[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qdwzSwG.png[/img][/center]
[color=gray][hr][table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xj24x3n.png[/img][/center][color=2c2c2c][sub]_______________________________________________[/sub][/color]
[center][color=#7fbbba][sup][i]"Our consciousness cannot grasp its own end, despite being fundamentally conscious of death's inevitability. To understand it, is to experience it. And to experience it is to be unable to speak of it."[/i][/sup][/color]        [/center][hr][sub][b][color=#7fbbba]N A M E[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] Mortika [color=white][i][b]MORT[/b][/i][/color] d'Arce
[b][color=#7fbbba]A G E[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] 102
[b][color=#7fbbba]R A C E[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] Elf
[b][color=#7fbbba]C L A S S[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] Necromancer

[b][color=#7fbbba]A P P E A R A N C E[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b]
Mort appears to be in her mid to late twenties, though the graying of her naturally peach-colored skin may tell a story that she's older than she appears. She stands no taller than a human but is not lithe nor dainty. She has broad shoulders that extend to strong arms, a body that has seen hardships, fingers that were once clawed at the end but have been clipped--yet they still retain that feline grace, and the legs of an acrobat. It's evident that she's had to pull herself out of situations through the will of her body alone.

Her hair is the color of a tidewater pool and just as glimmering. Though it may have lost its luster beneath the mines. Her irises are the hue of milky tea, not blending in with the bright sclera but counter to it. Her long ears are elven in nature and were once stamped with gold. Her nose is aquiline but reflects well on her sculpted face. A septum piercing at the end drips into her bow-shaped lips. Sharpened teeth are on the other end, cosmetic but still capable of doing damage if she bit into you. She walks with the confidence of a cat and the curiosity of a bear. There's no subtlety to her movements. They demand attention and get it.

[b][color=#7fbbba]P H I L O S O P H Y[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b]
[sup]1[/sup][i][color=white]The ambiguous nature of the body may be formulated in a number of binary oppositions. The body is both the Same and the Other; both a subject and an object of practices and knowledge; it is both a tool and a raw material to be worked upon. The body appears to oscillate between presence and absence, most paradoxically in intense feelings — feelings as sensations and feelings as emotions. The body seems to be simultaneously the subject of highly articulated utterance and yet at perpetual risk of disappearing from our awareness.[/color][/i]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Fi9zOjg.png[/img][/center][/sub][hr][/cell][cell]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   P E R S O N A L I T Y  [/color]
[color=#7fbbba]  P E R S O N A L I T Y   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup]Mort doesn't speak unless she is spoken to. Yet, she may take any passing comment as a formal address. She has a curt, sharp way of talking that doesn't do well to enamor her to anyone. She's quick to insult, and even quicker to laugh in most macabre situations. There's always something unsettling in the way that she acts. 

Yet, don't take that odd nature to be bravado. She's aware of lines, and she draws them in the still sands of her mind. She's gotten by in her life by pretending to follow the moral compass that everyone holds aloft as being even brighter than the sun. Only in the dredges of civility will she let loose the thoughts that bubble in her brain. She also has a tendency to talk to someone named Bertrand. It's hard to tell if he's a ghost, a figment of her imagination, or a tactic to unsettle those around her. She's creepy--yes--but you have to ask yourself how much of that is an act to be left alone.

Also also [i]really[/i] likes to rattle off about philosophy.[/sup]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   B A C K S T O R Y  [/color]
[color=#7fbbba]  B A C K S T O R Y   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup] Mort couldn't begin to tell you how other elves act. What their lands are like. What beliefs that her people subscribe to. What she knows is that she grew up in the cult of Messengers of the Black Sign. Born on a fortuitous day amidst a wellspring of a blight. Neither of her parents were elven, and as such, were not her blood and flesh. Yet, she did not belabor that fact. They cared for her and loved her like any would their child. She was held up as royalty within the small cult that had settled in the swamp town of Torniko. Torniko had sunk ten times over, and each time the cult had rebuilt the town on the wreckage of it. It was the Message's Will. It wanted them to be here. So, underneath it were catacombs that housed not only its previous denizens but its culture and knowledge as well. A wealth of information that Mort endured the perilous adventure to drink up in her youth.

