“No, no, tell the officer that won’t be necessary. It wasn’t James' way and it won’t be mine.”
Ezra heard the front door unlatched and quickly darted around the side of the house, careful not to pass by the windows of the dining room, as a trail of cigarette smoke followed behind him before quickly dissipating. As far as he knew, he’d kept his little habit secret from the family all of these years and he wasn’t about to be outed now just because they were all hovering around him like a bunch of blood-sucking mosquitoes. He poked his head around the side to see it hadn’t been one of his siblings coming for some inane request or storming out of the meeting in a huff, but Leonidas who had opened the door. He sighed and returned to his phone call, the voice on the other end asking him a question.
“Yeah, not the first time it’s happened, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Look, I’m in a meeting right now. Have her wait at Café, Oh Yay and I’ll take care of it as soon as I can. Oh, do me a favor and give Cherry a heads up. Let her know that I’ll cover whatever the girl wants. Thanks, Arnie. No, you did the right thing. I got to go.”
Ezra leaned his head back against a pillar and took a long drag. Well, today had just got even more complicated and he hadn’t even had lunch yet. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t in the slightest bit dressed for the chill December air but enjoyed the momentary escape from the family nevertheless. His keys were in his pocket. He could just hop in his Civic and leave...and go where? The moment he was out of Araminta he’d start looking like that statue of the WWII soldier that James had commissioned. He had tested it, naturally, after his family started reporting their strange condition. It was real, and until it was fixed he was stuck.
Ezra shivered. It was time to rejoin the siblings. He turned to walk back around the house when an alarming sight immediately had him twist back around the side of the house, the cigarette dropping out of his hand and dying on the icy grass. A chill ran down his spine. His eyes must’ve played a trick on him, because he swore he’d just seen Leonidas open the front gate for the two kids that his family was having a meeting with. He poked his head around the corner. They were dressed differently, but there was no question that it was the same two people. He didn’t know what it meant, but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach—he didn’t need supernatural experience to know that sudden doppelgangers was never a good thing.
As the doubles went for the front door, Ezra popped a mint into his mouth and headed towards the side entrance. It was used primarily by the kitchen staff when they had dinner parties to bring in supplies or by James to escort out whatever mistress he was hiding from his then-wife. Now, it was being used by Ezra to sneak into his own house because a pair of teenagers had thoroughly startled him. He walked over to a knife block, slid a chef’s knife out of its cradle, and slowly turned his head towards the cough that came from behind him. The actual chef, whose actual knife that was, gave Ezra a confused look as he stood over the stove where he had been portioning a finely crafted bisque.
“Smells wonderful. Sadly, lunch will have to be delayed. Oscar’s guest won’t be with us long,” said Ezra, pulling the knife the rest of the way out of the block with an audible shink. “Clean up and take the rest of the day for yourself.”
Before the cook could give any protests or questions Ezra was out of the kitchen. There was an orange glow around his wrist as the broken wire puzzle/makeshift bracelet twisted and melded itself back together as Ezra cast a Configure spell. In a matter of seconds the knife in his hand, that also radiated the same orange light, shrunk down to about two inches. He hid it in the palm of his hand, careful not to cut his flesh with the still sharp blade, as he turned down the hallway. He could now hear the raised voices coming from the dining hall, followed by what sounded like a wave smacking the shore.
Ezra doubled his pace, rounding the corner and stepping into the dining room. His family appeared to have been knocked to the sides of the room and their clothes were soaked; the fire Ezra had so ever lovingly brought back to life had also been murdered by the tidal wave. The original teen couple shifted forms. The girl clapped her hands, ripping open a purple tear in reality next to herself as Alexander lashed out at her with green chains that he seemed to simply materialize from nowhere. It momentarily caught Ezra off guard, the seemingly unflappable man’s jaw going slack for a moment, before he pulled himself back together. Ezra slid the tiny blade forward and cast Configure again to increase its size, simultaneously flourishing his hand out to the side as the weapon quickly grew from the about the length of a toothpick to a chef knife shaped longsword.
“Okay, I believe this meeting is over,” he said with a calm air of authority and a withering stare at the four intruders. He lifted the blade. It was already at its maximum size, but they didn’t know that. Ezra kept channeling a Configure spell, increasing and decreasing the size of the weapon by such a small fraction it was unnoticeable. It gave the oversized chef’s knife the bonus of constantly glowing a radiant orange light, Ezra’s attempt to bluff the home intruders into thinking that the blade was more dangerous in his hands than it really was. ”Get out of my house.”
Nisha stepped off of the train that had come to a rest at Williams Station located in the heart of Araminta and adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulder. In comparison to the crowds she saw while travelling from her hometown, including a layover in both Heathrow and JFK, the station was basically a ghost town. She walked at a brisk pace through the largely abandoned station, passing by shutters pulled over storefronts that likely hadn’t been raised in years, the synthetic material of her tracksuit making a swishing noise that echoed throughout the hall. Now that she had finally made it in Araminta the girl only needed to find where the Vanburen mansion was and start integrating herself into the family. She had no idea on how she’d actually do that, but she figured she could get by with a wink and a bit of charm. Maybe Nel would come up with something once they were closer.
However, before there could be any time for scheming, Nisha needed to settle the growling in her stomach. She spied a vending machine, half-stocked with what she could imagine were potentially expired snacks. Although candy never went bad, right? Sure, why not. She could regret it later. Nisha slung her backpack off her shoulder, unzipped it, and felt around for her wallet. Panic hit her as she shifted through random toiletries still stuffed inside of plastic bags before she realized that she’d stuffed her wallet in her other bag for safe keeping. Nisha rolled her eyes at her own forgetfulness and—
“Ah, you stupid fucking idiot!”
A slapping noise echoed through the station as Nisha smacked her forehead, clearly remembering putting her suitcase in a storage compartment where she had left it when getting off of the train. She turned on her heels and broke off into a dead sprint back to the platform. She wasted no time climbing the marble stairs to the second level, instead willing a pair of phantom limbs to burst out of her shoulders and grab hold of the railing above. She hoisted herself over the railing and continued in her sprint, unaware and uncaring if any normal person had just witnessed a woman appear to leap fifteen feet up a wall. Nisha burst out onto the platform just in time to witness the train departing; she cursed loudly, the f-bomb carrying throughout the station like a cluster strike.
Nisha flopped onto a bench. Not only was her money gone, but so were her clothes and phone charging—not that her phone worked over here anyway. She tore her book bag from off of her shoulder, slung it around to the front of her face, and dove herself into it as she vented her anger into a long, muffled scream. She kicked and jumped up into a sitting position and slumped forward. Actually, this could be beneficial, couldn’t it? Make her appear a bit more helpless, right? Surely that’d tug on the heartstrings of a couple rich, spoiled elites and help sell the illusion. Yeah, this was a good thing. A happy accident. Just one problem—she didn’t know quite where she was going, and she likely needed money for a cab. Nisha sighed. Whatever. She’d improvise. It was more fun that way.
Already feeling a bit better because of the excitement caused by things already going off the rails, Nisha jumped up from her seat, scowled at the station worker giving her a weird look, and headed for the exit. A bad feeling hit her as she left the station and found herself smackdab in the epicenter of the rust belt. Nisha walked the block, her arms wrapped tight around her as the chill air proved to be too much for her light jacket, and admired the derelict around her as she searched for a cab. It was odd to think that one of the richest families in the world lived in this city, which so far to her was nothing but closed businesses and gutted warehouses. Nisha peered down an empty alleyway, disappointed to not see a couple of bums warming their hands around a burning trash can. Perhaps they would appear later, but this was the kind of place she knew she didn’t want to be walking around alone after dark. Especially not after the fascists at the airport had made her ditch her pocket knife.
With no cab in sight, nor any money for a fare anyway, Nisha kept walking. Worn down buildings spliced with railroad tracks on railroad tracks slowly gave way to nicer, newer looking residences and shops that were neatly decorated with Christmas lights and oversized ribbons. It was all very quaint and served as a stark contrast to her first impression of the city. The streets weren’t necessarily busy, but there were enough people running around doing their holiday shopping to create a kind of buzz. Outside of one of the stores was a man dressed as Santa if he had a liposuction. The bell in his hand was ringing nonstop and people were dropping money into the bucket next to him. Nisha eyed the bucket, accepting that she was fully willing to stoop low enough to swipe some cash from Father Christmas, when the sign for the store behind him caught her eye: Vanburen’s Hardware.
Nisha smiled and entered the store, casting one look back at the bucket flush with cash. Another time, maybe. The store was fairly small for a hardware place, but neatly organized and well-maintained. The middle-aged man behind the counter gave her a smile and a nod as she entered and then continued to check out the customer he was helping. It didn’t take genius to realize that, clearly, the man behind the counter must be a Vanburen, hence the store’s name, and Nisha had just come up with a genius plan to get herself pulled into the family. She rushed the counter and slammed her hands down on it.
“Oh gosh I am so happy to—”
“One second, miss. Let me finish—”
Nisha did not, wedging herself between the clerk and the customer.
“But you don’t understand Mr. Ezra,” she said, pulling the name of one of the Vanburens out at random. She had done a light bit of research into the family beforehand. “I’m—”
“Miss, please, if you would just—”
“But I’m your long lost sister, Mr. Ezra! Finally come home.”
The clerk gave her a confused stare, which she mistook for him taking the bait and she queued the waterworks and dumped out the sob story. Almost in one entire breath she said, “And oh gosh, Mr. Ezra, I must be the luckiest girl in the world. I always knew my real family was out there, but it was hard being an orphan and all, and when I finally got dad’s letter I couldn’t believe it, but I spent what money I had from working in the factory to get a plane ticket, but when I got here somebody swiped my bag and with it the letter from our dad but I can just tell by looking at you that we got the same eyes so we gotta be brother and sister and oh am I just so glad to finally have a family to call me own and—”
“Miss I am not Ezra Vanburen, I just work for him,” said the clerk. He handed the customer their bag and receipt as Nisha stared at him dumbfounded, her crocodile tears momentarily paused, “Sorry about that. Have a good one.”
“But you know him, right?” asked Nisha, trying to go at it the same way but from a different angle. She sniffled to really sell it and pitched up her voice as she spoke. “Look you just gotta call my brother Ezra and tell him I’m alive and that I need help and I’m sure he’d reward you greatly for finding his long lost sister and I’d be eternally grateful and—”
“Stop, stop. I’m not going to bother Mr. Vanburen just because”—Nisha erupted into the most obnoxious, fake wailing she could muster, making heads turn as the clerk pumped his hands to get the girl to hush—“Look I’ll call him if it just makes you stop.”
“Oh you’re just the best!” shouted Nisha, instantly dropping the act.
The beleaguered clerk grabbed the corded phone near him and hit the speed dial. Nisha leaned against the counter, her eyes wandering as she heard the faint sound of a ring bleed through from the phone. They settled on a display of box cutters on the counter. Not necessarily a knife, but a solid alternative. She glanced back at the clerk as a loud beep came through the speaker and he asked for Ezra to call him back. He set the phone down and gave the girl a shrug.
