by the other, less subtle legions. Novrah's ability to completely alter the shape of a battle with the arrival of his forces has earned him a fearsome reputation amongst the forces of the Imperium, one he lives up to. Despite his great name and intimidating stature, a fierce intelligence and quick wit hides behind his thick brow and gorse-bush beard.

Taller and broader than any other member of the Desert Sons, Novrah stands out as a giant even when not clad in Terminator plate. He has deliberately cultivated the air of a brutish oaf, growing a large beard and thick, bushy eyebrows to cement the image. When in the company of his own legion, he is quiet and thoughtful but quickly shifts to boisterous gaiety when in view of anyone else.

Even First Captain Ipsa cannot claim to be as irrepressible as Umah, an Astartes who relishes every chance he gets to surprise or terrify the enemy with his arrival. Leading the legion's assault marines, the Sixth Captain is used to arriving in the midst of the foe within a cloud of smoke and roar of noise and that's just the way he likes it. His role suits him perfectly, allowing him to make the most grandiose entrances possible without deviating from or upsetting plans. Off of the battlefield, Umah allows himself to be a little more reserved but still gives the impression of a thunderstorm in a bottle; caged, eager and ready to be unleashed.

Umah feels the need to draw attention to himself on the battlefield, the better to absorb blows that would otherwise be directed at his battle brothers. As such, his armour is painted bright red and a stark white lightning bolt decorates his helm. His chosen weapons are a set of lightning claws and an assault pack.

Oft called the Seventh Son, Nysho is the oldest company captain and perhaps the one that least resembles his Primarch as a person. Brought up on Terra and originally a member of the Dawn Vipers (the Desert Son's legion namer before being rechristened by their Primarch), Nysho has a love and reverence for the concepts of honour and truth. Obviously, this does not square particularly well with his role as a member of the Desert Sons. He does his duty, leading his company through ambushes, strategic withdrawals and harassment campaigns with as much skill as any of the company captains but he often wonders whether what the Sons are doing is right. He studies literature on the nature of honour and Terran traditions, desperately searching for some excuse for the conduct of his legion and Primarch. Thus far he has found none but has managed to keep both his doubts and his search hidden from his brothers. He does not know whether Sevrah himself knows of it.

As he was born and raised on Terra, not Scurn, Nysho's skin is light and fair rather than tanned and wind beaten. He deliberately makes sure to wear his helmet at all times in the field, as not to remind his brothers how much he stands out from them. Also unlike his brothers, his hair is blonde and stretches down to his shoulders.

The sawbones is valuable in any army, because it's always better that the life expectancy of a fighting force is extended. But they are more vital in some armies than others; in a mechanised army, they have relatively few patients. The Desert Sons, however, treasure their medical marines, as many of their campaigns are fought for months at a time without resupply or relief. When you've been in a jungle for six weeks and haven't seen the inside of a ship in twice as long, you really appreciate the aid a good Apothecary can give you. And Mekroh is the best. His manner is reserved, careful and considerably more formal than most of his battle-brothers, a fact that is often used to tease him. He doesn't mind though, enjoying a good joke as much as anyone, though he rarely makes them. Mekroh feels that it is his solemn duty to safeguard each and every one of the Sons through battles and takes the loss of even a single patient very hard. The skill of Mekroh and his fellow Apothecaries is such that it is a rare event.

Mekroh has coffee coloured skin, a thin moustache and a tight lipped smile. His armour is painted white, as is the tradition, but he has carefully used powders and oils to robe it of its lustre, mute its colours and make it less obvious to anyone attempting to detect him.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: 
The Desert Sons fight in the same manner as their Primarch; luring the enemy into just the right spot and striking when they are at their most vulnerable. They specialise in melee and skirmish tactics, preferring to hit the foe hard before retreating with coordinated precision, only to attack again hours later. Wherever and whenever the enemy cannot afford the Sons to attack, attack they will. Ambushes are a favourite tactic, especially in desert environments. A favourite ploy is to conceal a number of the Sons under the sand and a different group to lure the enemy into the right spot. When the foe has been positioned correctly, the concealed Astartes explode out of the ground and wreak bloody chaos in the middle of an enemy formation, even as the other Sons attack from outside it.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology:
The Sons live by a pair of rules given to them by their Primarch; Trust your brothers and your father. Everything else is sand on the wind. These words are utterly sacred to them and are not to be spoken to those not of the legion, no matter how close they might be. It is perhaps telling that Sevrah, raised on a diet of distrust and starved of family, has not only built his legion to be a huge family tied together by bonds of trust but also isolated all those not of his legion. To Sevrah, one should have a circle of trusted, loved companions and all those outside that circle are secondary. His legion do their best to emulate this attitude though some find it difficult to reconcile an order to put everything outside the legion secondary with a deep set loyalty to the Emperor.

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Bio

Name:
Edward Nigma

Age:
Forty eight years old

Alias:
The Riddler

Appearance:
Edward is never seen without his signature green suit, purple tie and patronising grin, unless he's recently been apprehended by Batman, in which case he wears orange asylum overalls and a disgruntled scowl. Getting on a little in years, Nigma now likes to use a question mark cane as well. Some sources suggest it may contain concealed weapons, though Nigma rarely deigns to do something as thuggish as fight someone in hand-to-hand combat.

Skills/Abilities:
- Genius level intellect, particularly when presented with puzzles and riddles.
- Experienced planner and manipulator
- Many contact in the Gotham underworld and Supervillain circles, veteran baddie
- Independently wealthy, having stashed money from legal and illegal deeds for years.

Weaknesses:
- Obsessed with riddles and proving his intellectual superiority
- Compulsively leaves clues for others to figure out his motives, location and actions
- Physically weak and has little skill with personal combat

History:
As a young boy, Edward saw the tests and questions his teachers presented him with as nothing more than puzzles with solutions so obvious, it almost wasn't worth solving them. He did though and was rapidly advanced through different schooling systems and to more and more prestigious establishments. Although young Edward's success meant that he went to better schools on scholarships, his early success greatly frustrated his father, a man who hadn't achieved in his entire life a quarter of what his son had in less than ten years. The man could not accept that his son was gifted or intelligent, instead choosing to believe his son was somehow cheating on every test he took. Whenever Edward brought home a school card full of straight As, his father beat him and demanded that he reveal his method of deception.

His father's actions had a profound affect on Edward. Despite not being able to satisfactorily explain to his father how it was he had passed every test ever presented to him, the attacks quickly drummed a lesson into his mind; the truth must be told. Throughout his childhood, the young man was unflinchingly honest and often received still more trouble for it. We all know that sometimes it is better to lie than to tell the truth, whether it's to protect someone's feelings or to save ourselves answering some unnecessary questions. And so now Edward had two conflicting messages, one saying that lying was wrong and the other that the truth could get you into trouble.

By the time he was thirteen, the young Nigma had come upon a solution. He simply found ways to tell the truth that were not immediately obvious to a listener. He was say one thing while meaning another by shifting his tone or allow the other person to leap to conclusions by not finishing sentences. And yet this still felt a little too much like lying to him so, during a class trip to the carnival, he was delighted by his discovery of riddles. Here was a way to put the truth in front of someone's face and defy them to understand it. It was here that Edward began both an extensive study of the history and mythology of riddles and to amass a vast collection of esoteric facts to serve as props for his riddles.

Edward eventually left both school and his father behind, becoming first an investor, then a banker and finally a security advisor. While the stock market had been an interesting game, it was too chaotic for his tastes, too lacking in carefully constructed rules. In short, it wasn't puzzle like enough for him. That's not to say he didn't make an awful lot of money during his two previous careers though, he made an awful lot of cash that he carefully stashed away in different accounts and funds. But as a secuirty advisor, designing and manning advanced security systems, he felt he might have found his true calling. Edward was able to create puzzles and riddles for intruders (though he personally thought of them as contestants) that lead them one way or the other, depending on whether they guessed right. And watching through his CCTV cameras, Nigma had the time of his life.

It all got stale soon though, for the average thief or burglar isn't particularly interested in solving complex riddles, they'd rather just cut the power to the building, smash a window and grab whatever their desire is. Or, if the puzzles were too complex, simply give up and leave. Edward realised that the fun was going out of his games because his contestants were a) too stupid and b) had the ability to leave whenever they wanted to. If he really wanted full satisfaction, he'd have to create an environment where they couldn't leave and had to apply their full concentration to escape. Maybe he should make some of the traps deadly?

It was a fateful night that he began designing some more lethal riddles because one of the many buildings he was monitoring was being broken into. The thief, or should that be cat-burglar, was very carefully navigating around every single one of the Edward's riddles and traps, using the ceiling, floor, air ducts and whatever else she pleased. It so annoyed Nigma that he was about to trip the alarm himself when he saw another figure, a shadowy giant with pointed ears. Where the thief was going round the puzzles, the newcomer was solving them with almost contemptuous ease. If anything, he seemed to be gaining ground on the feline intruder! Edward could hardly believe his eyes as the two of them waltzed in through his meticulously designed security system without a care in the world, being rude enough to leave without even stealing anything, not that the cat-burglar didn't try.

Now Edward was both incensed and exhilarated. Someone had beaten his traps and without apparent effort, solving puzzles and riddles alike. This was the person to go through his newly designed, lethal maze, the perfect contestant to try it out. And what better way to show that pointy eared fool that he only got through Nigma's system because Nigma wasn't ready than to kill him! So Edward constructed, concealed and baited the trap, leaving out riddles all over Gotham for his foe and taking a hostage to provoke the other's heroic nature. When he finally arrived, the puzzle master was waiting and eager for the games to begin. But it happened again, the newly named Batman seemed completely unimpressed with these new challenges! And what was worse was that he found some small clues that might lead him straight to Nigma!

But Edward couldn't stop. He constructed a new set of traps in his own home, sure this time he would defeat the Bat. When he ended up in Arkham Asylum a week later, it was in a state of shock, confusion and despair. It took many months of rotting in a cell for Nigma to realise what must have happend; Batman must have cheated! The filthy rodent! Well Edward would show him! He'd show them all!

That was around the second year of Batman's dark crusade. Ever since, Nigma has been a constant thorn in the side of the Bat, testing his intellect again and again while convinced that he can never match the mental prowess of the king of questions without cheating. Early on in both their careers, the press labelled Edward 'The Riddler' and it appealed to him. He soon adopted it as his 'supervillain' name and got himself a matching outfit.

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Bio

| Name |
J'ohn J'onzz


| Alias |
John Jones, the Martian Manhunter


| Alignment |
Neutral Good


| Affiliation |
Unaffiliated


| History |
■ 1900 ■
J'ohn J'onzz is born to an average Martian family. To their delight, he displays all the desirable traits that a young Martian could have; telepathy, mass shifting and spectrum shifting. His parents are so proud of their child they name him 'Light to the light' in their language, a name that proclaims honour and justice for all. As he grows into a young man, J'ohn masters the many uses of the complex Martian physiology. He can shapeshift, send his mind outside his own body to contact the minds of others, affect physical objects with his mind, change his density to pass through solid matter and alter his appearance in the visible spectrum of light to become invisible. Some of these abilities are common place within the Martian populace but great self discipline and talent are required to master so many. Members of the populace who cannot even shapeshift, the most common ability, are referred to as mutants and shunned.

■ 1930 ■ 
A child named Saul Erdel is born on earth and J'ohn J'onzz begins his training to become a Manhunter on Mars, the Martian equivalent of a police officer. His training goes at a fast pace and he is soon a fully fledged Manhunter, using his superior mastery of his natural abilities to great effect when tracking and apprehending criminals.

■ 1950 ■
A Martian project is announced called 'Firebird'. The project's aim is to create a craft capable of ferrying Martians to the other planets in the solar system. J'ohn is now recognised as one of Mar's foremost Manhunters and has been bonded to a Martian named M'yri'ah. Saul Erdel is now a young man, studying Astro-physics and Quantum theory.

■ 1980 ■
J'ohn now has a child named K'hym, who seems to have inherited his gift for the manipulation of her physical form, far outstripping her class-mates with her skills at shapeshifting. Project Firebird is still underway and predicts that it will be operational inside fifty years. Saul Erdel has been a scientist for most of his life but is ostracised by the scientific community after claiming he could build a device to instantaneously transport interstellar matter to earth. Even after many years working on this project, he has made almost no progress but refuses to focus on anything else.

■ 2000 ■
J'ohn was in hot pursuit of a fugitive when he felt the world fade away from him, air twist in his lungs and suddenly he was a new place. It looked wrong, smelled wrong and felt wrong to the many senses he possessed that humans do not. In front of him, a humanoid with pink skin seemed as shocked at his arrival as J'ohn was to have arrived. As he watched, the man collapsed backwards onto the floor. In his mind, J'ohn felt the other creatures life pass away in a flash of vindication, shock and fear. Saul Erdel has died moments after seeing his great invention finally succeed.

■ 2005 ■
J'ohn has spent the intervening years slowly learning about humans, first without leaving the lab and then by adopting a human shape and venturing forth. He learned from television, the internet and by talking to humans but mostly with his telepathic powers. After much consideration, he decided the only sensible course of action is to wait until Project Firebrid is advanced enough to reach earth, no sooner than 2030, and then contact the ship and its crew. Given the longevity of his race, he has the time to wait. Until that day, he will simply have to live the best he can on earth. He adopts the name John Jones and joins the Metropolis Police Department, the similarity between his new role and his old job bringing some comfort. He desperately misses his family.

■ 2013 ■
J'ohn is one of the many heroes that step forward and battle against Magneto in his attempt on President Kelly's life. He joins forces with Superman and is both surprised and pleased to learn of another alien, far from home, on planet earth. After the battle, he talks with Superman a great deal, eventually revealing his alter ego, John Jones and is honoured when Superman in turn tells him he's normally called Clark Kent. More than allies, the two have become fast friends and J'ohn follows his friend's lead when it comes to declining membership in the JLA.

■ 2016 ■
J'ohn continues to serve law and order as MPD detective John Jones and help protect the human race as the Martian Manhunter. Although he misses Mars, M'yri'ah and K'hym with all his heart, his desire to do good will not let him rest while injustice thrives.


| Supporting Cast |
M'yri'ah and K'hym - J'ohn's bond mate (Martian equivalent to spouse or significant other) and child back on Mars. M'yri'ah works as as a prosecutor for the Martian high courts and K'hym was in late adolescence when J'ohn was transported to earth. Now K'hym must be a fully grown Martian and has likely selected a career of their own but J'ohn has no way of knowing or even contacting his family.

Maggie Sawyer - Maggie is J'ohn's (or rather John's) partner in the MPD, both serving as homicide detectives. While he does his best to not let it show, J'ohn occasionally uses his Martian abilities to give their cases a push in one way or another. Being no slouch as a detective herself, Maggies knows there's something not entirely normal about her partner but she's no snitch and she can't argue with his results. She intends to work it out herself, something that J'ohn is conscious of but not sure how to respond to.


| Differences |
This version of J'ohn uses his original origin so the Martian race still exists but have not yet mastered space travel. I've also deliberately not mentioned White Martians and instead had the mutants on Mars be the ones with no special abilities, which will colour how J'ohn sees the situation on earth. He's also not a member of the Justice League or any other team and lives in Metropolis.


| Post References |
1: Stellar Sacrifice
2: Patriotic Discoveries
3: Magic in the Morning

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Player Name: 
Roosan

Character You Wish To Play: 
Union Jack (Brian Falsworth)

Moral Alignment: 
Walking the Line

Affiliation: 
S.H.I.E.L.D.

