banjoanjo Member
Still likes pistachios
- Last Seen: 1 mo ago
- Joined: 8 yrs ago
- Posts: 778 (0.26 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- banjoanjo 8 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
stone,
Izurich,
Little Bill
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Ernest Mars
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / ππππ¦π£ππ₯πͺ ππ¦π₯π‘π π€π₯: πππ€ππ£π§ππ₯ππ π βπ π π π / / ππππ
There were many things in that fight that he should have noticed. Angelique Lachance, Marcus being literally up shit creek without a paddle, Callan's strength, Siena's incredible versatility. Somewhere in the back of his mind he did notice. But that part was silent. Every part of him was absolutely speechless and afraid.
It wasnβt the blood or the bones that had frozen him. He knew what violence looked like, what it felt like to see a human being burst open like a dying star. No amount of graphic horrors would scare him ever again. The violence wasnβt what had scared him. It was the knowledge that it would happen to him within minutes.
He grabbed the fabric of his pants, bunching it as he clenched his fists. Let go. Then do it again. The same with his eyes. Scrunch them tight, then breathe.
These people were supposed to be friends, yet they were on the verge of tearing each other apart. What the hell would they do to him then? Most of them didnβt even know his name. He was just a random guy dropped into their class. They didnβt know anything about him. It was much easier to wreck something you had no attachment to, from Ernie's perspective anyway. And with what heβd heard from his teammates, Victorious Secret and their powers would be able to crush him like an ant.
Wait.
They didnβt know anything about him. Could he use that?
Ernie opened his eyes.
Yes. He could and he would.
He wouldnβt let them lay a goddamn finger on him. Theyβd be torn to shreds before he allowed any of them to cause him pain. Ernie began thinking, plotting ways to utilize the blank spots in the oppositionβs knowledge, tactics that would prevent any harm from coming to him. His preoccupied train of thought resulted in a rather half-assed evaluation sheet.
General Thoughts:
The part with the pants was funny.
Everyoneβs got very hardcore powers but they need to use them better.Suggested Improvements:
They should stop pausing in the middle of fights to talk to each other. I think that only works in cartoons. Take opponents down more quickly so they donβt punch you in the nose.
More team manue maneou strategies would have been cool.
They should get some more practice with their powers too. The tentacle didnβt seem like a good idea.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / πΎπ£π π¦ππ β€ππ£π / / ππππ
Collab with @Baklava @RedDusk @Deathmyster @January
Grant wandered around the general location that Sander had pointed him to. Couldn't he have be more specific than just 'Outside'? It would've helped to say at least something more before he ran off. Now he was- Oh, there she was. Luckily, his eyes caught the figure of a person, down the alley. Siena. Well, have to deal with her. Grant started to step to the alleyway, down it, readying his chains... before something unexpected happened.
She just fell over. Out cold. She also seemed to drop a book. "She had more than one source, huh." Grant spoke out to no one in particular. At least it makes this easier. He walked up to the unconscious body of Siena, cautiously rolling her onto her back for easier access to her flags. First, he ripped her head and chest flags, and with the help of his chains, he ripped off both her wrist flags and her ankle flags. It was over.
Looking down on the unconscious Siena, he figured that it'd probably be rude to just leave her there. He glanced back at his chains, then down at her body. Might as well. He stepped up to her, kneeling down, bringing his chains down as well. They made contact with her shorts and her top that she had underneath her coat. Slowly, he had his chains lift her up from the ground before he saw the book on the ground as well. He picked it up and stood up with her body, that floated, though a bit loose within her clothes. He returned her book into one of the pockets that her coat had, before he slowly lowered her body into his arms. Slowly, he let his chains loosen on her clothes until it was only his own strength that was holding her. Which wasn't much, but surprisingly, he managed to hold her in his arms. His chains retracted behind him, out of sight, before he stepped out of the alleyway.
One. Two.
Breathe. Keep your lungs open.
One. Two.
Less pressure on your ankles.
Sander found himself fall into the familiar rhythm as he ran, his muscles remembered what his mind had forgot. He blinked, half-expected to see warm-coloured tracks expanded beneath his strides. But instead, there was just dull, grey concrete. A cold reminder of where he was. It took him a few seconds to realize he had crossed into the safe zone. It took several more for him to finally stop and put his roommate down. And it took yet another minute of mindless staring for Sander to finally notice his naked stage. He looked down at himself, blinking rapidly as the blood high left him and scrambled thoughts flooded back into his mind. The pants were gone. In Callanβs fight. Then his boxers and shirt were taken in the encounter with Siena. But why? He didnβt take them off. There was no reason to take them off.
Withdrawal soon set in though, prompting Sander to wrap his arms around himself. He turned his gaze up, glancing around the empty field, utter confusion lined his features.
Christmas coughed and looked away as Sander set him down, looking around the large plaza in amazement at the aftermath of what was supposed to have been a game. Nothing had changed much in the environment from when he had first arrived at the location, but the presence of an unconscious girl on the concrete some distance away and pieces of shattered cement near a moderate crater roughly around the plaza's center evidenced a superhuman struggle.
He was almost about to ask what had happened, but remembered that Sander was probably more concerned about clothes at the moment. With nothing spare to offer, Christmas kept his back turned and hoped the staff would eventually come to help.
"Uh...sorry," he added feebly without turning around, "don't have, um, extra pants."
