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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Lasrever
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Lasrever

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A Scream in the Night





Zoe | AngΓ©lique
Ernest | Brent | Emma | Lilianna | Kusari


Sept. 16, 2020 / / La Plata, Maryland / / ~22:30

Collab with @Lasrever @Riffus Maximus @banjoanjo @ERode @Diggerton @Kyrisse @Piercing Light



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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by ERode
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ERode Odd One Out

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It All Started With a Corndog




Brent | Siena | Chris | Marcus



π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸœ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕃𝕒 ℙ𝕝𝕒π•₯𝕒, 𝕄𝕒𝕣π•ͺπ•π•’π•Ÿπ•• / / π•‹π• π•¨π•Ÿ / / ~πŸšπŸ™πŸ˜πŸ˜

Collab with @Papitan@dragonmancer@Chasers115


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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by January
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January

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𝕋𝕙: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸŸ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕃𝕒 ℙ𝕝𝕒π•₯𝕒, 𝕄𝕒𝕣π•ͺπ•π•’π•Ÿπ•• / / π•‹π• π•¨π•Ÿ / / ~𝟘𝟟𝟘𝟘


The more interesting interviews gleaned by reporters during the USARILN East students' stay had been on replay and rehash since the early hours of the morning, with rival stations and small-time newspapers latching on to a different station's interview and reviewing it on their segments as well, forming a disjointed echo chamber of "Marc" and footage of a trembling boy named "Christmas" writing on a notepad, interspersed with conflicting information from an Arbiter that some quick investigation had revealed to be a "Brent Roless" and another Arbiter fleeing down an alley that records eventually revealed as "Siena Santana."

They were the sort of field days that made the hyenas of the paparazzi--normally bloodthirsty--absolutely rabid. There was a great outcry from news stations the morning they received information that the soldiers were starting to pack up and route elsewhere and the exits and entrances of the motel and hospital were jammed with bodies, microphones, and cameras all hoping to catch the last vestiges of the tragic teenagers or, as some stations liked to spin the story, nigh-uncontrollable monsters.

There was a slowly forming divide in opinions after KLPN aired the most sympathetic subnatural interview broadcast in years, the brief, but compelling segment clipped and reposted in message boards and sent along to subnatural activist groups nation-wide within days.

In it, a teenager with scars across his face hung his head and dropped his shoulders, asking for the interview to end, his clothes wrinkled and his hair a mess. The segment ended with a long take of the thin cuff on the student's ankle before the camera cut back to the reporter in charge. Disturbingly human and a small, but noticeable threat to the status quo perpetuated by both the common folk and the people in charge. But it had already spread, and people were already watching, the views on every reuploaded YouTube video spiraling quickly into the millions before yet another version of the report was taken down. For now the majority of the recognition centered on the East Coast, but with a few choice words from a certain reporter and several stations agreeing to spread the news, "Marc" was slowly rising as the poster child of subnatural oppression. The portion of the interview that revealed his powers had the internet abuzz with speculation and potential uses, until a recurring nickname that cropped up was--as typical of simple, internet agglutinative fashion--"Time Scar."

It had become something of an unofficial tradition by now to name their subnaturals--the public viewing it as akin to naming a pet or, on the other end of the spectrum, heralding a hero. Regardless, it would be media publicity and spread of use that determined what would, in time, become "official" as far as nicknames went.

This meant, of course, that any subnatural who caught the public eye would either be forgotten or crowned with a moniker that may or may not be the worst name in existence. And despite not revealing his powers, Christmas's diminutive stature and generally unimposing demeanor snagged him the unofficial (and quite ironic) name of "Pixie"--a jab at his baby face, his gender, and the fact that he was far from being the bite-sized femme fatale that a colloquial "pixie" generally was.

Brent's interview had been washed out once the information was found lacking in sufficient sources in an attempt to save face for the station that had originally aired it, but the networked world of 2020 never forgot and never forgave. Opinions were divided between Brent being a mastermind or simply an unstable idiot, and even though he had introduced himself indirectly as "Gearhead," what people saw instead was the array of silver circuits that had danced down his arm, the sight captured in detail by the cameraman who had steeled his nerves and zoomed in instead of flinching away. That, combined with the obvious act on camera had several well-versed internet denizens refer to him as "Proteus." When they explained the loosely applied name, it caught on within a small circle, which then spread like wildfire once people jumped on the bandwagon.

While cyberspace boiled, however, the soldiers meant to guard and detain Experimental Unit B remained contrastingly calm. They met the wall of reporters with stern glares and ready rifles, jabbing the particularly brave ones back before they could approach any of the students being herded out of the buildings and into the waiting cars. A loud warning from Officer Brahms had scared most of the waiting paparazzi into submission, but made the threat painfully clear when yet another reporter broke rank and tried to dash into the center of the forcibly parted aisle of human bodies, microphone raised for a question towards the departing students from the motel. A snap crack of a pistol butt against the man's head knocked him down groaning and Officer Brahms simply motioned for the rest of the escort soldiers to keep moving the students into the cars while a spare soldier shoved the reeling reporter back into the swarming crowd. When the motel group had been safely secured in one car, the APC made its arduously slow way towards the hospital to join up with the second car collecting the students who had remained in the medical building.

Hazel was the last to be escorted out of the hospital, still cuffed with multiple suppressors and surrounded by guards. The reporters snapped plenty of pictures as the soldiers shoved her forward and into the truck, two soldiers sitting on either side of her to prevent any of the students from doing so.


𝕋𝕙: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸŸ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝 / / ~𝟘𝟑𝟘𝟘


The military trucks stopped well outside Washington, D.C. where the students and their assigned soldiers were moved to far more comfortable vehicles: luxury limousines lined with leather seating and built-in fridges stocked with drinks and expensive snacks ranging from caviar and top shelf liquor to the more common fare of chips and sodas. The students were shown into the cars at random, blacked out windows concealing the modular, leather design inside. Though the interiors were luxurious, it was made clear by the thick tires and steel lining on the door frames that these were vehicles made to withstand an emergency or more, should the occasion arise. The drivers remained focused on the road ahead, providing no indication of their destination. However, the comparitively short one and a half hour drive and the sight of an iconic white spire across the Potomac would soon reveal that it would still be a while before the subnaturals would return to the comfort of their dorms.

The emblem by the elevators leading from the underground parking lot displayed "Hyatt Regency - East Tower" in silver text, a lavish hotel and resort frequently patroned by executives and politicians enjoying a stay in the country's capital. The East and West towers were connected by both an underground concourse and a skyway, with both towers mirroring each other's amenities from conference floors to the 2,500 square meter ballrooms on the 15th floors.

The students were marched past shocked CEOs of large firms, current politicians, and the general upper echelon of society gathered around the hotel lobby ornately decorated with polished pilasters and carefully etched filigree on semi-elliptical arches over doors. Fluting further defined the heartwood borders of doors and windows, harkening back to classic antiquity in style and taste. Marble flooring buffed to a mirror shine spread out around them while the vaunted roof of the lobby's anterior portion gave the impression of a vast space. In truth, it was a large lobby furnished with embroidered seating and gold-etched tables, but the architecture seemed singularly designed to dwarf.

Further in, two rows of elevators facing one another moved the hotel's occupants between floors in glassy columns, the lavish decor of the lobby giving way to a different sort of modern luxury the higher the floor.

Men and women in only the highest quality suits and dresses gave the students and guards a wide berth, their procession marked by pin-drop silence as almost half of the nation's most influential people watched and judged from a snap impression.

On a massive, embedded TV facing the east lounge of the lobby, the interview segment with Marcus was replaying with commentary from a different news station about the state of affairs between humans and subnaturals, the golden-haired anchorwoman speaking about the two categories as if they were entirely separate species.

But they didn't get a chance to watch for long because once they had traversed the expanse of the marble tiles, the students were ushered into one empty elevator, the mobile room large enough to fit all of them and their guards with ease.

