banjoanjo

Decibitus

Aron Carvajal

---

~1510 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE

---

France, huh. It wasn't really on his travel list back when he was alive but he'd heard it was a pretty romantic place. Not in that kind of way, more in the way that would make one of his supervisors go off the grid for a year to paint fields and pansies or whatever Frenchy flowers they had in the countryside as he sipped wine and left his department putting out flames for another three months.

...Yeah, this place probably wasn't going on the list any time soon.

The romance was particularly lacking in the place they landed - one side the mouth of a typical parking lot, the other a storm that seemed summoned from Hell itself. Except he knew that Hell wasn't a thing. Maybe. He didn't have time to have that philosophical crisis, what with his coworkers' faces tearing past him in a flash, accompanied by... huh, was that Miss Death?

"Y-you saw her too, right?"

Instead of an answer, he received a ringing in his ears as Amelia shot overhead and hollered at a motorbike that was speeding their way.

Ah, that was right. Hell is other people.

She was tangible, for some reason. And that motorbike... was it slowing down? Did he have the time to check if it was slowing down? Panic snapped in and a machine gun fire of his Scale spell began spewing from his mouth repeatedly. He trusted the potency of his spell and knew it would slow the bike down to some extent but oh god, what if it wasn't enough? What if they both got ragdolled off the mortal coil and had to return with no results? That sounded like a pay cut waiting to happen.

He couldn't have them both getting wiped out before they even got to whatever mission they had. That motorbike had to stop. He felt his body moved on his own, the frigid Parisian wind tearing across his bare arms as he turned tangible. He ran towards the bike and leapt. Some part of him thought it'd be a javelin-like motion, dropkicking the rider off the slowed bike as they raced towards Amelia. He knew what it was supposed to look like, had keyed it before even. What occurred though was more of an ass-forward mid-air cannonball that would soon collide with the hapless rider.

Decibitus

Aron Carvajal

---

~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

Ah, persuasion. Public speaking. All things Aron had never excelled in during his alive-life. Quite the opposite, really. His interview skills were never going to get him anywhere he wanted - that’s why he had to hone his skills so much. None of them were applicable here though. Exactly how was he going to get people on Miss Death’s side.

Hands fiddling in his crumb-powdered pockets, Aron re-entered the lobby of Lucema Regini, blatantly avoiding eye-contact with the receptionist.

‘Flyers, maybe. A company-wide email?’ He’d need to get to his computer for that.

As the elevator doors opened to his floor though, he found that his desk was not in its usual place. Had the receptionist fulfilled his request in some kind of roundabout, monkey’s-paw manner? Tragically not. His desk had been shifted and was occupied by someone upsettingly vertical in relation to his workstation.

He registered the sneakers on the week-overdue paperwork first. Then the grand speech coming from above them.

Floodgates.

“Are… ARE YOU INSANE?!”

His voice cracked from taking on such an extreme volume. Aron practically steamrolled his way to the front of the gathering crowd, his height and bulk making short work of any unintentional obstacles. His disbelief seemed sharp and genuine. Perhaps it had not occurred to him what her scheme was?

An accusing finger was pointed up at Amelia.

“We already have people trying to walk the Rail. Walk! And you want more of that?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Nope, did not occur to him in the slightest.

Decibitus

---

~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

"I'm glad to know we're in agreement. The issue, though, was not the particular location, but the city." Amelia's grin only widened, as she adopted one of her more common strategies and completely ignored Elliot's obvious sarcasm, taking it as the sort of compliment she was obviously due more of. "Such is life, I suppose."

It wasn't ideal to know Miss Death was gone, mind you. Amelia's expression became slightly perturbed, as she thought it over. "Are there any special occasions coming up? I was trying to introduce her to the concept of surprise parties, it now occurs to me that I may not have thought my descriptions through."

Amelia caught herself before she elaborated too heavily. She had the strangest sense that Elliot would actually be deeply upset at certain choices she'd made in that conversation. "I don't think involving Uchi is the natural next step, but I suppose I could follow the logic..."

Surprise parties? With... Miss Death?

Elliot felt the burgeoning headache start to take root at the thought. As much as he respected the pink-headed immortal, some things simply weren't gong to mix well with her mentality. Surprise parties sounded like one of those things.