Hands running up and down the length of his arms for warmth, Sander looked at Christmas, or more exact, his back, when the blond boy finally spoke up. The scent of coffee flared again, and Sander supressed his ability, eyes began to wander, as if not quite back to reality yet.
βI donβtββ- He began, looking at his bare legs one more time as if to confirm the status of his missing pants ββYeah. Itβsβ¦fine.β
It was probably not fine, but Christmas wasn't exactly sure he could continue that particular conversation topic. Unfortunately, curiosity dropped a question before he could contain himself.
"...W-why are you naked?"
βIβm not quite sure.β- Sander spoke slowly, racking his mind for any relevant information. He remembered most things, despite the blood high, but he couldnβt really recall what he didnβt pay attention to. And during the fights, his priority was definitely not his clothes ββMy clothes wereβ¦taken?β- He concluded in the end, though it felt more like a question.
"Oh..." What? At the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted to know all the details.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / πΎπ£π π¦ππ β€ππ£π / / ππππ
The cuffs beeped loudly in one prolonged note.
"Aaaand, give it up for The Abusement Park with a resounding total of 64 points to Multiple Scorgasm's 45! They snagged every flag from the opponent and grabbed their healer all in a little more than six minutes--talk about overkill! I've got guards and paramedics on the way to patch people up temporarily, though we'll have everyone back to full health soon enough."
As Fredric spoke, the guards who had moved well away from the main site of engagement returned, their numbers bolstered by more in response to the game's events. Two pairs of soldiers carried a stretcher for AngΓ©lique and Siena with a small team of paramedics wielding medical supplies in tow. They cleaned and bandaged AngΓ©lique's wounds and loaded her onto the stretcher, heading back towards the security outpost. The group handling Siena calmly took her from Grant and checked for any serious injuries. Upon finding none other than the slowly forming bruise on her chin, proceeded in much the same way.
Several other soldiers and health professionals approached Callan and Marcus as they exited the sewers, one soldier bringing up the rear pulling a portable, propane-fueled water heater tank with an attached shower head nozzle.
One of the paramedics--a young girl who looked fresh out of college--shakily took Callan aside to clean the bite marks and disinfect the small scrapes she had received from her scuffle with Sander. An older man approached with a cold gel pack for the bruising on Callan's face while the younger girl continued wiping at the injuries and the bits of sewage that Callan had picked up climbing up the rungs behind Marcus.
On Marcus's end, the soldier with the outdoor shower system hosed him down thoroughly with hot water, washing away as much of the sewage as possible before another pair of paramedics sprayed every inch of the boy with skin-safe disinfectant. Another round of washing and spraying and a quick suggestion to shower again in the security outpost passed before they handed him several large towels and a change of clothes taken from his room.
Near Kusari, the four soldiers assigned to lead her were simply standing at a distance, rifles aimed at her while she reattached her limbs, in case she attempted an attack or an ill-advised escape. Four guards surrounded Christopher as well, tense and waiting on the order to leave.
Three other soldiers gave Grant the same treatment, though their slightly more relaxed faces implied they weren't expecting too much trouble on his end. Likewise, one calm soldier walked up to Lilianna as her escort, weapon ready, but not poised to fire.
The last group of soldiers approached Christmas and Sander with one paramedic, an older, stern-faced man who looked like he had seen more than his fair share of injuries throughout the years.
He checked over Christmas first, undoing the filthy bandage around the healer's right hand and beckoning over the soldier with the portable shower system to wash down the boy in the same way as Marcus before nodding towards Sander as well. The man barely raised an eyebrow at Sander's lack of clothing, though he muttered something like it was convenient for cleaning. As the guard rinsed Sander, the paramedic dried, disinfected, and wrapped Christmas's hand in a gauze pad and a new length of bandage, properly tucking the cotton around the thumb and securing it in place with medical tape.
Both were given several towels and a change of clothes after they were done with general cleaning and wound dressing, though Christmas simply tucked his new set of clothes under an elbow pressed against his side and clumsily threw one of the large towels around his shivering shoulders. He stepped away, tugging his ribbon out of his hair and wringing the water carefully from it. A quiet sigh passed when the stained, nicked length of cloth had returned to a state of "damp" and not "dripping wet," and Christmas tied the blue ribbon around his left wrist so he could quickly towel his hair dry.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / ππππ¦π£ππ₯πͺ ππ¦π₯π‘π π€π₯: πππ€ππ£π§ππ₯ππ π βπ π π π / / ππππ
When rough cleanup procedures had more or less completed, the guards ushered the students back towards the security outpost and into a large room that had been cleared of most desks and chairs, leaving only a control panel, two long desks covered in various bowls of popcorn, chips, cookies, and various other snacks and drinks scattered across the table, enough chairs lining the desks to accomodate the remaining students, and a wall of screens left in front of a looming Fredric.
He welcomed them in with a wide smile and a quick wave. On the screens behind him were replays of the match that had just occurred, with certain scenes looping frequently: Callan throwing Sander; Grant expertly flicking flags off Callan; the monochromatic green of the sewer cameras recording Sander smashing through a wall; Marcus executing an instantaneous series of actions on Kusari; Angel screaming a dragon off her; Siena teleporting around the sewers and a cut to Siena commanding Sander and Grant to remove their flags.
AngΓ©lique and Siena were already inside the room by the time the rest of them arrived, both girls lying on cots against the wall. While Fredric chuckled again at some of the antics on the replay, one of the guards grabbed Christmas and brought him forward.