1, 2, 3, 4...the elevator continued upwards, slowing down only to pick up more potential passengers who quickly backed away from the doors at the sight of the large group of subnaturals. 15, 16, 17, 18--and only then did the elevator begin to slow down until it deposited them with a soft "ding" on the 20th floor, right in front of the glass doors leading into the lobby of the royal penthouse suite which took up the entirety of the top floor and consisted of 12 bedrooms with individual bathrooms, a 103-inch plasma TV in the cavernous living area, a private pool and jacuzzi towards the west side of the floor that bordered an insulated music room populated by a Steinway grand piano, two Guaneri violins, and a Style 85 harp.

Where the floors had transitioned to modern elegance earlier, the penthouse suite retained that Hellenic-inspired artistry of the lobby floor, gold and silver filigree lining the mullions and lintels of the large windows while a decorative chair rail of curling vines and blossoms in silver relief wrapped around the walls. Cove lighting carefully illuminated the room without irritating sensitive eyes and the ergonomic furniture had been custom made to match the room's decor, even if their designs were undeniably modern. Plush, off-white carpeting and cellula chandeliers finished off the luxury of every single room, ensuring its occupants were as comfortable as could be.

Each bedroom was furnished with a queen-sized bed, a multitude of tasseled pillows and sheets, a sofa, full-length mirror, automated closet compartments, maroon silk robes, floor-to-ceiling windows with adjustable, motorized interior shutters, and a bathroom large enough to throw a small party in; the bathtub was a sunken pool in the center of the floor while a showerhead perched on its raised mount attached to a short post beside the circular tub. Every room, living room and balcony pool included, displayed careful instructions on an electronic screen embedded in the wall that controlled a motorized snack and wine shelf that slid in and out of the wall on a press of a button. The rest of the control screen directed users to room service and other enjoyable amenities at the resort (a gym on the 3rd floor, conference halls on the 6th and 7th floors, a buffet on the 10th floor, a computer lounge on the 11th floor, and an arcade in the first basement floor; surrounding the hotel towers were high-end boutiques, cafes, and restaurants while a short distance away a concert hall advertised the next orchestra showing).

"You'll be staying here temporarily. Director's orders. No ETA on location change from the Commander, just a warning to avoid issues here. Even the Director won't be able to stop these people if they want you dead. If you're going to go outside, make sure a guard knows. The police force here don't take kindly to subnaturals, even from USARILN, so have a guard clear you over the law enforcement line first," Officer Brahms addressed the students after the soldiers had gathered them in the living space.

The short announcement done, the current CO of the group looked towards Hazel, who had been trudged into a corner and kept there.

"She can move freely on the condition that everyone here--" he looked at the students, "--acts to disable or kill her the second something goes wrong. The soldiers are ready, and if any student attempts to stop someone from eliminating her, they'll be marked for death as well. If she remains obedient, no one needs to get hurt."

The soldiers around Hazel stepped away as he finished, but they didn't remove the extra suppression cuffs. The message was clear enough: she wouldn't be using her powers until they confirmed she wouldn't lose control again.

"I'll be on the floor below and four soldiers will remain in the living room on standby. As safe as this place is, there's still a lot of potential danger from you all and to you all, so this setup is a bit of double-edged sword. Let's just hope the Director isn't wrong about placing you all here."

Without waiting for further responses, Officer Brahms left with most of the guards, leaving behind the promised four to keep an eye on things while they waited for the Director to respond to communications.



Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by GreenGoat
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GreenGoat Harmless Flower Person

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Hazel Baker

Almost as soon as they were left relatively alone, she started moving about exploring her new surrounding. The last few days were boring, with only Emma's visit to break the monotony. She had stared up at the white ceiling of that hospital room, while the flower by the table side wilted. At least her drugs made it more bearable; floating around in a half haze from under all those suppression and the drugs made it seem like only a little while before she was ushered out again.

Ushered out with several guards, cuffs, and a lot of people observing her.

If she still had the magnetized gauntlets and greaves they made her wear, it would almost feel as if she had never left the first facility at all.

It was no surprise she immediately gravitated towards the piano once she noticed it; it was hard to miss with all its grandeur, especially considering the place they were in. Perhaps it was a good thing the music room was insulated, for she found great pleasure in banging out a cacophonous racket. A new environment with colors and interesting shapes was something she was not used to. Not even the weight of all the suppressors on her could curb her curiosity, nor her incessant banging on the piano.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Lasrever
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Lasrever

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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Vox Angelis
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Vox Angelis Dust in the wind

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π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸŸ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝 / / ~𝟘𝟑𝟘𝟘



Washington D.C. It had been a while AngΓ©lique set foot into the capital, and wished last time would have been the last. While there were fans all around the states, Washington had been the least successful part of her last tour. But popularity wasn’t something that bothered the fallen rockstar about this place. It was the reputation it had. It was the stronghold of anti-Subnaturals activists, the very core of the propaganda that demonized both monsters and Mages alike. It was the cause of the magically-gifted people’s suffering.

Angel could remember well just how unpleasant her stay had been in this city. Back then, when she was on tour, AngΓ©lique had already taken a stance on the Subnaturals’ case. Against expectations, she had announced that she wasn’t in favor of the current treatment of the Subnaturals. Her producers thought that taking a stance publicly that favored the Subnaturals was a suicide for her career. And because of that opinion going public, the denizens of Washington D.C. had hated AngΓ©lique Lachance just as much as Subnaturals themselves. It borderline called for a boycott on her concert, and even nearly cancelled it, but Angel’s firm resolve managed to keep to thing going, although this was by far the least successful part of her tour. After the disaster, the lead singer vowed to never return to that city ever again. Not because she was scared of all the threats she had received from angry mobs of the anti-Subnatural citizens, but because she hated the very populace. The general atmosphere was just that unwelcoming, that despicable.

Inside the limousine, AngΓ©lique seemed clearly unimpressed by the setup. Whether she was used to think kind of treatment as a successful rockstar or simply because she did not care, the fallen idol was apparently not as excited as some of the others were. She had remained silent for most of the ride to the hotel, answering only when spoken directly to as she gazed at the tinted windows, helping herself in a carefree fashion about the luxury aboard, from wine to snacks.

While the penthouse was however jaw-dropping, AngΓ©lique felt uncomfortable to be living in such luxury. She never went anywhere THIS luxurious before, but luxury wasn’t something she was a stranger of. It gave the young woman a sneaky suspicion that something was afoot. Why exactly would the Director bring them all the way over here? A shitty motel could have done the job, for all she knew that they were probably keeping them away from USARILN after the Subnatural attack. She did prefer more modest accommodations during her stay in big cities, her bandmates were always quite adamant about living the classy life while they still could.

Might as well get used to it though. Angel had no idea how long they would be staying here, but there were a few places she wanted to check out. But the racket coming from the music room warranted a visit to that place first, and see who had been making all that noise.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by RedDusk
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RedDusk Likes cheese and slacking

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Sander | Christmas


Collab with [Danny]




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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by January
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January

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π•Šπ•’π•₯: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸ‘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℝ𝕠π•ͺ𝕒𝕝 β„™π•–π•Ÿπ•₯𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕀𝕖 π•Šπ•¦π•šπ•₯𝕖 / / ~𝟘𝟟𝟘𝟘

Christmas had never experiencedβ€”nor had he ever wanted toβ€”the Hollywood movie scene of waking up alone and naked after a drunken romance. And his hadn’t even progressed any further than first base, leaving all the mistakes of the prior day in the limbo of the uncertain question β€œWas it worth it?”

No. His answer, with the mild ache of hangover gnawing in a tight band around his head and Sander nowhere in sight, was no. He shouldn’t have continued drinking despite how appealing the drink was in flavor. Yesterday’s events still replayed too clearly for him and he wondered if his morning would have been easier had he simply forgotten it all. He’d crossed a line, even if it was just a step. That was a mistake, no matter how he tried to console himself about it, and Sander disappearing so early in the morning was almost definitive evidence that whatever they hadβ€”however nascentβ€”was now gone. Or, if not entirely vanished, sullied by his drunken stupidity. Were it not for the obvious futility of it, he would have hammered his head against the wall in shame. Instead, he just stumbled with his bundle of clothes into the bathroom, regretting everything and still hoping it was some kind of fever dream brought on by the residues of concussion. There were so many more important things to worry about, like the rest of the world for starters, but he couldn’t think that far around him. He could only think of Sander.