"I..." The brunette sighed, removing his glasses with one hand so he could pinch the bridge of his nose with the other. Amelia was probably the last person that should explain the concept of a surprise party, especially to someone like Miss Death. "And what exactly do you think would have been the 'next natural step' based on what you told her?"

Amelia cleared her throat. "I believe my advice to her was 'the more surprising the better'. I may not have said what would constitute unacceptable means of achieving surprise. She didn't ask." She thought on it. "I'm sure it would take at least a little time to procure fireworks..."

Perhaps that pyrotechnics were Amelia's first instinct for 'surprise' was a problem in itself. Probably not, though.

That Elliot wasn't surprised spoke more to his experience in dealing with Amelia than anything else. Once again, the corner of his lips twitched up, an exasperated reaction that was becoming a reflex more than anything else.

"Not to rain on your parade, but Miss Death's concept of 'surprise' probably doesn't include fireworks." Because fireworks were predictable, even if their appearance was not. The faintest traces of strain appeared in Elliot's expression as a realization dawned upon him, the barely-there smile turning into something more akin to a grimace. "Right. I'm going to be borrowing a few reapers to look for her then."

A voice from the reception desk. "Sure, Mochi, but after I get this paperwork done, oka-- hey, h-hey!"

The great beast continued forward with its quarry, poor Aron left to clumsily hop wherever his abductor decided. A desperate prayer came unbidden to his mind when he saw who he was being led towards, as well as an outpouring bargain of, "youcanhaveeverythinginthebagjustplease-- oh, Elliot! Hi."

Aron crammed the bag back into his shorts, no doubt crushing the contents even further. Perhaps if he turned slow enough he'd make it back to reception with no further embarrassment.

"I am... I will walk that way now."

Amelia, halfway through putting together a justification, leapt on the opportunity to distract. Abruptly grabbing the nervous reaper (Aron, wasn't it?) by the back of his shirt before he could leave, she decided she probably had the power to conscript people.

"It would seem that the mayor has heard your plea." She smiled at Elliot in a manner that was less friendly and more akin to a cat showing him something she'd caught. "Assuming that you won't let me take care of Mochi while we--" she didn't bother continuing the request based on his expression, "yes, thought so. We'll have to discuss that later; for now, I'll help you! And so will... this one."

She shook Aron a little. Helpfully.

"Oh, I was actually gonna..."

He looked back to the receptionist, hoping for assistance, but could only watch her diligently attending to someone from HR. Traitor.

Elliot couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the poor reaper Mochi dragged into the ordeal. That was an unfortunately familiar situation. Still...

"Well, two or three bodies searching is better than one," Elliot admitted with a small nod of her head. "Hmm... I'd like to ask one of you to ask Uchi if he has any ideas, but asking someone to head to Mulch alone is a little..." The brunette gave a slight grimace. No, probably not great. "But I guess taking shots in the dark won't get us far either."

"Shooting in the dark's fun! It adds an element of unpredictability. But if we must do our research," Amelia's smile widened, "then what about asking two someones to head to Mulch?" Her grip on Aron wasn't loosening.

"M-Mulch?"

Despite his best efforts, Elliot couldn't find a real reason to deny Amelia's suggestion.

"I... it would be safer if you both went." It occurred to the man that he wasn't sure whether it was safer for the reapers or the surroundings, given the parties involved. "And it's just to Uchi's workshop. You two know the way, right?"

"Of course!" At least, she thought so. Pretty sure. She could ball park it. "We will get right to that. And then," she finally released her grip on Aron, squatting down to scratch the mayor behind the ears, "I can come back and walk Mochi!"

He was such a good boy. So clever, finding her a minion - sorry, coworker - to get through this task with. Once satisfied with that, she stood up, looking at her bewildered fellow reaper and holding out a hand for him to shake.

"So, it's you and I to Mulch. What's your name again?"

What just happened? "Um. Aron?" he said, tentatively taking her hand.

"Amelia! A pleasure to work with you." She shook his hand a little too fast, before dropping it and looking to Elliot. "We can go now, right?"

Were they going to be okay? Elliot didn't dare think on that too long, lest he give himself the obvious answer.