The boy was still soaking wet for the most part, though his shirt had mostly dried in the walk back.
"Rosa tells me you might have a new trick up your sleeve," Fredric beamed at him. Christmas only looked back fearfully.
A small frown flickered across Fredric's expression before he pulled out a pocket knife, flicking it open and flipping it deftly in his hand so he was handing the grip towards Christmas.
"Sorry, kiddo. Orders from up top," he muttered apologetically.
Christmas stared at the knife, eyes wide and pleading for another solution, but he didn't direct the gaze beyond the grip of the knife. His hand trembled as he took the pocket knife with his good hand, eyes running over his right arm and looking for a place to cut. He wasn't sure if there even existed something like a "good" place to cut on the human body. And the longer he stood there and stared at his arm, the harder it became to convince himself to make the incision.
He didn't want to consider the consequences of failure if he took too long or if he couldn't do it at all, so Christmas sucked in a shaking breath and jammed the knife into the middle of his upper arm. He cried out in pain and would have fallen forward if the nearby guard hadn't grabbed him by the shoulder. The stab had hardly been strong, and the wound itself was miniscule, but it still really hurt.
At first, the blood oozed from the wound, sliding down his arm while he cried and whimpered. But as the first trails of red pooled at the fingertips of his limp hand and prepared to drip onto the floor, the air shimmered, a glass-like mist spooling into existence around him and expanding outward, pulling the blood away from the wound in a fine, red vapor that spread thinner as it moved away from him, until it was no longer visible in the white, glinting veil.
The effect engulfed the room, wrapping all the occupants in that translucent haze. Injuries healed, nicks and scrapes disappeared, and by the time Christmas shuddered and fell to his knees, the only one left in the room with any injuries was him. The illuminating mist disappeared and the blood flowed normally from his wound again.
One of the paramedics that had accompanied the guards back to the security outpost quickly took care of the shallow stab wound, carefully extracting the knife and wrapping up the injury, silent to Christmas's pained reactions. After several thorough wipes of the blade, the woman handed the knife back to Fredric, who snapped it closed and tucked it back into his pocket, eyes still on Christmas.
"Take him to a seat," Fredric nodded at the guard whose hand was still on the boy's shoulder.
The man pulled the boy into a weak standing position before nudging him into a nearby chair. Christmas fell into the seat without resistance, still sniffling from the injury and busily wiping his eyes and nose on the towel. His right arm hung at his side, every careless movement bringing more whimpers and tears to the forefront.
"Well, then, for those of you who are awake," Fredric resumed his wide grin, "You'll be watching Teams 3 and 4 from the screens in this room. When their match is over, we'll give you the evaluation sheets to fill out and hand back to us."
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / ππππ¦π£ππ₯πͺ ππ¦π₯π‘π π€π₯: πππ€ππ£π§ππ₯ππ π βπ π π π / / ππππ
Meanwhile, in the other room, a hoot and one-person applause sounded from the back.
"Wow!" Rosa hopped out of her seat, popcorn crumbs falling from her clothing as she stood up, "Now that was a wild ride. Did not see any of that coming!"
The staff mage motioned to one of the guards to sweep her mess while she pulled a small pile of papers from the table.
"Evaluation time! Write down everything you thought about the fight, all them spicy deets," she chirped and handed out evaluation sheets to the benchwarmer teams, "General impressions, thoughts, feelings, improvements-- so many improvements, hoo boy-- illustrations, whatever you feel like doing! Remember, this is a learning experience, and we're all here to help each other do exactly that. No holds barred!"
A box of pens was placed on each table for the students.
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / ππππ¦π£ππ₯πͺ ππ¦π₯π‘π π€π₯ πππ€ππ£π§ππ₯ππ π βπ π π π / / ππππ
Rosa had busied herself with her own assortment of snacks while the off-duty teams talked amongst themselves. Skittles, popcorn, pistachios, soda. All of them absolute essentials for this gut-busting fight-to-be. The guards had declined her offer of viewing snacks earlier in their usual brusque tones. Operating procedure kept them from accepting the array of sweets and snacks. She knew that but, come on, did they really think that Rosa Schur was a snitch? Grumpy wouldn't mind her guards getting some sustenance for optimal job performance, right? Ah well, more for her then.
"Freddy..." she whinged into the handset by her mousepad, "How much longer?"
"Yeah, yeah, 'patience is a virtue'. Bleh."
"Yes, I am keeping the popcorn far from the keyboard this time. And the soda."
"Oh gosh, he's actually going dragon again. You did tell him he could stay human right? Ah well, offensive power is a good enough trade for utility and defense. Probably."
"I knew we should've gotten him a pair of those Hulk pants! It'd only take Hephy, like, two seconds to make! Do you really expect me to believe that a guy like him doesn't keep a roll of stretchy purple spandex in his workshop?"
"Urgh, fine."
"Sander versus Callan? Oh man, this is gonna be epic!"
"Oh, they're taking this pretty seriously. Look at all of them in their starting positions, how nice! I hope it's not too serious, though. It'd be bad if one of them got really hurt."
"Pffft! Vamp Boy could have a football career if those canisters were oval-shaped. Why isn't that a thing, by the way? A Magical Football League? I bet Kleinfelder would fund the cr-- Holy damn, Chris is really going for it! Breaking opponents' formations by provoking them outright. An unusual but effective tactic, just look at that dragon go!"