Character Origin:
Brian grew up on the many tales of Union Jack's exploits and missions against the threat of Hydra, thrilling to every comic, film or cartoon about his hero. Even as a young boy, Brian felt he knew what he wanted to do with his life, he wanted emulate his hero and serve his country. Fate had other plans, however, and Brian's start in life was nowhere near as privileged and wealthy as his hero's; Lord James Falsworth was the oldest son of one of Britain's oldest noble houses while Brian was just an orphan from east London. Still, he did his best in school and tried to fight for justice like Union Jack. By the age of thirteen, he had been arrested several times, twice for donning a mask and attacking criminals.

At this time in his life he came to the attention of Lord Falsworth, the secret identity of Union Jack. His lordship was alerted by some old contacts when Brian was threatened with a prison sentence if he didn't desist in his activities. Lord Falsworth took the young man under his wing, adopting him, training him to control his temper and to fight like Union Jack. After some years, he revealed his secret to Brian and asked if he would be willing to don the mask and continue the legacy. Brian gladly accepted and has been Union Jack and an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. since then, being deployed on clandestine operations to ensure the safety of the free world by doing things that might not be seen as particularly democratic by the general public. Sometimes he wondered whether the people of the UK would be accepting of him using the name and uniform of one of their iconic heroes in such a way. 

While being imprisoned by A.I.M. after a mission gone wrong, Brian encountered a man named Professor Eric Schmitt. A Bio-Chemist who had spent his life trying to replicate the Super Soldier Serum used to turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, Schmitt had been kidnapped by A.I.M. who intended to force him to give up what he had developed so far. During his capture, the Professor had managed to conceal a single dose of the serum on his person. He feared to take it, not having done human trials yet, but told Brian all he needed to do for them to escape was drink the serum. Upon swallowing the formula, Brian underwent intense physical changes. When he recovered, he discovered his abilities to be greater than even that of a peak human athlete. His newfound abilities were immediately put to the test as he escaped the A.I.M. prison with Professor Schmitt in tow.

Although Schmitt died during the escape, Brian was able to return to S.H.I.E.L.D. with his new powers and offer himself up as an improved version of Union Jack. Director Fury was impressed with his abilities, as they compared favourably with those Captain Rogers possessed but was unwilling to allow Brian too much leeway inside the organisation. Fury worried that the power would go to his head and decided to keep him on more small scale operations for some time, under the eye of a famously disciplined S.H.I.E.L.D. agent named Smythe.

Powers and Abilities:
Brian gained enhanced speed, strength, endurance and durability granted from Professor Eric Schmitt's Super Soldier Serum derivative. He has not possessed theses powers long enough for it to be known whether this version of the SSS will affect the speed at which he ages. Schmitt's attempt to recreate Erskine's serum was not entirely successful, however, and Brian cannot match Steve Roger's physical abilities as recorded by those who saw him in action during WWII, putting him somewhere between the peak abilities of a normal human and Captain America.

Hand to Hand combat: Brian has received training in how to fight with his hands since the age of thirteen and had more than a little experience at brawling even then. Before his exposure to the formula, he was ranked as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s foremost hand-to-hand combatants. With the addition of his serum given abilities, it is doubtful anyone not similarly enhanced could pose a threat to him in unarmed combat.

Ranged combat: Much like the original Union Jack, Brian is well versed in the use of firearms, particularly the modern military grade weapons used by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the field. Assault rifles and pistols are his speciality, there not being much call for heavier weapons during covert Ops. The abilities he gained from the serum augment his shooting with improved hand eye coordination and faster reflexes.

Gadgets: As an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., Union Jack has access to and has trained with the standard equipment for field agents, including smoke grenades, flash bangs and grenades that are all of an improved variety to those used by traditional armed forces.

Sample Story Arcs:
- Inheriting the mantle
As the second hero to bear the name and mantle of Union Jack, Brian Falsworth has big shoes to fill. Lord James Montgomery Falsworth, his father, was the first man to use the title, when he fought alongside Steve Rogers in WWII and helped defeat Hydra. He was just a man who chose to fight for what he saw as right, without special powers or enhanced abilities. For Lord Falsworth, the mask was a symbol of what he stood for and what he fought to protect. It meant a great deal to him and just as much to the men who fought alongside him. Brian must not only serve his country as best as he is able but also live up to the family name and the inherited title.

Same sort of themes as the second Captain America film, only using the different views consecutive generations have on doing the right thing rather than how the world has changed. I'd like to use Brian as a secretive agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. who goes on undercover OPs, rather than a frontline hero like Lord James Falsworth and see how the public would react to news that the mantle of a hero and veteran of WWII is being used by someone who participates in arguably illegal operations.

- The Return of Baron Blood
Legacy, it affects every hero. What you create, what lasts and what you leave behind. Unfortunately, many heroes leave villains behind them, villains that aren't content with their rivals retirement or death. Those villains return again and again, tearing down whatever the hero has built in an attempt to achieve a final victory over their opponent. The first Union Jack's greatest enemy was a vampire named Baron Blood, a vampire who seemingly perished with the third Reich. Should he return, it would be Brian's greatest test to date.

So Baron Blood is actually the original Union Jack's (James Falsworth) younger brother, John Falsworth because that's how Silver Age comics worked. He was 'killed' by Kraven the Hunter (sort of) at the end of WWII but was eventually resurrected by Dracula's servants in the 616 Universe. Having him return in this universe would be interesting, particularly if used in concert with the Red Skull or the return of Hydra.

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"There is no great genius without some touch of madness"
- Aristotle

◄ Name ►
Jeremiah Cliffton

◄ Alias ►
Jerry, Cliff

◄ Codename ►
Sage

◄ Gender ►
Male

◄ Age ►
22

◄ Ethnicity ►
Caucasian

◄ Place of Origin ►
Dublin, Republic of Ireland

◄ Sexuality ►
Homosexual

◄ Powers ►
Extensive physical tests of subject 'Sage' have revealed a range of abnormal but beneficial physical abnormalities. When subject was first examined, most of these powers had barely manifested themselves but later tests determined that said powers had since increased their potency or effectiveness. Bi-weekly tests since have determined that the both the subject's powers and the speed at which the powers are improving are on an exponential curve. That is, subject Sage will not only become more powerful over time, the rate at which his capabilities increase will grow as well. Only time will tell whether this unique situation has a cap off point or adverse affects upon the subject.

Abilities, measured against the average for human's of the subjects age, gender and lifestyle.

■ Approximately 1.5 of the human average ■
Speed
Strength
Endurance
Durability
Reaction Time

■ Approximately 2.0 of the human average ■
Healing Speed
Learning Speed
Information Reaction
Situational Awareness
Logical Problem Solving
Hand-eye Coordination

◄ Skills of Note ►
■ Rudimentary Combat Training ■
Since coming to the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, the subject has undergone an intensive combat training course, covering a range of basic moves and styles. In time, the subject's abilities will make him an extremely effective combatant but for the time being, he's strictly a beginner.

■ Marksman Training ■
The subject has not put any exceptional amount of time into practising his marksmanship but his exceptional abilities (improved reflexes and heightened hand-eye coordination) make him considerably more effective with ranged weaponry than most.

■ Knowledge of Art history and practise ■
Before developing his abilities, the subject attended a university course in art history and practise. His education has since been interrupted but he continues to use painting and illustrating to express himself here at the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy.

◄ Mental Evaluation ►
The subject has displayed considerable interpersonal skills, making friends easily and with multiple different personality types. He is well liked around the base, in part because he is outgoing and adventurous but mostly because the subject seems to take genuine pleasure in getting to know and help those around him. Recorded interactions with his trainers, colleagues and even personnel around the academy have revealed that subject not only makes friends but keeps them. Team building exercises have shown him to be a classic 'facilitator', going out of his way to make sure each person is enjoying themselves and being constructive.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the subject has a positive outlook on life and is in robust mental health. He terms this as 'taking each day as it comes' but the evaluator's description would be that the subject has a finely honed sense of the important and unimportant. He copes with failures by rationalising how vital they are to his wellbeing and continued success in his training, a very healthy method. Similarly, he unconsciously shares his victories, likely to make sure that they do not blind him to what he needs to do. This way of approaching life allows the subject to remain motivated on a day-to-day basis and to maintain a large number of interpersonal relationships. In short, the subject is ideal for acting in a team environment.

◄ Physical Evaluation ►
The subject is in good physical health, not least thanks to the increased metabolism of his improving system. This, combined with his training, is rapidly building his muscle mass from its unremarkable state upon arriving here. Before, he says his only excise was a bi-weekly jog. Now, he enters into multiple training sessions a day. The subject has taken good care of his appearance, leading to healthy skin, hair and complexion. He has never had a piercing or tattoo, apparently because he doesn't wish to use his body as a canvas for art.

◄ Biography ►
The subject was born in Dublin, in the Republic of Ireland, to a pair of academics, one who taught English Literature and the other History. He received a childhood full of education, being home-schooled by his parents until the age of fifteen. What is interesting to observe is that the subject did very little emotional growing in this time, following the work course set by his parents and interacting with other children but rarely. It was with his release into the general student body of a sixth form college that the subject truly bloomed as an individual. He found friends and interests not taught in his home and subsequently ditched many of the courses chosen for him by his parents in favour of liberal arts studies.

The subject's discovery of both his skill and enjoyment of personal interaction seems to have been helped rather than hindered by his long period of seclusion. He appears to treasure every moment spent talking to others, preferring any company to no company, and analyses interactions in a more active way than most people ever encountered by this examiner. Indeed, this quality makes examining the subject a trial, at times, for his habit of examining the examiner and examinations makes it harder to form accurate impressions or descriptions of him. This may also explain some of the reason for his dislike of the more grounded, concrete subjects; mathematics, the natural sciences and so on. He associates these times with the period of his life spent without the company of peers and therefore avoid them. Obviously, he associates the arts with his first taste of freedom and is drawn to them.

The subject was pursuing a further education in this field right up until the events that brought him to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention. He was struck by a car on his way to his classes, the impact breaking many of his bones and destroying his bicycle. But when he was brought into the hospital, they found that his injuries were healing at an extremely unusual rate, nearly twice that of similar cases. While this would normally not be enough to warrant the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D., one of the senior doctors at the hospital in question once served with Agent [REDACTED] in [REDACTED] and decided to make his friend aware of the existence of what seemed to be an enhanced or abnormal individual. S.H.I.E.L.D. arranged to covertly study the operative and detected a range of abilities that seemed to be increasing apace. It was around this time that the subject was formally recruited to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.

◄ Likes ►
▲ People, whatever the shape or size.
▲ Art, in all its myriad forms.
▲ Conversation, the back and forth of chat.
▲ Salty foods, fish 'n' chips a favourite.
▲ Loud music, classic rock for preference.

◄ Dislikes ►
▼ Loneliness, any company is better than no company.
▼ Calculations, no room for interpretation.
▼ Sweet foods, or drinks for that matter.
▼ Alcohol, never liked the taste.
▼ Driving, bad experiences in the past.

◄ Miscellaneous ►
The subject was once part of a punk band called 'Safety Punch' for several weeks.

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

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Barrett

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Bio

"The mirror is my best friend because when I cry it never laughs."
- Charlie Chaplin -

Name:
Vincent Isaac Monogan

Nickname:
Vince, though he's often called Bono in America, both for his accent and his last name.

Birth Date:
12/12/94

Age:
24

Gender:
Male

Sexuality:
Bisexual

In Depth Appearance:
Tall, slim and somewhat gaunt, Vince is the sort of man that ancient aunties pinch the cheek of and say "You're so skinny, you need feeding up!". And they'd probably be right, he doesn't eat enough. Or get enough sun. Or enough exercise. Or have enough friends... Well, enough of that. Vince has the pale skin of his human parent, which could uncharitably be described as pasty, along with the sea blue eyes that can only have come from his godly heritage. They say that when Irish eyes are smiling, the rest of the world will be too and it's true that Vince's smile is infectiously adorable, but it is a rare event. More often, he wears a smirk of wry amusement or a subtle scowl of impatience. His accent, lilting and soft as befits an Irishman, tends to get stronger and coarser when he's frustrated.

Clothing Style:
Since he was young, Vince has always felt that if you're trying to get something done, you should dress like it. Hard work? Overalls and old boots. Meeting? Suit and tie. Adventure? Jacket and scarf. It's not just about what your clothes say about you to others, it's about making sure you feel equipped. In his organised way, Vince plots out the day's activities and then selects whatever outfit will make sure to leave him prepared for whatever's going to happen, whether it's a monster attack or a food fight. Even when he has no activities or events planned (a rare occasion) he makes sure that his outfit reflects a disciplined, considered approach to relaxation.

Quirks/Oddities/Habits
Compulsive ironing, pressing and folding.
Constant shoe polishing.
Often asks or tells what's going to happen next.
Doesn't like music with lyrics he understands, prefers instrumental or opera.
Visibly agitated by another's poorly chosen outfit.

Likes:
Planning. Lists. Calendars. Order.
Long running television shows.
Tea, with biscuits.
Mild weather, not wet or warm.
Games of chess.
Mirrors, his room is full of them.
The Sea, though not its lord.

Dislikes:
Spontaneity. Forgetfulness. Chaos.
Intangibles and uncontrollables.
Loud people, especially drunk ones.
Anything to do with video games.
Monsters, hates them with a passion.

Fears:
Not knowing what's next.
Being forced out of carefully order comfort zone.
Getting caught in his guilty pleasure onesie.

Personality:
♦ Professional ♦ Cautious ♦ Organised ♦ Helpful ♦

At his core, Vincent is man trying to create a protective layer of order around himself. Whenever disorder has reared its ugly head in his life, disaster and pain has followed close on its heels. So the only rational reaction was to limit the presence of disorder, of chaos, in his life. Colour coded sheets and cases, carefully selected outfits, a well used calendar, these are all the tool he uses to ward of his fears. And, on some level, he recognises that the way he copes with life is irrational. That's why people who go through life with a carefree attitude and catch problems as they come both attract and anger him, like a man in a maze who can see people climbing over the walls.

Similarly, Vince's veneer of professionalism allows him to let him regulate his reactions and relations. He's not being aloof or rude, he's just being a professional. It's not anyone's fault that things aren't working out, it's just that he's dedicated to his work. And so on and on. Other people are harder to organise or plan for, so it's sometimes easier just to keep them at a healthy distance. As such, even those who've known Vince for a long time have to deal with being kept at arms length and occasionally 'managed', which can be subtle or decidedly not. Where he really shines, though, is when he's given a chance to use his inhuman organising abilities for the good of a group. Parties, picnics, outings and other logistical nightmares can become no more than mildly difficult under his expert guidance. Vince jumps at any chance to show people that he's alright, really, even if he can be a bit... difficult.

Background:
Born in Dublin to Cecilia Monogan, a young artist who worked mainly with the 'bounty of the sea'. She gathered shells, stones and driftwood and used them to construct strange sculptures and pieces of modern art, presumably what first drew her to Poseidon's attention. Their affair was brief and stormy, all passion and friction, but it resulted in Vincent nine months later. His father had left with the tide before his birth but Cecilia never seemed to resent him for it. Her lifestyle was unstable and predictable as a rule anyway, so a permanent male companion would've just been an inconvenience. Selling salty sculptures is rarely a steady business so she moved up and down the coast, attending art shows and gallery opening where she could and selling whenever possible. Vince was raised in a variety of BnBs, boarding houses and cheap cottages but always with a view of the sea.

It wasn't too bad of a childhood, all things considered. Cecilia spent almost all of her time not sculpting looking after Vince. She had a thousand games to play and a thousand more stories to tell, so life was rarely boring. But the young boy knew no permanence apart from her, her art and a view of the ocean. School friends didn't last long and he soon unconsciously stopped trying to bond more than superficially, preferring to bid goodbye to acquaintances than close friends. Still, a boy and his mother travelling the coast all year round could've been a lot worse. Or, rather, it would become so.