“Call him again!” demanded Nisha.
“Look, you can just wait in the breakroom and I’ll let you know when he calls back. Mr. Vanburen is a very busy man.”
“CALL HIM AGAIN!”
Ezra could no longer take it. He slipped his phone out of his pocket as it vibrated yet again, rejected the call—six missed calls from the hardware store. Six! He had a number of unread emails and text messages as well that were just begging to be opened, but he overpowered the temptation. Georgie voiced her displeasure with the whole situation. Ezra found that he agreed with everything she said, but wished she had a little more tact. Sabrina shutdown her sister, pointing out that they had no other options. The edge of Ezra’s mouth tensed. Sabrina was wrong there. They always had other options; they just haven't found them yet. In part due to some of us already giving up, thought Ezra, looking away as he caught sight of Shane’s flask.
Their expert spoke up, “...most curses can't affect people with magic."
Ezra sighed and glanced over at Oscar. Did he tell these people everything? For all they knew these kids could be tabloid reporters. Maybe they should table this conversation until he could have their lawyer draw up some non-disclosure agreements and...what? Sue them if they leak anything mentioning magic or curses? Nobody would believe it even if they worked for the Times. Hell, Ezra hardly believed it and he’d once shrunk his desk on accident. He swallowed his frustration at Oscar and continued to listen. The boy asked them how much they knew about magic. Ezra’s answer to that question was more than he ever wanted to, although he imagined it barely scratched the surface of the secrets their father had been hiding from them.
He was about to reply openly when his phone buzzed again. He had forgotten to silence it. It was the hardware store yet again. Family was more important than business, but he also never had a business call him so many times in such a short duration of time. Ezra looked up at his family. It seemed like they were all looking back at him expectantly. They all wanted somebody else to do all the heavy lifting. He expected as much. James had spoiled them. Only...the phone buzzed again. Ezra nodded to Oscar.
“I have to take this. This is your forte anyway,” said Ezra. He headed towards the door but stopped before leaving and turned to add, “Whatever we do, despite our supposed differences, we’re going to do it as a family.”
It was Ezra’s subtle way of telling Oscar and the others to not decide anything else until he was back. He stepped out into the entrance hall and pulled the phone to his ear. The other Vanburens could hear a faintly bored “What?” through the doorway and the creak of the front door opening, followed immediately by a second louder, almost agitated “What!?” cut short by the slamming of the front door.
After almost forty years, Ezra still took the same spot at the dining room table: the one at the bottom left hand corner of the table. What the other Vanburens didn’t know was that this was the primo seat in the room. Not only did it offer a quick escape through the service entrance or main door, it also provided a nice view of the fireplace and the large bay windows to stare at whenever there was a lull in the conversation or James started up one of his long-winded toasts. However, the key reason why Ezra had chosen that spot for his entire life was because it was the furthest he could get from where his father typically sat without having to look across the table at him for the entire evening. Some might have expected him to move up to James spot like a cousin at a large family Thanksgiving finally getting to move from the card table to an actual table after someone’s aunt died, but he didn’t want the chair. It was far too emblematic.
The fire was getting low. Perhaps he could shrink father’s seat and use it for kindling? Ezra tilted his head and smirked at the thought. Trisha might’ve been able to pull something like that off, but something destructive like that was a bit too dramatic for the man. Guess he’d have to take care of the fire the old fashion way. With a soft groan Ezra stood, smoothed out his sweater, grabbed his mug, and sauntered over to the grand fireplace. He moved the logs around with the poker and the flames regained a bit of spirit, cackling in gratitude as Ezra leaned an elbow against the mantle and observed the room. His chair might’ve been the best seat in the room, but right here was the perfect spot. It offered warmth, something that he almost never felt when surrounded by his family, and a way to immediately end any unwanted conversation by immolating himself by jumping into the fire. It was perfect.
The sound of the fire was soon the only sound in the room. It would’ve been peaceful if Ezra didn’t feel the weight of about a dozen or so eyes staring at him as if he’d been the one to call this emergency family meeting. Instead of enjoying the calm, Ezra spent the time actively looking bored, occasionally poking the fire, and not pulling out his phone because the moment he pulled out his phone he’d immediately be sucked into work. He had mistakenly set it to vibrate only instead of just turning the thing off, and every few minutes he felt his pocket buzz. Ezra didn’t have to look at the pile up of missed messages to know that there was currently a fire somewhere else in Araminta and he was the one expected to put it out.
Ezra took a sip of his mug. Somebody coughed into their hand. A log popped in the fireplace. An ocelot purred. Finally, Oscar walked to the vacant spot at the head of the table, cleared his throat, and began. Ezra watched his younger brother with intent, although his eyes kept drifting over to the ocelot sitting in Sabrina’s lap. He didn’t remember which one of his siblings had twisted James' arm into getting them an exotic animal instead of something normal like a dog, but he could’ve sworn he’d donated that damn animal to the local zoo already. Had he forgotten to finalize the deal or had one of the others swooped in to stop the pickup? Either way, it was another task for the list.
“Supernatural experts?” muttered Ezra under his breath. He cocked an eyebrow, folded his arms over his chest, and stared his brother down as Oscar continued. Everyone, Ezra included, always said Oscar was the smartest one in the family, but that didn’t mean he was exempt from stupid ideas. Ezra highly doubted that anyone who called themselves supernatural experts were experts in anything but BS. Besides, this little curse of theirs was something Ezra thought was best kept within the family. They should be blathering about it to some weirdos who saw a couple episodes of Ghost Adventures and decided to emulate it. Ezra appreciated Oscar taking the initiative, but it would’ve been nice if the kid had come to him for some consultation before inviting what he imagined would be a couple of part-time Hot Topic employees into their house. Not to mention that Ezra had a feeling like he’d be the one to front the bill. He doubted that his siblings realized how expensive their silly whims ended up being.
"They should already be here, right about now..."
“Hold up. What?” asked Ezra, standing up from off of the wall. Anyone else would’ve betrayed their inner feelings at this point, but Ezra was a cool cucumber. For all the others knew he’d probably misheard Oscar instead of being upset. Ezra was about to dissuade his brother to call the whole thing off when Justin and Tuyen entered the room. He sunk back against the wall and gave the intruders a lookover. They weren’t the most professionally dressed and their all black everything getup made him inwardly laugh, but they weren’t as dumpy looking as he had anticipated.
Nor were they as old. Oh God, had Oscar hired highschoolers? Ezra felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. How much ridicule would the family face if word got out that they were now financing a couple that looked like they could’ve been cast in a Disney Channel original? The freshman girl asked for the bathroom. Perhaps she thought she needed a hall pass. Thankfully, there was a teacher present. Ezra turned to the girl and offered her tired, closed-mouth smile, as he gestured over towards Arabelle.
“It’s a big house. Arabelle will show you the way,” said Ezra. Despite his endless exhaustion his voice was as velvety smooth as ever, yet it still managed to sound almost dismissive. He shot Arabelle a look that said watch her. Ezra wasn’t about to allow a stranger walk around their house unsupervised after the break-in a few weeks ago.
"I guess while she's gone, you all can explain to me what happened and anything you might know,” said Justin.
“Perhaps you would like some introductions first? Ezra Vanburen,” said Ezra, offering Justin a firm handshake before leading him towards a chair. As he did he listed off the names of the people in the room and gestured towards them, ending with the one who had called the meeting in the first place. “...and obviously you already know Oscar. Now, I imagine he has already given you some of the details, but in case it his slipped his mind I suppose I can fill you in.” Ezra took his post back by the fireplace. “The short version of it is that my entire family is experiencing an extreme case of carpal tunnel, or perhaps a collective delusion, the moment they set foot outside of this town. Cursed, if you believe in that sort of thing.”
“And the long version will have to wait until you can prove this supernatural expertise of yours. While I trust Oscar, he can be a bit excitable when it comes to certain things. I believe my other siblings would feel more at ease if you can show us that you are what you say you are before we continue,” said Ezra. The thin smile on his face disappeared as he stared Justin down and looked for any signs of dishonesty.
The Coven was fleeing again, only this time Penny couldn’t blame them. Everything they threw at Annabelle did next to nothing against her healing factor. Even her coins were ejected too quickly from Annabelle’s body before Penny had a chance to manipulate them to shred through her innards. There were enough of them to keep Annabelle busy regenerating instead of fighting, but how long until one of the Coven or herself exhausted their abstraction? Penny began moving to join the other girls in a retreat, but held back just a bit to make sure that everyone got away before Annabelle started her onslaught again.
Lyss shouted something about a person on the roof, but after Mariah’s fiery cocktail all Penny saw was sparks and embers as the beach house caught flame with the abomination. Only after Madison grabbed Lyss and flew away did Penny take off, blasting a few more coins towards Annabelle’s burning body before she skirted around the side of the burning house. She barely made it to the small, sandy frontyard as an eruption shook the ground and the house crumbled in on itself.
Penny turned and gasped as the massive form of Annabelle emerged from the burning rubble, her burnt, gangly body fused with a screaming mass of corpses, and whipped her tail at Madison’s car. The attack was so quick that Penny almost missed it. The vehicle was effortlessly skewered, but better the car than a person. Penny activated her abstraction to allow herself to see Annabelle’s next strike and tensed as the wavy image of the monster’s claws began to move. No strike came as Annabelle grabbed her stomach, doubled over, and began...was that laughter? It was an absolutely awful sound.
Penny dropped her abstraction as the DENS agents arrived and called for everyone to leave. Penny turned to run off with the other girls but then stopped, twisting her hand into a fist as she bit her lip. Goddamn it, this might turn out to be the stupidest decision in what could possibly be a very short life, but she couldn’t leave until she was certain Annabelle was taken out. Penny spun on her heels, reactivated her abstraction in case Annabelle broke free of whatever charm Trevor had cast on her, and ran over towards Meifeng. She stopped next to the woman and braced herself for whatever came next, holding a tiny salvo of coins that swarmed around her wrist for the moment Trevor lost hold of the monster.
“Y’all are part of the group that raided the Dollhouse, right?” said Penny, saving her own introductions for when they weren’t fighting a mutating mass of murder victims. She scanned the area for Emily or Herik but saw no sign of them amongst all of the chaos. “Look, she’s gonna be unstoppable until we hit her with a cure. If you don’t have one then the bitchy brown haired girl and the Thor stunt double do—wherever they are.” Penny felt bad for the Coven members with cursed family, but if Annabelle wasn’t stopped their cures wouldn’t matter anyway. “Either way, I can help.”