"Screw football! This kid could be a rodeo champion! Look at him-- Oh. Oh, that looks kinda-- Right. Chris'll be fine. Okie dokes. Under the right conditions, Sander certainly outclasses most of his peers in maneuverability and strength. Let's see how he fares against Supergirl."
"Whew, Cal's really getting into it, huh? I didn't think she'd be the 'down and dirty' type. Yes, I was talking about combat. C'mon Freddy, what the hell!"
"Ooh, Angel enters the fray! Her leadership prowess was certainly tested in the first battle but it looks like she'll be trying to redeem herself in this matchup!"
"Drago lunging through the fire and flames! What a badass move! Oh. Oh dear. Well, she's definitely a screamer, huh."
Sander and Grant vs. Callan
"A two-on-one, huh? Callan showed some real tenacity in the first day battle but she might have met her match here. Sander's gonna be a tricky opponent with his equal, if not more potent, capabilities. She'll have to watch out for Grant and his classic on-the-spot thinking too! What exciting stuff!"
"D-do you think they know how it looks from an outside perspective? I know Sander's self-control is sketchy in combat but... Yeah, maybe it's best not to tell them. Remind me to get some martial arts instructors for those two."
"Oooh, better watch out for 2 Chainz there! Two flags, snatched right under her nose. Wait, what'll we call him if he gets a third chain? Jerry, could you look up some chain related rapper names for me? No? First the snacks, now this. Y'know, I'd expect this sort of behaviour from your cousin Erwin, but not you. I'm VERY disappointed right now."
"Oh, so NOW you take the popcorn, huh? I've had it up to here with you, Jerry."
"Ooooh, Grant better-- OHHH, LOOK AT THAT INTERCEPTION! DID YOU SEE THAT? MAGIC FOOTBALL, I'M PATENTING THAT AS SOON AS THIS IS DONE. JERRY, SWEEP UP THAT POPCORN."
"They're really going at each other, oh dear. Cal looks like she's gonna-- SANDER, NO! OH MY GOD, WHY WOULD HE DO THAT? Yes, I know why, Fred, I meant-- Ahem. Well, that was a fascinating distraction. A rather unusual method of throwing your opponent off while also obtaining some energy for the long haul. Freddy, keep your hand on that button."
"No. No freaking way. No-- NOOOOO WAYYYYY. SHE DID THAT. SHE DID THAT! That's the most goddamn majestic hammer throw I've ever seen. I-- Yes, Freddy, I did watch the 2016 Olympics. This beats even that."
"AND GRANT BLOCKED IT! Ooh, that looked like a heavy hit. And it looks like... A-are those his pants?! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHA-- HA. HAHA-- Woah! Ow! HAHAHAHAHAHA. Pick me back up, Jerry, I can't... I can't breathe! HAHAHAHAHAHA, ow..."
"DID YOU SEE THAT, FREDDY? What a resourceful guy. Cal is completely blinded! She takes a tactical retreat and... Ooh! They're not letting her go that easily! Sisterhood or no, those pants certainly ain't travelling anywhere!"
"Looks like it's the end for Cal! Sander and Grant have got her completely pinned in this tag teamup! Sander's making the most of Grant's pin but Cal's still looking rather feisty aaand-- Fred. You better have that button ready. Fred, it-- Oh, he did it. He stopped himself! I didn't think..."
"... And that's it for Supergirl! An impressive effort but with two formidable opponents working in tandem against her, it was a quick and dirty fight. Grant, once again displaying his prowess for back line support, while Sander..."
"You know what, Freddy? I think I'm more optimistic about Vamp Boy now. He'll find his way, I just know it."
Marcus vs. Kusari
"Mobility versus durability, what a matchup! Kusari's abilities offer an crazy amount of versatility but will that be enough to take down our resident Jumpman, Marcus?"
"Whoa, Kusari there, making the most of that raptor leg and going straight on the offensive! She launches into a Bruce Lee-style flying kick and..."
"Eughh... Oh yeah, that's definitely broken, oh god. Mngh. Jerry, bring me a bucket. Just in case."
"Marcus recovers slightly with a rewind! That arm still looks limper than your grandma's breadsticks but it seems that he's not going down without a fight! Only one flag down from Marcus. Let's see if he can keep the rest of them."
"Oooh, going right in for a knee strike. Looks absolutely brutal, Freddy. Kusari's pulling no punches today! Or knees, for that matter. Marky McFly is pretty beat now, down two flags! If he's trying to look like a half-chewed deer in the headlights, it's definitely working! Looks like this matchup will be ending quite soon."
"Kusari seems to be... negotiating surrender? Hesitation in a battlefield is never a good plan, kid. Bad plan, bad plan! Just look at that cocksure smile and... Marcus strikes back! In one swell foop, two flags and a sucker punch to the schnozz! Kusari's not looking too happy and... What is she doing?"
"Oh god. Oh god. OH GOD. AAARGGH. I'm not... I'm not watching this. Eurghh, I know you're nigh-immortal but... MMGH. YOU GOTTA DRAW THE FREAKING LINE SOMEWHERE."
"Urgh. That's it. I'm done with this. No more watching. Gonna avoid that side of the screens. Urgh, get that bucket ready, Jerry."
Angelique vs. Christopher
"Who's your money on for this matchup, Jerry? No-- Yes, I know what your orders are. It's a figure of speech, come on!"