In time, the strains of living on a shoestring budget while raising a child and producing art to feed her muse became apparent in Cecilia. She became drained, drawn and less prone to spending time entertaining Vincent, instead pouring more and more time into her work. The moves became, if anything, more frequent as the towns slipped by in a blur and friend blended into friend. Like any child, Vince could feel his mother's stress but didn't understand it well enough to help. All he knew was that the moves were becoming more often and his mother looked less and less well. Vincent was fifteen when his mother had a nervous breakdown, an experience that immediately coincided with the cessation of them moving from place to place. In order to recover, they took up residence in a small hamlet a half hour from the coast and Cecilia accepted a position as a primary school teacher.

Things were different. Vincent could have friends that lasted for more than a handful of weeks and could make plans that extended across several months. He found the joy in getting to know a friend so well that you can finish their sentences and know what they're going to do better than they do. It wasn't the same as how things had been previously but Vince was happy and content to simply continued to be a teenager. That was until the monsters arrived, of course. On an unexpected beach picnic, Vincent got the first hint that there was more to him and to the world at large.

It was a traumatic day, one that Vincent still finds it hard to talk about, but at its end, Vincent stood victorious atop the body a slain Cetus (Shark like sea monster) while his mother had been badly wounded. As he desperately tried to help his mother, Vince cried out for anyone who could save her and, from the depths of the ocean, his father answered. Poseidon rose from the waves and took Cecilia in his arms before retreating back into the sea with no more than an enigmatic smile to his son. Understandably, Vince was more than a little confused and angered by this.

But in the years since then, he can't deny that his life has improved. He was recruited to the Olympus Academy, taught of his origins and how to use his powers, given a centre and structure to his life. What he was not given was any explanation to where his mother was, whether she still lived or why his father allowed the Cetus anywhere near them to begin with. He has had no more than a few encounters with his father since, all of which have been brief and tense. The unbiddable and inscrutable nature of Sea God is anathema to his son, leading the two to be at odds whenever they meet.

Extra:
Isn't actually too bad of a Swordsman, just not very flexible. Doesn't drink, like, at all.

Apollo/Artemis 4 lyfe

Godly Parent:
Poseidon, God of the Sea

Relationship With Godly Parent:
Not good. The two are very different beings with few common qualities and Poseidon's absence and inaction have left Vincent feeling very much disillusioned in his father's divinity. Poseidon spirited away Vince's mother, Cecilia Monogan, when she received grievous wounds during an encounter with a sea monster and has never satisfactorily explained to Vince where she is or what she's doing, or why he can't see her or even whether she's alive. The sea, he says, has secrets.

Godly Abilities:
◼ Reflections and Refractions ◼
Vincent's main gift is the ability to interact with all reflective surfaces, from puddles to mirrors, in a mystical way. This power is strongest when the reflections are clear and crisp but easier to use when the reflections are in bodies of water. The uses of this power are as follows;
Small items can be stored in one reflection and be retrieved from any other.
Vincent can safely step into and remain in any reflection large enough to admit him, though he cannot move around.
The view from any reflective surface he has touched can be displayed on any other reflective surface.
Reflections strengthen Vincent's mind and body, healing his wounds and lifting his spirit.

It has been theorised that Vincent may develop the ability to travel between reflections in time but has been unable to thus far.

◼ Son of the Sea ◼
While Vincent might not always like to admit it, he is the son of Poseidon, God of the Sea. This manifests itself in a few ways but he has largely neglected these abilities due to his relationship to his father. With more effort, the following abilities would likely increase vastly in power.
Vincent can breathe normally underwater without any apparatus.
With some concentration, he can shed water from his clothes and body.
He is able to communicate normally with Sea Creatures, mythical or otherwise.
With little effort, he can swim at a speed similar to mortal Olympic Athletes.
Vincent also possesses an innate knowledge of Oceanic geography.

"You know what would be fun? Write a list of all the people I know in the academy and list how I feel about them. Brilliant!"
- Vincent, shortly before spending many happy hours taking pictures from yearbooks, writing and organising.

| Z A C H A R I A H . R O T H S C H I L D |
"One of the older demi-gods in the camp and also a child of the 'big three'. He seems nice."

While his unique brand of self involvement might not particularly sit well with Vince, Abe's helpful persona and blunt honesty are certainly strong selling points. While their respective parental relationships aren't exactly the same, they clearly share a deep seated resentment of their divine elders.

| C E C I L Y . M E R R I C K |
"Kind, supportive and always there for her friends. If only she was less... random."

Almost everything Cecily does works for Vince, even if her style of doing them doesn't. Not knowing her particularly well, he can't know whether it's because she's reacting to the unpredictable needs of others or likes it that way.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| A D R O M E D A . R H O D E S |
"Mysterious, quiet, hidden away. Daughter of Hades, maybe it's in the family?"

To have a relationship with someone, you need to see them often and Vince isn't the sort to force someone out of their shells. After all, he's very much still in his own.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| P R E S T O N . M A C T A V I S H |
"My age, very rude. Called me a pasty introvert."

Honesty is all very well but Preston might've taken it further than can be called for. Vince doesn't hold grudges with any particular malevolence but he doesn't forget either, and will forever passive aggressively shun Preston and exclude him from plans.

| A V E R Y . S T R A T T O N |
"Always has a new piece of arm candy, very showy. Seems kind enough though, and that's what counts."

Relationships are all well and nice, even ones that seem based on having someone shiny on one's arm, what really matters is how you treat your fellows. And without much to go on other than the occasional witnessed interaction, Vince is pretty sure that Avery seems nice.

| P E T E R . M C M I L L I A N |
"Prankster. Very difficult, simply won't pay attention to or respect plans."

If anything, Peter probably sees them opportunities. Jokes and pranks are chaos and disorder, everything that Vince cannot abide.

| B R I A N N A . C A V E R L Y |
"A reader and a tomboy. Heard rumours of casual larceny."

Despite a reputed habit of taking things that aren't hers, Vince has nothing against Brianna in any way, he just doesn't know her at all.

| A T T I C U S . C A E S A R |
"Big and loud, fierce and fashionable. Seems to view cruelty as a kindness."

Well intentioned? Perhaps. But it does not sit well with Vince, not well at all.

| A L E S S A N D R A . S Y K E S |
"Loud and picks fights indiscriminately. Somehow even worse than the other Area child."

Vince likes quiet, calm, orderly environments. Not people swaggering around shouting "YOU WANNA GO?!" at the top of their voices. So whenever Alessandra wanders into the area, Vince calmly rolls his eyes and moves off.

| W E B S T E R . O' C O N N O R |
"Sharp as knife, but might be so sharp he'll cut himself as mum would say. Kindred spirit?"

Vince's own brand of social anxiety is different to Webster's and their rooted in very different events or upbringings, but there's still enough similarities between the two that they could end up fast friends. Though the age difference might make things less simple.

| W I N S L O W . W A S H I N G T O N |
"Crude, crass and seems uncaring towards the problems of others."

Without a more intimate knowledge of her deeper personality and more complex traits, Vince goes with what he sees. And what he sees, he doesn't like.

| S K Y E . W O O D S E N |
"Seems scatty, saying things without thinking and hurting people without meaning to."

Vince plans and considers, carefully calculating even the smallest comment to make sure it doesn't injure anyone else's pride. The idea of randomly letting out a harsh comment for no particular reason other than a lack of forethought is close enough to unthinkable to be genuinely upsetting to Vince.

| B I R D I E . A P P L E S G A L E |
"Nice girl, sometimes does unwise things. I do my best to steer her clear of the more... inadvisable options."

The two have developed a relationship based on the occasional 'should I do this?/no/okay, I'll only do it a little' interactions. They aren't overly close but given Vince's pronounced discomfort with unplanned or unintended actions, it should be reflected upon that the fact he has any interactions with her at all is near miraculous. Either she's unbelievably charming or he likes her.

| L A U R E L . P R I C E |
"Very much a stereotypical starving artist and man's man."

Rusty sewage nail exterior is more than enough to drive off Vince.

| M A R I A N N A . D I X O N |
"My roommate. Very social and organised, makes sure to have plenty of friends on hand at all times."

The two might not be the bestest of friends at all time but they get along pretty well. As it goes, they might grow closer or further apart through the school year, particularly depending on how much they know of each other and each other's abilities.

| H U N T E R . E M E R S O N |
"Seems very young, even though he isn't. Spontaneous and sarcastic."

Sarcastic is fine in Vince's book (it's a frightfully well organised book, everything is colour coordinated and numbered) but spontaneity is not. Being a lone wolf is fine though, it's far easier to arrange plans around people who don't want to be included; just don't include them.

| T E S S A . G A L L O W A Y |
"Happy as hell, touchy as Hades."

Someone who can be poked into erupting like a volcano is someone to be steered clear of, as far as Vince is concerned.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| D U S T Y N . F L I N T |
"She seems... nice. Just a bit terrifying."

Nopenopenopenopenopenopenopenopenopenope. Far too improvisational and adventurous.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| F I R S T N A M E . L A S T N A M E |
"Character thoughts on relations."
In depth description of relation here. At least three sentences.

| D E V L I N . C H A D W I C K |
"A few years younger, very happy and apparently fun loving."

While he might find being Devlin's close friend extremely difficult, Vince would likely be a perfect acquaintance level friend for her.

| R A N E F A R . A N T A R |
"Seems angry, sad and considerably more vicious to casual acquaintances than could ever be called for."

Ranefar's volcanic tendencies might not be entirely his own fault but Vince doesn't have much interest in anyone with the tendency to lash out.

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

Member Seen 5 yrs ago

Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

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Bio

"Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance."
- James Baker -

Name:
Andrew Colfer Brookmyre.

Nickname:
Brooks.

Birth Date:
12/10/1997

Age:
18.

Gender:
Male.

Sexuality:
Homosexual

Relationship Status:
Single

Occupation:
Fully committed to performing.

Classification:
Senior

Role:
Performer

In Depth Appearance:
Despite his boyish good looks and natural charm, all is not always perfect in Andrew's appearance. Often he looks like he only recently crawled out from under a pile of empty cans and bottles, hair hastily pushed back from his face and breathe fixed with half a pac of tic-tacs. Sure, when he wakes up in his own bed and has time to prepare to face the day properly, he comes out looking like the teenage dream that he is and any day there's a rehearsal or performance, he makes sure that's the way the day begins. Preparing for any form of music or dance begins with the gel you slick in in the morning and the clothes you painstakingly select for the day.

Of course, on any other day, there's only a 50% chance that Andrew even got home last night and, if he did, an even smaller chance that he was alone. So his appearance is very much a barometer for what he did last night, not that his enthusiasm or venomous wit ever leaves him, just the ability to style himself.

Habits | Quirks | Oddities
✯ Hums when thinking. And when not thinking. Basically always making some sort of noise.
✯ Snaps his fingers to show approval or underline a point.
✯ Incapable of passing up an opportunity to sing.
✯ Dances when in queues, regardless of appropriateness.
✯ Doesn't smoke but never refuses a proffered cigarette.

Hobbies:
✯ Finding new ways to annoy his 'superiors' in the Performers clique
✯ Trying to find more boys up for a good time that he hasn't met yet.
✯ Knitting. What? It's a productive hobby.

Likes:
✔ Laughter and smiles.
✔ Going out for the night.
✔ Drunken dancing.
✔ Karaoke, sober or otherwise.
✔ Sweetness, in drinks, foods and people.
✔ Singing and Dancing

Dislikes:
✘ Sour, as a flavour or a disposition.
✘ The rain, it makes everything cold and damp.
✘ Serious slow dancing, far too romantic.
✘ Tv shows, far too long to sit down for.
✘ Up-tight-stick-in-the-muds

Fears:
❅ Losing his voice, legs or charm.
❅ Fading into obscurity.
❅ Living in a dull job and structured life.

Personality:
♦ Energetic ♦ Sarcastic ♦ Dedicated ♦ Capricious ♦
♦ Charming ♦ Unprepared ♦
♦ Performer ♦

When he was young, Andrew discovered his talent at and passion for music and dance. He also realised a plan an simple fact; prepare properly and you will do well. So for every musical event he goes to, preparation begins in the wee hours of the morning and goes on until the last few moments before the performance begins. But where Andrew has taken that lesson utterly to heart in his art, he's never really learned it in any other medium. He doesn't prepare for tests, presentations or almost anything in his personal life, preferring to wait until the night before to do some half hearted research or planning and then wing it on his, admittedly not inconsiderable, brains and charm. He's lost more than a few boyfriends to this approach, as a date just doesn't feel the same when one's partner has clearly just dragged themselves out of bed and winces whenever anyone speaks.

Outside of his work, he's the stereotypical party boy. Up for anything, down with anyone and always, always ready to dance. Those close to him can sense that there's more to his ceaseless excess than simple lack of imagination but it's buried deep underneath layers of 'cool' and self image. In a way, parties are his second stage. Andrew throws himself into the role of wild child with as much dedication or more as any of his on stage performances but his motivations for it are all different. Where once they were the same (performing made him feel happy and alive, partying made him feel happy and alive) the two activities now have wildly different payoffs for him. Now, the latter is more about perpetuating a reputation he's allowed to build up around himself and a paradoxical but deep seated unease with permanence.

In short, Andrew is on the surface a pretty, playful party boy. But scratch deeper and he's even prettier, more playful but the party part is considerably less secure.

History:
Born to a pair of career business professionals, below, Andrew had a very supportive childhood. When he expressed an interest in singing, he was given as many singing lessons as he could handle. When he said he liked the dancing in an old film, his parents sprang for dancing lessons too. And so it was that he grew with every second word sung and every half dozen steps danced, not to mention an attitude of 'you want it? Go get it!'. Though he learned through several botched performances that things were, perhaps, a little more complicated. One can't just charge towards a goal with good intentions and some natural talent, one must take the time to practise, perfect and prepare.

Things were going extremely well for the Brookmyre golden boy until he arrived at Beverly Hills High and tasted the High life, geddit, for the first time. The glamour of the party, the thrill of the drink, the joy of carnal pleasure and the ease with which he could grab the spotlight by dancing on the table. As much as he hid it his from his parents, his new addiction party time detracted an awful lot of time from performing and wrecked any chance he had of fully realising his potential. Well, maybe as not as dramatic as that but at the very least it stopped him scrambling to the top of the heap of performers.

Richard Brookmyre
Giving and doting, Richard was ever interested in his son's wellbeing and activities. But his work kept him occupied and travelling, meaning he could only lavish attention on his son in short, intense bursts. So now his relationship with his child is very cordial and friendly but lacks the deeper emotional ties he wishes it had.

Cynthia Brookmyre, née Boremer
Considerably less interested in Andrew than her husband, Cynthia has always been business first and family second. And it's worked in her favour in many fields; she's rose higher and higher in her professional life, attaining new promotions and pay rises almost weekly. But her family's affections have been less forthcoming, particularly from her distant son.

Extracurricular Activities:
Andrew basically doesn't do anything outside of his rigorous schedule of dancing, singing and partying.

Extra:
David Bowie - Lazarus. Frequently brilliant, often melancholy and slightly unsettling, David Bowie has long been a hero of mine and Lazarus was my favourite of his Swansong.

Anything Else:
The path to his heart lies through three things; Abba, The Blues Brothers and ice cream.

"Good friends don't let you do stupid things... alone."

The Queen Bee: | D O M I N I Q U E . S A U N D E R S |
"You know vegemite? You either love it or you hate it, I think Dominique sees all people like that."

They've crossed paths at parties before, now and again, but the two move in different circles so most of Andrew's opinions on her are largely second hand or from half remembered meetings.

The King Bee: | A L E X A N D R O S . M O S S O S | 
"Scrumdiddlyumptious is the word, I think, though King works too."

Andrew would never let the threat of potentially disembowelment by a possessive partner scare him out of making eyes at a man so handsome, smart, handsome, intelligent and handsome.