What did the Messengers of the Black Sign believe in? Well, they believed in the nature of the body, and the sheer confoundingness of its binary nature [sup]1[/sup]. The Black Sign was a map on how to form a bridge between the Same and the Other and create a being that is aware of both its body and its spirit at the same time. And what they discovered was the only way to achieve that, to achieve enlightenment, was to supplant the soul back into its body after it had departed. Like being born anew in the flesh that is familiar. The spirit has already perceived what it can without the body. So reunited with the body, it could perceive multitudes.

That's how Mort came to know necromancy. And it's fair to say her entire ideology and the town's worship of such a belief was quite the black mark upon them. They were attacked in the middle of the night, the village burned as its denizens slept. Mort had been away in the catacombs, looking for an old manuscript she'd seen in her youth. When she emerged from the depths to all the death and carnage, something in her snapped. So, she summoned up her abilities and awoke the now-dead cultists to fight on her behalf. As revenge? Maybe. One couldn't say she was powerful, more than she had the numbers to create a distraction and flee the ruins of Torniko. Rumors would say that she killed them all and danced on their bones. The reality was that a few were scratched and scraped, but the only ones left dead were the villagers.

So, Mort ran, and ran, and ran, and found companionship in new faces that she met. Slowly, she started to build back up the cult, becoming its matron--its princess. They hadn't done anything wrong, but probably holding service in the catacombs, speaking of raising corpses, and "fixing" the duality of their nature by dying didn't sit well with people. So, of course, she'd be caught, shackled, and thrown into the mines. Who was she hurting? No one, she thought. But some higher power probably took offense. They always did. So, here she was sent to rot. Ten years grinding away at gold, and quite content to defame it with her fingers.[/sup]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   A B I L I T I E S  [/color]
[color=#7fbbba]  A B I L I T I E S   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup][color=white][b]NECROMANCY[/b]:[/color] The only magic that Mort can tap into. While the goal of the cult was to create lich-like creatures out of its members, she really can only bring up mindless denizens to do her will. The fresher the corpse, the harder it is to control. Animals are easy, and her preferred method if they are around for her to use. She can also sense the life force around her, allowing her to see enemies before they see her. Unless they have ways of masking it.
[color=white][b]SPEAK WITH THE DEAD[/b]:[/color] Part of her necromancy, Mort has the ability to speak with the spirits that are sans their bodies. She can't converse with ones that have moved on, ones that don't wish to speak to her, or those that she doesn't share a language with. While she can passively see ghosts that wish to be seen, it takes quite a bit of effort to actually speak with the ones that she's not established a previous report with. And even then, some spirits can hide from her, and make it so that she's not aware of their presence.
[color=white][b]ANATOMY & PHYSIOLOGY[/b]:[/color] It's not a medical version of this, per say, but it is knowledge of the body and how it functions. She could probably diagnose a broken bone, and tell you how to put it back into place. But she isn't going to tell you how to fight infection, staunch the bleeding, or deal with the pain. 
[color=white][b]ARCANE KNOWLEDGE[/b]:[/color] Mort read a lot, and a lot of that reading was about magic. Again, she can't perform anything beyond her necromancy, but that doesn't mean she can't read magical symbols or mystical languages.[/sup]
[hr][/cell][/row][/table][/COLOR]