"A big ol' dragon's gonna be pretty hard to beat but Angel's got some guts of her own. Those screams aren't something to be underestimated, that's for sure!"
"Do you think we could arrange a badass angel costume for her? Like a metallic wingsuit! Oh man, that would be too cool!"
"Heph's got plenty of time, I'm sure!... Of course, this is important!"
"Oooh, Angel absolutely nailing Chris with that super screech! Chris giving her a good thwack in return! Argh, both of them keep taking hits like a champ!"
"Oh, that body slam's gonna be brut-- AND SHE COUNTERS HIM RIGHT BACK. LOOK AT THAT VOCAL UPPERCUT. No. TAIL UPPERCUT TOO. What a beautiful somersault! How's this match gonna end? I've got no goddamn clue, Freddy!"
"Another body slam. No, a pin this time! Angel's really on the ropes now! But she's on her back. Chris, what are you even doing?! She's gonna-- "
"Yep, she did it. Drago totally had that coming."
"A double whammy right to the face! Chris is absolutely out! Looks like Dragonforce didn't stand a chance against the Angel of Death after all, Freddy!"
"No, I didn't google those references beforehand! Who do you think I am?"
Ernest Mars
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / πΉπ¦ππππππ πΉ / / ππππ
Marcus had left on his own so Ernie did the same, taking the time to visit his long-awaited new dorm. Silence. Ernie breathed it in, loosening his shoulders as he closed the door behind him. Solace at last. No dumbass classmates to get in his face, no asshole guards to shove him around. A little piece of paradise. His two vacuums, his big axe, his tomahawk, his cooler. Ernie relaxed at the sight of the familiar goods, doing a mental count as he inspected every piece. Everything was here. His time putting everything in its place was unfortunately shortlived, a peace that was lost too easily.
He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here, away from everything outside. Ernie stood by the door, stock still.
There wasn't anything wrong with staying, right? He wasn't going to learn anything either way! What was the worst they could do? Taze him? Solitary confinement? It was nothing he hadn't gone through before! He just needed to stay a few more minutes, just really take in his new room and--
With all the strength he could muster Ernie pounded his fist to his chest, creating an audible thump to accompany the incoming bruise. That goddamn Stigma was getting pissier by the day. He needed to go right now, before the rest of those useless thoughts came. Ernie burst through the doorway with an agitated pace. If he left quickly enough, he wouldn't have enough time to think about it. By the time he reached the classroom, he was breathless.
He sat in the corner seat again, the same bored expression from earlier branding itself on his face as soon as he entered the threshold. The sight of Marcus two seats down only served to worsen his already irritable mood. Sure, the scarred boy had seemed kinda sorry about it, but it didn't change the fact that he had made Ernie look bad. If it weren't for the girl between them, Marcus probably would have found a pen embedded in his thigh by now. Bleeding AND ink poisoning, what a combo that would be.
Ernie shook his head vigorously. Geh, he needed to sate himself soon.
Sure, he wanted to get back at Marcus for earlier. But violence wasn't the answer to that, unfortunately. No, Ernie needed to fight verbal sneakiness with more verbal sneakiness. But how would he do it...
Ernie's eyes followed Fredric as he entered the room. However, it was on another dark haired mage in the front where his gaze settled. Emma, huh? That'd be a good start. She'd seemed pretty spooked by whatever happened in the cafeteria but if she was used once, she could be helpful a second time. Satisfied with the planned course of action, Ernie allowed himself a relaxed smirk and decided to actually pay attention to up front this time.
A combat exercise on his first day. Guess that was to be expected of East. Ernie breathed. It was just a game. Good. No stakes, no life and death nonsense. Nothing he needed to think too hard about. Just him, some bits of velcro, and a bunch of teammates he didn't know or particularly care about. Simple.
With the briefing finally out of the way, Ernie could finally return to ignoring the lessons. Instead, he pored his Electives sheet. He didn't want to have to take anything else he'd just ignore. Something he could ace would probably be his best choice. It would be nice to not fail a class for once. So Home Ec was his number one. Cooking and chores were something he could do in his sleep. So he'd be doing it in class too.
Before he knew it, class was over and it was time to get ready for combat. Strategies and talks with teammates were tossed out the window. He didn't know any of his teammates besides Emma and last he'd seen of her, she didn't seem up for talking. So that left equipment. He entered the dorm once again and went through his things.
Steel toe work boots were a definite must. Sneakers in a combat zone were a bad idea. A few hairties on the wrist in case his hair got extra fussy. He changed into something breezier; a dark blue singlet and cargo pants. Combat meant lots of running about, so he always wore something that'd let him cool off. Plus there was less chance of getting a shirt sleeve caught on something. He looped his belt through along with an axe holster.
Clothing was sorted so now it was time for the heavier stuff. On his desk laid a Makarov PM, his woodchopping axe and his tomahawk. The gun was out of the question. "No lethal methods" after all. So it was between Chopper and Tommy.
The violent release zone at East was different. He'd read about it on DnT. West's release zone lacked the time-looping phantom that was required for a sustainable venting space for subnaturals. So Kleinfelder had to make do with the local resources, more specifically, the local forests. The Fallout Zone was nothing more than a glorified wood-chopping competition, with the occasional terrorized bear and subnatural wrestling matches. The 'destruction' that was expected in the Fallout Zone had always been far too mild for Ernie's needs. It worked well enough for the pansy Aberrations at West. Felling trees was therapeutic alright, but not in the way his Stigma demanded. So he'd needed other methods of destruction. Looked like that wouldn't be the case for this campus, though.