Royal: | A N A L I S E . A R N E T T E |
"Her blithe, blonde happiness is as endearing as it is annoying."

As much as his prickly sense of humour hides it, Andrew likes the idea of someone who voluntarily spends time helping others, rather than giving them half hearted statements of sympathy on the way to a party.

Royal: | A U R O R A . H I D G E N S | 
"Sarcasm is a subtle tool but some people wield it like a mallet."

In all honesty, if Andrew was into girls then he'd probably have ended up with her and they'd have made everyone more miserable than ever before, especially each other.

Royal:
Royal:

Head Prep: | A U D R E Y . H U N T S B E R G | 
"She's a little scary, I'll admit it, but I can take her on the dancefloor, no contest."

On the one hand, she's clearly prepared to tear the heart out of anyone who a) touches her man or b) insults her. On the other, her moves can't compare and her boyfriend isn't bad looking...

Prep:
Prep: 
Prep:

Head Jock: | B R Y A N T . O ' C O N N O R |
"A preening prep but cute enough, I suppose. He seems excessively straight though."

People who work hard across the board, splitting their focus between multiple different disciplines, those people are annoying to someone as focussed (or narrow) as Andrew.

Jock: | P A R K . HA - N A | 
"Seems nice enough, though obviously not my type. I hear rumours though..."

Every party child has sampled a little of this, a little of that. But most don't have the full blown addiction necessary to sustain the... business practices of Park.

Jock: | E Z E K I E L . M Y E R S |
"Very in your face and loud. I don't think he thinks about what he says before he says it either."

Not being anything of a sportsman, Andrew couldn't care less for basketball prowess. What he likes is someone prepared to be fun, dance, laugh and party hard.

Jock:

Head Rebel: | A T L A N T I S . S T R A N G | 
"Beach bums, take them or leave them but they're always nice people."

Laziness isn't exactly something Andrew understands, what with his every waking moment being filled with either of his two vices, but Atlantis is irresistibly cool, in a nice, chill kind of way.

Rebel: | E L Y S I A . F A B L E | 
"I don't need much encouragement but Ely is normally the one egging me to dance on the table at parties."

They pretty much never talk or even acknowledge each other around the school or town, but under the influence of a little drink and a thumping beat, the two become thick as thieves. Shame they rarely remember it.

Rebel: | L U T H E R . S A N T O S | 
""Not my type, far too much of a grungy hippy, but he talks good sense, mostly.""

Differences in background, upbringing and social class might create some differences in world view for Andrew and Luther but they can certainly agree about The Man putting them down.

Rebel: | T R O Y . B L A K E  I I I | 
"Some people try so very, very hard. And it's sweet, in a sad and pathetic sort of way."

Andrew has one reaction to the rigid caste system of the High School; ignore it and focus on what you love. And it takes all sorts but he finds the brooding anti-hero reaction a bit too much to stomach.

Animal: | A L Y S S A . G R E E N |
"Control freak? Maybe. Spoiled brat? Probably. But damn if she doesn't make it work."

Andrew knows what it's like to grow up with hard working parents, constantly looking to climb the corporate ladder. And while he has no interest in that world, he can't fault someone who does.

Animal: | E L O R A . T A N A K A | 
"Something of a pied piper, from what I hear. She whistles and the boys all come running."

Though she's obviously missing some essential equipment to make Andrew dance to her tune, he can admire the skills of another serpent charmer from afar. Perhaps he recognises her duality of nature, not too dissimilar from his own.

Animal:

Head Wannabee: | G A R Y . R O B E R T S | 
"Oh, the young guy? He seems okay, present at parties, but I've never seen him dance. Not even drunk."

They might be playing for the same team and Gary isn't entirely un-cute but, well, if they don't dance they're no friends of mine.

Wannabee: 
Wannabee:
Wannabee:

Head Drifter: | J O C E L Y N . T H O M P S O N | {Symbol}
"She's so... fragile. The nicest girl you'll ever meet but like a soap bubble; easily popped."

Now, Andrew isn't mean. Sarcastic, sharp and venomous, yes, mean, no. If he cuts you, then he thinks you can take it. If he thinks you can't, expect gentle if slightly patronising treatment.

Drifter: 

Drifter: | T Y L E R . J A M E S | {Symbol}
"Honestly? He reminds me of me, only mournfully straight."

It's sad, really. They could bond over making fun of others, being sarcastic and even their mutual enjoyment of music.

Drifter:

Head Skater:

Skater: | D A V I D . P O W E R S |
"Skating just screams straight to me, am I alone?"

Cute, clean cut and so very straight edge (apart from the stench of pot) there's a certain charm to the boy. But the sarcastic, cynical side of Andrew cannot let something like that pass without getting a few shots in.

Skater:
Skater:

Head Hipster: 
Hipster: 
Hipster:
Hipster:

Head Performer: | E V E L Y N . H A R D I N G | 
"Evey, the self stlyed queen of the performing arts. She's okay, I suppose."

Andrew might come off as sarcastic and cynical but he really can't stand users, not least because his parents have allowed him the luxury of never relying on anyone but them and himself for success.

Performer: 
Performer:
Performer:

Head Artist: | M O R T I M E R . R U V E L N | 
"Ugh. There's artsy and fae and then there's 'Mortimer'. I pray that's not her real name."

To the cynical and the bitchy, the artistic will almost always seem nothing but pretentious. While they might often be right, they aren't every time.

Artist: 
Artist:
Artist:

Head Thespian: | H O L D E N . M O N T G O M E R Y | 
"Our delicious team captain, yes. He can raise my moral any day."

Now I'm not saying there's some serious, sensual, sweaty history there. But there totally is.

Thespian: 
Thespian:
Thespian:

Head Scene: 
Scene:  
Scene: 
Scene:

Head Punk:

Punk: | S I E R R A . J A M E S O N | 
"I've only seen her around once or twice, looks like she doesn't get much sun."

Relationships are built on interaction and these two have never exchanged a word.

Punk:
Punk:

Head Goth:
Goth:
Goth:
Goth:

Head Emo: | J A R E T H . W E L L S | 
"No matter the night I had before, no matter the bed I rolled out of, I look better than him on his best day."

Emos are so very 2000-and-late, at least according to Andrew. While he appreciated Jareth's spirited reaction to an overheard homophobic slur, he can't get past that outfit. *shudder* Nor can I.

Emo: 
Emo:
Emo:

Head Loner: | E L I J A H . T R I N I T Y |
"... Who?"

No, seriously, who? Never heard of him or met him.

Loner:
Loner:
Loner:

Head Geek: | N I L E S . M C M I L L A N | {Symbol}
"For the age of the geek chic, geeks are still extremely unsexy."

Andrew isn't being entirely honest there. He doesn't think Niles is entirely uncute, he just can't deal with the awkwardness. It gives him physical shudders.

Geek: 
Geek:
Geek:

Head Nerd: | O S B O R N E . M Y E R S | {Symbol}
"It's the quiet ones you have to watch, right? Especially when they look like that..."
In depth description of relation here.

Nerd: | W O L F E N . T O L E N | {Symbol}
"Not as bad as the sister but very straight laced. He needs to loosen up, let it all out."

Whether or not Andrew has a romantic side buried beneath layers of snark and party fever is up for debate, but he certainly can't abide excessive neatness.

Nerd:
Nerd:

Transfer Student: Taken by HushedWhispers.
Transfer Student: DPL's character.
Transfer Student:
Transfer Student:

Freshman: | E V A L Y N . J O N E S |
"God, she looks so young. I probably looked like that, didn't I?"

Similar backgrounds and somewhat similar futures. Who knows, maybe she can sing and dance?

Freshman: | P O P P Y . D U C K W O R T H | 
"She's a bit much, and it's me saying that. How much of her is an act and how much is genuine in us for debate, I guess."

We all like the spotlight, don't we? Some people get it one way, some people another. Andrew is pretty judgy when it comes to the methods of others but then aren't we all?

Freshman:
Freshman:

Outcast: | P H I L O M E N A . C O L E M A N | 
"Haven't seen much of her. She looks a little ill, doesn't she?"

Not particularly intimate, probably never will be.

Outcast:
Outcast:
Outcast:

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

Member Seen 5 yrs ago

Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

819 posts

in 2985 days

Seen 5 yrs ago

Bio

N A M E
Arthur James Carrington, called Arty by his wife and James by his father.

A G E
39

G E N D E R
Male

O C C U P A T I O N
Television Producer

S E X U A L I T Y
Heterosexual, with a few brief experiments in his younger days.

R E L A T I O N S H I P  S T A T U S
Happily married with a young daughter.

F A M I L Y  M E M B E R S
Melissa Mabson, wife
Being from a very different background and having a subtly but significantly different outlook on life, one might not expect Melissa and Arthur to be such a good match. But despite his lack of direction being anathema to her can-do attitude, they've been lost in each other since they first met. Melissa was born into rather different circumstances than her good husband, less wealth and more work as she says, so she wasn't afforded the luxury of simply wandering through life. She studied hard to get her qualifications, worked hard all the way through art school and now ceaselessly works on new projects for her gallery. Her art reflects her, in many ways, as it is both painstakingly put together, well considered and consequential but also irrepressibly cheerful. It was likely her embodiment of Arthur's favourite state combined with her Carrington-esque determination that drew him to her, though who can say what she saw in him? Potential, perhaps?

Abigail Carrington-Mabson, daughter
The light of her father's life, young Abigail has consistently made him more of man for all of her eight years. Her birth woke something that no one, perhaps accepting his wife, knew was there and their bond has only grown stronger. The carefree, fun loving element of Arthur's personality makes him any child's dream father (and a very different one to Arthur's own) but he is determined to make sure Abbi inherits her mother's drive, determination and cheerful self motivation. In herself, Abbi is precocious, curious and as playful as her father. She's a little afraid of Grandfather Lee, something in his heavy brow and thunderous expressions, but has always loved her Grandmother and oldest Aunty.

A P P E A R A N C E
Slightly above average height, with floppy hair, a casual dress sense and rarely absent grin, Arthur rarely looks the part of a Carrington heir. He likes to smile and therefore smiles a lot, evident in the smile lines worn into his face. He likes to wear comfortable clothes and so only grumpily dons a suit when his father glares fiercely enough to burn a hole in the furniture, preferring a fleece or a hoodie instead. And his hair... he's probably put more time, thought and effort into his hair than his entire business career. It's bouncy, soft and incredibly expressive.

P E R S O N A L I T Y
The Carrington name is synonymous with many things; wealth, success, innovation. The one thing that has never been overly associated with the family is levity, something that has chafed with Arthur since he was a very young boy. Unlike his parents and even many of his siblings, Arthur has no drive to succeed in the business world, no hunger to dominate the market or take over other corporations. If it were simply that his drive lay else where, perhaps in a respectable art or worthy scholarly pursuit, he would have been accepted by his parents as second rate but still wholly acceptable.

Unfortunately, all Arthur has ever really wanted to do is have fun, make a few people laugh and not think too hard about anything. It's not that his objectives are elsewhere, they simply don't exist. And while the immense family fortunes have allowed him bounce along on good intentions and charm, for the most part, it has not endeared him much to his siblings (apart from a few of the younger ones) and even less so to his parents.

But his lack of drive has caused to fail at even being a real black sheep. If he resented his parents with the white hot fury of some children, perhaps he would've made a terrible specatcle of himself, publicly badmouthing them or getting caught in compromising positions by the press. Instead, the worst he's ever managed is a few pictures of him looking rather tipsy and a public reputation of being a bit of an idiot.

To be fair, he isn't stupid. He simply lacks that stiff backbone and scowling determination of the rest of the family, that ability to see a star in the sky and say 'I won't stop until that's mine'. He prefers to bum around, have a few laughs and take it easy. Of course, there's no avenue of success that can be reached with that method, no matter the field, so Arthur hasn't got much to show for his 39 years of life. He consciously resents his parents for this, blaming them for not supporting him enough in his glitzy, show-biz ambitions but in truth, he never tried hard enough, never risked enough or wanted it enough. Late at night or in the wee hours of the morning, he knows this.

In recent years, however, something has finally stirred a sense of responsibility inside Arthur, though still not the sort his father probably wishes he felt. With the beginning of his relationship with his wife, Arthur first feel pangs of guilt about his lacklustre ambitions and achievements but it was the birth of Abigail, his daughter, that radically altered his person. His mixed relationship with his own parents has left him determined that his child will have none of that, no uncertainty and uneasy talks. He showers her with love, devotion and attention but also with the sole focus of his person, doing his utmost to teach her to be the best of him and Melissa. He's never worked so hard on anything in his life and it's starting to show in the rest of his life, both positively and otherwise.

L I K E S
↗ A good beer, a hot cup of tea, something nice to drink.
↗ Playing pretend, though mostly with his daughter.
↗ Relaxing, not stressing and taking time to watch the world go by.
↗ Chuckling, laughing, and making others do so too.

D I S L I K E S
↙ Stress and pressure, both from within and without.
↙ Dressing up and making pretty, what a waste of time.
↙ Authority figures, though they do have their uses.
↙ People touching his hair.

H I S T O R Y
Being only the second of the many Carrington children, Arthur had many expectations placed upon his tiny infant shoulders right from the start. Be this, do that, work harder. From his parents to his tutors, everyone had a plan for him, except him. All he wanted to do was be a child, to play with his toys and chuckle with his friends, those that were deemed acceptable for Lee Carrington's first born son. His father never explicitly demanded anything from him or was needlessly cruel, he was simply so distant and yet also so silently demanding that Arthur never knew exactly what he wanted, only that he couldn't give it to him. Things were little better with his mother, her praises being so few and far between that Arthur stopped seeking them.

So somewhere along the way, he dropped that essential part of the Carrington metnality, drive. He didn't go to a prestigious school, didn't work as hard as he could to improve the family fortunes or plan one day to take over the business. Instead, he partied and drank his way through University (causing a few minor scandals when photographed on all night benders, though nothing particularly juicy) making many friends and no enemies, not to mention even fewer commendations. When he finished his degree, business studies and media relations, he decided to make his way into the world of television. Of course, that's not too hard when your family owns several major stations and a word from your father opens all the doors and most of the windows too.

Within a few years, Arthur was heading up one of the more prestigious channels under the family banner, a comedy station that provided daily doses of satire, standup and news-pieces. It was simultaneously thrilling and disillusioning for Arthur, both showing him a world he desperately wanted to join and stripping away his belief he could easily make it if only it weren't for his parents. In reality, he saw that being a comedian would be just as much work as anything else, perhaps more so, and he wouldn't be able to just stroll through it even without the disapproving glare of his parents.

So for some years, Arthur maintained a position of mostly contented disinterest, producing programs, giving new names their big starts and slowly growing the station. This was all shook up when he first met Melissa Mabson at a gallery opening he was attending with his older sister. At first it was just her easy charm and ready laugh that enchanted him but when they started to get to know each other properly, he realised it was more than that. Melissa had everything he valued about himself, as well as everything his parents wished he had. He was, and still is, in awe of her and worked hard to try to make her see him in a similar light. In all likelihood, she saw him as who he was better than he ever did and loved him for it.

They were happy for a few years and Arthur did slowly start to become more and more active in different areas of his life, from business to his parental relationships, but then came a second bombshell in the form of Abigail, their daughter. Her birth finally hammered home a message into Arthur's brain that nothing thus far in his life had come close to doing. It was this; you have both power and responsibility. In his daughter's tiny frame, he saw the potential for a whole new person and saw too that he would be instrumental in defining who she would be.