A scared, tired face stared back at him from the mirror and he took little comfort in the old routine of combing shaking fingers through his hair and tying on the new ribbon before even putting on clothes.

A small part of him wanted to blame Sander’s unrelenting closeness, how impossible it was to avoid the temptation of touch and breath and taste when Sander always seemed to tempt in the most unbelievably innocuous ways. But he knew it was a feeble excuse. It wasn’t Sander’s fault he had overdone it his first time drinking and ruined everything between them. Their shared experiences might have been more emotionally binding than some people would have managed in an entire lifetime, but it didn’t change the objective timeline of events. They’d barely known each other past two weeks and already he had managed to make a mess of the first real friendship he had formed after leaving his old life behind. Friendship and something more, and now it was too late to pretend like he didn’t know what that β€œmore” was.

He liked Sander, and it went a little beyond friendship.

But that was wrong of him. Sander wasn’t like him. Wasn’t β€œweird” like him.

To force those feelings on someone who couldn’t refuse like Sander was wrong, just like how almost everything about the boy known as Christmas was wrong.

”Wow, you like this stuff? But, like, aren’t you a guy?”

β€œOh, that Christmas guy? Yeah, his name’s pretty fruity. Who names their kid β€˜Christmas’?”

β€œHe’s dating Alvin? How even? I know Alvin’s gay but where did that come from? They don’t even look good togetherβ€”what the fuck?”

β€œIt’s so weird seeing those two together, though. Alvin could get basically anyone, right? I thought he was always around Alan β€˜cuz those two were dating…”

β€œI don’t want to sound mean, but it’s, like, okay, you know, when someone like Alvin’s gay because, like, his family’s rich and all and he’s good-looking so he can be whatever, right? But if you don’t have that kind of stuff to make up for it, it’s like, not good, you know? To be gay. β€˜Cuz what if you’re not even that attractive and you’re gayβ€”it’s just limiting your options or whatever. Like, all these fish in the sea and all that, but β€˜cuz you’re gay you only get like half the choices and if you’re nothing special, like, why bother, right? And, oh my god, did you hear about Cynthia getting pregnant so she had to drop out of school because her parents wouldn’t let her abort the baby? That’s so terrible…”

β€œHe’s kinda weird, right? Like he’s always huddled up somewhere or something. Alan keeps inviting him to the table but no one even wants him there. He’s so weird. Like he doesn’t even talk to us and he just sits there with his head downβ€”who even wants to deal with that? You think Alan’s just doing it β€˜cuz he feels sorry for him?”

He knew it was wrong, and for all the apologies he had made yesterday, he had still gone ahead and let the mistakes happen.

That was the problem with his apologies. They never meant anything because he was still doing what he was apologizing for.

God, why was he this stupid? This desperate? He didn’t want Sander to be a mistake. He wantedβ€”

Cold water splashed onto his face and dripped onto the marble counter top.

The shock of it relieved him of thoughts for a moment and he repeated the action, trying to keep himself from panicking.

It didn’t work and he felt the shortness of breath coming just as he finished pulling on a fresh T-shirt and pantsβ€”that he hadn’t set out for himself, that was for sure, once he realized the clothes were new and clean. Sander again, still taking care of him despite everything.

The soft bed was too large for just him and as Christmas lay there waiting out the gripping fear of losing Sander as a companion he couldn’t help but think that he had just begun expecting Sander beside him too often.

He was sorry. He really was. He shouldn’t have done that. But his apologies meant nothing when his actions wouldn’t correlate. His lungs struggled with breathing for several minutes longer while the anxiety twisted and spun in his stomach.

When the fear had passed enough for him to stand, albeit unsteadily, he rummaged through the bag of ribbons at the foot of the bed, pulling out a handful at random and trying to hold on to himself in whatever fragile way he could. He wanted to be here, in this moment, because he was supposed to be trying.

What for, he didn’t know now, but if he didn’t at least hold on to that small conviction, he’d be nothing but empty space and static again, like he had been for most of his life. He was scared again and lonely so he clutched the fistful of colorful fabric to his chest and tried to tie happiness down to his heart.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Deathmyster
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Deathmyster Derpity Derp

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Time flew by for Grant. Action deemed unecessary, rest seeming very inviting. Two full days, mostly filled with the sight and feel of a motel room and bed. The battle had been taxing on him, but he recuperated quickly, and more. The days passed quickly, and soon enough, his lethargic self was being escorted with others, through the crowd of paparazzi. Some of which were dealt with, physically. He merely kept his head down and boarded into the car. He immediately fell asleep.



A sudden stop. His eyes blinked open heavily and he looked up. Then they widened, almost in awe, realizing where he was. Washington D.C. He always did want to travel a bit... The brief glint in his eyes faded, and lidded tiredly once more. He had to remember his position and situation. Sure, it was somewhere new. But only days before, he had been marching out to possible death for the same reason he was where he is.

The door opened and Grant pulled away from his scrolling thoughts. The most amount of traveling he would do normally was through his head. It was only a fact. He let himself be once again escorted out, and into a new vehicle. A sort of limousine. He cast his eyes around at the luxury of the inside of the car, but for only that moment before he slouched back in a seat, and kept his gaze far. The onslaught of his previous thoughts made him wish the next bed would come faster.

Eventually it did. Eventually. His far mind carried him through packs of people in a lobby, an elevator, and finally, the next place he’d be spending time in. A penthouse. He blinked again, a glint returning to his eyes as he looked on at the luxury of it all. He can only hope the beds were as comfortable as the whole place was set out to be.

The reality of the situation came back as the announcement started. The soldiers, the possible danger. Everything seemed a lot less comfortable. His head hung slightly once more as he listened on. After the guards had left, he made his move immediately to the only room he felt he would be staying. A bedroom. He couldn’t wait to get away from it all.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Zombehs
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Zombehs One clown circus

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Gregory Irving



β€˜Huh…’ This sort of luxury was something Gregory had never before expected to experience, much less now that he was an subnatural. Allowing his attention to wander, he wound up blinking hard to keep himself from staring at any of the other patrons as they judged the odd group. Drumming his fingers against the palms of his hands, a slight sigh escaped as the lift’s doors closed and it began to ascend.

The penthouse was every much as impressive as he might have expected, and he gave it about as much attention as he paid the officer’s briefing. It wasn’t like he had planned to leave the hotel even before the warnings given. Once only the four guards remained, Gregory headed to claim one of the dozen rooms as his own. The luxury of it all would probably be wasted on him as his, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to have a roommate for however long they were stuck here.

The gym a few floors down and the swimming pool both saw a fair amount of use, and while he tried his hand at the supplied violins a few times, he gave them up as a bit too different from what he already knew to pick up quickly before long. Things were a bit of a blur if he was to be honest, and it wasn’t like the sleeping pills helped. Sometimes it was the middle of night when he awoke and headed down to the gym, tiring before heading back up to the penthouse to sleep it off. Not healthy, but it was easy enough to stick to and left little waking time to dwell on things.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by GreenGoat
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Hazel Baker
Friday, 18th of September, 06:00


Early morning, and Hazel was already awake. It was not by the actions of any outside force, but the result of an internalized clock and years of routine. And routine dictated she must exercise in some way.

First however, she must rid herself of her dirty clothings. After going out and getting told by the guards she cannot go out naked, Hazel decided her second objective was to find some sort of clothing. Rummaging through the various drawers, she found a few bits of snacks, which she gulped down almost immediately, and several robes of a deep maroon color. It covered her well, but if she even bent over or walked around in a strong breeze, it would be readily apparent that the robe was all she had on.