Ernie packed away the wood-chopping axe. No more trees for this guy. Instead, he grabbed the tomahawk and tucked it into its holster, sheathed of course. With his preparations finished, he headed off to Ground Zero.
In
π²πππ π½πππππ'π π²πππππ
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
In
π²πππ π½πππππ'π π²πππππ
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Here's a grumpy boyo.
Ernest Mars
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / ππππ₯π¦π£π βπππ β€ / / ππππ
Ernie had moved on from glaring out the window (like one of those emo kids he always laughed at) to glaring at the front board, specifically at the printed schedule on it. GLARING, like if he telepathically channelled enough hatred into the cursed thing he could escape the triple deathblows that were the pre-lunch subjects. Calculus AND Physics AND English, first thing in the morning? USARILN East truly was hell on Earth. More interesting was the phrase βExperimental Unit Bβ that was printed at the top. It seemed that was cherry-picked to be part of some special squad. Strange.
The arrival of other students drew his attention. Twenty or so teens, escorted by a beefy crew of security guards. An extra special squad then? Or maybe the security at East was always this heavy. Not enough information. It was time to put that detective cap on and suss out what the damn heck was going on here. A way to do that was to assess his assumed classmates, or just the people who stood out the most to him.
A peppy Aberration girl who introduced herself as Emma. Her upbeat little greeting to the teachers had pretty much grabbed Ernieβs attention by the ears, forcing him to acknowledge her existence. And what a weird existence this was.
Assessment time.
Woah, now this was a shiny person, a real βslow motion down the hallβ kind of gal. In any other place, West especially, Ernie would have found her enthusiasm pretty adorable. But in here, coming from an Abeβ¦ Man, that was just strange. Hardcore denial, maybe? Sure, it wasnβt his first time seeing a cheery X but considering the environment they were in, considering how long it had taken Ernie to earn his own cheeriness, he wasnβt sure what was up with this girl. Maybe she got lucky with a weak stigma and happened to be a nice girl beforehand too. A lucky combo. There wasnβt enough information to work off for the moment and Ernie didnβt like thinking hard about things he couldnβt figure out. So heβd do that thinking later. Her presence didnβt offer many clues to his situation anyway.
An Arbiter with a ridiculous number of scars on him. Ernie was reminded of scored bread when he looked at the guy. The thought of bread reminded Ernie of the fact that his breakfast had only consisted of a small pack of biscuits handed out by the truck soldiers. And, oh god, there were still three hours until lunch break. Ernest Mars was going to starve to death long before he got eviscerated by Dreamcatcher monsters. He tried not to think about his neglected tummy too much, tossing himself back onto his earlier train of thought.
Scarface seemed to share some inside joke with the Daisy lady. How long had these guys been at East again? Not long enough to have gotten their arrival requisitions before today but enough to have established little gags with the staff? Then again, these pro mages here seemed zanier than any people West ever managed to pick up off the streets. It was probably best to not base any concrete judgement from the staffβs personalities. It looked like Chestnut Boy already had his own clique of friends too.
Other than them, no one else really caught his eye. A dozen or so nondescript faces other faces filed into the room, a mix-and-match of personalities and appearances with varying levels of morning crankiness. Nothing spectacular. The only other person maybe worth noticing was a shades wearing, goth punk chick who looked a lot likeβ¦
Ernie shook his head.
Naw, it couldnβt be. Probably just some random goth girl who also liked wearing sunglasses. A fellow fan, perhaps? His view of the girl was obscured so his interest was lost very quickly.
The following lessons and speeches were mind-blowingly boring. Something useless about other Experimental Units, algebra that even he could sorta understand, advanced arrow-drawing in Physics and whatever the heck was being taught by the fancy-pants English teacher. Seemed like a total waste of space to Ernie. And he wasnβt just referring to the sentence diagramming. Heβd scoffed when Fred had returned to tell them to not eat the shrubbery. Hah, as if anything from Eastβs dΓ©cor would look pretty enough to eat.
Classes had passed by without anyone approaching him. That was fair. If no effort is made on one end then why should the other reciprocate? He wasn't going to get anything done by sitting and moping around. It was time to put himself out there and flaunt that stunningly bright personality he'd worked so hard to cultivate. And if those high school romantic comedies were anything to go by, the epicenter of teen socialization was the cafeteria. Delicious foods and new friendships were awaiting him there.
Hold up a second.
Where was the cafeteria? More importantly, where was anything in this school?
Ernie groaned into his hands as his classmates bustled out of the room, presumably to places they actually knew the way to.
In
Persona - Academic Akrasia (Being rebooted, see new int check)
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Aki watched passively as the boy in front of him placed his head to the ground. Dogeza, an act of complete submission. This went beyond desperation. Seeing Yamamoto act so hopeless, so goddamn pathetic sent something through Aki.
Bliss.
He felt powerful by bringing a man to his knees with mere sentences. By being above someone, no, by being needed by someone. His choices mattered now. They had incredible repercussions. With Yamamotoβs pleas for help, Aki held actual lives in his hands. He held strength in his words. And he could use it however he liked.