In the years to come, Abigail would become both his greatest delight and most solemn burden. Different parts of his life benefitted or suffered from the immensity of his focus on her upbringing. For example, Arthur finally felt a deep understanding of the parents he'd never properly empathised with, grasping the struggles of their parenthood for the first time. Many of his fellow producers and colleagues have noticed his lack of attention in recent meetings, reporting that his mind always seems to be somewhere else. Who knows what the future may hold for Arthur and his golden child? If he has his way, she will have her mother's determination and his family's resources at her disposal right from the start. Will she take the world by storm or choose a simpler, more peaceful life? Whatever the case, she will remain the most important part of her father's world.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S  I N F O
Arthur had a brief Goth phase. It wasn't pretty. Well, it was, because he is, but it didn't work particularly well.

Cassiopeia Carrington

"I send her a card every mother's day and another on her birthday. But that's about it, really."

You know, I think there's a fundamental difference between how her and dad looked at me. When dad scowled at some low test results or harrumphed at a corny joke (we never called them dad jokes in our family) I felt like he had a vision for what he wanted me to be, but that he wouldn't tell me what it was. But with mum... I'm not sure if she even thought of me all that often. For her, it was all Sam, all the time.

Which, I suppose, makes sense. After all, there's a saying about it, isn't there? 'your son's your son until he takes a wife but your daughter's your daughter for the whole of your life. She needed Sam to be the daughter she wanted, not the one she was. I was always second as far as she went and I've made my peace with that.

Abbi likes dad better anyway.

Lee Carrington

"Well, you know, he's my father, so I've always respected him. He wasn't the most supportive of parents, I suppose, but I always had a roof over my head and clothes on my back. It could've been a lot worse."

Who am I kidding, dad used to look at me like I was an imbecile and scowl whenever I cracked a joke. He didn't hate me, I don't think, just didn't understand me or particularly want to. As unhelpful as he was when I raised the idea of working in television, I know he would've put me under house arrest if I'd gone through with... well, it could've been worse but only if I'd pushed him any further.

And I really don't understand it. I mean, I'm a father now, I understand the pressures of having someone look up to you, of knowing you're going to be the one to prepare them for the world, that feeling of love and responsibility that fills you up until you're about to burst. But it makes me want to spend more time with her, give her more options, not less. I can't even imagine not talking to her everyday or scowling when I could smile.

Maybe he never felt like that?

Sam Carrington

"Sam's always been my brave, bold badass of an older sister. Whatever I didn't have the courage to do, she's already done so much it's no longer cool. And, yes, sometimes she scares me but she's still my hero."

I know that mum always gave more of a damn about her while we were growing up but somehow that never mattered between me and Sam. We always got along well, despite our wildly different personalities. She's been the cool one that lead our little group, the rebellious first born right from the start, blazing a trail for me to follow. But because I didn't, at least not like she did, I've always worried she's disappointed in me.

Still, we can always make each other laugh, no matter the situation, and she introduced me to my wife. After that, after owing her that much, I feel so guilty that I didn't do enough to help her during her struggles. I mean, she wouldn't have accepted help, she's got the family stubbornness right enough, but I could've done something, made her accept it.

Maybe she's not the first child mum and dad wanted, but she's the perfect older sister.

Elaine Carrington

"Of all my siblings, I think I know Elaine the least. And I'm more than a little guilty about that."

Obviously, we're at opposite ends of the sibling chain and I doubt she even remembers when we lived under the same roof. I've seen her at the odd family event and tried to be friendly but she's got her own stuff going on. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of dad and that's certainly not much of an incentive for me to get to know her better...

I suppose it might be good for him to have a child to aspires to be like him, one that he can really connect with, but it's probably a bit late for him to really connect with a child. I get the feeling he gave up somewhere after me and Gabriel didn't really live up. Still, maybe Elaine is the hope of the Carrington dynasty. Maybe one day soon she'll be head of the family firm, looking down on us little people.

Better her than me. 

Emile Carrington

"Something went right between me and Emile that never really did between me and Elaine, even though there's just a few years difference between them in age."

Maybe it's that Emile always acted glad to see me when I dropped into the family home in his childhood? Though I suppose Elaine was a little too young. Anyhow, I used to take Emile on picnics and to the cinema when he was young, before Abbi was born. We'd just mess about, get ice-cream, feed the ducks and generally bum around until it was time for him to go back to the nest. I always got the feeling he liked being with me because the things we did would never be done with dad.

Having said that, there was a moment when I thought Emile had grown out of having fun with me. It was around when Abbi was born when he must have been... 11? Well, he stopped looking so happy when we came a-calling and never tried to hold Abbi in the early days. Things have changed in the last five or so years though, now he's my go to babysitter and Abbi is always talking about what her and Uncle Emmi are going to do next time me and Melissa go away.

He'll make a great parent, one day.

Gabriel Carrington

Indiana Carrington

"Poor old Indie. I've tried to be close to her, I really have, but there's always been a distance between us."

I think it might be because she's Carrington, through and through. She wanted to be an artists, to play her music and have people listen to it, so she did. She wanted to be her own person, free of alternatively overbearing and absent, so she did. Whereas I... well, I think we all know I've never taken life by the throat like that. I get the feeling she doesn't like or doesn't understand that about me, it's probably why we're not very close.

And I admire her, I really do, she's like a young Sam. Only I know, probably better than most, how hard life was for Sam for so long and I don't want that for Indie. So I've done my best to help her, give her a retreat and support her in whatever way she'll let me. But like I said, she's a Carrington through and through, just like her father, mother and oldest sister.

Too stubborn by half.

Nathaniel Carrington

"Nate was the first sibling I really felt like a big brother to. Gabriel, Mathias, Charles, we never really connected. But me and Shaggy? Always got along."

Maybe it was the right age gap or the right timing or something but there was never the animosity I had with Gabriel or the lack of connection between me and Mathias. With Nate I could crack a few jokes, have a few laughs and be myself. Admittedly, things changed when he got full into the slam poet, starving artist, anti-system man he is today (I think being a producer is the definition of serving The Man) but we still hang out when we can. And he gets on with Abigail so well.

I'd never say he's my favourite sibling but he's certainly the easiest one to talk to and one of the ones I've spent most time with. And in a way, I think he helped prepare me for being a parent. Some of the things we did together, I know I'll never do with Abbi. Buying him booze and taking him to parties, not exactly father/daughter bonding. But listening to his first (terrible) poems and giving him whatever encouragement I could?

That's something I'll be doing again.

Esther Carrington

"And people call me the family joker... I kid, Esi is clever and creative and occasionally even kind. At least, she is when she isn't stoned."

Ah, she's a good kid, she really is. Making something her self, performing what she likes and making a living with her art. I see some of my own mad pursuit of freedom through the route of parties and... well, partners, shall we say, but I don't think I ever had the courage (or the cowardice?) to follow it has fully as she has. There's been more than one time where I've talked to her and she's been so out of it she doesn't even remember seeing me the next day.

Still, that's not all there is to her. Esi is always watching and listening, even when she's probably trying to smell colours. There's a calculated nature to her conversation, it's probably a part of what makes her charming. And if I knew her better, I'd likely have a better idea of what it is she's watching for, what it is she's calculating. But at the very least, I can say that she's a joke with a subtle subtext, unlike me.

I'm all punchline.

Mathias Carrington

"I have a lot of siblings, that's no secret. And I don't like them all and some I find it hard to love. But Mathias... There's nothing between us."

I don't hate him, I don't love him, I nothing him. As kids, we didn't talk or play together. He never asked my advice and I never took an interest in what he was doing. It's strange, really, because even with Gabriel, I tried to be his brother in the beginning. But with Mathias, there was never really anything. He never laughed at my jokes and I was never interested in his achievements. So when I left home, we simply stopped bothering to talk to each other, think about each other or even to have opinions about each other.

Except... I actually resent him for being the one sibling who doesn't move me one way or another, nowadays. It's silly, I dislike him because I don't dislike him. So at any family event or social function where I hear his dulcet tones, I just walk the other way.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Charles Carrington

"I sometimes feel like a failure as a brother when I think about Gabriel, Mathias and then Charles all in a row. Three brothers and not one of them my friend."

And then I think about how dad must feel. Well, that's probably a bit harsh, Charles is certainly no Gabriel. And though I've had little more contact with him than I first had with Mathias, I feel there's more of a barrier between us than a complete lack of connection. Charles has never felt at home in the company of others, or at least others of the same last name, and that stopped us from being the fast friends we could've been.

I've seen some of his art, Sam or Melissa will drag me to one of his shows every now and then, so I know there was always something interesting cooking behind his eyes. Maybe he couldn't get it out in words so he found another medium? Whatever the case, and even though we're not close, I wish Charles all the best and hope one day that I'll be able to help him like a big brother should. Being a Carrington and an artist is hard, just ask Sam, so he'll probably need it.

I wonder if he'll be able to ask for it though?

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Barrett

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Barrett Oh, the year was 1778...

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Barrett

Oh, the year was 1778...

819 posts

in 2985 days

Seen 5 yrs ago

Bio

| Name |
Graham Bartholomew Greye

| Date of Birth |
Born September 18th, 1980.

| Gender |
Male.

| Sexuality |
Asexual, far too much like hard work.

| In-Depth Appearance |
A man of below average height and fairly average looks, you probably wouldn't give Graham a second look. Unless of course you were close enough to smell his unique aroma of nicotine, wine, old paper and mushrooms. Or perhaps you noted his impressive ability to prepare, roll, light and smoke a cigarette all without taking his eyes from whatever book currently has his attention. Or maybe, and this is the most likely reason you looked again, you felt the intense weight of his glare upon you, pouring hatred into your soul for the unforgivable act of bumping into him on the bus, asking for a cigarette, happen to be publicly reading a book he has read or any number of grievous sins. Graham has contempt enough for everyone and disdain to spare.

When he walks, he drags his feet. When he sits, he slouches. When he looks, he glares. Everything Graham does communicates both his disinterest in the current activity and how much he'd rather be elsewhere, reading a book with wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His voice has a hint of irish in it, along with an awful lot of scorn, while his language is a combination of modern english interspersed with ancient, long forgotten words and filthy curse words.

| Personality |
♦ Studious ♦ Slothful ♦ Dedicated ♦ Disrespectful ♦

At first look, Graham is a bastard that isn't so much cruel as utterly disinterested in other people. But when one takes the time to look again, more closely... well, he's still pretty much a bastard but one with encyclopaedic of magical lore and mythological canon. Perhaps not a particularly endearing quality but certainly a useful one, at least if you plan to interact with the otherworldy often. Before finding a home at Underwood Investigations, Graham drifted from libraries (no smoking), to cinemas (no drinking), to bookshops (people take the books away...), to a University position (asked to interact with students). None suited him even slightly, fostering a further sense detachment to the 'normal' world and pushing him still further into the paranormal. 

In essence, Graham is man who puts his pleasures before all else. He likes to drink, smoke and read, to the exclusion of all other things and all people. Unfortunately, the world requires that he interact with it to make his three joys possible; jobs must be done and money made to pay for drink, smokes and books, not to mention the occasional meal. As it seems that the world's main goal is to stop him doing what he likes doing, Graham has a strained relationship with it. Deep beneath layers of cynicism and id driven liftstyle, he does feel empathy for others but he'll deny it right to the point he has to choose between a person's life and a fine bottle of that La Prousse '85.

| Likes & Dislikes |
✔ Books, old and new. Subject, langue, age and quality irrelevant.
✔ Wine. Good wine, bad wine, it's all the same the next day.
✔ Tobacco, though that's probably more addiction than anything else.

✘ Everything.
✘ Everyone.
✘ Especially you.

| Family |
Sister, Beverly Greye
Graham's older sister, Beverly, is the success of the family. A noted film director, her face is often plastered across the arts sections of newspapers and magazines, which is perhaps why Graham so often refers to them as 'filthy rags!'. Being the foul smelling black sheep of the family, he has a less than perfect relationship with his sister, though it is entirely his own fault. She has largely been supportive of him and kind whenever they've seen each other as adults but that somehow makes it much, much worse.

Brother, Barrington Greye
The youngest of the three Greye siblings, Barry falls somewhere between Beverley's success and Graham's... let's just call it his 'life'. Barry is a starving artists who has been playing in every sort of band with every sort of instrument for most of his adult life. He's played with or been in most of the nation's biggest groups but always manages to leave and move on just before they get their big break. Still, at least he's doing what he loves.

| Theme Song |
Lookout Sunshine – The Fratellis
”Well there's no use telling me to leave
I've seen a half a dozen ghosts but I don't believe
I'm a cynical cunt and I'm much too lazy to change”

| Extra Information |
Anything else.

| Name |
Bariel

| Date of Birth |
Time was different back then. Say only that it was an age ago.

| Gender |
Genderless, though his physical form would be traditionally considered male.

| Sexuality |
Asexual, Panromantic

| In-Depth Appearance |
Bariel's mortal form is broad shouldered and well muscled, perhaps representing the martial prowess integral to his person or the strength of faith at the core of his being. His voice is deep and rich, capturing majestic notes of emotion whether he's telling off Graham for leaving his socks in the fridge or patiently explaining why buckets should not be stored on top of doors to Dee for the hundredth time. Bariel favours thick jackets against the British chill but quite fancies his appearance in suits and ties. The Underwood society isn't awash in currency but what little is his, he spends on suits.

Finally, they say the eyes are the doors to the soul. As originally beings of nothing but soul, this is doubly true for angels. Bariel's eyes are amber to brown and have shifting depths of colour and hue. Whatever expression crosses his face is made so much more expressive by the force of his eyes, even more so by the weight of his voice.

| Personality |
♦ Courageous ♦ Conflicted ♦ Protective ♦ Guarded ♦

Bariel has fought the good fight for a long, long time, since the earth was freshly formed and the fall a recent memory. And through it all, his faith in the divine plan was what allowed him to soldier on through war, tragedy and horror. Whatever came shrieking from the pit, he could be meet in kind with sword and a smile, so long as the plan accounted for the suffering and promised. Even amongst the other Thrones (soldiers in the army of heaven), Bariel was often commended for his unshakable faith, though few realised its true nature.

But in his recent past, something happened to Bariel. An event of such magnitude it shook his faith to the core and shattered his certainty. He left the Third Circle and fled to earth, hiding from friend, foe and perhaps even himself. But the habits of millennia die hard and you can take an angel out of the fight but you can't take the fight out of an angel. So on earth, Bariel has found a new way to guard the light from those who worship evil's might. In battling monsters, he find vindication and an escape from doubt. But when the beast is dead or the creature banished, the doubts still wait for him. Everyday is a struggle, depression and self doubt nipping at his heels as he walks to the office, searching for the next moment of serenity.

In battle, Bariel is calm, collected and utterly fearless. Skill honed by combat unending in the service of the Silver City make him a veritable force of nature. Outside of combat, however... Bariel is cagey and waspish, snapping at anything he perceives as someone poking into his private life or questioning his devotion to good works. Conversely, he is fiercely protective of his colleagues from outsiders, both physically and emotionally. Heaven help the brave man or woman who goes through a messy breakup with one of his friends...

| Likes & Dislikes |
✔ Churches, calm and cool.
✔ Films, sweet and simple.
✔ Fire, fierce and flickering.
✔ Chocolate, nice and naughty.

✘ Debate, doomed and doubtful.
✘ Question, intrusive and irritating.
✘ Books, complex and curious.
✘ Night, lightless and lonesome.

| Family |
Thuriel
Once also one of the Thrones, Thuriel exiled himself to earth some time before Bariel did likewise. Although he sees the other angel often, Bariel refuses to talk about Thuriel to anyone and asking about him is cause for several days of the silent treatment.

| Theme Song |
Still in love with You – Thin Lizzy
”They say time has a way of healing
Dries all the tears from your eyes
But darling it's this empty feeling
My heart can't disguise”

| Extra Information |
Nothing, yet.