Finally in the gym, after getting some guard's permission, she started running on a treadmill, thinking back to everything that had happened.

It still felt strange for her to run around like this. Stranger still when this place seemed to be some sort of fancy abode; she had never seen a place as gaudy as this before in her life. Even the bed seemed extremely comfortable and large. To make things better, Hazel had even found an instrument they called a piano. She liked it a lot, though she had did nothing during the day but make some odd discordant noises. Until the nighttime where Angelique came and taught her a little bit about pianos.

Finally tiring, she stopped the treadmill, and completed the rest of her exercise, before returning.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Vox Angelis
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Vox Angelis Dust in the wind

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Harmony




Hazel | Allison | Siena | Christopher
Brent | Kusari | AngΓ©lique | Ernest


π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯π•–π•žπ•“π•–π•£ πŸ™πŸŸπ•₯𝕙 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℝ𝕠π•ͺ𝕒𝕝 β„™π•–π•Ÿπ•₯𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕀𝕖 π•Šπ•¦π•šπ•₯𝕖 / / πŸ™πŸ™πŸ˜πŸ˜

Experimental Unit B had only been in the suite for a few minutes before Hazel Baker made a bee line towards the music room. A small hoard of students seemed to follow the strange girl to the insulated room, only to find that instead of music Hazel had decided to make a horrible amount of noise by slamming her hands against the piano's keys.

Allison Revel had the unfortunate honor of being at the head of the hoard, ears facing the full brunt of the cacophony. Immediately, Allison clamped her hands over her ears and stepped aside to allow the others get a closer look at the music room and its sole inhabitant. She had half a mind to just walk away, but she was oddly curious as to how the childish aberration and her "music" would be dealt with.

Their current living arrangements were closer to what Siena was accustomed to, and it showed in the way she'd carried herself. A far cry from her usual attempt to shrink and make herself seem smaller and less imposing, the brunette had shifted her mannerisms slightly. Back straighter, gait more precise, and most importantly, eyes cast forward, no...over the faceless masses. Not challenging, but lacking the uncertainty of her typical movements since her arrival in USARILN East. Part of her felt odd, being able to fluidly immerse herself back into that mindset, but...it had only been a few weeks, hadn't it?

Following after the others despite the faint shifts in her composure, the Arbiter had hoped that she would be able to take some solace in the familiarity of instruments she'd thought long behind her, but instead she heard nothing but dissonant notes. Loud, ear-rending noise that blew away the comfort, replaced it with an expression of something between confusion and despair.

As she peered into the room, the latter began to win out.

Hazel. Not that Siena had failed to understand that there were probably reasons for what had happened, but memories of her clothing, her reader, her safety disappearing in a single sweep made the brunette tense faintly. Made her feel as if it might happen again if she strayed a little too close. Instinctively, the girl took a half-step back. "O-Oh...I suppose it's occupied now."

Another move. Chris had hoped that they'd be back in their little pretend school by now. At the very least, the rooms here seemed more expensive then the motel. Those thoughts were immediately replaced, out of an old impulse, from the sound of a piano. The notes were all wrong. There was no rhythm, no reason, for the randomized assault on individual ivory keys. The arbiter moved to the front of the crowd gathered in the music room to discover Hazel as the culprit. He never spoke or talked to her before, but he recalls seeing her when he was spectating flag football. That wasn't important however. He wanted to end the aberrations attempt at a melody. This wasn't because he wanted to spare everyone of the horrible 'tune', but rather for his own desire to play it. It has been a damn long time since he ever touched such an instrument. It was something he had a mild hobby of playing. The highlights of Christmas eve was his family gathered around him to listen to him play Silent Night or Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer. He regretted that he hadn't cherished those moments as much as he did remembering them.

"Excuse me." He spoke in an unapologetic tone, but tried to refrain from sounding rude as he put a hand on Hazel's shoulder. "I'd like a turn on the piano."

Hazel jerked suddenly, as an unfamiliar hand touched her shoulder.

She did not immediately respond, or move to that question, but stared a while at Chris, and the rest of the people in the room, before moving aside to the other end of the piano's keyboard. She did not relinquish her seat, however, in her mind she was justified in hogging the piano for herself.

Chris looked a bit confused at her silent stare, and only grew ticked off that she didn't give up the seat entirely. He wasn't going to cause a scene though. She at least offered half of the instrument. Upon taking his seat, the arbiter stared at the piano. He hit a single key, as if to test it himself for its sound. He paused, as he wasn't sure of what to play. There wasn't a whole lot of songs he knew. A few classicals from Mozart, a few christmas specials sure. None of them however seemed appropriate for what his soul wanted to cry out. There was one song that did come to mind however. The closest he could think of that he knew how to play. It was the song his father taught him when he first started. Though he couldn't remember the singer, he remembered how the song went. So he began to play the intro to Piano Man, and reached over to the other side of the keyboard that Hazel hogged when he needed a key from there.

He ignored the discomfort, playing the song was all too important for him to be bothered by its difficulty thanks to the abberation. To him every note was a piece of his soul crying out his anguish and past tragedy in a beautiful symphony. The melancholy melody spoke his language wonderfully. Though he didn't sing the song himself, within his own mind he recited the lyrics in sync with his performance.

"La la la, di da da
La la, di da da da dum..."


A voice, slightly off-tune, joined Chris's melancholic notes as Brent walked in the music room as well. It had first been the cacophony that caught his interest, and then the identity of the mysterious pianist that pulled him in deeper. Slightly surprised at how Chris was dueting with Hazel of all people, the amethyst-eyed youth said, "Didn't know you played, Chris. And Hazel too?"

He let out a low whistle, taking in the music room with all its high class instruments.

"Lots of musicians here."

Could have made a band.

"I'd hardly call that noise Hazel is making music." Kusari interjected, walking up to Brent's side. She knew Hazel had issues right now, but she sure as hell wasn't going to listen to that racket for days. She crossed her arms and watch Chris play. "This is the same guy that needs a change of pants after every mission, right?" she said. Apparently she was in a bit of a bad mood, what she saw on the TV as they arrived at the hotel had her on edge in particular.

"Call it abstract art," Brent replied to Kusari, "And that's a bit harsh for the dragon lad." Gesturing to his own rags, he said, "Feels like everyone'd need a change of clothes after Factory."

"Uh huh..." Kusari looked at her own ragged clothes, it was a good thing she requested multiple pairs of this outfit. "A pair of cheap sweatpants would go a long way ya know? Just something to leave at our exit zone so you don't have to flash anyone."

"Mhmm," Brent nodded, "Or even just a raincoat. You play anything though, Kusari? Or is your new hobby roasting people?"

Kusari let out a low groan. "My art appeals to a different sense, the windows to the soul, so to speak." She said. Her father often talked like that when the topic of art came up. It was as if he enjoyed playing the pretentious artist.

The window to the soul?" Brent laughed good-naturedly. "Art just as abstract as Hazel banging away?"

Kusari let out a sardonic chuckle. "Actually, it's basically at a professional level. Or at least it would be if I still had the will to draw. All the killing and what not isn't exactly inspiring."

"But all you've done was save people, right?" Brent said, turning his gaze directly on the immortal arbiter. "Thanks for bailing out Marcus and Emma, by the way. Didn't realize your transformations had become so flexible."

"Huh?" Kusari turned to Brent, she wasn't expecting him to suddenly thank her. She had saved people, hadn't she? She could let herself feel good about that at least, right? "You're... Welcome." The words felt alien and uncomfortable, she wasn't used to it just yet she supposed. She raised her clawed hand up. "Some limbs are more flexible than others it seems, I wonder what else this body has hidden away. I guess hacking away at myself to find out wouldn't be cool huh?"

"It'd definitely be a pain," Brent replied, "But, well..."

He shrugged. "Can't imagine a clawed hand being good for holding a paintbrush, considering how it was slicing through concrete like nothing. Maybe get a human hand back before working past the art block? Professional level skill does sound like something worth bearing witness to."