_______________________________________________ Ezra James Vanburen
He/Him | 38| British American | 5’11” | 175 lbs _______________________________________________ Shrewd _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Everything you do is a reflection of yourself." ___________________________________
[Serious Business] ⫻ With an MBA from an Ivy League school and several years of managing private companies for James, Ezra has the knowledge and experience needed to successfully run a business. Time management, project planning, leadership, and organization skills all fall under the umbrella of Big Business, so while he might not be taking them to market he can still help keep the Vanburens from going into the red. [Networking] ⫻ Ezra is owed favors by many of the small businesses in Araminta and has friends in high places from his time at university. He’s relentless when it comes to getting things from people he knows or finding people for things he needs. [Meticulous] ⫻ Ezra has a sharp eye and is extremely organized. He quickly notices subtle differences and tiny faults. It’s rare for him to be caught off-guard, be unprepared, or appear untidy. [Puzzling Behavior] ⫻ The man has an obsession with puzzles and has the patience and discipline to finish them. He tends to always have a crossword puzzle to pull out every moment there is a hint of downtime, but jigsaws are his favorite. Just about every Vanburen has received one of his finished puzzles as a gift at least once.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I used to lie and tell people I was adopted when they said I looked like dad. Always got an interesting reaction."
Ezra almost always seems as if he has just awoken from a deep meditation where he achieved inner peace. His calmness is infectious and spread by his dulcet voice and his effortlessly relaxed posture. He’s the kind of person that is impossible to picture running after someone, or dropping something they are carrying, or ever doing that awkward thing where they try to avoid walking into someone only for both of them to juke the same way three or four times. To others, it seems like there isn’t a graceless bone in Ezra’s body. It’s just the most annoying thing ever.
His light brown, medium-length hair is well-maintained and styled in a “messy” look that takes an enormous amount of time to achieve. Ezra’s beard is neat and trimmed short with hints of greying nearing his sideburns. His light skin is immaculate and soft to the touch, the signs of someone who properly hydrates and actually pays attention to the recommendation of using sunscreen even on cloudy days. His hooded eyes are big and brown, and when he smiles the skin at the corners wrinkles ever the slightest. Perhaps uncoincidentally, Ezra’s full smile is a bit of a rare sight. Instead he trends towards tight-lipped smirks accompanied by bashful head tilts when pleased and an unblinking, withering stare when unamused.
Ezra is of an average height with a decent trim build that is only maintained by a healthy diet, the occasional walk, and the rare trip to a gym that generally starts and does not progress beyond the steam room. Due to his rather lax and posh lifestyle, he is almost cartoonishly weak—or perhaps he plays it up out of sheer laziness, often sending others to fetch things for him just so he can continue to lounge on the chaise. His wardrobe is simple but fits well and is of high quality, with a tendency towards cashmere sweaters.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I can control myself and nothing else."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Really, the man just needs a break. Ezra is looking to escape the current responsibility he has as the business head of the family, but he has stated many times over that he won’t relinquish control until he is certain that stepping down won’t hinder the future of Araminta or the Vanburens.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Ezra views the world through a scope of negativity that sets his expectations low, because he knows that high hopes only makes the fall hurt so much worse. However, he is not strictly a pessimist, or at least he doesn’t consider himself one. He’s a realist, and reality can be a pain in the ass. His views fall in line heavily with Stoicism, believing that the bad in life is unavoidable, natural, and yet wholly possible to survive through. Therefore, he shouldn’t even worry about the terrible things. Instead, Ezra tries his hardest to only worry about the things he can control—namely, his own actions and feelings—and strives to be a virtuous, just person who always does the right thing. In other words, he wants to be perfect. Sometimes, it’s a maddening task.
SEXUALITY ⫻ If it ever was questioned or brought up, Ezra would likely shrug and say that he was straight. If Ezra was to consider his sexuality with more than just a shrug he would identify more as a demisexual than a heterosexual.
FEARS ⫻ In theory, Ezra believes that he has nothing to fear. It’s the creation of an overactive imagination, a negative emotion heightened by the desire for a different outcome. Things happen, and that’s all they ever do. He has a sense of indestructibility. In actuality, he is terrified of being hypocritical. He strives to be a good person that isn’t controlled by his emotions, but he questions his own authenticity all of the time. It’s a fear that feeds upon itself. The more he worries about being a hypocrite, the more of a hypocrite he sees himself to be.
REPUTATION ⫻ Reliable but severe. Ezra served as a business consultant and occasional manager for the many mom and pop stores James acquired. James Vanburen might’ve been Magnanimous, but he didn’t want his investments to be money pits. If a business was in a bad enough spot that it needed a bailout to survive, then something needed to be changed about its management and focus—and Ezra was the one who helped execute the change. Although he was often a boon for the businesses, his strict no-nonsense professionalism could be grating.
Generally too busy to ever even be present, Ezra was often quiet and reserved around the Vanburens when it came to large family gatherings. Many thought he bore some kind of grudge towards his half-siblings, but he has proven that impression wrong many times throughout the years. Almost every Vanburen can recall at least one time that Ezra has gone out of his way to help them. Be it as simple as offering a shoulder to cry on to privately posting bail so that their father doesn’t have to hear about them drinking and driving, Ezra has proven himself time and time again to the guardian angel for the Vanburen children. Yet despite his benevolence, nearly none of them can say for certain if he truly cares about them or if he is just begrudgingly following some kind of brotherly obligation.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Ezra will give him this: James was a decent businessman and a kindhearted, charitable individual. Unfortunately, those things do not make him a good person nor a good father. If anything, they only serve to highlight how their dad was kind of a huge piece of shit. In the last couple of years it was obvious to anyone that there was bad blood growing between Ezra and James, but neither of them ever spoke about what it was over. However, despite their growing animosity, Ezra is seemingly incapable of openly saying a bad thing about his father. There’s still a deeply seated respect, admiration, jealousy, and fear rooted in Ezra for the man. He doubts he’d ever manage to shake it, no matter how hard he tries to remove the man’s influence from his life.
FLAWS ⫻ Ezra is jackknifing off of the highest diving board straight down into the empty pool of a massive burnout. Between work, family, a goddamn curse, and his own perfectionist idealism, he is spread to his absolute limits. He sees himself as too much of a protector of the other Vanburen children to share his burden with them, but unfortunately it has gotten to the point where his stress and exhaustion has worn him down to a near breaking point. He forgets things regularly, even seeming to blank out on people he’s known for years, and easily gets frustrated. While he doesn’t get visibly angry or openly snap at others, the silent treatments he implores when he has reached his limits with someone or something have become nearly legendary. It’s amusing when it’s used against the paparazzi, but downright terrifying when turned on the family.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m not just going to be the epilogue to his biography."
The rivalry between the Harrisburgs and the Vanburens was already burning between the two, but Ezra was the can of gasoline that turned the flame into a raging bonfire. Ezra was the product of a secret affair between James and Slyvia, the aunt of Richard Harrisburg and sister to his father. The two, against the wishes of the Harrisburgs, got hitched not so long after Slyvia started to show, and for a spell the couple seemed happy. At least, they were until James’ business ventures began bleeding her family dry and his eyes started to wander towards other women. By the time the divorce came Slyvia could barely even look at her son, only ever referring to him as “the mistake” while looking straight through him. She went back to the Harrisburgs; James was stuck with the mistake.
James ended up sending his son to a prestigious boarding school, both to prep his son for one day taking over the family business and to ensure that he wasn’t left alone at home for months at a time to be raised by the staff. Ezra may have hated school, but he was a bright kid and an even better student. However, it didn’t take too long for the kid to realize that he was practically being cultivated by James. That occurred when Ezra told his dad he was going to join the basketball team. Sports were trivial, said his old man, you’re joining the debate team. So he did. It became the song and dance for the rest of Ezra’s life. When deciding on a major for college Ezra expressed an interest in studying art. While art was seen as a nice hobby, it wasn’t a respectable profession according to James—his boy would go for business. So he did.
Ezra attended Wharton, where he studied and drank and dated and did the usual college shit while on the path towards getting his MBA. When Ezra graduated, he planned to move to New York with his girlfriend Autumn against the wishes of James, who wanted him back in Araminta to work for him. The goal was to establish a base, make some money, and open up an art gallery on the side. However, for the six months he lived there Ezra was unable to find a job, despite his connections, his legacy, and his degree. Eventually, he was forced to take his father’s offer to come work for him as his business manager, overseeing the various mom and pop stores he owned around Araminta.
Autumn joined him in Araminta and the two were married in a small ceremony that Ezra’s mother did not attend. However, Ezra soon found himself practically married to working for James, trying to work miracles on the charity cases he took in to turn them around into actual functioning businesses. There were a few failures here and there, but for a vast majority of them the acquisition turned into a brilliant success. While Ezra didn’t necessarily enjoy his work, he was good at it and there was something rewarding to helping the little guys out...even if the little guys ended up kicking them some cutback after. Of the “independent” boutiques operating downtown, nearly a third of them have had Ezra meddle in their business affairs at some point.
However, bad blood began to form between father and son. Normally, his time spent in Araminta was so short Ezra barely had a chance to even speak to his siblings, let alone actually get to know them. By being back in Araminta for good, Ezra was able to see how James pandered and bent over backwards for his other children; meanwhile, he’d hammered his oldest into a James-shaped mold. It planted a bad seed in the depths of Ezra’s mind that blossomed into the idea that, like his mother, his father also viewed him as a mistake, one that he was retroactively trying to fix by turning him into little more than a carbon copy. The worst part was that he succeeded—which only occurred when Autumn cited him turning into a James Jr. for being one of the reasons why she was leaving.
They were divorced before Thanksgiving. When James passed away on Christmas Day, Ezra almost looked relieved—or he did until he was assigned the executor of James’ will and left in control of all of James' businesses. In horror, Ezra realized that by dying and leaving him in charge James had trapped him: Ezra would always be working for his father, indefinitely, until he himself croaked. He would become the new magnanimous man, but it would be James, not Ezra, that people saw when they asked for a bail out. Ezra was just the hand that fed them, puppeted by James’ ghost from the afterlife.
Screw that.
To escape Ezra began setting to work to dismantle his father’s empire, but he had to find the proper balance to not destroy the businesses or the lives of others in the process. It has been slow going, but he has started to turn full independence back to some of the stores and pass responsibility down on to people he can trust. Ezra imagined that in a handful of years he’d be able to leave Araminta in the hands of someone else and to start living his life for once. Maybe he’d even try and get Autumn back.
Turning into stone kind of threw a wrench in that plan. Ezra was hit by a wave of despair. He went to his father’s office to search for any sort of clues as to what was happening to his family. When he searched through his father’s desk he found an old childhood puzzle of his, one of those annoying metal ones where they’re locked together and you have to somehow untangle them. In a flash of youthful impatience and ingenuity he’d gone to the shed, grabbed some bolt cutters, and cut the puzzle in two instead of banging his head against the solution. Seeing it now made him laugh, in part because he was surprised James would save such a thing but also because of his own reaction to the curse. It was stupid to waste time moping. Every problem had a solution. They just weren’t always obvious.
As he touched the broken puzzle, he flashed to a memory that wasn’t his own. He was still in his father’s office but it looked different, as if a fog had encroached through the window and filled up the edges of his periphery. He saw hands reassembling an antique rifle, aligning the sights and sliding back in the bolt. He watched as they affixed a bayonet to the end and slowly leveled the rifle up against their shoulder. It felt good; almost perfect. There was just one more touch. A glow of orange radiated around the rifle and then faded. The bayonet slashed through the air, there was a cackle of energy, and the world tore open in front of it. Ezra felt a wave of satisfaction hit him. There! Now it was a Masterpiece.