[hider=Stian Jørgensen][color=gray][sup][h1][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/bVt54NW.png[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] S T I A N[/color]
[color=#bb9c6f]S T I A N[/color][/center][/b][/h1][/sup]
[table][row][/row][row][cell][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/0PccDMp.png[/img][/center][color=2c2c2c][sub]_______________________________________________[/sub][/color]
[center][color=#bb9c6f][sup][i]"It's not cowardice to run and see tomorrow. It's cowardice to give up all the days, weeks, and years that would have been ahead of you."[/i][/sup][/color][/center][hr][sub][b][color=#bb9c6f]N A M E[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] Stian Jørgensen
[b][color=#bb9c6f]A G E[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] 16 | 3 May 830
[b][color=#bb9c6f]G E N D E R[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] Male
[b][color=#bb9c6f]S E X U A L I T Y[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] 
[b][color=#bb9c6f]E T H N I C I T Y[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] Scandinavian
[b][color=#bb9c6f]H E I G H T[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] 6'1"
[b][color=#bb9c6f]B R A N C H[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b] 112th Trainee Corps

[b][color=#bb9c6f]A F F I L I A T I O N S / R E L A T I O N S H I P S[/color] [color=white]⋮[/color][/b]
[abbr=Aksel Jørgensen - Father - Deceased][img]https://i.imgur.com/aCnWv9Y.png[/img][/abbr]

[abbr=Lars Jørgensen - Father - Deceased][img]https://i.imgur.com/VJdRsMs.png[/img][/abbr]

[abbr=Anneli Jørgensen - Sister - Deceased][img]https://i.imgur.com/vLWN89X.png[/img][/abbr][/sub][hr][/cell][cell][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HkuYyFN.png[/img][/center]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   A P P E A R A N C E  [/color]
[color=#bb9c6f]  A P P E A R A N C E   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup]It's fair to say that Stian is built like a brick shithouse. While there aren't many tell-tell signs that he'll get any taller, the musculature on him will probably get more sturdy. He's like a pillar made of flesh and bones, meant to prop up something far grander, but it would tumble without his help. He has dusty blond hair that is kept short on the sides, but unkempt on the top. His eyes are gray, not like a storm, but like a dull fog that has never seen the sun long enough to dissipate it. His skin is tanned and burned in some places, but not as much as one would think for someone that spent most of their time outside. Most notable is the scar on his chin, which looks less like it was from an accident and more like someone put a hot iron on him. He rubs it when he's lost in thought.

Stian looks perpetually bored. He also chews on toothpicks incessantly. In his off hours, he's dressed in clothes that would best fit a stablehand. Rough-hewn button-up blouses that fight against the square of his shoulder and lead into loose trousers cuffed by worn, but sturdy, black boots. This is complemented by leather straps that are made to both keep his pants securely fastened to his waist and hold a few tools. He usually has a pair of worn gloves in his back pocket. When given a uniform to wear, he'll not add any personal accouterments. He's fine with keeping it as uninteresting as possible.[/sup]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   P E R S O N A L I T Y  [/color]
[color=#bb9c6f]  P E R S O N A L I T Y   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup]Stian is boring, uninteresting, laughably bland, and above all, he reflects that back at everyone else. There's nothing spectacular about the way he acts or reacts. The only thing that he shows the slightest bit of interest in is food, but then again the past year has been rough. So, the normality of food and a roof over one's head can bring delight to any stale pool. The only time he shows an abundance of personality is when he says things under his breath. Whether they be humorous, crass, snide, or kind in nature is a roll of the dice, but he doesn't make his opinion loudly known. A person would assume he was asleep if it wasn't for the fact that he was upright, with eyes open and blinking. And even then... you have to wonder.

He's not too different a beast when he is working. Except he becomes even quieter but this is more from concentration than having nothing to say. He's not quick to anger. Nor is he quick to give up. Instead, he'll try and try again until his muscles are too sore to continue. Much like a horse, he can be run to death if spurned on. Also like a horse, he enjoys apples.[/sup]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   B I O G R A P H Y  [/color]
[color=#bb9c6f]  B I O G R A P H Y   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup]Stian grew up in the small town of Görlitz within Wall Maria. There his family raised livestock, mostly cows and some sheep, along with chickens. They also bred horses for the army as a way to earn some extra money. It became a fixture of Lars' pastime, as he was obsessed with breeding diagrams and other academia. It was fair to say that Lars was like a square peg in the round hole of this household. He was always buried in a book between working, much to his husband's chagrin. Aksel was a lot more straightforward and did the heavy lifting around the farm. He also broke the horses, Lars having been kicked once and that being the end of that. 