It's hard to move from the past when there was a constant reminder of it, after all.

Someone that actually wanted to see her art, now this was a nostalgic feeling. She would be lying if she said she didn't care about people enjoying her artwork, but what could she do about it now? She wasn't even sure if she could draw anything of substance. "I'm ambidextrous, actually." Curse her inclination to blurt out the truth! She let out an obviously fake cough before turning back to the piano. "Maybe I can... Draw you or something later. You'll have to provide the art supplies though."

Ambidextrous? His eyebrows went up, impressed. "No problem," Brent replied airily, "Not like it's my money anyways. You didn't take Art as an elective though? For the whole school thingy."

As Chris changed to a different song, however, the arbiter's expression changed, very slightly. A tinge of remembrance, eyes glancing over the two violins. Ah, he can't take this too seriously right now.

So he smiled and joked about it instead. "Christmas in September? Now that's something novel."

"Ugh." Kusari let out a groan of disgust this time. "As if I care about what that prison of a school wants to try and teach me." She knew it was petty, but she wanted to resist the school's influence as much as she could. The fact that they were pretending to treat them like proper students was insufferable enough.

She frowned at Chris's next song of choice. He wasn't seriously playing Silent Night, was he? She shook her head, it wasn't the worst thing he could do at least, but it was jarring.

"Guess you don't need classes if you're pro anyways," he said, as the music changed once more. Chris was a rather spontaneous player, wasn't he? Switching so rapidly from one song to the next. And while the tunes were fun for a while, this one in particular...just sounded like it was repeating itself, over and over again.

"Damn straight." Kusari said with an indignant huff. Chris had switched songs again, likely realizing the last choice wasn't the best. He seemed pretty alright, though Kusari like her music a bit more... raw. Though she had to admit this entire sight felt strange to her. Looking at them now they all almost seemed like a normal group of kids just messing around. I gave her an uneasy feeling, as if this peace was destined to be destroyed at any moment.

Allison suppressed a chuckle as she approached Siena, looking in on the rediculous scene playing out in the music room. Seeing Chris sit next to Hazel and play despite her presence was rather amusing. The dragon boy was either brave or stupid, though it was pretty obvious to tell it was the latter, this was Chris after all. Still though, Allison was impressed that Chris had any talents at all, given his lackluster showings in combat, and his even more lackluster equipment.

"So, Chris can actually play the piano? Not bad." Allison looked towards the rich girl. "What do you think, Siena?"

'Ah...' How familiar. The song wasn't one that Siena recognized as Chris began to play despite Hazel's presence. Taking in the melody with her eyes shut, the brunette felt herself reminiscing about days long past. When she was too young to play anything other than a few dissonant chords on the piano because it was the most her tiny hands then could muster. A laugh that held something she couldn't identify as fondness or detachment and a pair of hands pulling her away from the pristine ivory keys. One day when she was older.

Opening her eyes, Siena glanced at Allison, a faint smile forming on her face. "He has some skill. Perhaps a little rusty, but..." Her eyes returned to the piano. "It makes me want to join in a little."

"Yea, I get what you mean..." Allison glanced at the harp. She hadn't played one in a very long time, but her mother had given her lessons when she was a little girl. They were painful memories, any involving her mother were going to be, but ones that were immediately drawn out at the sight of the instrument. "Well, let's go!" Allison said, nudging Siena into the music room.

"H-Huh?" Finding herself being nudged towards the room, Siena blinked in surprise, a mild sense of trepidation trying to meet her. "Oh, no, um, I don't think I should--" Get too close to Hazel yet. "--interrupt if Hazel still wants to play."

Chris stopped his melody. The crowd of students and their comments distracted him. Brent's presence was even a tad upsetting, especially with his compliment. It stung like salt on an open wound. Some other girl, Kusari if he remembered the name correctly, gave him a bit of an insult, something that he tried to shrug off. He needed a tune to soothe his frustrations, more so then what his previous performance offered. Keeping things simple, and playing a song he had more practice with, he began to play Silent Night. He made sure he executed every note perfectly. He played with his eyes closed, this song he could play with muscle memory. He even started to hum along the lyrics. He tried to distance himself from the outside world. From Hazel who sat on the piano, from the spectating students behind him. From the soldiers that guarded him or the cruel world itself. He just wanted to play his music, and for the moment nothing else mattered.

Hazel stared all the while, observing every move Chris made on the piano, every note he pressed. It was odd how simple arrangements and timing of the presses made them sound better. Music was something she was familiar with of course, but actual live performances with actual instruments was something she was not familiar with. It was akin to magic, with how his fingers glided across the keys and made music.

After performing a chunk of Silent Night, Chris paused. He didn't like to think of the people watching him, but he knew Brent and Siena were present. He wasn't ready to confront either of them about his issues, especially in public like this. However a song came into his thought process. He once again began to play the piano, this time playing Uptown Girl. Though originally he wasn't so keen on a more light song, his inner feelings gave way and guided the piano in tone with his childish infatuation.

Eyeing Siena and Allison near the entrance, Brent waved at the two, saying, loud enough that Chris could hear, "Hey, you two wanna give it a go?"

Allison, seeing that Siena was too afraid of Hazel to move towards the piano, made her way to the harp. She positioned herself in front of the large instrument. How long had it been since she'd played one? It had to have been at least five years. The aberration tried to focus in on what Chris was playing, but Allison didn't consider herself much of a Billy Joel fan, at least not of Uptown Girl. Since that didn't seem like it would work out, Allison just let her hands flow across the strings, the strict teachings from long ago coming back just enough to allow Allison to play the thing somewhat competently. She wasn't playing any particular song, just sort of jamming out, playing whatever sounded nice. The first few moments were sort of chaotic and random, though eventually Allison settled into a rhythm of sorts.

Should she...?

The sound of a harp started to mingle with sound of the piano, the rhythms not quite syncing, but the melodies still oddly harmonic in its cacophony. Glancing at Hazel, Siena steeled herself momentaraily. At least...she didn't seem like she was entirely eager to begin mashing out notes on the keys for the moment. Carefully, the brunette approached, stopping a short distance away, but deciding that sudden touch was probably more alarming than sudden sound, she deigned to call the Aberration's name. "Um...Hazel? Would you mind if I played for a bit?"

Turning to Siena, Hazel gave but a small glance, before moving slightly more towards the end of the seat. Staring expectantly at Siena, it was clear she meant for her to just squeeze in if she could. Hazel was still bent on observing the people play those instruments, and thus was reluctant to leave the best seat for doing so.

The gap was a bit small, but... "Thank you, Hazel. Ah...excuse me..." Carefully squeezing into the space, Siena found herself shoulder to shoulder with the two beside her. Part of her felt a sense of unease, but...perhaps Hazel wasn't as intimidating as Siena initially thought. Again, images of her sources being demolished in a single sweep sent chills up her spine, but the girl held fast to the initial thought. Hazel hadn't done anything on purpose. Siena was the one being irrational. She was.

Still, it was hard to set the discomfort aside.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you for a bit," Siena said with a brief nod to acknowledge Chris.

"You play?" He asked. There was a hint of a smile on his face as her company was something he didn't outright detest, but he kept that joy surpressed as always. He glanced over at Allison. "Well since Allison is going with the flow, why don't we try to make a good melody with her? Do you mind if I let you start, and I'll try to match up a tune with yours?" Siena was one of those few people Chris could talk to directly and rarely ever be in his usual bitterness. Something about her was like a sun through the rain in Chris's perspective.

"Hmmm, alright. Let's see what I can do..." Though she felt almost odd being the one starting on the piano, Siena listened to the harp for a moment, her mind filling in the blanks. Key, time signature, tempo... 'And I guess with this sound blend...' Her fingers started to dance across the keys, starting with featherlight touches that gradually swelled into notes that chased the tune from the harp. Carefully allowing her strings to tie into each other, the melody fell back, the volume subdued, the notes confined in such a manner that they almost felt as if they were lacking, no, waiting for the higher tones the piano so readily offered.