The vision faded, but the orange glow lingered around the broken puzzle. Ezra still didn’t know why his family was cursed, but he had a feeling he was already on the path to curing it. All he needed to do was put on a brave face and endure his responsibilities a little bit longer.
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Nothing is perfect unless by design."
TYPE ⫻ Adept
ABSTRACTION ⫻ Orange Lux. Ezra’s channeler is a broken wire puzzle that he’d cut apart with bolt cutters in frustration when he was a child. It has been looped through a leather strap to become some kind of wristband.
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ Ezra attributes characteristics to items and people, making them wondrous by thinking outside of the box. His spells require physical touch to cast and can continue indefinitely as long as he maintains a small amount of concentration that can be canceled by emotional turmoil, physical pain, or loss of consciousness.
Masterpiece ⫻ Ezra infuses an object and turns it into a perfect version of itself, better than it ever could possibly be. For example, a pencil would never go dull and the eraser would completely remove any errant graphite. Likewise, a lock would become unpickable or a door would become unbreakable while affected by the spell. A Masterpiece spell affects the whole, not just a part. A Masterpiece car would make the entire car perfect: the tires would never go flat, the engine would never rust, and the windshield would never crack. Once an item has become a Masterpiece it no longer has to operate in the realm of logic, like a Masterpiece jug of milk would never empty or spoil while a Masterpiece computer would still operate without any electricity or wi-fi.
Masterpiece is largely ineffective on a person. They only appear perfect on a surface-level, like an airbrushed version of themselves designed to sell ads. Masterpiece items vary in effectiveness against Apparitions, but are generally more useful than normal items.
Currently, he can keep one Masterpiece item and one Masterpiece person spell going at a time. The cast time requires channeling Lux from one to five minutes, depending on the complexity and size of the target, and requires a decent amount of concentration.
Configure ⫻ Ezra can dramatically increase or decrease the size of an item while allowing it to continue to perform its function, including Masterpiece items. Configure does not change the weight of an item. Like Masterpiece, a Configure spell affects the whole. Therefore, if he has a box full of clothes, the clothes will shrink or expand with the box. However, the moment that a sweater is pulled from the box it will return to its original size because it is no longer contained in the field of the Configure spell.
While people can have Configured items used against them, they themselves cannot be Configured. Likewise, their bodies act as a natural barrier against things when they are being Configured. Therefore, Ezra could Configure a necklace to shrink and become uncomfortably tight, but he cannot push it to the point of being smaller than that person’s neck until they take it off. Configured items typically amplify the usefulness of items against Apparitions, and while they are Configured they are extremely difficult to destroy outside of Extra-Normal means.
Currently, he can keep one Configure spell going at a time. The scale of an item can range from 1/5th to 5x. The cast time is instant, but items take a few seconds to change in size.
Prodigy ⫻ Ezra makes a person an instant expert on a subject relating to any Masterpiece item they are currently using. A person with a Masterpiece scalpel will become a top level surgeon, while that behind the wheels of a Masterpiece car would make any Hollywood stunt driver jealous. The moment their connection to the Masterpiece item is severed they return to their base skill level with no residual hold over in talent, regardless of how long they were using the Masterpiece item. So, while the person might know they are performing brain surgery, they won’t know what lobe to poke at until they pick the scalpel back up.
Prodigy is curbed by someone’s own physical limitations. A person decked out in Masterpiece boxing gloves might know how to fight like Ali, but if they’re weak they’ll hit and go down like Glass Joe. Prodigy can only be cast on a person. He can only have one Prodigy spell up at a time. The cast time is instant.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Ezra can detect the location of an item or person he has enchanted within 100 meters.
LIMITS ⫻ Naturally, Emotional-Fields protect the Extra-Normal from some of the nastier effects of his spells like being shrunk, strangled, and so forth. Ezra can only have one type of spell cast at one time, and if he has cast Configure and he wants to cast Masterpiece; then he'll have to drop Configure. His imbuing spells have a range limit and if he goes further than twelve meters from an object or person that he has imbued with his magic then it'll revert back to normal.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ It seems that improving objects have a cost, that Erza has to give something. To make something a masterpiece, he weakens himself in the process. He finds that he has shortness of breath, that he's a lot more susceptible to pain, not as strong as usual, and so on. He finds out this debuff is active as long as he has the spell going. The Configure spell changes Erza's weight, as making an object larger makes him heavier, and making an object smaller makes him lighter - easier to toss around and stuff.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I'm stuck with this family. Might as well take care of them."
"We VanBurtons gotta stick together, yeah? VanCleefs? VanHalens? Which ones are we again?"
_______________________________________________ Nisha Mae Reddy
She/Her | 25| British Indian| 5’3” | 110 lbs _______________________________________________ Rush _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Not bad for a good for nothing." ___________________________________
[Climbing] ⫻ Nisha never got over her days of scrambling to the top of the jungle gym. Over the years, she has slowly transitioned from the relative safety of a rock wall inside of a climbing gym to the exhilarating thrill of free soloing cliffs. If there’s a way to clamber up something, odds are she’ll manage to find it. [Wayfinder] ⫻ The woman has harnessed an incredible sense of direction thanks to years of having to path through nature while heading to a climbing spot. This skill has since translated to urban environments as well. Nisha can easily find her way just about anywhere, including places she has never been but knows their general vicinity. Simply put, Nisha always knows where she is and she always knows where she is heading. [Mixology] ⫻ Nisha started bartending when she was eighteen. It turned into her professional passion and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else for work. Her cocktails are as delicious to drink as they are effective at taking the edge off of a long day. [Cool Head] ⫻ Almost nothing can be said to upset Nisha. She won’t let someone being a jerkoff ruin her day, and she won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her pissed.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Look some of us can’t spend all day prettying ourselves up for the masses."
Nisha is a hot mess given human form. She always looks rushed and frazzled as if she woke up thirty minutes late for work with a massive hangover, a dead phone, and missing car keys. Being still is an impossibility for Nisha and she seems almost allergic to sitting down. Her head is constantly on a swivel, either looking for someone coming after her or something to go after, and when she isn’t running her mouth she’s probably running off after the latest distraction. Nisha is the person you think would be fun to party with but your gut says she’d show up two hours late, already drunk, ready to throw up on your couch.
She has a petite frame but rather fit build with the toned muscles required of someone who regularly decides that scaling a cliff is a good idea of fun. Her skin is brown, her hands are rough beyond repair, and her limbs are regularly shrouded by a variety of cuts and bruises from her haphazard lifestyle. Her black hair falls just below her shoulders but is often pulled back into a loose, messy ponytail. Her eyes are a deep dark brown and always look as if she had been up all night. There is a small scar on her chin from a fall she can’t even remember, and another blending to her hair on her right temple from something she wishes she could forget. For someone who looks like they probably would’ve busted a few out, she actually has almost perfectly straight teeth.
Nisha dresses in highlighter bright colors. Her wardrobe is ninety percent athleisure and she never dresses properly for any occasion, be it a matter of ill taste like wearing a black tracksuit with swishy legs to a funeral or ill prepared like a crop top and compression shorts during a cold autumn day. Her arms are weighed down with cheap, jangly bracelets that alert others of her arrival like the bell on a cat’s collar. Her nails are painted a bubblegum pink. She talks loudly with a rapid-fire, rhythmic pace, almost as if she’s spitting a verse instead of saying a sentence, and has a Scouse accent.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Got a lot on my plate, really, and I’m spinning a few others too."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Goals are for nerds and responsible adults. Nisha is just after the thrills, to see what comes next, and most certainly nothing else whatsoever.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Life’s rather dull, really, and the only thing that makes it worth living are the little odd surprises that pop up when one forces themselves out of their routine. Nisha is always looking for the next: the next adventure, the next opportunity, the next romance, the next temporary boost of dopamine to keep her brain from thinking about how none of this really matters in the end. She finds people who consider themselves content to be the most miserable creatures in the world. Happiness exists only in moments, and Nisha is going to capture as many of those moments like the good little hedonist she is.
SEXUALITY ⫻ While open for experimentation, Nisha identifies as mostly heterosexual.
FEARS ⫻ Nisha’s fears having to rely on others, which just happens to coincidence beautifully with her fears of being used by others. The idea that someone would help another out just for the heck of it doesn’t compute with her. Clearly there’s some kind of ulterior motive, a hope of gaining some sort of favor, and she isn’t the kind of person who wants to rack up debts that tie her down.
She is also afraid of spiders.
REPUTATION ⫻ Literally nobody in Araminta has ever heard of Nisha, and she’s probably not the first person who’s arrived in town claiming that James Vanburen might’ve gotten freaky with their mom.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Oh, yeah, James, he was a really shit dude, you know, never being there for her and all. Mostly because he didn’t even know she existed, which would be a horrible thing for a father to do except in this case James wasn’t her father so technically it should be all right, shouldn’t it? Still, Nisha believes he could’ve maybe sent her a fake birthday card or fake Christmas check every now and then.
FLAWS ⫻ Nisha is an impatient, impulsive, and immoral person who is largely driven by little more than her personal pursuit of happiness. She’s not above lying, cheating, or stealing if it gets her to the finish line faster, but she lacks the foresight or the deviousness to cover her tracks. On top of that, she’s scattered and easily distracted, prone to jumping from one harebrained scheme to another without ever fully executing either of them. Due to her never thinking things through, It’s not very difficult to manipulate Nisha—although it’s always a question of how long she’ll follow along until she jumps to the next trend.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "You know, if I had my chance, maybe I’d do one thing different: I would’ve dropped out sooner."
The momentary rush from the freefall turned to absolute terror a heartbeat before Nisha’s skull cracked against the rocks with the sickening sound of jello being plopped onto a plate. As she lay dying, Nisha was honestly surprised she made it to twenty five. Dad had threatened to kill her a hundred times over when she was growing up near Liverpool. He roughed his family up every now and then, but he wasn’t the kind to really follow through his word on anything. Still, she found it every bit as ironic as it was horrific to watch her old man get gutted by a gang of toughs he got in an argument with when she was eleven. The image of him dying soaked in to her like the blood soaked his shirt and the ground around him. It forever reminded her that no matter how big or tough or scary you are, life can still take you out seemingly at random.
So why waste it on boring, trivial shit, yeah? That’s what Mom did. She worked two jobs to take care of her kids, neither of whom ever appreciated it. Samesh, Nisha’s brother, spent most of his time in and out of prison for petty crimes, while Nisha joined up with a group of awful teenagers that weren’t too dissimilar to the lads that ripped up dear ol’ Dad for stepping out of line. Her adolescent years came to her as a blended mix of boys, booze, bongs, and needles. They would’ve been hard to remember even if her brain wasn’t leaking out from her skull. The key thing she remembers from her youth is waking up in a hospital after a particularly bad bender that resulted in an overdose, hooked up to some kind of weird machine, with her Mom crying over her.