"Yeah, go ahead. I'll try and see if anyone else has seen Miss Death around in the meanwhile."

Decibitus

Aron Carvajal

---

~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

“D-doesn’t have to be like right now but maybe, I dunno, there’s like a waiting list? Some request backlog?”

The receptionist’s gaze turned steelier, and though the logical part of his brain told him it was very clearly directed at someone behind him, Aron gulped.

“...if it’s not too much trouble.” He took a thick forearm off the reception desk to scratch at his beard sheepishly.

The lady muttered something under her breath (something about collateral reports?) and looked back at her screen. “I’ll put the request for a desk relocation in. For one Aron Carvajal… reason: …’the rats keep breaking in’. Is that correct?”

“I… wouldn’t phrase it like that exactly…”

“And these rats are coming from…?”

“The bloke next to me likes to collect - or he has this spell or something - well, he has a bunch of them. And he keeps losin’ them. And I guess there are snacks in my drawers and it’s hard to remember with all the papers in ‘em sooo…”

“You guess?”

“I. Yeah.”

She continued typing but brought a hand to knead at the bridge of her nose. “And you can’t just… clean your desk to prevent them from smelling whatever’s in there?”

“I. It’s.” He coughed. “I, uh, don’t come in very often?”

The ‘yip!’ of a noble saviour shook Aron from the awkwardness of the situation, followed by the pattering of corgi paws making its way through the lobby. At last, an ally in his quest for a rat-free desk. Aron took a moment to search his shorts pockets before surreptitiously shaking a half-crushed sleeve of cookies in Mochi’s direction.

“You know you’d have to clean your desk anyway to actually move, right?”

“Solid point. Yeah. …A-are you still going to put the request through?”

Decibitus

jump in the caac

Aron Carvajal

"Not my finest night."

Appearance

Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.

As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.

On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.

Age: 28
Gender: Male

Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.

Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.

Spells

Scale

A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.

Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)

That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…

“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”

Frameshell

With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.

When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".

Keyframe

The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.

However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."

Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.

why reaper

“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”

The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.

“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”

Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.

“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”

No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.

“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”

Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.

“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”

He nodded.

“Hitting them. Yeah.”

The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?

“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

Aron Carvajal

---

~8:30AM | MT ARAPILES | Punks Wall

---

Uh.

“Uhhh…” Aron reported eloquently, pointing a thick finger at the drone rounding the corner. There was plenty to worry about on the ground but what could he say? Long-term thinking could be considered a strength a lot of the time! Unfortunately, apart from a few stray rocks and his questionable aim, there was very little he could do to deal with the surveillance and possible exposure of reapers’ existences to the world. He needed to focus on what could actually contribute.

The ghoulie or the civilian. From the vague memory he had of his teammate’s skillsets, there were a few who had spells specializing in containment, or at least, firepower. Which meant he had to pull his weight and take care of things outside of that.

“I-I got the guy!”

His finger moved to the fleeing hiker and he began to chant his speed spell. Shouldn't boost him so fast that he would lose control and crack his head open on the rocks, but enough for a speedy exit. At the same time, Aron shifted his position a few steps, getting ready to intercept the guy and drag him away from the reapers if he moved their way. It wouldn’t be good if he ran right into the Sister and interrupted any of her big moves. Aron would simply have to be prepared to go into flesh mode and intercept if that happened

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

Aron Carvajal

---

~??? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

There was a time in his life where upon waking up, Aron would spend ten minutes staring at his patchy ceiling, silently convincing himself not to call in sick to work. To not skip the commute, to not take the day off to catch up on prestige TV or footy or some shit.

These days, things were… well, ‘better’ was a word up for hot debate. He was dead. His dear friends and family were on the other side of a crossable but unconquerable divide. On the other hand, no rent. Or utilities. No need to eat or sleep either. And, among a myriad of other hobbies, he’d taken up quilting. That was fun.

It had been two or three years since his passing but every now and then, he’d get a nostalgic little tickle of that workplace exhaustion returning. Like today, with his phone pinging incessantly during the last two squares of his latest quilt. Aron closed his eyes and breathed - wrestling, throttling the urge to ignore the message for another half hour to finish his crafts project. But sensibility won in the end, and he headed out.