Shortly after arriving in the penthouse, Angelique had been visiting the bedrooms and the various facilities offered to them for their stay. This place reeked of high-class, that much was certain. It wasn't something she wasn't used of, but it certainly wasn't something she was quite fond of. The ex-musician preferred much simpler things, warmer and more modest.

As she wandered around aimlessly, her footsteps stopped as Angel heard music. Piano and even harp, from the sound of it. They couldn't have held a concert for the students now, would they? Curious of the melody played by the blend of two majestic instruments, Angel's footsteps resumed their pace, however heading towards the music room.

The door had been left wide open, and there were already a lot of students inside. Brent and Kusari casually looking on, Allison deftly playing the harp, Siena following along the harp's rhythm with flowing motions, Hazel spectating up close at one end of the piano's seat and Chris sitting on the other end. A lovely sight, to say the least.

Listening to the melody, Angel stood by the door's frame, smiling and arms crossed, content with listening while not intruding on the scene.

Not too long after Siena started a flow with what keys she had, Chris began to play with his side of the keyboard, trying to match her Rythmn with his high notes which together forged a collective harmony of the piano and the Harp. Chris found a bit too close for comfort with Siena squeezed next to him, a fault he silently blamed Hazel for. Other then that however, he was enjoying their little performance.

Allison looked at the three people shoved much too close together in front of the piano. It was an odd sight, but the sound eminating from Chris and Siena's playing was undeniably infectious, urging Allison to continue plucking at the harp. The instrument rested on her right shoulder, her right hand playing the higher, closer notes, with her left hand stretching to reach the lower ones. Allison was amazed at how much of the muscle memory she had retained despite not playing the harp for so long, her elbows up, and her fingers gently picking at and flowing across the strings. She didn't pay too much attention to her surroundings, instead focusing on the strings, and the playing of the piano.

The harmonic of Chris and Siena on the piano coupled with Allison on the harp moved Angel, who found the moment and the whole coopperative effort sublime. She felt the moment sinking in her soul, wanting to be a part of it. But she wasn't good without an instrument she knew how to play with. The violins were hardly something she had properly learned to play with. She wanted to add something to that harmony, just like the music classes she had when she was still in high school.

But then, it hit the raven-haired musician like a brick. There was no need for instrument. Her voice literally was one. One that she had spent most of her life honing. And although she was mostly known for her rock and metal songs, few knew that Angel had started with more pop-style songs, going so far as singing really sappy songs before moving on to something more rhythmic.

"It's going to be alright..." Angel muttered. she took a step into the room, repeating "It's going to be alright. her voice gradually increasing, but remaining calm and soothing. A song that was fitting with the melody of the piano and the harp's notes. It didn't exactly follow the original rhythm of the song, but Angel chanted the lyrics to match the tempo, opening the window to her soul.

Even Angelic was bringing in her voice now, wasn't she? He had thought that she looked marginally better these days, but to witness the Lucky Angel pulling off the miracle of trying to unite all these different sounds together, it certainly made him want to...watch? No, to join in, even with his own lacking skill.

"Man, this really is sorta contagious, eh?" he said, grinning stupidly at Kusari, "Gonna go in for a dance?"

Without waiting for much of a reply, the arbiter hopped over, taking one of the violins in his hand. He could feel the craftsmanship within the grained wood, and a part of him felt bad for intentionally ruining it, but...

Someone had to unite this loose attempt at harmony.

Silver circuits turned craftsmanship into a miracle, wood and strings replaced with metal and circuitry. Flourishing the bow, Brent played randomly, fancifully, enjoying the motions rather than anything else, but the AI that detected the chaos around him automatically called forth a tune that would masterfully fill in the gaps left by this improvised quartet. It was almost cheating, but...

It was definitely fun.

"A-ah, yeah?" Kusari stammered out a response to Brent as he took a violin and transformed it with his ability. With so many playing along with Angel's voice, the room felt like an impromptu concert venue. She liked to listen to music, but she felt rather out of place here. Her rough voice was hardly fit for singing, and she couldn't even play a plastic recorder. She was a terrible dancer as well, so what was she supposed to do, just stand and listen? Maybe that was fine. She took a seat in a corner of the room out of the way, deciding to just enjoy the moment.

Hurried steps carried a puffed out Ernie to the door of the music room, his gaze searching for the source of that wondrous voice. He knew who it was, of course, he just needed to see it live and outside of a computer screen. The bathmat examinations could wait.

The buzzcut boy had been more than fine with ignoring the key-smashing from before, had almost been repulsed by the Billy Joel songs. It wasn't like Piano Man's song choice was particularly attractive either. But the chance of watching Angelique Lachance jam out in person was too good to miss. The scene before him was somewhat chaotic but looked fun as hell. All the more reason he rued those three on the piano seat. It was stupid. Hearing people that weren't him play on the piano always bummed him out for little reason. Not much he could provide here. For now, Ernie was content with leaning on the door frame and listening to the magic unfold.

Music buzzed in the air between Allison at her bench, the trio at the piano, and suddenly...a voice. Slowing her fingers by a faint amount, Siena glanced over to see that Angel was joining in, her voice following the melody before a new instrument came to tie the instruments together. Giving a mischievous smile briefly, Siena let her fingers press here, jump there...and then, it bled into something easier, something that supported rather than led. After all, it was the duty of the accompaniment to support the vocals, was it not? Her pedal presses became more precise, softened the force of the hammer as she reached over one of Chris's arms to continue the progression of chords.

"Pardon the intrusion," the girl claimed with a ghost of a smile as she felt herself pressing closer than before to the other boy at the piano for a moment before she was able to reverse the movement, sliding back to her original position to continue the notes.

Everyone started joining in to make one large harmony, a collaboration of tormented and dreary souls unified by their curse. The whole event was inspirational. Then Siena had brushed against his arm. The joy he felt sparked a side of him he forget he had. "Right back at ya." There was a small but mischievous grin across his face as he mimicked Siena's accidental arm brush, yet he made sure that the music he continued to share did not upset the Rhythm. The whole thing felt like some unreal dream.

Allison adjusted her playing to fit with Brent's violin and support Angel's surprise vocals. The impromptu song was a wonderful occurance, the strange combination of 5 students and an expensive-looking music room. Allison's playing improved by the second as she got back into the swing of things, and kept a keen ear to the others. Angel's powerful vocals took center stage, with Chris and Siena's piano duet building behind it, supported by Allison's rusty harp playing, and pulled together by the surprising quality of Brent's violin. This jam session had no right to be this good.

As charming as it was to have everyone playing all together - hell, she didn't even know Brent was a master at playing violin - all good things must come to an end as Angel finished the song with a long-winded note that slowly decreased in volume, until she would remain silent. She was so caught up in the moment that she didn't think of everyone's instrumental parts had started building up around her singing. It was only when her voice faded and the music started dying down that she realized that accidentally she had taken the lead of the music session.

Blushing slightly, Angel scrathed the back of her neck and offered a warm, if not slightly embarassed, smile. "Wow, I did not expect a lot of you guys to be musicians. I guess we should start a band or something, right?"

Letting her hands slip off the keys, Siena turned her head as best she could to glance at the crowd that had gathered--the room felt fuller than she expected. "I certainly wasn't expecting anyone to be able to play the harp." It had been too bulky despite its grace when Siena had taken an interest in music, and...well, certainly, it didn't provide the same versatility as a piano when it came down to it. Turning her attention to her temporary partners, the brunette gave a weak smile. "Thanks for letting me invade midway."

Ernie chuckled along to it all, hanging back as an outsider since there was nothing he could add here. Angel's voice was incredible as usual, but as it ended, there was no reason to stay. With one more wistful glance at the piano, the Aberration took his leave as discreetly as he had arrived.