The near death experience dissuaded Nisha from furthering her experimentation, but it didn’t stop the need for constant thrills to make life worth living. Hard drugs were swapped for extreme sports. Soon, she found that there was nothing more addicting than an all natural adrenaline rush. Nisha fell into the niche of rock climbing, working her way up from all of the boring, lame safety equipment featured in a gym to the death-defying act of free soloing a cliffside in the middle of nowhere. It was always exhilarating, but the few number of close calls never made Nisha quit. In hindsight, as the blue sky darkened above her, maybe that had been a mistake.
What hadn’t been a mistake was becoming a bartender. She worked her way up from shitty dive bars and gross clubs in Liverpool to nice, respectful cocktail bars in London that served a different class of people than the kind she had surrounded herself with her whole life. Nisha had plenty of opportunities to become the attractive little arm piece for some kind of stuffy banker or lame lawyer, but those relationships never lasted long—too safe, too unimaginative, too approved of by her Mom. But what did her Mom expect? Nisha was in her twenties. She could give up on finding the right one when she got grays. Besides, most of them were jerks anyway, and being faithful was difficult. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t make good choices when she was drunk, nor was it her fault that she drunk most of the time
Just like it wasn’t her fault that the rock she’d firmly gripped slipped from the cliffside and sent her falling several dozen meters off of what would otherwise have been her greatest rock climbing achievement. Why she wasn’t dead yet was a mystery to her. Her life had already flashed before her eyes, and if she knew what she did now she would’ve tried that acid that had been offered to her the other week. Or perhaps she had taken it. That would explain the wrinkled, graying old woman with thin, spindly arms standing over Nisha. She wore a ragged brown dress and appeared to be soaked to the bone, her long, thinning gray hair sticking to the side of her face.
Only it wasn’t a hallucination. The old woman introduced herself as Nel, told Nisha that she was dying, and that she could save the girl if she allowed it. Nisha gurgled out a yes and watched as the old lady’s arms stretched out to an inhumanely long length, reached around to the back of her skull, and thrust themselves into her brain as she blacked out. When Nisha came to she was at the top of the cliff, her clothes still wet with her own blood. She reached to the back of her head and felt nothing more than matted hair.
However, as she went to pull her hand away she felt fingers grip her wrist and a voice like running water whisper in her ear: We’re in this together now, love, only you owe us. Do us this one wee little favor and we’ll let you go back to your stupid human life. Otherwise... Nisha fell to her knees as she felt the fingers from inside of her head push through the back of her skull and pry open the head wound. As she screamed the fingers disappeared and with it, moments later, the pain.
As it turns out, Nel just wanted Nisha to buy a plane ticket to America and lie about being some dead rich guy's long lost daughter. How difficult could it be? Creepy ghost fingers aside, it sounded like a fun little adventure. Hey! Maybe they’d even give her a bit of inheritance. Rich people are always so generous.
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m a downright spooky bitch now, I suppose."
TYPE ⫻ Aberration (Affixed)
ABSTRACTION ⫻ The Long Arms of the Slaugh, more commonly referred to as Phantom Limbs, is the ability for Nisha to manifest spectral arms from her body. .
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ Nisha is affixed to a water spirit named Nel that allows her to manifest up to four long, spindly arms, two appearing from her shoulder blades while the other two appear from underneath her actual arms. The spectral arms are somewhat transparent with a blue hue to them and tend to wave and flow like they’re made out of some kind of liquid. Due to their seemingly fluid nature, the arms can compress and expand, allowing them to slip through small spaces that water could flow through. As well, Nisha can extend one of her phantom limbs well beyond her normal reach, upwards to 10 meters.
The limbs are capable of lifting up to twice of Nisha’s weight, assuming they all work together. Likewise, they can be used to rapidly pull Nisha through an area or up to places she normally wouldn’t be able to reach. She can swing around all day like the Friendly Neighborhood Asshole assuming there are enough things within reach, and she can use her phantom limbs to catch herself from falling and breaking her back. She can theoretically use them to fight, but their punches are weaker than her own and her right hook isn’t really that up to snuff in the first place. Even if someone didn’t have Emotional Fields getting hit by a phantom limb would be about as bad as getting hit by a wet pool noodle.
While Nisha’s phantom limbs are fairly easy to sever, they are just as equally easy to manifest new ones. However, while they appear to be made out of some kind of mystical water, the limbs are actually manifested from the spirits of victims drowned by the water spirit Nel. Therefore, Black Lux could easily render the phantom limbs ineffective if not even outright hostile towards Nisha.
Interestingly enough, Nisha appears to have some kind of healing factor linked to the same energy used to manifest the arms. Any wound she takes will slowly mend itself overtime, including ones that would normally be fatal.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Nisha is capable of sensing if someone is dying within 10 meters of herself. It doesn’t tell her what they are dying from or how immediate their death will be, just that they aren’t doing so hot. There is nothing precognitive about her aura sensing, so someone in a dangerous situation won’t trigger her aura until they are severely injured.
LIMITS ⫻ Creating the limbs and stretching them is an enormous drain on energy. While she can create these limbs fairly fast, over time she'll end up exhausted.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ The arms are weak against two different types of damage: slashing and electrical damage. A blade or knife can easily cut through the arms, while electricity can travel through it and electrocute Nisha.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I only said that James might be my father. Technically, that is not a lie."
Sabrina Vanburen
"The longer Sabrina continues to live in her fairytale world the sooner the real one will eat her alive." _______________________________________________
The Idiot or the Idealist. Ezra sometimes struggles with distinguishing the difference between the two concepts. Due to Ezra only spending summers at home as well as their age gap, they were not really close while growing up. While the rest of the family seemed to support Sabrina during her transition, only Ezra questioned the idea by asking, “Are you sure?” There was no hate in the question, just concern—concern both about the hardships that Sabrina would face and if she really wanted to go through with the transition. However, that one question is the perfect representation of how Ezra treats Sabrina: everything she does he doubts, questioning if it has truly been thought out or not. Is he just worried about his naive, gungho sister, or does he not trust her to make the right decisions?
Shane Vanburen
"I sometimes wonder who is more disappointed." _______________________________________________
The Failure or the Martyr. Ezra can never be certain if Shane’s downward spiral was his own fault or the result of trying to escape from the family name only to be crushed underneath it instead. As with Sabrina, they were not close in their youth due to the age gap. When Shane told the family he wanted to be a police officer Ezra laughed and told him not to get eaten alive. At the time it had been a joke. Ezra was even a little proud of his brother for breaking off from the family to do what Shane thought was the right thing. However, when Shane returned a depressed alcoholic the joke no longer seemed so innocent. It’s rare for the brothers to talk these days, with Ezra seeming to avoid Shane almost as much as Shane avoids the rest of his family. Does Ezra look away from Shane because he feels sorrow for his broken brother and is lost as to how to help him, or is he hiding the mirth in his eyes, laughing at his little joke that keeps nailing the punchline?
Oscar Vanburen
"Araminta’s favorite son. That's meant to be praise, even if the bar is only a few inches off the floor." _______________________________________________
The Waste or the Genius. Ezra accepts that Oscar is undoubtedly the smartest member of the family, although he questions his judgment call when it comes to what Oscar invests himself in. Ezra was in Araminta more while Oscar was growing up, so he feels closer to him than Sabrina or Shane. Ezra isn’t upset like James is that Oscar is focusing on taking over his mother’s business because he fears he’s only doing it for her; he’s upset about it because he feels like Oscar is limiting himself and wasting his potential. Ezra has frequently told Oscar that he wished he had that brain of his, although it is impossible to tell if he means it solely as a compliment or if he is jealous, hinting that he would use the kid’s mind on less trivial matters.
However, Oscar might’ve accidentally killed their father, so that awards him every single brownie point that there has ever been.
Trisha Vanburen
"Funny. All that time in front of the mirror and you still can’t see the main source of all your problems." _______________________________________________
The Worst or the Equal. Ezra cannot decide if Trisha is just what he would be like if he didn’t have restraint or his complete and total opposite. As he was with Oscar, Ezra was around for a decent part of her later childhood, although due to both of their aloof natures it would be hard to say that the two are close. Despite practically being strangers, Ezra has a feeling that the two of them would actually agree on many things. However, her knee jerk reaction to pin the blame on anyone except for herself irks him to the very core of his being, but is he really annoyed because he finds it wrong or because he wishes he could react like she does and lash out?
Georgie Vanburen
"The problem with thinking logically is that it assumes the other party would do the same." _______________________________________________
The Stranger or the Icon. Ezra cannot decide if her admires Georgie for her detached, goal-oriented drive or is annoyed by having a younger sister that somehow manages to out aloof him. While he was in Araminta for most of her formative years, she was overseas doing—what, exactly? The girl is basically a total mystery. He knows more about the gardener than his sister. Ezra has achieved the herculean task of getting her in a conversation before due to their mutual interest in art, but moving towards anything else feels like he's pulling teeth. He can't quite decide if her ability to completely detach herself from other people is intentional. Is she just self-reliant or is she just a broken flower without any dirt for her roots to hold on to so that she can grow?
Arabelle Matthews
"She's used to dealing with children, thankfully, although I imagine the ones she teaches are better behaved." _______________________________________________
The Piteous or the Resourceful. Ezra has always treated the help with respect and dignity, but there is still an underlying sense of superiority that always just seems to be lying right beneath the surface—as if he believes that by giving them a job he is somehow commiting some great act of charity. While Ezra knew Arabelle existed, he dealt more with her mother, whom he found agreeable, than the girl herself while they were growing up. Naturally, they became more familiar with one another once Ezra began running the estate and Arabelle came back to work on the weekends. It would be a stretch to say that he is friendly to the woman, but he has a professional, if somewhat cold, respect for the woman who is a hard, dedicated worker and has pushed herself through a number of bad years. Yet when he thinks Arabelle is not looking there is a hint of sadness, and perhaps even guilt, in his eyes, as if he knows something bad is coming yet has done nothing to prevent it.
Rumors used to fly around amongst the staff that Arabelle's father was James. Ezra used to believe them when he was younger, but now even he thinks that his father couldn't be that much of an asshole to hire his own kid back on to scrub toilets.
_______________________________________________ Ezra James Vanburen
He/Him | 38| British American | 5’11” | 175 lbs _______________________________________________ Shrewd _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Everything you do is a reflection of yourself." ___________________________________
[Serious Business] ⫻ With an MBA from an Ivy League school and several years of managing private companies for James, Ezra has the knowledge and experience needed to successfully run a business. Time management, project planning, leadership, and organization skills all fall under the umbrella of Big Business, so while he might not be taking them to market he can still help keep the Vanburens from going into the red. [Networking] ⫻ Ezra is owed favors by many of the small businesses in Araminta and has friends in high places from his time at university. He’s relentless when it comes to getting things from people he knows or finding people for things he needs. [Meticulous] ⫻ Ezra has a sharp eye and is extremely organized. He quickly notices subtle differences and tiny faults. It’s rare for him to be caught off-guard, be unprepared, or appear untidy. [Puzzling Behavior] ⫻ The man has an obsession with puzzles and has the patience and discipline to finish them. He tends to always have a crossword puzzle to pull out every moment there is a hint of downtime, but jigsaws are his favorite. Just about every Vanburen has received one of his finished puzzles as a gift at least once.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I used to lie and tell people I was adopted when they said I looked like dad. Always got an interesting reaction."