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Kinion the fool

Description

Fool? Wise man? Idiot? Savant? Liar? Prophet? All these words have been used to describe Kinion in his time. Maybe they are all right or maybe they are all wrong but he isn't telling. For time out of mind, Kinion has been the joker in the playing cards of the Children, the fool in the tarot deck of fate. Others had agendas to pursue and empires to raise but Kinion seemed content to merely meddle with the plans of others, nudging here and overturning there, always appearing at just the right moment to tip the balance one way or the other. To trace his path through ancient history is simply to follow the pattern of mayhem and chaos his actions almost invariably caused.

In his manner, Kinion is capricious and irreverent as only an immortal can be. He might ignore and Emperor to talk to a pauper but is just as likely to kick a beggar down the steps in front of a holy man. As a favoured form, he looks like a young man with pale skin, often wearing flowing robes and a mask of some sort. More often than not he forgoes shoes or any clothes other than a mask and robe. He laughs easily and jokes often, taking the time to try and bring a smile to the faces of even the most solemn of his siblings, though he feels it is more for his benefit than theirs. It is sometimes hard to tell but the wiser Children know that Kinion is not purely random. He acts according to a personal code or reason, a method to his madness, but even Eyra knows not what it might be.

Powers

They say that a good fool should be able to go where the wise cannot. Kinion can go everywhere and anywhere, no lock barring him and no portal holding him, with one notable exception. His ability is as mysterious as the rest of him but when he approaches somewhere others would rather he not, like a locked door or fortified castle, he will simply appear past whatever barriers were erected with a roguish chuckle and continue to do as he pleases. Similarly, locks click open at his touch and knots untie themselves in his presence. Distance is no more of an obstacle to Kinion than a locked door, the fool seeming to be able to cover miles at an impossible rate. He does not disappear and then reappear, rather he seems to wander, meander and travel by ignoring distance until he arrives. He has been known to traverse the entire continent in a day. Apart from these powers, however, he is as fragile as any mortal and can be killed quite simply, if he hangs around long enough for others to try. Kinion has never been one to stay dead for long, however, usually reappearing within a few years.

Original tribe

In days long past, Kinion's people were called the Kabrics. They were a nomadic people who wandered from place to place, exchanging fortune tellings for provisions and songs for suppers or occasionally simply taking what they wanted and leaving at speed. They never had any armies and didn't engage in the wars that oft consumed the continent, preferring to hold themselves aloft as separate and independent. When Kinion was there to keep them out of harms way, they tended to escape retribution for most of their less than lawful actions. With him imprisoned, they were wiped out within a few generations, either settling down and mixing with the other tribes or being hung as thieves.

Faction

Kinion was an independent in the war, choosing neither to declare himself for the angelic or demonic sides. But he was seen as too chaotic to be allowed to continue to meddle in the affairs of man by many of the angels and was forcibly imprisoned in the Pit towards the end of the war, some 1200 years ago. For all the children in the Pit, this fate was perhaps the cruellest for Kinion, his very essence and soul being that of a free and unfettered soul.

Anecdotes

In the dawn times, Kinion would often lead one faction to believe he was fighting for them, only disappear just when he was most needed, or unlock the gates of a fortress and leave. As infuriating and unhelpful as his exploits were, he could equally be a most effective ally, slipping into the fortifications of the enemy to eavesdrop, steal or importune. The only difficulty lay in ensuring he would not simply go straight to whichever Child of Aton controlled the opposition and tell all he knew of the other's plans. More pragmatic leaders preferred not to risk his fickle allegiances but those with a more romantic or risk loving turn of mind generally chose to see the positives of recruiting him rather than the risks.

So many are the tales of skullduggery and trickery that it would take an age to recite them all. Some of his most well known, however, revolve around the parable of the wise fool. Kinion famously came to a land (the details of where have been lost to antiquity) where two kings were often at war, as had their fathers been and their father's fathers. Each king begged than Kinion end the fighting by helping him destroy the other's city state. Instead, Kinion stole away the sons of both kings and took them beyond the reach of their royal parents. For many years, nothing was heard of him or the boys, Kinion having taken them to the wilderness to train and teach together, but when they were grown men each returned to their native land and were embraced by their parents. And when they ascended to the throne, they promised never to make war on each other, not wishing to undo the long years of friendship they'd had during their upbringing. But just as it seemed that Kinion had brought peace to the land, he returned and told the people of each city that he had fooled them, switching the boy's names when he took them. Each one was ruled over by the spawn of their hated enemy. In a rage, mobs tore down the ruling districts of each city state, murdered the kings in their beds and from it a republic that incorporated both cities was born.

Philosophers have often argued about what the meaning or moral of this 'fable' is, some saying is is 'change never comes easily', others that it's 'hate is more powerful than love' but all can agree on one; never trust a Child of Aton.

Opinions

Eyra
"When angel fought demon and the earth was hell, Eyra looked forward and made many a cell."
"She chained up the children and locked us away, if she meant to release us no one can say."
"But she ruled the earth well, that we all can see. But now the Children are once again free..."
"So bring on the chaos and bring on the pain, for we will never be locked up again."

Before being imprisoned in the Pit, Kinion bore no particular ill will towards his siter Eyra. She was just another planner to him, someone who constructed where he would prefer to pull down. But after being denied the freedom that he so requires to be himself for over a thousand years, he now holds something of a grudge. The sort of grudge that might cause someone to burn cities to the ground and dance amongst the flames.

Wu Dan
"Wise man, wise man, what should I do?"
"Young man, young man, that's up to you."

Wisdom, order, serenity. These are the domains of Grandmaster Wu-Dan, none of which are much to the liking of Kinion the fool. If ever there were two opposites amongst the children, here they stand.

Nod
"A fist is his hand and there's rage in his heart"
"But heaven forfend, he knows not of art."

The singleminded determination that is personified by Nod is both amusing and irritating to Kinion. On the one hand, it represents eveything that is contrary to Kinion's way of life. On the other, it is most humorous to see one who has, from the point of view of a fool, misunderstood things so badly.

Kozz
"The giant makes his swords and armour, for lord knows he'll never charm her."

Slow and steady types are targets for chaos but not very satisfying ones.

Azoth
"Lies and mischief though in purpose pure,
loses its once gaudy allure."

The fundamental difference between Azoth and Kinion is that one uses chaos to further a goal and for the other chaos is the goal.

Therelon
"Who flies in the cold and records your words?"
"He's high in the sky, that lord of the birds."

The Tower was long one of Kinion's favourite stops to raise a little hell and pass on a few scraps of information. In so far as Kinion can be surprised (being surprised requires one to have plans and expectations of what the future holds) he was surprised when Therelon did nothing to prevent his imprisonment in the pit.

Chinasa
"Where have all the colours gone and where are all the hues?"
"The palid man walks and a pale light soon ensues."

In the days of Dawn, Kinion thought little of Chinasa but times have changed. Here is another who would see the empire of Eyra fall about her ear's.

Tarthus
"The child said, why fight a fight I know I just can't win?"
"The warrior said, it's all going to end, why shouldn't I sin?"
"The grandmother said, for that's where life doth truly begin."

Death is nothing to a Child of Aton, an inconvenient obstacle overcome with patience. Death is for mortals, time is for the undying.

Aylin
"Calm, slow and all alone."
"A huntress without a home."

A solitary huntress is of little interest to a jester beloved of intrigue though all will have a part to play in the games to come.

Ash
"Many faces, changing places, never one to last."

Of all the Children, Ash and Kinion as perhaps the most similar. Change, chaos, a double edged sword.

Zhystkrexas
"Gifts and deals, bargains and trades"
"Ash, dust, satisfaction fades."

Kinion makes no bargains and heeds no deals though he appreciates the sad irony in giving someone what they want, only for it to destroy them.

 Kilgarrah
" To roar, to rip, to smash, to scream, it does not take an mind too keen."

The Dargon's anger and frustration at Kinion's nature has long been one of the Fool's favourite sources of amusement.

 Kalikmalo
"Yes, no? I don't think so."
"Let language fool the ear, never be far, never be near."

Speaking a language almost no one else can is a fine jest, to be sure, but does rather limit the interaction a child of Aton can have with their siblings.

Nefas Sen
"Blood does seep and mothers weep as sons go gladly to the deep."
"The monsters howl and slaughters, turning red the sunken waters."
"Queen of the sea, now you too are free.

To tweak the tail (or monstrous legs) of the Queen of the depths was a rare pleasure in the times of old. Now both Kinion and Nefas have other things on their minds.

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"Run, if you want to. You'll only die tired."

•  N A M E S

Wolf, Loup, Lupo, Vargen, the thing that growls in the dark.

•  S T O R Y 

Various, primarily Little Red Riding Hood.

•  B I R T H P L A C E 

The deepest, darkest forest in Wonderland.

•  M A G I C 

Wonderland and its denizens are, in a sense, soaked constantly in magic. Most see it as a part of their nature, drawing on it not like a wizard does but like you would use your arms or your eyes. Loup's own nature is that of the predator that exists in the imagination and so his form was tied the popular fear of a predator. Since leaving Wonderland, he has ceased to have a transient form, now existing only as a man, but still retains an the ability to emanate fear.

•  A G E 

When humans first heard howls in the night, some part of him was there.

•  R O M A N T I C  I N T E R E S T S 

Mating, rather than romance, is a more familiar concept to Loup but since leaving his home, he's allowed the softness and corrupting comfort of society to dull his hunter's edge. In other words, he's more human and civilised now than ever before, maybe even enough to comprehend love and even to reciprocate it.

•  A T T I R E 

As a man, Loup is a little above average height, a fair ways above average muscle mass and leagues above average in beard growth. And while he might not look as toned or chiselled as some athletes, every muscle in Loup's body is tensed and coiled for action at any given moment. As such, he projects an aura of controlled menace with each step, glance and snort, whether he means to or not.

Loup favours dark colours or muted palettes, though whether that's because he misses having fur or would rather blend easily into a dark room is anyone's guess. Regardless, his wardrobe on earth is full of warm, thick, practical clothes that have a certain rugged charm and style to them, but could equally be warm for a trek through the woods or day's hard work. He scorns hats, scarves, gloves and other protections against the cold, preferring to wear his jackets open and his shirts low cut.

•  H E R O ' S  N A T U R E 

Loup is a, in essence, the predator you imagine the first time you see a carcass in the woods or a sad little pile of feathers. He is exactly as ruthless and terrible as you can imagine, having been born out of human fear and into the primordial mess of early Wonderland. Overtime, he has gained the qualities of modern, anthropomorphised predators humans have projected; cunning, callousness and cruelty. But at his roots he's still a deeply pragmatic beast who has no confusions about the nature of life, which is to make sure it lasts as long as possible.

Where in the past, Loup's nature and identity was tied to the conception of fear and dread in the human mind, his defeat at the hands of Red Riding Hood and the Huntsman combined with his exodus to Earth have wrought profound change in his form and thoughts. His form has now settled in that of a man and his attitude has followed suit. Civilisation has seeped into his being so that he no longer even considers ripping out a barista's throat rather than paying for his coffee. Some days, he worries that he's not the being he was but other he feels almost... guilty about the old days of blood and fear.

The beast now wears a muzzle but it's made of gossamer and hope, who knows how long it will restrain him?

•  R E N O W N E D  S K I L L S 

As a predator most ancient, Loup is unequaled at hunting like a beast. While he knows nothing of traps and tracks, there's little he doesn't know about scents and slaying. He can and has followed foes across entire kingdoms without losing their trails once. So too can he hold his own in a scrap, fighting with an animalistic fury that can't be matched. Finally, as the original thing that goes bump in the night, Loup owns the shadows and can move through them without detection should he choose to, though he has always preferred to allow a little detection. All the better to frighten you with...

•  F A T A L  F L A W 

In his heart, Loup is still a beast. After all, you can take the wolf out of the deep dark woods but you can't take the deep dark woods out of the wolf. Merlin's conditions for bringing him to Earth were enforced by more than Loup's questionable understanding of honour, they are magical geas that bind Loup body and soul. And, like all wild things, these bindings chafe him horribly. Should Loup's original nature break through, it will cost him more than he knows, even before the heroes of Mystvale come for him.

•  O N C E  U P O N  A  T I M E 

Do you remember the first time you walked alone in the dark? I'm sure you do, the heart-in-your-mouth terror and cold sweat is hard to forget. And when you heard a twig snap or something rustle, you were sure that is was a feral beast or terrifying monster, come to devour you whole, weren't you? You could feel its eyes on the back of your neck and hear its panting breath. And when you got back to the light, you dived into bed and told yourself it was nothing, that monsters don't exist and there are no more true wolves, that you were alone. Well, you were wrong.

Loup was there, in the dark, watching you.

Since long before you were around, humans have feared the dark, whether it's an analogue for the unknown or simply the space beyond the firelight. And as you know, every little noise in the darkness becomes the stalking of something hungry in the human mind. But what you may not know is that over time, ideas in the human mind can take form, shape and life in another place. So it was in Wonderland that something took form in the shade of the trees and the black of night; a beast of unimaginable fear, fright and terror. Or, rather, exactly as terrible as you can imagine.

For as long as there have been merchants, travellers and heroes venturing through the deep dark woods, there's been something in their to feast upon their bones. Alongside the Jabberwocky, the wolf of the woods was reputed to be the most dangerous beast in all the land, more evil than a host of Bandersnatches or a horde of Jub-Jub Birds. Many heroes came to test their might and many found their ends between his fearsome teeth.

But in time, the great powers of the land turned their attention upon this beast troubling their subjects. Unlike the Jabberwocky, Loup was not under the protection of a monarch of the realm and was chased from Wonderland through the combined efforts of several of the great powers. And while they called it a job well done, few in the realm they chased it into could agree. Indeed, the citizens and nobility of Bellegarde would have happily chased him back had things not changed somewhat.

On Earth, the middle ages were dragging on and the wolf was now the symbol of the wild in Europe. Tales told of packs dragging off children and devouring villages were all the rage in Germany, France and much of the rest of the continent. But with its anthropomorphising, the wolf gained certain qualities that the animal itself knew nothing of; everyone knows that wolves are cunning, cruel and vicious. But while a real wolf is no more cruel than a rabbit, Loup was now a wolf of the mind.

The beast that stalked Belllegarde, therefore, was more defined and wolfish than the one that dwelled in the deep, dark woods but had gained a rough, animal slyness and a distinctly human capacity for cruelty. The people of the land soon leanred to fear leaving the beaten path, for more and more of their countrymen disappeared, never to be heard from again. But soon even that wasn't enough to guarantee safety, for Loup was learning to take advantage of the nation's passion for romance and his own nature as a transient being of Wonderland, where form is much less settled. Beware the suitor with a glint in his eyes, people learned, especially if his teeth are a little too long...

It took the efforts of the land's greatest Huntsman and a girl with a famously red hood, along with a healthy portion of luck, to finally put an end to Loup's glory days in Bellegarde, though they didn't manage to end him for good. Rather, they disemboweled him and dropped him into a lake. Needless to say, he's still a little sore about that and spent most of the long crawl back to Wonderland and the deep dark forest plotting their deaths. And perhaps he would've returned to wreak a terrible vengeance on them both has not something taken his mind off of revenge; the Cataclysm.

That rending, twisting chaotic event shook Bellegarde to its core and shattered the Wonderland that Loup understood, leaving him a beast among monsters in an unfamiliar land. Rather than fall to the void or see himself warp into something alien, he followed the route predators have since the dawn of time; adapt or die. He fled Wonderland with all speed, intending to take up residence in Bellegarde again, only to find the intrusions of the Void there as well. As he beheld the terrible majesty of the shattered world, a dozen of the void's creatures fell upon him.

Their fight was legend. Great tracts of earth were raised in their wake as the group wrestled for the upper hand and scrambled for more advantageous positions. These invaders were strong, quick and had their own unique form of magic (though more learned souls have since referred to it as unmagic) but Loup was old, cunning and very, very angry. Still, he could tell he'd soon succumb to their attacks and had simply resolved to take as many of them with him as he could when a new force entered the fight, one of singular power; Merlin.