He had felt strength that day too. When Metis had released a surge of wind at those Shadows, he felt almost unstoppable in his determination. But it had been stripped away in an instant, the excruciating burns being a reminder that he really was nothing. His life could be swept away with the flick of a monsterβs hideous appendage. In that dark place, he was nothing.
But up here where the sun still shone, where there were people he could still twist with sugary facades and hidden agendas, that was the only place he had any sort of influence.
The Drama Club could, WOULD rot in that hell. And Aki wouldnβt care less.
He wished it were that simple.
"The last person you want at your back in a fight is a coward."
And all at once the heady rush he was feeling was washed away in a torrent of shame.
What was he even thinking? Being important? Strength? What the fuck was it worth if it was a product of cowardice?
Aki took a shaky step back as Takahashi tried to pull the beggar to his feet.
He was being just like before. He had learnt nothing from the dungeon. These lies, this falsely earned powerβ¦
Aki wanted to cackle out loud.
Earned? POWER? Those words had no meaning. He had no meaning. He was nothing. And being nothing was worse than death. Aki was lower than every sort of inadequacy Yamamoto would ever show in his lifetime.
βIβ¦β Akiβs voice was barely louder than a whisper, like even his voice was conveying the weakness he truly held, βIβll go. I donβt want to do this anymore.β
Aki didnβt budge from his spot as he awaited Yamamotoβs response, his shrivelled posture a clear indication of his fear and self-loathing.
Bliss.
He felt powerful by bringing a man to his knees with mere sentences. By being above someone, no, by being needed by someone. His choices mattered now. They had incredible repercussions. With Yamamotoβs pleas for help, Aki held actual lives in his hands. He held strength in his words. And he could use it however he liked.
He had felt strength that day too. When Metis had released a surge of wind at those Shadows, he felt almost unstoppable in his determination. But it had been stripped away in an instant, the excruciating burns being a reminder that he really was nothing. His life could be swept away with the flick of a monsterβs hideous appendage. In that dark place, he was nothing.
But up here where the sun still shone, where there were people he could still twist with sugary facades and hidden agendas, that was the only place he had any sort of influence.
The Drama Club could, WOULD rot in that hell. And Aki wouldnβt care less.
He wished it were that simple.
"The last person you want at your back in a fight is a coward."
And all at once the heady rush he was feeling was washed away in a torrent of shame.
What was he even thinking? Being important? Strength? What the fuck was it worth if it was a product of cowardice?
Aki took a shaky step back as Takahashi tried to pull the beggar to his feet.
He was being just like before. He had learnt nothing from the dungeon. These lies, this falsely earned powerβ¦
Aki wanted to cackle out loud.
Earned? POWER? Those words had no meaning. He had no meaning. He was nothing. And being nothing was worse than death. Aki was lower than every sort of inadequacy Yamamoto would ever show in his lifetime.
βIβ¦β Akiβs voice was barely louder than a whisper, like even his voice was conveying the weakness he truly held, βIβll go. I donβt want to do this anymore.β
Aki didnβt budge from his spot as he awaited Yamamotoβs response, his shrivelled posture a clear indication of his fear and self-loathing.
Ernest Mars
πππ‘π₯. π, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / ππ¦π₯π€πππ βπππ‘π¦π€ / / ππ‘ππ
"...so they had to keep throwing grass and stuff up there so the freakin' cow wouldn't die on them! In the end, it took like three days before the specialist came to get it down. Let's just say the steak that night was wayyy more satisfying than usual."
A pleasing chorus of laughter filled the truck. Ernie relaxed back into his seat, an elated expression lighting up his face. Another excellent story told. He wondered if he'd have time to tell the one about the lamb shank too. Or the one with the brick bat. The cow in the clock tower wasn't even one of his top twenty! Everyone in the convoy was chuckling along except for a notable few colleagues including Carlton, the freckled ginger kid cowering a few seats down from him. Man, why did stupid Carly always have to be such a bummer? Before Ernie could jab at the guy a voice rung from further down the row.
"Guys, we're here!"
Faces were pressed to the transparent sides of the truck; a rather unnecessary measure, Ernie thought, since every single wall was see-through. The excited chattering turned to disappointed mutters soon enough. It was plain to see why.
No outdoor vending machines, no chalked hopscotch courts, no funny hand-made posters advertising movie nights. Not a damn lick of color to be seen anywhere. All the buildings were 'modern' or in more accurate words, infuriatingly square and monochrome. It gave Ernie the impression of a robot village. God, did a colorblind funeral director design this place?
The dark-haired boy glanced around. There was another concern. Where were all the people?
That was actually one of the rumors flying around. East had tossed too many kids onto the chopping block and now they were desperately in need of cannon fodder, fodder that was to be supplied by USARILN West. A peruse of the establishment backed the claims up. Way more guards, way less kids here. The stats on DnT had spoken for themselves, with West outnumbering East's student population by the thousands. No wonder the campus was so small and bland. There were barely any kids to cater to.
Bad vibes all over.
The story getting thrown around was that East's resident overlord had ordered a bulk delivery of a few hundred of USARILN West's most combat ready subnaturals. Ernie bit back a giggle. Classic Kleinfelder. Instead of a small army, their ever-so-charming Director had sent...
He surveyed his transfer buddies.
Jess, who could breathe out a tiny plume of steam. Carlton, whose power was to change the colors of inanimate objects. Arpad, the idiot who nearly got himself shot a few months ago when he showed off his slightly better-than-average jumping skills and got stuck on the barbed wire fencing. And twenty or thirty other subnaturals as lame as these guys. Useless, useless, useless. A planned transfer of four hundred subnatural soldiers had been whittled down to a number of kids that was small enough to fit into just two military trucks.