Ezra almost always seems as if he has just awoken from a deep meditation where he achieved inner peace. His calmness is infectious and spread by his dulcet voice and his effortlessly relaxed posture. He’s the kind of person that is impossible to picture running after someone, or dropping something they are carrying, or ever doing that awkward thing where they try to avoid walking into someone only for both of them to juke the same way three or four times. To others, it seems like there isn’t a graceless bone in Ezra’s body. It’s just the most annoying thing ever.
His light brown, medium-length hair is well-maintained and styled in a “messy” look that takes an enormous amount of time to achieve. Ezra’s beard is neat and trimmed short with hints of greying nearing his sideburns. His light skin is immaculate and soft to the touch, the signs of someone who properly hydrates and actually pays attention to the recommendation of using sunscreen even on cloudy days. His hooded eyes are big and brown, and when he smiles the skin at the corners wrinkles ever the slightest. Perhaps uncoincidentally, Ezra’s full smile is a bit of a rare sight. Instead he trends towards tight-lipped smirks accompanied by bashful head tilts when pleased and an unblinking, withering stare when unamused.
Ezra is of an average height with a decent trim build that is only maintained by a healthy diet, the occasional walk, and the rare trip to a gym that generally starts and does not progress beyond the steam room. Due to his rather lax and posh lifestyle, he is almost cartoonishly weak—or perhaps he plays it up out of sheer laziness, often sending others to fetch things for him just so he can continue to lounge on the chaise. His wardrobe is simple but fits well and is of high quality, with a tendency towards cashmere sweaters.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I can control myself and nothing else."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Really, the man just needs a break. Ezra is looking to escape the current responsibility he has as the business head of the family, but he has stated many times over that he won’t relinquish control until he is certain that stepping down won’t hinder the future of Araminta or the Vanburens.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Ezra views the world through a scope of negativity that sets his expectations low, because he knows that high hopes only makes the fall hurt so much worse. However, he is not strictly a pessimist, or at least he doesn’t consider herself one. He’s a realist, and reality can be a pain in the ass. His views fall in line heavily with Stoicism, believing that the bad in life is unavoidable, natural, and yet wholly possible to survive through. Therefore, he shouldn’t even worry about the terrible things. Instead, Ezra tries his hardest to only worry about the things she can control—namely, his own actions and feelings—and strives to be a virtuous, just person who always does the right thing. In other words, he wants to be perfect. Sometimes, it’s a maddening task.
SEXUALITY ⫻ If it ever was questioned or brought up, Ezra would likely shrug and say that he was straight. If Ezra was to consider his sexuality with more than just a shrug he would identify more as a demisexual than a heterosexual.
FEARS ⫻ In theory, Ezra believes that he has nothing to fear. It’s the creation of an overactive imagination, a negative emotion heightened by the desire for a different outcome. Things happen, and that’s all they ever do. He has a sense of indestructibility. In actuality, he is terrified of being hypocritical. He strives to be a good person that isn’t controlled by his emotions, but he questions his own authenticity all of the time. It’s a fear that feeds upon itself. The more he worries about being a hypocrite, the more of a hypocrite he sees himself to be.
REPUTATION ⫻ Reliable but severe. Ezra served as a business consultant and occasional manager for the many mom and pop stores James acquired. James Vanburen might’ve been Magnanimous, but he didn’t want his investments to be money pits. If a business was in a bad enough spot that it needed a bailout to survive, then something needed to be changed about its management and focus—and Ezra was the one who helped execute the change. Although he was often a boon for the businesses, his strict no-nonsense professionalism could be grating.
Generally too busy to ever even be present, Ezra was often quiet and reserved around the Vanburens when it came to large family gatherings. Many thought he bore some kind of grudge towards his half-siblings, but he has proven that impression wrong many times throughout the years. Almost every Vanburen can recall at least one time that Ezra has gone out of his way to help them. Be it as simple as offering a shoulder to cry on to privately posting bail so that their father doesn’t have to hear about them drinking and driving, Ezra has proven himself time and time again to the guardian angel for the Vanburen children. Yet despite his benevolence, nearly none of them can say for certain if he truly cares about them or if he is just begrudgingly following some kind of brotherly obligation.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Ezra will give him this: James was a decent businessman and a kindhearted, charitable individual. Unfortunately, those things do not make him a good person nor a good father. If anything, they only serve to highlight how their dad was kind of a huge piece of shit. In the last couple of years it was obvious to anyone that there was bad blood growing between Ezra and James, but neither of them ever spoke about what it was over. However, despite their growing animosity, Ezra is seemingly incapable of openly saying a bad thing about his father. There’s still a deeply seated respect, admiration, jealousy, and fear rooted in Ezra for the man. He doubts he’d ever manage to shake it, no matter how hard he tries to remove the man’s influence from his life.
FLAWS ⫻ Ezra is jackknifing off of the highest diving board straight down into the empty pool of a massive burnout. Between work, family, a goddamn curse, and his own perfectionist idealism, he is spread to his absolute limits. He sees himself as too much of a protector of the other Vanburen children to share his burden with them, but unfortunately it has gotten to the point where his stress and exhaustion has worn him down to a near breaking point. He forgets things regularly, even seeming to blank out on people he’s known for years, and easily gets frustrated. While he doesn’t get visibly angry or openly snap at others, the silent treatments he implores when he has reached his limits with someone or something have become nearly legendary. It’s amusing when it’s used against the paparazzi, but downright terrifying when turned on the family.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m not just going to be the epilogue to his biography."
The rivalry between the Harrisburgs and the Vanburens was already burning between the two, but Ezra was the can of gasoline that turned the flame into a raging bonfire. Ezra was the product of a secret affair between James and Slyvia, the aunt of Richard Harrisburg and sister to his father. The two, against the wishes of the Harrisburgs, got hitched not so long after Slyvia started to show, and for a spell the couple seemed happy. At least, they were until James’ business ventures began bleeding her family dry and his eyes started to wander towards other women. By the time the divorce came Slyvia could barely even look at her son, only ever referring to him as “the mistake” while looking straight through him. She went back to the Harrisburgs; James was stuck with the mistake.
James ended up sending his son to a prestigious boarding school, both to prep his son for one day taking over the family business and to ensure that he wasn’t left alone at home for months at a time to be raised by the staff. Ezra may have hated school, but he was a bright kid and an even better student. However, it didn’t take too long for the kid to realize that he was practically being cultivated by James. That occurred when Ezra told his dad he was going to join the basketball team. Sports were trivial, said his old man, you’re joining the debate team. So he did. It became the song and dance for the rest of Ezra’s life. When deciding on a major for college Ezra expressed an interest in studying art. While art was seen as a nice hobby, it wasn’t a respectable profession according to James—his boy would go for business. So he did.
Ezra attended Wharton, where he studied and drank and dated and did the usual college shit while on the path towards getting his MBA. When Ezra graduated, he planned to move to New York with his girlfriend Autumn against the wishes of James, who wanted him back in Araminta to work for him. The goal was to establish a base, make some money, and open up an art gallery on the side. However, for the six months he lived there Ezra was unable to find a job, despite his connections, his legacy, and his degree. Eventually, he was forced to take his father’s offer to come work for him as his business manager, overseeing the various mom and pop stores he owned around Araminta.
Autumn joined him in Araminta and the two were married in a small ceremony that Ezra’s mother did not attend. However, Ezra soon found himself practically married to working for James, trying to work miracles on the charity cases he took in to turn them around into actual functioning businesses. There were a few failures here and there, but for a vast majority of them the acquisition turned into a brilliant success. While Ezra didn’t necessarily enjoy his work, he was good at it and there was something rewarding to helping the little guys out...even if the little guys ended up kicking them some cutback after. Of the “independent” boutiques operating downtown, nearly a third of them have had Ezra meddle in their business affairs at some point.
However, bad blood began to form between father and son. Normally, his time spent in Araminta was so short Ezra barely had a chance to even speak to his siblings, let alone actually get to know them. By being back in Araminta for good, Ezra was able to see how James pandered and bent over backwards for his other children; meanwhile, he’d hammered his oldest into a James-shaped mold. It planted a bad seed in the depths of Ezra’s mind that blossomed into the idea that, like his mother, his father also viewed him as a mistake, one that he was retroactively trying to fix by turning him into little more than a carbon copy. The worst part was that he succeeded—which only occurred when Autumn cited him turning into a James Jr. for being one of the reasons why she was leaving.
They were divorced before Thanksgiving. When James passed away on Christmas Day, Ezra almost looked relieved—or he did until he was assigned the executor of James’ will and left in control of all of James' businesses. In horror, Ezra realized that by dying and leaving him in charge James had trapped him: Ezra would always be working for his father, indefinitely, until he himself croaked. He would become the new magnanimous man, but it would be James, not Ezra, that people saw when they asked for a bail out. Ezra was just the hand that fed them, puppeted by James’ ghost from the afterlife.
Screw that.
To escape Ezra began setting to work to dismantle his father’s empire, but he had to find the proper balance to not destroy the businesses or the lives of others in the process. It has been slow going, but he has started to turn full independence back to some of the stores and pass responsibility down on to people he can trust. Ezra imagined that in a handful of years he’d be able to leave Araminta in the hands of someone else and to start living his life for once. Maybe he’d even try and get Autumn back.
Turning into stone kind of threw a wrench in that plan. Ezra was hit by a wave of despair. He went to his father’s office to search for any sort of clues as to what was happening to his family. When he searched through his father’s desk he found an old childhood puzzle of his, one of those annoying metal ones where they’re locked together and you have to somehow untangle them. In a flash of youthful impatience and ingenuity he’d gone to the shed, grabbed some bolt cutters, and cut the puzzle in two instead of banging his head against the solution. Seeing it now made him laugh, in part because he was surprised James would save such a thing but also because of his own reaction to the curse. It was stupid to waste time moping. Every problem had a solution. They just weren’t always obvious.
As he touched the broken puzzle, he flashed to a memory that wasn’t his own. He was still in his father’s office but it looked different, as if a fog had encroached through the window and filled up the edges of his periphery. He saw hands reassembling an antique rifle, aligning the sights and sliding back in the bolt. He watched as they affixed a bayonet to the end and slowly leveled the rifle up against their shoulder. It felt good; almost perfect. There was just one more touch. A glow of orange radiated around the rifle and then faded. The bayonet slashed through the air, there was a cackle of energy, and the world tore open in front of it. Ezra felt a wave of satisfaction hit him. There! Now it was a Masterpiece.
The vision faded, but the orange glow lingered around the broken puzzle. Ezra still didn’t know why his family was cursed, but he had a feeling he was already on the path to curing it. All he needed to do was put on a brave face and endure his responsibilities a little bit longer.
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Nothing is perfect unless by design."
TYPE ⫻ Adept
ABSTRACTION ⫻ Orange Lux. Ezra’s channeler is a broken wire puzzle that he’d cut apart with bolt cutters in frustration when he was a child. It has been looped through a leather strap to become some kind of wristband.