Despite Stian's disposition, he's intelligent enough to know that he's not the biological son of his two fathers. Though, loose lips have taught him that he might have been Aksel's son or maybe Aksel's sister's son. That didn't stop Stian from viewing Aksel and Lars as his parents, though. They'd spend days working, nights having dinner, chatting over clean-up, and Aksel would take the children to stargaze while Lars read behind closed doors. 

It was during one of those stargazing sessions that Aksel explained how to navigate by them. When pressed about how he knew that by Anneli, he said it was from another life. She then asked if she could touch the stars. Stian laughed. He did that a lot then. Aksel said, "if you can find the tallest tree. You can." So, Anneli made it her mission to locate said tree and to bring a star down to show them. When she got a little older, she didn't back down from that stance. She changed her reason, though. She just wanted to see the world beyond the walls. Stian had to admit, that was a nice idea. So, he made an agreement with her that when they were older, they'd take a trip within the Wall Maria to find the largest tree. To see what the world outside the walls looked like. Stian had a feeling that they would never find one, but it made Anneli happy.

Lars traveled to Shiganshina District occasionally to sell livestock, eggs, hide, and various other supplies. He'd also visit his family there. The past few years he'd taken Anneli, as she was very curious about what life was like outside of the small farm life they had. Stian was more than happy to stay back and help his other dad with the horses. Stian had gotten one of the younger mares to listen to him and was able to get her to tolerate him on her back. He was doing a bit of training with her when the sound of an explosion caught him off guard. The mare bucked and sent Stian into the ground. He twisted his ankle trying to land and not be caught underhoof. Aksel found him and tended to it the best he could. This was more Lars' forte. 

Sometime later, one of the townspeople came to Aksel and told him what happened, encouraging him to flee with them. In a panic, Aksel grabbed the best horse in their stable along with two others and saddled them up. He was not going to flee to Wall Rose, though. Instead, he had gotten ready to head to Shiganshina District. He hoisted Stian on another horse and fastened a couple of saddlebags to the side. Aksel told him to head to Wall Rose because, with his twisted ankle, he'd only be a hindrance in the rescue mission. He also gave him the name and address of a stablemaster Aksel knew well and sold horses to, and that they would rendezvous there. "Be brave, Son," he said as he swatted Stian's horse and rode off in the opposite direction. 

A year later, Stian's injury was healed. He worked for the stablemaster, handling the harder jobs and sleeping in the loft above the hay. It dripped on him during rain, freckled him with sunlight during the summer, and allowed for the most chill of breezes to invade his bones during the winter. The saddlebags held the basics of survival along with a few things that were personal. He'd eaten the rations in the days after the catastrophic event, gone through the clothes he had taken with him, mended the ones that had gotten holes in them, and sold off the horse to not be entirely destitute. He'd read a few books that were in there. They were beyond him as all of them were Lars'. Stian did appreciate reading all his notes in the margins, though. There was a folded, accordion-style oval picture frame with portraits of all four of them within it. Yet, there was one thing amongst it all that made no sense to Stian. It was a patch. It took him a while to find out what it was. He hadn't grown up in the city and barely seen any of the military forces. They were a nebulous force only spoken about briefly from his parents before they'd move on to other things. And the ones that he had seen had roses on their patches. This one was different. After some probing, he discovered it was a patch of the Survey Corps. On the back, in old ink, was written one word: coward. That being the only thread to his family he had left, he decided to join the Trainee Corps. It was better than waiting on a family that would never come.[/sup]
[right][sub][sup][h3][b][color=black]   T H E M E  [/color]
[color=#bb9c6f]  T H E M E   [/color][/b][/h3][/sup][/sub][/right][hr][sup][url=https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdsNdlQy7zzDyWy-iiIpwET2kHCie2fOP]a Youtube Playlist with Vibes[/url][/sup]
[hr][/cell][/row][/table][/COLOR][/hider]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/KLjA6WJ.png[/img][/center]