As he had prepared to rescue heroes from the land of Bellegarde, the ancient wizard's ceremony had been interrupted by the battling creatures and realised that one among them was of his world, not the void. With a muttered incantation and a wave of his hand, Merlin banished the voidlings and approached the wounded Loup. He offered him a choice; die here in the dirt of Bellegarde or survive and go to a new world. There were of course, the old mage smiled, a few conditions.

What exactly they were stayed between Merlin and Loup, but when the Kings and Queens of Bellegarde arrived at the site to dispatch their greatest heroes to this new realm, they were told Merlin had found them a warrior of mythical skill to act as bodyguard for them in the new world. Some bridled and complained, though not so loud as for Merlin to hear them, but none amongst them recognised Loup for what he was and he arrived on Earth along with a cadre of legendary heroes.

•  A  N E W  C H A P T E R 

Since then, Loup has kept himself to himself and not gotten involved with any of his new neighbours. The dual constraints of society and Merlin's conditions chaffed him terribly for the first year or two, as did maintaing a human shape at all times. When he felt ready, he started to look for work and found more than a few opening for a man prepared to inflict pain on other men. Currently, he's working as a bouncer at a high class Nightclub but he never stays in one job too long.

Loup has greeted the news of a second cataclysm with mixed emotions. He is thrilled at the news something will break through the monotony of his everyday life here on Earth, that perhaps he will once again feel the joy of the hunt and the taste of fear on the air. But he remembers the strength of the void beasts and does not much wish to face them again, not to mention that Merlin is nowhere to be found and his magical geas still burns in Loup's mind.

"Steal from the rich, give to the poor, look gorgeous while doing it."

•  N A M E 

Formerly Robin of Locksley, now Robin Hood.

•  S T O R Y 

Robin Hood, British historical and folklore figure

•  B I R T H P L A C E 

Albion, in the Kingdom of Anglia.

•  M A G I C 

Much to Robin's annoyance, no.

•  A G E 

Five-and-thirty years of age.

•  R O M A N T I C  I N T E R E S T S 

Although they're not married and rarely admit it, Robin and Marian are deeply in love. Really. All that mocking is just how they show affection.

•  A T T I R E 

In his life time, Robin has dressed in the finery of a lord, the garb of a warrior, the rags of an outlaw and the clothes of a modern man. Of all of them, he much prefers the soft, warm fleeces of a citizen of Washington, with their incredibly useful zips and many pockets. In the first years of his residence on Earth, he wore increasingly eccentric and unusual outfits, determined to plumb the depths of this new world's supply of clothes until he found the most comfortable he possibly could.

Since then, he's come to understand the version of comely (or handsome or cool) that the people of this world subscribe to and how much one's clothes play into it. He has toned down his choices to something a bit more traditional so while his clothes are still quite practical and warm (Robin has spent many a night crouched in the bracken and doesn't want to be cold like that again) they now reflect a man who carefully selects his outfits in the morning with measured consideration.

•  H E R O ' S  N A T U R E 

When you meet Robin, two things are immediately apparent. The first is that he thinks a great deal of himself. The second is that he thinks you should to. And what's more, it's rather hard not to. Quite apart from his dashing good looks and immense charisma, Robin is the nicest and most generous fellow you'll ever meet. Say you're cold and he'll steal you a jacket, say you're hungry and he'll slay a deer for you. And if you say you're poor... well, he's spent years of his life in a forest, fighting the lawful authority of his own home due to a similar plea.

But within Robin there is now a great doubt. He is, or at least, was a great hero who was famed throughout the world for his selfless deeds. However, he cannot escape the feeling that the causality most people would assume is false; people think that good deeds bring fame, but Robin has began to wonder whether it was not fame that made him do good deeds. When he had a country of adoring peasants singing his praises and a group of merry men looking up to him, it was easy to tweak the nose of the Sheriff and damn the consequences. But without them, without that legend to surround him and sustain him, Robin constantly worries that one day, he'll simply not have the motivation to be a hero.

He needn't worry, of course. Maid Marian would kick him into shape before letting that happen.

•  R E N O W N E D  S K I L L S 

As everyone knows, Robin is a master of the bow and arrows. Despite not being a traditional noble's weapon, he has spent most of his life firing arrows at targets near and far can therefore perform feats of near mythical skill. Splitting arrows that have already struck a target, he says, is child's play. A more interesting exercise is splitting them in mid air... Apart from that Robin is a skilled woodsman, able to live off the land, track, evade pursuit and scout. As a noble, he has also bee trained with the more traditional weapons of sword, hammer, spear and lance but lack of practise has eroded his ability with them somewhat. And, though he says so himself, he's rather charming.

•  F A T A L  F L A W 

Robin's flaws are twofold; he thrives on and requires the adulation of others to function and he is aware of this. His need for fame and admiration is bad enough but his new found self awareness leaves him constantly crippled by second guessing himself. Did he make that donation because it was the right thing to do, or because he knew that the charity worker would look at him with grateful eyes? It's only with the reaffirmation of those that know him will he be able to be sure that you can be good and famous.

•  O N C E  U P O N  A  T I M E 

Born into nobility in the Ablion kingdom of Anglia, Robin of Locksley was all that a noble should be. He was strong, a natural swordsman, a clever study, a cunning tactician ad a devoted son to his father. The only problem was that for all his potential, he showed little interest in anything other than having fun. He would slip from his rooms in the castle, down into the courtyard and play with the dogs or creep out to run through the woods. And all the harsh words from his father did nothing to change his mind. They had never gotten on particularly well, and the old Earl's contemptuous dismissal of the peasantry had further soured relations.

It wasn't until Robin laid hands on a bow for the first time that he ever showed interest in anything. But that moment was, even in a world with a single light bulb, was electric, a perfect connection of man and tool. From that day on, rarely was he sen without a bow and arrows, whether he was at home or touring the countryside. Everyday he rose early and hammered shot after shot into the central ring of far off targets, with more and more ease. His father told him that it was a peasant's weapon, for the common man who couldn't afford sword, shield and armour. But Robin still had no interest in listening to his elders.

In time, of course, things changed. Robin's father died and he became the Earl of Locksley, intending to be a more open handed and generous liege lord that his father. And had he been given time, he would likely have followed through on such lofty ambitions but fate played a different hand. The monarch of Anglia, King Richard the Lionheart, was raising his banners to march upon his old enemies in Bellegarde. All loyal nobles were called on to raise the levies and join him to sail across the narrow sea for gold and glory. Robin wanted to resist the call but another part of him longed for such heroism, longed to stand beside the Lionheart and slay foes by the score.

War, of course, is never that easy.

The campaign was long and bloody and, for many, pointless. Land was taken, held, defended, lost, retaken. Men and women died with roars of defiance or shrieks of despair, more and more each day for an entire decade. Robin had many illusions stripped away in those years and everyday he longed to return to Sherwood forest, to see the people of Locksley and to never touch a sword again in his life. But he had sworn to stand by his King and stand by him he would, for Robin was no oathbreaker. Luckily for him, he did not need to be. During an ambush, he saved the King's life with a few well placed arrows and the Lionheart asked what reward he could give such a loyal follower. All Robin asked for was the freedom to return to his home and the King granted his request, albeit grudgingly.

But in Richard's absence, Anglia had changed. His cowardly younger brother, prince John, had seized power and given land to his cronies and those prepared to forsake Richard. Locksley, for example, was now the province of one of Robin's previous underlings, the former Sherif of Nottingham. A cruel and greedy man, he had taxed the province terribly with more and more ridiculous demands on the people. He was not best pleased to learn of Robin's return, knowing that there wasn't a man, woman or child in the county who would support him over Robin. So he sent a dozen rough men to end Robin's life and ensure his own rule.

Needless to say, it didn't work. Robin dispatched the mercenaries and was put on his guard by the attempt on his life. Rather than ride back to Locksley beating a drum and telling everyone to rejoice, he disguised himself and crept back into town, gently gathering information on the situation and the times as he did. What he learned was dire; his land taken, his castle occupied, his people oppressed and his name slandered. For a moment he considered retreating to Bellegarde to warn Richard of John's treachery and perhaps petition him for aid. But the thought of returning to the battlefield was abhorrent to him and he could not face it.

Instead, he decided to stay but not in the castle. One piece of gossip that had reached his ears was that the Sheriff's tax revenues would be transported by two dozen armed guards through Sherwood forest in the next few days. After years of tracking cunning Bellegardian scouts, Robin was easily able to locate a cart guarded by thugs and managed to liberate the coins. Most men would have fled and happily retired on such a fortune but Robin could no more leave Locksley than he could put down his bow. So he gave the wealth of the people back to the people, promising the peasantry that he would not rest until the Sheriff was disposed. So the name Robin of Locksley was lost and so began the adventures of Robin Hood.

And what adventures they were. He fought the good fight with such staunch allies as Little John, Friar Tuck and Will Scarlet and against such fiendish villains as Guy of Gisbon, the Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John himself. He met the love of his life, Marian, and bickered with her ceaselessly. More gold poured through the county than ever before but no sooner had Robin stolen and redistributed it than the Sheriff's men would arrive to take whatever they pleased again. Robin would doubtless have one day defeated his foes entirely (probably in some way that was poetically just) and would likely even have gotten around to marrying Maid Marian (if she would have him) but something happened to put all bets off; the cataclysm.

•  A  N E W  C H A P T E R 

Despite being some of the lucky few to escape the collapse of their world, Robin and Marian were unable to bring their Merry Men with them to Earth. They arrived and immediately began to beg, threaten and cajole Merlin to go back for their band but the wizard refused. He told them to make do with each other and a whole new world, that it aught to be enough.

Since then Robin has tried to be a proper man, tried to hold down a job and even tried to keep helping people as best he could. But every job he's tried, from security to management, has felt to him like painfully, mind numbingly boring suffering. For the moment, he works at a charity for disenfranchised youths and goes out on bi-monthly excursions with Marian to rob from the rich and donate to the less well off.

It's a life.

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| Patrick | 45 | Widowed | Demisexual Panromantic | Male |

- A P P E A R A N C E -

A lifetime of dressing for business everyday has left Patrick fashion colour blind. He knows only two settings, two 'styles' for everyday wear; casual and formal. And within those two categories there is very little variation or experimentation. Formal means a shirt, a tie, a blazer, a jacket and a nice pair of shoes. Casual means a shirt, maybe a T-shirt, and some comfortable trousers. Not that many see him in this less composed state, Patrick rarely ventures from the safety of his house without donning his formal attire. In much the same way that a veteran might sleep with a weapon beneath their pillow, Patrick has become too accustomed to leaving his house clad for white-collar battle to ever be comfortable dressing another way.

Apart from his wardrobe, people tend to notice two things about Mr. Harrow first; one is his sombre, resigned expression, the other are his broad shoulders and solid physique. Even in a community of rich, affluent, gorgeous people with personal trainers, Patrick's sheer muscle mass stands out. Whether he's standing completely still or sitting in a comfortable chair, he projects an air of dual stoicism and restraint, like a man in a storm who knows he should run to safety but can't bring himself to stir. It's almost despairing, something which more than one person has suspected him of doing, but with a definite element of self loathing and another of apathy. Patrick looks like a man with the world on his shoulders and a great many things in his past, the shadows of which darken his every moment.

- P E R S O N A L I T Y -

To put it simply, Patrick is a man who has lost the two things he held most dear, his wife and his work, and is still reeling from the aftershocks. Ever since he was a young boy, Patrick believed that all one had to do in life to succeed was to work hard, be courteous and to tell the truth wherever possible. And while his father owning a law firm and his mother being a judge couldn't have hurt, those principles saw him rise in his chosen field (accountancy and investing) and achieve what could be only described as matrimonial bliss. And while things went smoothly, Patrick was whole, hearty and happy. He played with his child, laughed with his wife and generally acted as you might suspect a rich man to. His life philosophy had served him well and he was yet to encounter an obstacle he couldn't overcome by following them.

But when tragedy came calling, it took everything, up to and including his sacrosanct rules. First his wife was diagnosed with cancerous growths in her pancreas, which ate away at first her looks, then her spirit and finally her life. No amount of hard work on Patrick's part could save her. Then he was accused of embezzling vast amounts of money from the prestigious bank he managed the books for, causing him to be hounded by the law, the press and even his erstwhile colleagues. And while he was eventually declared innocent, no amount of courtesy could restore his good name or get things back to normal. Finally, his daughter claimed he had become too emotionally distant to truly be called a father and severed all ties with him. The truth didn't heal the rift between them, because the only truth to tell was that he agreed with her.

The scars of the past are still deeply evident in Mr. Harrow's countenance and daily routine. He rises and makes two cups of coffee, drinks one in silence and pours the other away before dressing to face the world. Some days he ventures into the city to meet old colleagues and listen to their tales of work, some he spends socialising, or trying to, at Lakewood Country Club. Most days involves hours of what others might consider exercise or working out, though Patrick privately thinks of it as penance. The raw ache in his arms and sting in his legs after an extended session brings with it a bitter, visceral satisfaction that's hard to come by elsewhere. But by and large, he is not longer a man who connects with the world, merely one who moves through it.

Perhaps something, or someone, will come along to change that? Stranger things have happened, though I can't bring one to mind right now.

- H I S T O R Y -

Born to two wealthy parents who had decided a child would be a wise investment of time and effort, Patrick was not drowned in affection as a child. For the most part, he was treated like the children of those people who put work above all else are; as another project to be efficiently brought towards its goal. Looking back, he wouldn't be surprised if his parents had drawn up annual evaluations for him, grading him like an underperforming employee. It could've been worse, he saw them regularly and there was little he wanted for that could be purchased. But as soon as Patrick was of schooling age, the lessons began.

His parents had seen too many of their contemporary's children fail to learn the lessons taught by success. Those were the ones who spent their days driving expensive cars, buying things they didn't need and generally wasting their parent's money. They were determined that any son of the Harrow household would do no such thing, and so they taught him to work hard, be polite and to tell the truth. The latter was largely for their own peace of mind, as they were too suspicious to take even a child's word at face value. They were sure that he'd soon grow out of it, just as most children soon learn the habit of lying. With this, as with so many things concerning Patrick, his parents were mistaken.

Thanks to their stringent education, the Harrows knew their son was perfectly placed to began a career in the practise of law. They expected that he'd start with a nice placement, study for his qualifications while picking up valuable experience and then simply ascend through having the right friends, right parents and right wealth until he would either be a partner in a prestigious firm or become a judge like his mother. They were both surprised and dismayed, therefore, when he instead became a glorified banker. What sort of profession was the handling of money for a child groomed for the delicate task of wielding the law?

And while Patrick's undeniable success and meteoric rise in his chosen occupation caused them to be grudgingly impressed, they never truly forgave him for his first and greatest act of rebellion. They faded out of his life and he out of theirs, each acknowledging the existence of the other only if prompted. They didn't appear at his wedding and he missed their divorce, each reading about the other years after the fact. There was no bang or even a whimper, just a mutual lack of interest and engagement. But we're getting ahead of ourselves, for before there can be a wedding, there must be a meeting.

While making fiscal predictions based on a frighteningly complicated set of algorithms, Patrick happened to look up from his computer screen to see a rather unusual woman. In a world of shirts, ties and power suits, she was a colourful splash of fresh air. And her flowery dresses, tinkling laugh and bawdy jokes weren't the only things that things that disrupted the meticulous world of banking. As the representative of a non-profit, this confusing woman brought a whole host of taboo ideals with her too, like generosity, selflessness and charity. The woman was Cassandra Abercrombie, who would later become Cassandra Harrow, a name she would often complain was far too morbid even for Patrick.