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ Ezra attributes characteristics to items and people, making them wondrous by thinking outside of the box. His spells require physical touch to cast and can continue indefinitely as long as he maintains a small amount of concentration that can be canceled by emotional turmoil, physical pain, or loss of consciousness.
Masterpiece ⫻ Ezra infuses an object and turns it into a perfect version of itself, better than it ever could possibly be. For example, a pencil would never go dull and the eraser would completely remove any errant graphite. Likewise, a lock would become unpickable or a door would become unbreakable while affected by the spell. A Masterpiece spell affects the whole, not just a part. A Masterpiece car would make the entire car perfect: the tires would never go flat, the engine would never rust, and the windshield would never crack. Once an item has become a Masterpiece it no longer has to operate in the realm of logic, like a Masterpiece jug of milk would never empty or spoil while a Masterpiece computer would still operate without any electricity or wi-fi.
Masterpiece is largely ineffective on a person. They only appear perfect on a surface-level, like an airbrushed version of themselves designed to sell ads. Masterpiece items vary in effectiveness against Apparitions, but are generally more useful than normal items.
Currently, he can keep one Masterpiece item and one Masterpiece person spell going at a time. The cast time requires channeling Lux from one to five minutes, depending on the complexity and size of the target, and requires a decent amount of concentration.
Configure ⫻ Ezra can dramatically increase or decrease the size of an item while allowing it to continue to perform its function, including Masterpiece items. Configure does not change the weight of an item. Like Masterpiece, a Configure spell affects the whole. Therefore, if he has a box full of clothes, the clothes will shrink or expand with the box. However, the moment that a sweater is pulled from the box it will return to its original size because it is no longer contained in the field of the Configure spell.
While people can have Configured items used against them, they themselves cannot be Configured. Likewise, their bodies act as a natural barrier against things when they are being Configured. Therefore, Ezra could Configure a necklace to shrink and become uncomfortably tight, but he cannot push it to the point of being smaller than that person’s neck until they take it off. Configured items typically amplify the usefulness of items against Apparitions, and while they are Configured they are extremely difficult to destroy outside of Extra-Normal means.
Currently, he can keep one Configure spell going at a time. The scale of an item can range from 1/5th to 5x. The cast time is instant, but items take a few seconds to change in size.
Prodigy ⫻ Ezra makes a person an instant expert on a subject relating to any Masterpiece item they are currently using. A person with a Masterpiece scalpel will become a top level surgeon, while that behind the wheels of a Masterpiece car would make any Hollywood stunt driver jealous. The moment their connection to the Masterpiece item is severed they return to their base skill level with no residual hold over in talent, regardless of how long they were using the Masterpiece item. So, while the person might know they are performing brain surgery, they won’t know what lobe to poke at until they pick the scalpel back up.
Prodigy is curbed by someone’s own physical limitations. A person decked out in Masterpiece boxing gloves might know how to fight like Ali, but if they’re weak they’ll hit and go down like Glass Joe. Prodigy can only be cast on a person. He can only have one Prodigy spell up at a time. The cast time is instant.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Ezra can detect the location of an item or person he has enchanted within 100 meters.
LIMITS ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I'm stuck with this family. Might as well take care of them."
"We VanBurtons gotta stick together, yeah? VanCleefs? VanHalens? Which ones are we again?"
_______________________________________________ Nisha Mae Reddy
She/Her | 25| British Indian| 5’3” | 110 lbs _______________________________________________ Rush _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Not bad for a good for nothing." ___________________________________
[Climbing] ⫻ Nisha never got over her days of scrambling to the top of the jungle gym. Over the years, she has slowly transitioned from the relative safety of a rock wall inside of a climbing gym to the exhilarating thrill of free soloing cliffs. If there’s a way to clamber up something, odds are she’ll manage to find it. [Wayfinder] ⫻ The woman has harnessed an incredible sense of direction thanks to years of having to path through nature while heading to a climbing spot. This skill has since translated to urban environments as well. Nisha can easily find her way just about anywhere, including places she has never been but knows their general vicinity. Simply put, Nisha always knows where she is and she always knows where she is heading. [Mixology] ⫻ Nisha started bartending when she was eighteen. It turned into her professional passion and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else for work. Her cocktails are as delicious to drink as they are effective at taking the edge off of a long day. [Cool Head] ⫻ Almost nothing can be said to upset Nisha. She won’t let someone being a jerkoff ruin her day, and she won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her pissed.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Look some of us can’t spend all day prettying ourselves up for the masses."
Nisha is a hot mess given human form. She always looks rushed and frazzled as if she woke up thirty minutes late for work with a massive hangover, a dead phone, and missing car keys. Being still is an impossibility for Nisha and she seems almost allergic to sitting down. Her head is constantly on a swivel, either looking for someone coming after her or something to go after, and when she isn’t running her mouth she’s probably running off after the latest distraction. Nisha is the person you think would be fun to party with but your gut says she’d show up two hours late, already drunk, ready to throw up on your couch.
She has a petite frame but rather fit build with the toned muscles required of someone who regularly decides that scaling a cliff is a good idea of fun. Her skin is brown, her hands are rough beyond repair, and her limbs are regularly shrouded by a variety of cuts and bruises from her haphazard lifestyle. Her black hair falls just below her shoulders but is often pulled back into a loose, messy ponytail. Her eyes are a deep dark brown and always look as if she had been up all night. There is a small scar on her chin from a fall she can’t even remember, and another blending to her hair on her right temple from something she wishes she could forget. For someone who looks like they probably would’ve busted a few out, she actually has almost perfectly straight teeth.
Nisha dresses in highlighter bright colors. Her wardrobe is ninety percent athleisure and she never dresses properly for any occasion, be it a matter of ill taste like wearing a black tracksuit with swishy legs to a funeral or ill prepared like a crop top and compression shorts during a cold autumn day. Her arms are weighed down with cheap, jangly bracelets that alert others of her arrival like the bell on a cat’s collar. Her nails are painted a bubblegum pink. She talks loudly with a rapid-fire, rhythmic pace, almost as if she’s spitting a verse instead of saying a sentence, and has a Scouse accent.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Got a lot on my plate, really, and I’m spinning a few others too."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Goals are for nerds and responsible adults. Nisha is just after the thrills, to see what comes next, and most certainly nothing else whatsoever.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Life’s rather dull, really, and the only thing that makes it worth living are the little odd surprises that pop up when one forces themselves out of their routine. Nisha is always looking for the next: the next adventure, the next opportunity, the next romance, the next temporary boost of dopamine to keep her brain from thinking about how none of this really matters in the end. She finds people who consider themselves content to be the most miserable creatures in the world. Happiness exists only in moments, and Nisha is going to capture as many of those moments like the good little hedonist she is.
SEXUALITY ⫻ While open for experimentation, Nisha identifies as mostly heterosexual.
FEARS ⫻ Nisha’s fears having to rely on others, which just happens to coincidence beautifully with her fears of being used by others. The idea that someone would help another out just for the heck of it doesn’t compute with her. Clearly there’s some kind of ulterior motive, a hope of gaining some sort of favor, and she isn’t the kind of person who wants to rack up debts that tie her down.
She is also afraid of spiders.
REPUTATION ⫻ Literally nobody in Araminta has ever heard of Nisha, and she’s probably not the first person who’s arrived in town claiming that James Vanburen might’ve gotten freaky with their mom.
THOUGHTS ABOUT FATHER ⫻ Oh, yeah, James, he was a really shit dude, you know, never being there for her and all. Mostly because he didn’t even know she existed, which would be a horrible thing for a father to do except in this case James wasn’t her father so technically it should be all right, shouldn’t it? Still, Nisha believes he could’ve maybe sent her a fake birthday card or fake Christmas check every now and then.
FLAWS ⫻ Nisha is an impatient, impulsive, and immoral person who is largely driven by little more than her personal pursuit of happiness. She’s not above lying, cheating, or stealing if it gets her to the finish line faster, but she lacks the foresight or the deviousness to cover her tracks. On top of that, she’s scattered and easily distracted, prone to jumping from one harebrained scheme to another without ever fully executing either of them. Due to her never thinking things through, It’s not very difficult to manipulate Nisha—although it’s always a question of how long she’ll follow along until she jumps to the next trend.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "You know, if I had my chance, maybe I’d do one thing different: I would’ve dropped out sooner."
The momentary rush from the freefall turned to absolute terror a heartbeat before Nisha’s skull cracked against the rocks with the sickening sound of jello being plopped onto a plate. As she lay dying, Nisha was honestly surprised she made it to twenty five. Dad had threatened to kill her a hundred times over when she was growing up near Liverpool. He roughed his family up every now and then, but he wasn’t the kind to really follow through his word on anything. Still, she found it every bit as ironic as it was horrific to watch her old man get gutted by a gang of toughs he got in an argument with when she was eleven. The image of him dying soaked in to her like the blood soaked his shirt and the ground around him. It forever reminded her that no matter how big or tough or scary you are, life can still take you out seemingly at random.
So why waste it on boring, trivial shit, yeah? That’s what Mom did. She worked two jobs to take care of her kids, neither of whom ever appreciated it. Samesh, Nisha’s brother, spent most of his time in and out of prison for petty crimes, while Nisha joined up with a group of awful teenagers that weren’t too dissimilar to the lads that ripped up dear ol’ Dad for stepping out of line. Her adolescent years came to her as a blended mix of boys, booze, bongs, and needles. They would’ve been hard to remember even if her brain wasn’t leaking out from her skull. The key thing she remembers from her youth is waking up in a hospital after a particularly bad bender that resulted in an overdose, hooked up to some kind of weird machine, with her Mom crying over her.
The near death experience dissuaded Nisha from furthering her experimentation, but it didn’t stop the need for constant thrills to make life worth living. Hard drugs were swapped for extreme sports. Soon, she found that there was nothing more addicting than an all natural adrenaline rush. Nisha fell into the niche of rock climbing, working her way up from all of the boring, lame safety equipment featured in a gym to the death-defying act of free soloing a cliffside in the middle of nowhere. It was always exhilarating, but the few number of close calls never made Nisha quit. In hindsight, as the blue sky darkened above her, maybe that had been a mistake.
What hadn’t been a mistake was becoming a bartender. She worked her way up from shitty dive bars and gross clubs in Liverpool to nice, respectful cocktail bars in London that served a different class of people than the kind she had surrounded herself with her whole life. Nisha had plenty of opportunities to become the attractive little arm piece for some kind of stuffy banker or lame lawyer, but those relationships never lasted long—too safe, too unimaginative, too approved of by her Mom. But what did her Mom expect? Nisha was in her twenties. She could give up on finding the right one when she got grays. Besides, most of them were jerks anyway, and being faithful was difficult. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t make good choices when she was drunk, nor was it her fault that she drunk most of the time
Just like it wasn’t her fault that the rock she’d firmly gripped slipped from the cliffside and sent her falling several dozen meters off of what would otherwise have been her greatest rock climbing achievement. Why she wasn’t dead yet was a mystery to her. Her life had already flashed before her eyes, and if she knew what she did now she would’ve tried that acid that had been offered to her the other week. Or perhaps she had taken it. That would explain the wrinkled, graying old woman with thin, spindly arms standing over Nisha. She wore a ragged brown dress and appeared to be soaked to the bone, her long, thinning gray hair sticking to the side of her face.