[hider=Ambrose Hightower II][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/lML9AfE.png[/img][/center]
[h3]🇳​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇲​​​​​🇪​​​​​[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray]Ambrose Hightower II[/color][/indent][/indent][h3]🇦​​​​​🇬​​​​​🇪​​​​​[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray]18[/color][/indent][/indent][h3]🇬​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇷​​​​​|🇸​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇽​​​​​|🇮​​​​​🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇾[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray]​​​Cis-Male[/color][/indent][/indent][h3]🇵​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇱​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇾​​​​​ 🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇵​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray]Ambrose has two brain cells firing to the best of their ability and still managing to get in each other's way before sputtering out in ineptitude. There's never been a reason for him to show advanced aptitude in intellectual subjects, and as such he's gone out of his way to avoid them. Feeling dumb is never fun for anyone, and Ambrose doesn't care for it. Yet what he lacks in hard intelligence he more than makes up for in emotional intelligence. This would seem contradictory for a child of his privilege, but his family also has the money to afford therapists. It's an odd two-sided coin that was mutilated in one of those penny-press machines. 

He doesn't have a temper, is fairly upbeat, and is keen on making people laugh before making people sad. He's more than happy to help but lacks the cognitive reasoning to realize that money and/or physicality don't solve everything in the world. Though he has enough self-awareness to know that the former is a privilege. He's a little vain and prone to dressing well—overdressed if you ask anyone but him—no matter the situation. And honestly, he's like any other teenager trapped in a small town in the middle of nowhere, sex is on his mind. To say he was a fuck boy would... honestly be right. But he's a polite fuck boy and understands boundaries and the word "no."

Ambrose is as complicated as a magic eye puzzle. From the outset there seems to be a lot going on there, but once you twist your vision the right way all you can see are two happy dolphins.[/color][/indent][/indent][h3]🇵​​​​​🇭​​​​​🇾​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇱​​​​​ 🇩​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇵​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray]Standing at 6'3" with the musculature of a self-proclaimed Adonis, Ambrose cuts an intimidating figure. It was as if his genetics were so ashamed of the failure in his intelligence that they shoved everything they could into his appearance. His skin is pale but healthy, with a smattering of freckles along his nose, tops of his shoulders, forearms, and other areas that are visible in various states of undress. He has flat brown hair that he's lightened significantly to compliment his complexion. It's not a bottle-dye job and honestly would look very natural if his eyebrows matched the rest of it. The only thing that isn't ripped from a magazine and slapped onto the boy is his sectoral heterochromia. Both eyes are brown, but one has wedges of blue that makes his gaze seem like it's straying or not focusing in as he'd like. Or mayhap that's the excuse he wants to use to stare at other things.

He's always dressed well. Even when it is supposed to be a relaxed and comfortable fit, one can still feel the sophistication ooze off of it. Ambrose carries himself as if no worry on the planet could touch him. Confidence is in his every movement and swagger. Yet, there's also a near-adolescent giddiness to the things the does as well. Sometimes his words slip a little, the accent hard to place, and one can tell that maybe he had a speech impediment when he was younger that slips in on occasion.[/color][/indent][/indent][h3]🇧​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇰​​​​​🇸​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇾​​​​​[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray]The Hightowers are as bougie and well-connected as one could imagine. Yet, they're not one of the founding families. Instead, they're new money that moved in within the last fifteen years. One might ask why a family such as theirs would come to New Hope, with its trite amount of people. The truth is Ambrose Hightower Senior just thought it was scenic enough to warrant the move while remote enough that his wife wouldn't have any more extramarital dalliances. It's fair to say that Ambrose Senior is never in New Hope. He's gone for months at a time, leaving his son and wife to fend for themselves in a town that seems to be mired in tradition. No amount of money can prove that they are also important enough to be on the city council, planning board, or the like. The Hightowers came in, renovated one of the older and historic homes, and laid claim to their small part of the town without much else to show for it. Ambrose Senior decided that since they weren't going to show him any favors, he'd not show them any either. He didn't bring any business with him, just his family and their obnoxious clout.