With another flourish, Brent ended his segment as well, enjoying the motions of the music, if nothing else. As his Overclock faded from the violin, he placed it on the rack as well, wiping his brow. "Don't know about a band, Angelic," he replied, But this was hella fun. Didn't know you were such a good pianist either, Siena...guess it's expected though. And damn, Allison, you know how to harp? I'll double on Siena's statement. That's pretty rare!"

"Heh, yea, I guess it is." Allison stood up, stepping away from the instrument. "I haven't played in a really, really long time."

Chris had removed his hands once everyone else ended the melody. With the music gone he no longer let any joy escape him in the form of a smile. His expression was now melancholy.

"I wouldn't be against joining a band. I have to admit though, Siena outclassed me on her half of the piano."

With the improvised concerto over, a few spectating students of Experimental Unit B left the room while the others made small talk to each others. Eventually, one thing led to another. The discussion about forming a band shortly turned into a proposition to go downtown for a shopping trip. Once everything was settled, each student went their own way. Some went to prepare themselve for the upcoming shopping trip, while others simply returned to their own devices.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by banjoanjo
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Living the Suite Life



𝕋𝕙: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸŸ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝





Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by banjoanjo
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Living the Suite Life pt. 2



𝔽: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸ , 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝











Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by banjoanjo
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Living the Suite Life pt. 3



π•Šπ•’π•₯: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸ‘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝





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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by RedDusk
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𝕋𝕙: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸŸ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝 / / ~𝟘𝟑𝟘𝟘




The exuberant limo ride through D.C. revived a storm of emotions. From her seat positioned as far away from Zoe as she could possibly get, Callan kept her head down as she quietly stuck her headphones in and stared out the window. As hungry as she was that morning, she couldn't bring herself to touch the array of snacks in the car. She found herself wondering if Savannah would have enjoyed this, but quickly abandoned that train of thought, trying to stay focused on keeping her mind off of less pleasant topics.

Entering the Hyatt Regency Hotel, Callan was in awe. She almost failed to notice the uncomfortable guests, only remembering to close her mouth and try to stay near the center of their group when the sound of Marcus's voice drew her attention towards the lobby television. She'd seen the interview when it first aired the other day. After quickly remedying her decision to stay with Kusari, Callan had found herself a room to stay in by herself and fallen asleep after several hours of watching the local news. Normally the news wasn't something she bothered herself with-- especially when she was trying to zone out after a bad day-- but, while flipping through channels, she caught a glimpse of Brent spouting some nonsense to an anchorwoman and couldn't bring herself to look away.

She hadn't brought it up with Marcus yet. She wasn't really sure if she even wanted to. Recalling that moment of suspense she felt as the lady asked Marcus all the questions she'd been wondering about, Callan felt a familiar pang of guilt. It was seriously none of her business, but that didn't make her want to know any less. It was undeniably hypocritical of her to think so, but she wished she could help him with whatever he was going through. After that interview, however, it was clear she wasn't the only one with sympathy.

Not here, though.

Hearing the general's warnings about the citizens of D.C., Callan solemnly glanced out a distant window at the city below. She'd always thought it would be cool to visit the capital... but with all the reporters creeping around and the animosity she was sure to face, leaving the hotel was definitely out of the question. If only it'd been under different circumstances. She sighed and approached the window when the general finally left, vagualy aware of someone pounding on the piano in the other room. Savannah definitely would've enjoyed this. The view was stunning. Everything about these accomodations was stunning, as a matter of fact.

Even as she explored the numerous buttons and features of her room, however, she couldn't subdue the nagging feeling in the back of her head that wanted to know why they were here. Why weren't they back at USARILN? Why the capital? Why this fancy hotel? She figured it'd be nice if the director was trying to get them recognized as heroes or something. Perhaps that's why they'd been organized into a unit? When Lawrence turned out to be her roommate, it took all her conscious willpower to keep the questions festering inside her at bay. That wasn't a topic she was going to breach again anytime soon.

In any case, it was a presumptious assumption. She definitely didn't deserve that sort of recognition.

Not yet.




Revelation




Callan | Sander



π•Šπ•’π•₯: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸ‘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•’π•€π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π• π•Ÿ, 𝔻.β„‚. / / ℍπ•ͺ𝕒π•₯π•₯ β„π•–π•˜π•–π•Ÿπ•”π•ͺ ℍ𝕠π•₯𝕖𝕝 / / ~~πŸ™πŸ˜πŸ˜πŸ˜
Collab with @RedDusk @Baklava


Wandering the halls, Callan was careful to avoid any unfamiliar faces. She knew just as well as anyone how effective a quick picture on one's phone could spread compared to the news. And though most of these people seemed more intent on avoiding her than chancing a picture, she didn't want to risk anything and had thus tucked her mane of aquamarine curls beneath her hood. Rounding one corner, Callan spotted a familiar face and immediately came to the realization that she'd nearly forgotten something important.

"Sander!" Callan approached, trying to set aside the feelings of guilt that prickled at the back of her mind. She'd been so swept up in everything else, she hadn't made the time to thank Sander-- or even see if he was alright. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she waved.

Sander turned around, only noticing the familiar scent of fizzy drink just then. He hadn't really seen her since the battle in Wisford. They put her in the same hospital, he vaguely recalled. However, he was far too occupied with Christmas, since the blond boy was the only person still had to keep his injuries.

That sparked a bit of guilt in the pit of his stomach, which he tried to ignore.

"Hey Cal. How are you?"

"Heh," she half laughed, looking away, "I was just about to ask you that. I'm fine. Thanks to you, I think. You shielded me from that huge laser back in Wisford, didn't you?"

"Huh? Uh. Yeah."

Her smile brightened as she looked back to him, "Have you always been able to do that?"

"...Not until recently." -Sander was suddenly on his guard as soon as the topic about power came up, but he relaxed soon after. Afterall, Callan did fight by his side. She would see everything, eventually. He would still prefer later than now, though.

"That's awesome," Callan grinned. A stray thought crossed her mind, then. Casting shields on people. She wished she could do that. Maybe then.... She quickly pushed a strand of hair back into her hood to hide the moment of regret as it passed through her expression. With a short nod, Callan motioned towards the direction she'd seen Sander walking before. "You getting food?" she asked.

"Yeah." -Sander wasn't sure how to reply to the compliment, so he just stuck to answer Callan's question.

Another nod. "Right on," Callan shoved her hands into her pockets. There was more she wanted to talk to Sander about, she realized. "Mind if I come with?"

Seeing as he had no reason to deny her, Sander nodded -"Sure."

They made their way to the buffet floor afterward. The reactions from the regulars were nothing out of the ordinary: many stood up and left, while the braver ones quickly moved to seats as far from the subnatural freaks as possible. Sander kept his head down for most of time, only focusing on picking out what he wanted to eat. Which wasn't much, despite the elaborated display of culinary excellence in front of them.

Callan did her best to ignore the looks they recieved as the people scurried away from them, but it was clear she was bothered by it. Nonetheless, she said nothing, filling up a two plates of food of her own as she focused on the many options.

"Hey, so..." Callan began as they sat down, "Uh. I wanted to say sorry for not helping out as much as I could have back there. In Wisford." She poked at her food for a moment before meeting his eyes, "I mean. You took care of Factory like it was nothing."

"It's...alright. It was my mission."

Callan paused midbite, turning her head to the side with a look of genuine confusion. "[color=a2d9ce]Uhm," she swallowed, "It was our mission. We were supposed to take it down together...."

"Hmm?" -Sander took a small bite of his sandwich, just as he tried to recall the details regarding the mission. Not much came back, though. The clearest fragment he could remember was Kardos' order to 'kill the mages'. So that was what he did. -"I think the order was to take it down. And it was down. So that's that."

Callan smiled awkwardly, leaning back in her seat. He didn't seem to understand what she was trying to say, but she let it go. "Yeah. You did a good job," she nodded, "A whole lot better than I did anyway. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. But you-- how long did you say you've been a mage again?"

The familiar question gave Sander pause. It was the same one Cal asked when they first talked. Apparently she hadn't let it go yet. But Sander thought she deserved the truth, anyway.