We will skim over their courtship, engagement and early married life, as it is all rather dull, in that way that other people's happiness can be. Suffice it to say that when he approached her with more than a little nervousness and an awful lot of stiffness, she found it just endearing enough to like. With time, Patrick learned some of her carefree nature while she in turn absorbed some of his calculating, reserved nature. They were wed and soon after had a child together, the beautiful bouncing babe that would grow to become their spirited daughter, Samantha Harrow. All was well for Patrick in that time, for he achieved both financial success and personal happiness. Of course, there's no happiness so great that fate can't shatter it with a single blow, and fate reserved a string of strikes just for him.

The first was mundane but terrible; Cassandra was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was untreatable and she wasted away before her husband and daughter's eyes, the latter of whom was now a fully grown woman of twenty. The worst was't seeing her muscles and flesh deteriorate but the moment when her colourful, chaotic spirit was broken by a choice tonic of chemotherapy and lack of sleep. When she passed, at least her family were free to mourn the person she had been, rather than the one the illness had made her. That would've been enough alone to change a person's outlook on life but things had only just begun for Patrick. Next came an unforeseen, unpreventable and wholly unacceptable scandal in his professional life.

Patrick was accused by one of his colleagues of embezzling vast amounts of money from the bank and its clients. Given the central nature of the bank and its importance to the local economy, tabloids and financial journals alike seized on this story. For several weeks, the Harrow home was surrounded by cameramen and Patrick was harassed  by reporters wherever he went. Things got bad enough that for some weeks, he was forced to hire personal security for both himself and Samantha. When his name was finally and officially cleared, little changed. After all, the public reasoned, no perpetrator had been caught. Just because the law hadn't labelled him as a villain didn't mean he was innocent. The harassment stayed and therefore the bodyguards did too, something Samantha too issue with. And so things took almost a year to settle down and when they did, things were hardly the same.

Firstly, Patrick was unable to return to the bank after being so publicly accused of stealing from it. He tried for a few weeks to maintain his position and composure but it soon became clear that he was as unwanted as he was uncomfortable. Just before he chose to leave of his own accord, the board of directors made him an offer; leave quietly and immediately and they'd grant him a generous severance and pension settlement. Being no fool, he took the money and ignored the bitter taste it left in his mouth. The second change was that, somewhere along the way, Patrick had stopped treating Samantha like a daughter and started acting as though she was just another thing to be endured. Rather than rage against him or hate him, she simply acted as he had to his parents; she left. For a time, he tried to contact her and make amends but soon resolved to allow her the room she obviously wished for.

And so, after carefully being edged out his erstwhile position, stripped of his good name, torn from his wife's side and separated from his only child, Patrick has retreated to Lakewood Summit. Without work or a family, there is little to fill his time these days. Some days he socialises, some days he works on a various economic papers he intends to one day submit for publishing but most days he spends alone and quietly. His basement gym has become a temple to physical effort, a place to burn calories and desperately try to feel alive once more.

He wonders, some days, whether any of the inhabitants of Lakewood Summit know of his past. And if they do, he can't even tell whether he cares anymore.

- O C C U P A T I O N -

In a previous existence, Patrick was a financial analyst and an extremely talented one. His job was to analyse patterns in the market and in history to make predictions on what would happen in the future, to trawl through vast seas of data for pearls of useful information and to manage the investment of eye-wateringly large sums of money.

- H O B B I E S -

{{ Physical Exertion has become one of Patrick's most singular pursuits, one that helps him feel alive and has granted him an almost Herculean physique. He prefers to work alone in his basement gym but has begun to venture outside for jogging exhibitions. Similarly, he had begun a routine of regular swimming at the Sparkling Springs }}

{{ At the Country Club, Patrick has become accustomed to settling in for a few hands of poker (low stakes, no one likes a big winner at high stakes) or a game of pool. More rarely, he might venture into playing something more physical, like Squash or Tennis. }}

{{ Cassandra once taught him the basics of watercolour painting and with his near infinite supply of free-time, Patrick has been trying to recall her lessons. Currently, he doesn't allow his largely impressionistic works to leave his work room but should someone express an interest, he could likely be persuaded to share them. }}

- R E L A T I O N S H I P S -

Samantha Harrow – Estranged Daughter – In the fallout from Patrick's professional disaster and their mutual loss, father and daughter lost something. Rather than try to repair the damaged connective tissue, both chose to ignore the rift until it finally cracked them apart fully. Samantha, having inherited much of her mother's forthright, self determined nature, simply left her father to his self pity and moved far, far away. But absence makes the heart grow stronger and each now misses the other more than they ever expected they would.

Michael Waterson – Ex-Colleague – One of Patrick's fellow bankers, Michael has taken an interest in how things have gone for his exiled compatriot, occasionally going as far as to visit him. The whole nasty business is just water under the bridge, he says, and he only wants to help his friend through the aftermath of such a difficult time. Which is a little odd, it must be said, as they were never even close to friends when they worked together.

| Aron | Fifty-eight | Married | Pansexual | Male |

⇋ | A P P E A R A N C E | ⇌

Despite being below average height and possessing a soft, cultured voice, many grown men and women have cowered in Aron's presence. It's not just the air of imperious superiority that he projects with his every motion, it's something in the eyes. Every look measures you, weighs you against his estimation of what you could be or should be. Even when Aron seems relaxed, a fruity cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other, his vigilant eyes appraise those around him. It's pressure, applied indiscriminately but with experience and precision. You know, in a single look, whether you've lived up to his expectations or whether he's found you wanting.

And all this comes from a fairly short man with grey hair, an unremarkable physique and an... eccentric dress sense. Years of living on the cutting edge of fashion have made Aron immune to embarrassment over outfit choices or flamboyant colours. He wears whatever feels most in tune with the beating heart of the moment; this year, 70s jackets and red flared collars, next year, black wool and bow ties. Many of his more eccentric and striking outfits are of his own design, for who else could manage to create something so perfect, but sometimes he consents to wear designs by other artists, most commonly his wife.

⇋ | P E R S O N A L I T Y | ⇌

In some ways, Aron is still a little Polish boy, fresh off the boat and with the smell of New York fresh on his nose, staring into a shop window at a set of lazily arranged mannequins. In that moment, even though he was awash with new sensation and reeling for a thousand reasons, he was glaring at the billboard and thinking "is that the best you could do?". It was this ability to see through his own emotional investments and situation and assess work objectively that saw him rise like a comet in the world of fashion design, coupled with a talent for inspiring that same awe in others that had once almost overwhelmed him. He still takes great delight in anything truly original or brilliant, it's just that years of experience and study have made most concepts seems derivative or disappointing.

In most ways, of course, you would never be able to tell that Aron was every young and uncertain, as every aspect of his manner implies omniscience and experience. Much of this aspect of his person comes from what came directly after his arrival in the country, working his way from the ground up to become the fashion deity of the city. In that time, most of his contemporaries were of the middle class or trust fund children that would constantly complain about the work they were doing. If Aron could learn the languages of fashion and English at the same time while working a second job, he privately reasoned, everyone else should have no trouble keeping up. And yet in life, Aron has found that almost no one lives up to their potential, does all the work they could if they applied themselves. Those who work with him or have ever received his criticism can attest that he expects nothing but the best and, frequently, receives it.

Which is not to say Aron is mirthless or stoney. On the contrary, he once had a reputation for throwing the most lavish and exotic parties in living memory. And those people who count him as a acquaintance rather than a friend often express that he is witty, supportive and self deprecating. And those people who have worked hard enough to earn his approval know that it's true, he just doesn't reveal that side to those who have failed to reach their limits, only to those who have succeeded or those who he has no emotional attachment to. Indeed, he's close friends with many of his previous protégés, who still think of him fondly as a guide and mentor. Of course, that's only the ones that matched his standards, the others were long since discarded and forgotten. Some days, Aron wished his child was as pliable, efficient and grateful as his many earned students.

⇋ | H I S T O R Y | ⇌

Born in rural Poland, Aron came to America at the age of twelve with his family. In America, his father swore, the Rostows would find the wealth and security that was so hard to come by in the old country. As an experienced farmer and general man of the world, of course he didn't believe that the streets were paved with gold or that there was a job on every street corner, but he came with some hope. Unfortunately, the Red Scare was still prevalent in American culture at the time and those with eastern European accents were less than popular. So the Rostow patriarch took up a job doing menial labour, the mother took on two waiting jobs and the children were told to shed their accents with all speed.

Aron saw the wisdom in this lesson but, at the same time, refused to pay it any heed. He learned English with a feverish intensity, devouring books and magazines as fast as he could find them. With wisdom beyond his years, Aron realised it would be best to conceal from friend and family alike that his favourite ones were those that showed clothes or models. Something about their splendour entranced him, the way they held themselves or the unreasonable wealth the clothes implied. For a boy who had grown up in clothes more akin to sacks than anything else, the allure was undeniable. Every copy of Vogue or its sibling magazines he could scrounge was studied with careful, deliberate focus. His parents weren't to know that articles bemoaning the current trends in denim were responsible for their son's excellent vocabulary.

Being small and unthreatening, Aron escaped the American schooling system with no more than a little emotional scarring. He went to work, as his father wished, studying to be a teacher, without telling any of his family, he also applied for and received an internship at a major fashion label. Balancing studying with his duties as the new dogsbody were difficult and when push came to shove, he skipped lectures and rushed assignments. Most of his duties at the label were menial, fetching coffee and ferrying designs from one office to another and so forth. But everyday, he felt immersed in the glossy, colourful, majestic world he'd been imagining since he first stepped off the boat. Of course, often the jobs were less than glamorous or down right humiliating. But Aron could and would endure.

Before long, his enthusiasm and steadiness was noticed by one of the more important names on the label,  Jeremiah Martin, and Aron was made an assistant. It wasn't much of a promotion, really. It just meant that know he fetched coffee for only one person and was occasionally asked for an opinion on a controversial design. His big break came when Jeremiah was experimenting with aviator shades and tie dye, and remarked that something was off, that it just wasn't cool. Without a word, Aron ran and fetched a denim jacket to return and wrap it around his boss's shoulders. The effect was instantaneous, they both felt it. This look would work, this look would sell, this look would last. Being the senior designer, of course Jeremiah took most of the credit as he ascended to the board of directors on the label. But he made sure that Aron got his old position, giving him a definite leg up.

At this point, Aron was still making almost no money from his endeavours in the fashion world and had long since fallen far enough behind in his teacher training that he'd been asked to leave the program. The sensible thing would've been to settle down and find a steady job. And Aron did, in a fashion. In fact, he found two part time jobs that he could juggle alongside his work at the label. So while his contemporaries, largely from families with more than enough wealth to support them, went to parties and rubbed shoulders with the glamorous and the famous, Aron worked long shifts at chair factory or as the frier at a diner. Neither were enjoyable or engaging but they gave him space to think, to internally experiment and to meditate on the nature of design. So when his colleagues came in to work hung over, Aron was tired but full to the brim with ideas.

Hard work, luck and creativity served him well and, within a span of years, Aron was the head designer for the label, did freelance work for other labels and wrote a regular feature in his beloved Vogue. He was able to quit his side jobs and take part in some of the parties he'd been told so much about. They were not, on the whole, as exciting as he'd been promised. Even as his star rose and his reputation grew, people muttered about how aloof this Polish migrant was. There was little his detractors could do about his financial and critical success, however, and both were finally starting to pour down. Any design with his fingerprints on it, even those published under different names, sold like hotcakes and his column was the most popular by a long way. And he might've remained the first among equals if he hadn't met a very special someone.

During a glorified meet and greet, Aron happened to enter into a conversation between a neophyte model and a more experienced member of the industry. The two were arguing over the release of a recent line of dresses, the older woman calling them creative and the younger derivative and boring. Aron agreed with the latter, a woman he learned was named Estella McKinley, and went so far as to suggest that the current western fashion world was becoming more and more creatively stale due to a lack of diversity in the major labels. In a flash, Estella seemed to turn on him and said "Then why don't you make something better?", words that haunted Aron for weeks afterwards.

He couldn't deny it, he had no right to bemoan the world of fashion without doing something to improve it. In a move that would change his life and the lives of many others, he quit every one of his jobs and invested every cent of his savings into a new label, one under his direct creative control; Aronista. And his first move was to recruit the forthright, plainspoken woman who had put him onto the idea in the first place; Estella McKinely. At first they were employer and employee, then artist and muse and finally romantically paired. Aron was enamoured with her ambition, something he took inspiration from and admired. On his more introspective days, he would wonder whether he loved Estella or loved the being with a model, the very symbol of the world he sought to rule.

Aronista was a hit like nothing else on the market. Its financial success allowed Aron and Estella to pursue more personal, experimental projects, some of which were well received and some of which faded quickly into obscurity. One of Aron's projects was starting his own fashion magazine, Who runs the Runway?, which to this day duels with Vogue as the authority on all things fashion. One personal project the two were never able to complete was having a child together, nature stood in their way there. Although they adopted a wonderful child and Aron assured his beloved wife that it changed nothing between them, he still sometimes wonders whether a child of his blood would be more like him or would've responded better to the strict rules and high expectations Aron has placed upon his current heir.

Still, he had his empire to rule and a world to define, there was always something to do and Aron was never happier than when he was working. Only, in the last few years Aron has found it hard to concentrate on his work, no matter how innovative the hemline or creatively applied the colour. There's always been something bothering him and it took him a long while to work out exactly what it was; his family was disordered in a way he'd never allow his workplace to be. His child hides their secrets from both parents, his wife is unsatisfied with her work and the general mood of family dinners is of sullen resentment. For a man who always demanded excellence from everyone in his life, especially himself, Aron cannot stand this situation and moved to rectify it.

Handing control of his label and magazine to some shocked but very pleased protégés, Aron has moved his family to Lakewood and is attempting to mend the broken fences and seal the rifts. He's not entirely sure whether he's doing out of love or a desire for his family to be perfect but, in the end, does it matter?

⇋ | O C C U P A T I O N | ⇌

For most of his working lifetime, Aron has managed the Fashion Magazine Who runs the Runway? as well as running his own fashion label, Aronista. Both have been financially successful and incredibly influential over the larger fashion world. He has now retired from both, handing them on to some of his protégés.

⇋ | H O B B I E S | ⇌

{{ With easy access to the Lakewood country club, Aron has taken up horseback riding or, as he insists people call it, Equestrianism. There's something very cultured and dignified about prancing around upon the back of a horse, or so he tells himself. }}

{{ Although he has officially retired from the world of fashion for personal reasons, much of Aron's time is still devoted to it. He gives advice to the men and women now heading up his brand and magazine, mediates troublesome disputes telephonically, calls in old favours in exchange for new ones and generally pulls strings from behind the scenes. }}

{{ A habit he picked up from a British colleague, Aron loves to hold tea parties. It sounds childish and mundane and, yes, well, it is, but it also provides an oppurtunity for those residents of Lakewood who do nothing but gossip to come and gossip together. }}

{{ To keep in shape, Aron likes to run with the family Poodle, Shutzy. Admittedly, she can't run very fast and is more interested in stopping every few metres to smell lampposts, trees, walls and passersby but then Aron isn't overly invested in fitness as a concept so that fits him just fine. }}

⇋ | R E L A T I O N S H I P S | ⇌

Estella Rostow, née McKinley – Wife – Married for many years, Aron and Estella have been celebrated as a celebrity 'power couple' for longer than Aron has known what the phrase meant. And while there is some genuine love between them, too often their respective ambitions and desires get the better of them.

René Reno/Rostow – Adopted Son – Aron dearly wishes that René was a reflection of himself, a mirror image that could be taught the lessons that have seen Aron's dreams come true and his life go so well. Alas, it's clear to them both that René is his own man and that they don't always get on that well.

Shutzy – Family Dog – Bright eyed, bushy tailed and always ready to run (slowly), play, cuddle or devour a bowl of dog food.

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