Someone once described his afterlife skillset as ‘hauling ass real hard’. That, and the assumption that he’d be familiar with the area, apparently made him the perfect candidate for this retrieval. Fairly broad assumption, he would have said. A correct one, but still broad. Australia was a bloody big country. Being the good employee he was though, Aron kept his mouth zipped. And so, he headed through (not without a quick compliment to Siggy’s nails, of course) and charted a course up the mountain.

The search process ended up taking up most of the time compared to the retrieval. Arapiles’ routes didn’t go too high but it sure was a lot of surface area for one guy, even with his walking speed. At least his mission targets were cooperative. All Aron had really done was mentioned the time to Vorya, which was apparently very close to the pilates appointment he was about to miss, and the bloke practically zipped up the wall himself. Gali accepted his boost, because she was thoughtful that way. As Vorya hauled his own ass back to the campground, Aron and Gali enjoyed the leisurely route, talking of wisps and ghost hunters and proper abseiling methods.

Another job well done. With another assignment under his belt, it was just a matter of getting the little report done before he could head home and finally get that quilt done.

---

~8AM | MT ARAPILES | CAMP GROUND

---

Okay, that didn’t happen.

Sunnies on. A chilled Coke in his hand, snagged from an unattended esky. Aron was sat in a tree, taking a refreshing sip and watching over the morning bustle of the campgrounds. It wasn’t like he intended to slack off but, well, it was like his seniors always said. Do you know what hard work gets you? More hard work. If he went back now he’d probably just be handed another task, and that would keep him away from his quilt for even longer. No, he was going to space these things out.

Besides, it wasn’t every day he came back here. It was… nice. The familiar accents, the bustling campground, and that beautiful, wide open bush. For a moment, he could pretend he was back on vacation. As he hopped down to dispose of his empty drink though, he caught sight of a familiar gothic outfit.

Ah, there they were - another team scoping out the tents. The ones that looked like they were here for either a costume party or a conference. For a moment, Aron, in his cargo pants and Bintang singlet, felt underdressed, before he remembered he was at a campground. Ahem. Thanks to Lena’s work parties, he at least knew their names and faces, though some had reputations that preceded even those. Ogawa, Vera, Cath – all model employees. Dressed the part too, depending on what decade you wanted to refer to. And Lena. Everyone knew Lena. It probably would have taken Aron another several months to get to know everyone without her organised get-togethers. He could appreciate someone that took the initiative where he was too awkward to. Could appreciate them a lot, actually.

And then there was the one with the gun. Aron didn’t want to give anyone a bad rap but… the gun. More specifically: the bullets, and the subsequent furphies and complaints (mostly complaints) he’d hear around the office. They were… very difficult to miss. He was sure Amelia didn’t mean for most of those to happen. Hoped, at least. So there was no reason to stress about anything! She was grouped with four other very capable, very sensible agents who would rein her in and boot her down the right track. There would be no need to recount any tall tales of her bullets exploding trees, or buildings, or other Reapers, or herself, or telephone poles, or beloved natural monuments…

…

“H-Heyyy,” he greeted them with a raised hand, moving as naturally and speedily as the situation would allow. “ ‘s goin’ on? I, uh, guess you guys showed up for the lil ghoulie ‘round here?”

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

jump in the caac

Aron Carvajal

"Not my finest night."

Appearance

Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.

As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.

On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.

Age: 28
Gender: Male

Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.

Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.

Spells

Scale

A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.

Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)

That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…

“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”

Frameshell

With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.

When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".

Keyframe

The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.

However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."

Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.

why reaper

“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”

The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.

“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”

Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.

“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”

No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.

“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”

Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.

“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”

He nodded.

“Hitting them. Yeah.”

The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?

“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

@PapiTan tyty, have tweaked the spells a bit as per your bobbles, let me know if I should change it further. Rest of the sheet should be done now too.

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

jump in the caac

Aron Carvajal

"Not my finest night."

Appearance

Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.

As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.

On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.

Age: 28
Gender: Male

Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.

Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.

Spells

Scale

A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.

Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)

That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…

“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”

Frameshell

With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.

When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".

Keyframe

The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.

However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."

Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.

why reaper

“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”

The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.

“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”

Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.

“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”

No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.

“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”

Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.

“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”

He nodded.

“Hitting them. Yeah.”

The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?

“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”