In any other social situation, Ambrose would probably have the upper hand. Here in New Hope, he barely has a foothold. So, he's tried his hardest to prove that he's more than capable of being King Bee in any social circle—which is ironic considering that isn't a title in nature. Despite not having much in the way of parental guidance, his father was constantly away, and his mother, Maryanne Hightower-Smitte, was enthralled by prescription medications. So, Ambrose II is what most people see of the family, and he tries his best to make it seem like everything is excellent. His backstory isn't filled with a lot of conflicts. He's had it rather easy.

Ambrose has low academic scores, and high athletic ones, and is a member of the Student Council Board. Enough of an achiever without being an overachiever.[/color][/indent][/indent][h3]🇳​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇧​​​​​🇱​​​​​🇪​​​​​ 🇨​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇳​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇮​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇳​​​​​(🇸​​​​​)[/h3][indent][color=gray][list][*][color=white]Maryanne Hightower-Smiite:[/color] Yes, Ambrose's mother, but the only thing they seem to share is their last name. They seem to miss each other emotionally like two ships on a sea. Yet, that doesn't mean she doesn't rope her son into various functions she hosts. She's a big-city socialite in a small town. So, she tries to hold galas, parties, and fundraisers in hopes of drumming up some clout. So far, it's just seemed to annoy the locals more than anything.[/list][/color][/indent][h3]🇨​​​​​🇭​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇦​​​​​🇨​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇪​​​​​🇷​​​​​ 🇵​​​​​🇷​​​​​🇴​​​​​🇲​​​​​🇵​​​​​🇹​​​​​🇸​​​​​[/h3][indent][indent][color=gray][color=white]You're in class and the Fire Alarm goes off. Everyone begins to panic.[/color] 
[indent][I]"The school is so small, we'd probably smell the smoke before the alarm goes off. Oh... that's not the kind of answer you want? Um. I'd stand up, because I'm taller than most people, and find the quickest exit. Most people listen to me, so I'd navigate them toward it. You know, simple stuff."[/i][/indent]
[color=white]You've made plans to go to the festival and are running late but may make it in time to see the fireworks with your friends. On your way, you see a stranger with a flat tire on the side of the road.[/color]
[indent][I]"The question is here, do I have cell service? Does Triple-A come out here this far? I don't know how to change a tire, but I'm sure I can google it or something. Oh? This is a question about priorities. Sure I'd help the person out. It's not like my friends won't see me later at a house party or something. I mean... a normal... adult-supervised party."[/i][/indent]
[color=white]You fall asleep in class and begin to dream; you're atop a ruined tower and a massive dragon circles overhead. You reach for...[/color] 
[indent][I]"Like... uh... World of Warcraft... or Dungeons and Dragons... or something? I'm guessing I can't use a gun. Oh! Can I jump on it? I've always wanted to fly."[/i][/indent]
[color=white]The world is so boring; you wish you had a superpower. What do you wish for?[/color] 
[indent][I]"Boring? Well, with that attitude it won't be fun! Sorry. Again, not the question. I don't know... is being a werewolf a superpower? I always thought they sounded fun."[/i][/indent]
[color=white]You are suddenly reminded that tomorrow is the Midterm Exam.[/color] 
[indent][I]"Fuck. You know what. I think someone said that putting 'C' down as every answer will net you a 80ish percent score. That sounds right..."[/i][/indent][/color][/indent][/indent][/hider]