Indeed, Kleinfelder's extensive rosters weren't filled with the 'combat ready' sort. Usually the hard hitters got poached before they could set foot in the vibrant corridors of West. Zhang must have been seriously desperate to have asked their star-spangled overlord for help and Ernie could only hope that her wrath wasn't going to be taken out on them.
The news had been quite surprising when it arrived. Not just the transfer itself, but the fact that his name was included on that list on the jumbotron. Ernie's powers were far from being as pathetic as his fellows. In fact he was one of the more capable mages on campus, not that it was a particularly stunning achievement when you lived at West. Guess his rather stingy habits in battle were what had tipped the odds against his favor. That was hardly fair. He was just a guy who had his priorities straight when it mattered. And if some poor sap got inconvenienced or even killed because of the order of that list of priorities then, well...
They wouldn't have lasted long anyways. They wouldn't have deserved to.
Although, if he'd known that he'd end up here he would have definitely switched around the order on that list. Now look at where that had gotten him. He could and would have given up a limb or two to avoid being sent to gallows like this.
He was scared.
No, that was a bit extreme.
He was jittery.
Apprehensive.
Huh, those vocab quizzes came in handy after all.
He was apprehensive because if East's reputation was anything to go by, it meant that he and the handful of other West transfers had just received an all-expenses-paid trip to the average mage's death row. Complementary free meals and accomodation to go with a spectacular death at the hands of Dreamcatcher's monsters. At least they had the decency to include in-flight movies.
So yeah, he was kinda bummed out. He was allowed to be. He'd had simple plans, a neat little vision for the future. And the only real requirement for these plans was staying alive. The barest minimum. Unfortunately the transfer had really shoved a steak knife into the garbage disposal. The forums had described USARILN East as the nightmare that held "the record for most casualties on campus as of this year." And that was from 2015. How much worse could the institution have gotten since then? Things were not looking pretty here, literally and figuratively.
Then there was that other matter to add to his irritation. A scowl began tearing its way through Ernie's pleasant-faced expression. It had only been a few days since he'd topped off but he was already beginning to feel the familiar scratching in his chest, the aching sensation of stolen warmth. Dammit, he should have taken care of it before the flight. His Stigma tolerance was getting crappier by the day. With a somewhat irritated huff, he leaned forward to get a view of his favorite freckled punching bag. Even with the smallness of the convoy he had a few helpers to choose from. Guess the transfer wasn't as bad as it could have been.
"Hey Carly!" Ernie called out, the standard pep flavoring his voice.
Carlton flinched in his seat and slowly turned to face Ernie's cheery grin.
"Wh-what?" the freckled teen whispered. The others had either gone quiet or started their own conversations, leaving Ernie to his own devices. Ah, these guys had learnt well. At least some people here knew how to act.
"I'm feeling kinda down," Ernie's smile didn't falter for a second, causing Carlton to shake even more, "Meet up with me after orientation?"
The hapless boy eyed the soldiers, garnering a tick of annoyance from Ernie. Like guard dogs had ever been a problem for him. And Carlton should have been the most well-versed with Ernie's stealthiness. Dummies like him were so irritating.
"You know I'll just find you later," Ernie pushed, "If you make this more annoying than it has to be, it's gonna..."
Dang. Threats, fancy talk in general, had never been his strong point. His actions had always spoken louder than his words ever could.
"It's gonna seriously suck," he finished rather lamely, "for you."
Luckily Carlton was spooked enough to catch Ernie's drift. Past actions louder than current words. Perfect.
The truck came to a stop as their conversation ended and the transfers were herded off. Carlton and Ernie were promptly pulled along with their row, once again separated. A soldier with a clipboard was waiting by the truck's door.
"Ernest Mars?"
The boy in question jerked his head to the call of his name. "Huh? Yep, that's me."
"Special arrangements. You'll be coming with us."
Ernie let out a nervous chuckle, eyeing his fellows. His buddies looked as befuddled as he was.
"I...I haven't even gone to orientation yet," he tried to keep his confused smile intact, "Am I going to a special dorm room or something?"
The guard with the clipboard ignored the student and nodded to his subordinates. Ernie was released from the chain. With a barrel to his back, he was escorted forward.
"You can receive your orientation in class."
"Class?!"
"Move it."
It was probably best not to annoy them any further. Without another protest, Ernie began walking. The unfamiliar hallways were just as bland as their exteriors. At least he couldn't fault East for consistency. Why the hell was he the only one forced into these 'special arrangements'? Was he finally gonna get that ass-kicking he deserved after all the shit he pulled at West? He'd heard East was borderline fascist with its discipline but going after him as soon as he stepped off the truck seemed a bit too hardcore.
Ernie was unceremoniously shoved into an empty classroom, a clicking sound from the door signalling that it would be a dumb idea to try to leave. Well, this sucked.
With nowhere left to go, he tentatively walked about the room. A quick inspection told him that it was just a normal classroom after all. Were they planning to interrogate or punish him in here? Or was he waiting for others with the same arrangements?
Argh, this was too much thinking for nine in the morning. Dejection clear in his posture, Ernie slumped into a seat by the window. He stared glumly out the window, watching the new world in front of him. Things weren't looking good.
© 2007-2024