"It has been a long time...Five years."

Callan gawked, "Five years?" She sheepishly scratched her neck, having genuinely forgotten the vague answer Sander had given the last time she asked, "For some reason I thought it was a lot shorter than that. Uh-- wow. Well. That explains a lot actually." She chuckled good-naturedly.

"Huh? Explain what?"

She laughed again, though a hint of nervousness bled into the sound as she realized all at once that she should try and tread lightly here. Sander seemed to be more of an experienced fighter than she was, but there was still the issue of her control. Suddenly she felt rather silly for contradicting him so many times.

"Well... I had no idea what I was doing back at Wisford, but you seemed to know exactly what to do. You took out Factory... and that mage. You got me out of that helicopter mess." She paused, watching Sander's face carefully, "Has... has it been hard?"

" I didn't do anything. My power did." -Sander only shrugged, keeping his eyes on his almost empty plate -"What's hard, exactly?"

"Being a mage... for that long. I mean--" she shifted nervously in her seat, "Does it get any easier?"

Sander was quiet for a time, his gaze seemingly glued to the table. Eventually though, he spoke up, but still refused to lift his eyes -"...We are different. But--" -He finally looked at Callan then, a forced smile on his lips -"I think it will get better for you."

Her eyes flickered to Sander's mark. She thought of Zoe, Emma, and Ernie. Three aberrations she knew and yet had very different feelings about. Her mouth twisted into a humourless smile, "That can't be right. I'm sure things will get better for you, too." She turned her attention towards a nearby window as she ended her sentence. There it was again. She kept contradicting him. He'd been a mage for so much longer. He probably knew better than anyone, right?

"Sorry," she muttered quickly, "I, uh. I guess I just don't really want to believe that they won't... it's too sad."

"It's fine. I don't really mind." -Sander brushed it off. Because he deserved it, the Stigma whispered, This, and more. He wanted to disagree, because he had got better control of his power. Then again, that still didn't change the past. Didn't change the wrong choices he made. Couldn't change it. He wasn't sure the control could help him to make the right choices in the future.

Callan frowned, clearly unconvinced as her fork remained still. She gave Sander a hard stare as she sighed, leaning further back as she took a quick sip from her drink. "So... you haven't been at USARILN this whole time, have you?" Suddenly remembering the friction between Sander and Ernie at the lunch table earlier that week, she added, "Or were you transferred from West?"

"No. I...uh...was at somewhere else." -Sander edged around the topic, obviously trying to keep the focus away from him -"Weren't you?"

She immediately furrowed her brow. Narrowing her eyes as she thought more on his response than his question, Callan bit into a steamed carrot slowly. Maybe he hadn't understood her question? "[color=a2d9ce]I grew up in Atlanta," her eyes sparked as if she'd suddenly solved something, "Oh-- you were in hiding before you came here."

"Huh? No. I wasn't in hiding." -Sander was mildly surprised to find out that Callan wasn't transferred from another facility. Then again, it made sense. She was so much different from him.

Her shoulders drooped with visible dissappointment. "What?" she scratched her head, "Then... where were you for 5 years?"

"...Another place."

Callan stared for a moment, her expression gradually softening. Oops. "Oh... Sorry. I wasn't trying to be nosy. You don't have to tell me if you don't want. We can talk about something else?" She nervously turned the fork over between her two fingers.

"Sure." -Sander was grateful for an opportunity to talk about anything but that topic, so he agreed easily -"What do you want to talk about?"

"Uhm," she set her glass down. She wasn't sure why she'd hoped Sander would be the one to pick a topic. She probably should've known better by now. "Well... how's Christmas doing? I, uh. I saw him on the news and in the car ride over, but I haven't really talked to him." A tiny phone number scrawled on the corner of a piece of paper came to mind and she smiled a little. Thinking back on that odd little moment, it made her feel a little sad for some reason.

"He's well." -Sander blinked, the mention of his roommate brought back a whole host of memories from last night, and without volition, he pressed a hand against his lips -"Yeah...Well."

"Ah... that's... good," Cal tried hard to maintain her smile. There was definitely something off about the way Sander had said that, but she'd never been great at deciphering things like this. People like this. Could she even say that? Had she ever really met anyone like Sander? She occupied herself with another bite of food as the conversational stalemate settled between them.

"So...How have you been doing?" -Sander waited for a moment for the silence to settle, then broke it -"Weren't you hurt in that last fight?"

"Hm?" she blinked back at Sander, the question catching her a little off guard, "Oh, I've been fine... I got a little... messed up. Yeah. But our healers fixed me up." Her fist clenched involuntarily at the grim reminder. Zoe was a topic she'd rather not get into again. She got the feeling Sander might tell her Zoe was only going to get worse and she didn't really want to consider that. She much preferred Ernie and Emma's explaination. Made her feel a little less scared, knowing she'd eventually be expected to fight with her again. Just a little....

"You still don't look very...fine" -Sander observed, genuienly concerned -"Does the pain linger or anything?"

"No, no. Not at all," Callan shook her head, lowering her hood for a moment to brush her hair back. She smiled, appreciative of the concern, but hesitent to continue with the topic of her being 'fine'. "Uh... I guess I'm still a little... I mean. That young girl, Savannah. She died out there. Along with a bunch of other people... you know?" She stared down at her plate, feeling that heavy feeling in her chest again.

"I noticed...I think." -Memories of the entire battle were hazy at best for him, but he distinctively remembered the overpowering scent of blood everywhere he went. Casualty must have been high -"Does that...bother you?"

"...Doesn't it bother you?" she asked, lifting her eyes from the table and locking them on Sander for a moment.

"It should." -Sander returned the eye contact with a sombre gaze of his own.

Something about his response reminded her of the conversation she'd had with Zoe. "Well," she brought her glass to her lips, hiding a humorless smile, "Maybe in 5 years it won't bother me either...."

Sander blinked, shaking his head immediately -"That's not how it works, Cal. I think...you're different from me. You won't be like me."

Callan lowered her glass before she got a chance to drink, confused and somewhat alarmed by Sander's response, "What? Why?" She paused. "Because I'm an arbiter?"

"One of the reasons."

It was times like these that Callan truly appreciated Sander's ability to elaborate. When it was clear he wasn't going to say anything more, Callan sighed through her nose before taking a long sip from her drink.

"Honestly... I don't care if it bothers me or not," she said, setting down the glass, "I just want to prevent it from happening at all."

"You don't want people to die? Is that so?" -Sander put the his half eaten sandwich, clearly didn't have any intention of finishing his meal -"Who, exactly?"

"Who?" she furrowed her brow, feeling slightly frustrated though she couldn't quite figure out why, "Nobody. I don't want anyone to die."

"That's...harder."

"... I know."

"Sorry. I can't help you with that." -His Stigma helpfully told him why, and Sander tried his best to ignore it -"I want to but...I can't."

"Heh," Callan shook her head, "That's okay. It's... kind of an unrealistic goal." But she still had to try. Her expression was somber for only but a moment before she forced a more optimisic smile into place. "You can help me out with more sparring matches, though," she chimed.

"Sure." -Sander nodded, because he could at least do that -"Whenever you want."

Callan smiled. A sudden, unmistakable white flash of light from across the room kept her from responding, however. Turning her head sharply, Callan's eyes widened as she spotted a man sitting at a distant table with his phone pointed in their direction. Obviously he must've forgotten to disable the flash as his face paled and he scrambling to hide his phone as soon as Callan saw him.

"Uh," Callan threw her hood back over her hair and stood up, "Th-think I might finish eating back in my room. But yeah. When we get back. Sparring match-- you and me."

Clearly uncomfortable as her mind raced, wondering if that man had managed to catch her face in that photograph (as if her hair weren't enough), she picked up her remaining plate of food and left quickly.

Sander frowned, noticing the flash just then. However, his attention quickly snapped back to Callan, and as she made her exit, he waved after her with a soft 'Goodbye', before taking his leave as well.
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Sander | Christmas


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