Only it wasn’t a hallucination. The old woman introduced herself as Nel, told Nisha that she was dying, and that she could save the girl if she allowed it. Nisha gurgled out a yes and watched as the old lady’s arms stretched out to an inhumanely long length, reached around to the back of her skull, and thrust themselves into her brain as she blacked out. When Nisha came to she was at the top of the cliff, her clothes still wet with her own blood. She reached to the back of her head and felt nothing more than matted hair.
However, as she went to pull her hand away she felt fingers grip her wrist and a voice like running water whisper in her ear: We’re in this together now, love, only you owe us. Do us this one wee little favor and we’ll let you go back to your stupid human life. Otherwise... Nisha fell to her knees as she felt the fingers from inside of her head push through the back of her skull and pry open the head wound. As she screamed the fingers disappeared and with it, moments later, the pain.
As it turns out, Nel just wanted Nisha to buy a plane ticket to America and lie about being some dead rich guy's long lost daughter. How difficult could it be? Creepy ghost fingers aside, it sounded like a fun little adventure. Hey! Maybe they’d even give her a bit of inheritance. Rich people are always so generous.
Abstraction ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I’m a downright spooky bitch now, I suppose."
TYPE ⫻ Aberration (Affixed)
ABSTRACTION ⫻ The Long Arms of the Slaugh, more commonly referred to as Phantom Limbs, is the ability for Nisha to manifest spectral arms from her body. .
ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ Nisha is affixed to a water spirit named Nel that allows her to manifest up to four long, spindly arms, two appearing from her shoulder blades while the other two appear from underneath her actual arms. The spectral arms are somewhat transparent with a blue hue to them and tend to wave and flow like they’re made out of some kind of liquid. Due to their seemingly fluid nature, the arms can compress and expand, allowing them to slip through small spaces that water could flow through. As well, Nisha can extend one of her phantom limbs well beyond her normal reach, upwards to 10 meters.
The limbs are capable of lifting up to twice of Nisha’s weight, assuming they all work together. Likewise, they can be used to rapidly pull Nisha through an area or up to places she normally wouldn’t be able to reach. She can swing around all day like the Friendly Neighborhood Asshole assuming there are enough things within reach, and she can use her phantom limbs to catch herself from falling and breaking her back. She can theoretically use them to fight, but their punches are weaker than her own and her right hook isn’t really that up to snuff in the first place. Even if someone didn’t have Emotional Fields getting hit by a phantom limb would be about as bad as getting hit by a wet pool noodle.
While Nisha’s phantom limbs are fairly easy to sever, they are just as equally easy to manifest new ones. However, while they appear to be made out of some kind of mystical water, the limbs are actually manifested from the spirits of victims drowned by the water spirit Nel. Therefore, Black Lux could easily render the phantom limbs ineffective if not even outright hostile towards Nisha.
Interestingly enough, Nisha appears to have some kind of healing factor linked to the same energy used to manifest the arms. Any wound she takes will slowly mend itself overtime, including ones that would normally be fatal.
AURA SENSING ⫻ Nisha is capable of sensing if someone is dying within 10 meters of herself. It doesn’t tell her what they are dying from or how immediate their death will be, just that they aren’t doing so hot. There is nothing precognitive about her aura sensing, so someone in a dangerous situation won’t trigger her aura until they are severely injured.
LIMITS ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I only said that James might be my father. Technically, that is not a lie."
It had been an unfruitful couple of weeks for Penny. With Rowan and Kimberly spirited away to some government blacksite, it was left to her to continue the task of tracking Annabelle. Penny soon realized it was something for which she had no talent. Throw Annabelle at her face and she’d be ready to go for as long as her body would hold together, but actually finding her proved to be a mountain of a challenge. Penny imagined an unstoppable killing machine that turned people into flesh-eating monsters wouldn’t be so hard to find—just follow the piles of corpses and go—but there wasn’t even a drop of blood as far as she could tell. Either the attacks were kept from the news, perhaps buried beneath the exploits of Florida-Man, or Annabelle was in hiding. By the end of the two weeks, Penny had accomplished little more than clean up the room that the DENS had trashed and convince the Coven to let her use it for the time being.
At the very least, the DENS agents had taken care of the Dollhouse mess. The last thing Penny needed was a throng of angry apparitions hunting after her while she played detective. Still, it didn’t forgive them for booking Kimberly. A larger part of the reason why she even bothered to hang near the Coven was to hopefully get a lead on where they were keeping her friend. Orchestrating a full on jailbreak fell under the category of “even too stupid for Penny”, but if she could somehow get a picture to the girl? The exact plan never formulated, largely because she couldn’t find one that didn’t end up with her getting unpersoned also.
These frustrations stewed in the back of Penny’s mind as she leaned against the railing of the deck and observed the Coven meeting, wide-brim hat blocking out the beating sun while an ignored cigarette threatened to jump from her fingers. For a second the cigarette did free itself and began its free fall to the poolside below, but in a blink of an eye the sigil between Penny’s collarbones flashed and the cigarette’s attempt was thwarted as it reversed back into her hand.
She took a drag and glared at Emily as she spoke up when Lyss said there would only be two cures available. It was unsurprising that Emily would want one of them, although Penny’s stare softened and she felt a slight tinge of guilt as Emily explained why she needed one of them. Suddenly, Emily’s fuck-you attitude seemed, whle perhaps not necessarily justifiable, familiar. Penny knew the pains of losing a sibling. Meanwhile, the big guy, Herik, had nearly lost his mom. Penny sighed. She should probably call hers. When was the last time they had talked?
Nobody seemed to fight against the vote, which came to Penny as a surprise, although the girl who had given up her cure looked dejected. Penny didn’t know what her deal was, but it must’ve not been anything major. With all of that figured out, Madison brought up something that Penny was actually interested in: Annabelle. She smashed her cigarette out against the railing and straightened herself up, arms folded over her flowery sundress.
“Yeah, so about that: I’ve been trying to pick up her trail this entire time and there has just been nothing, like, literally nothing,” said Penny, a hint of exasperation at her failure to locate the abomination breaking through. As she spoke, a phone began to ring. “I don’t know if the Forgiven have managed to pull off some media blackout or if we got lucky and she bit it or if—” Penny interrupted her own thought with an annoyed groan as she shot a look towards Lyss. “Dude, just answer it!”
Penny smirked as Emily began to freak out over this Babylon person, although admittedly Penny was in the dark on who the hell was Babylon and why they deserved any sort of excited response. Madison floated the idea of it potentially being someone else. Penny tilted her head. The only other person she knew of with any sort of borderline interest would have been Saul, and that man, despite his denial, would want Annabelle dealt with more than anybody else in the world. At least that was what Penny had originally thought, but the dude did lead a cult and any good cult needed a doomsday prophecy. Annabelle was that for the Forgiven—end of the world type shit.
“Fuck,”” said Penny, throwing her head back. She’d assumed Saul played dumb about Annabelle because he didn’t want to admit her existence. What if he’d wanted to protect her? She couldn’t decide if her theory was completely stupid or just stupid enough that it might be the truth. She didn’t have a chance to voice it as a swarm of insects buzzed overhead. Penny snapped her head over to the lamppost and spiraled a ring of coins around her hand, in the process shouting out one loud, “Fuck!” as a Dollhouse croney appeared.
Penny’s eyes narrowed as Johnny appeared as well, but she held her hand and heard them out—clamping a hand tightly over her mouth as she snorted at his suggestion of them making an alliance. Fucking christ, the dude sees one deal go south and he’s ready to stab the entire organization in the back? Yeah, no way teaming up with a creep like that could ever possibly backfire. Fortunately, she wasn’t in the Coven. She didn’t have to go along with their choice, whichever one they picked—but it seemed like the girls were leaning towards the sensible option.
Penny shook her head in denial as Johnny listed off Kimberly’s sins. It had to be utter bullshit. He revealed to them that the girl with shitty dreads was none other than Sharon. Penny bite back her lip as the idiot girl she’d executed had the gull to wave at her. She returned Sharon’s greeting with a disgusted huff but resisted the urge to strike. However, the look of malice softened as Penny recalled her conversations with Odessa. A look of guilt crossed her face as Penny lowered her head.
She fell deaf to the rest of the conversation, tuning back in as it seemed like the Coven had made its decision to not work with the Dollhouse rejects to stage a coup. Penny watched as the DENS booked Johnny and Sharon before she turned to join Madison in her car, taking the spot that once would’ve belonged to Claudette. Penny paused before entering the vehicle, told Madison to hold on, and marched over to Sharon as she was being escorted by the agents into the back of their black car. Penny called out to the agents to stop and held her hands up, showing that she meant no harm, and gave Sharon a soft smile.
“Hey, I want you to know that I forgive you. Don’t fuck up your second chance more than you already have. I’m pretty sure this is the last one you get,” she said, with a hint of genuine concern lingering at the back of her strained voice. Penny quickly turned, not wanting to hear what Sharon had to say, and walked away. However, she stopped after a few feet, looked over her shoulder, and with a wrinkle of her nose added, “You should really do something about your hair.”
With that, Penny hopped into Madison’s car.
Vashti was lucky. She was lucky because Cindy didn’t lock her up alongside Kimberly. She was lucky because Meifeng didn’t let her grudge about the truck stop her from taking the girl to the hospital, although a part of her felt like the only reason she’d been kept alive was so she could cash in on that debt at some point. She was lucky that her wounds had healed quicker than anticipated. She was lucky because despite Kimberly fucking things up (and it was Kimberly, probably), the DENS agents in Miami had managed to get their hands on a few cures when they had hunted down the Dollhouse.
Actually, that last part hadn’t just been pure luck: if not for Vashti, DENS wouldn’t have known that the Coven was dealing with the Dollhouse. Claudette was dead, which Vashti felt more of a weird tinge of guilty relief about than anything else, but nobody else had died thanks to the girl narcing the group out. Vashti hoped the Coven would recognize that she’d tried helping them, as little as she could do, but as she kicked water at the edge of the pool she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Her jacket and her headscarf sat folded on a deckchair, holding a seat as far away from Madison as possible. Vashti lifted her head as Lyss joined the group.
"To put it plainly, there are only two potions to give today…”
“Huh?”
Vashti felt her heartbeat quicken. She closed her eyes and gripped her chipped nails against the siding of the pool. Slowly, she counted backwards from ten. It’d be okay. They’d recognize that she deserved one for sending backup their way in Miami and then she’d be cured and then she’d no longer have to deal with this merry band of jerkasses. She opened her eyes and heard Emily start roaring with laughter. Vashti shot her a look. This was not funny. Okay, maybe it was a little funny. Of course this is the way things would be. Soon, Vashti heard her own laugh. The sound was almost foreign. She stopped laughing as Emily started to talk.
"I'm gonna be nice here and inform people of a few things; my sister is dying. Herik's mother is also dying. The other person with a curse just throws a magical temper tantrum," said Emily.
“Wait…” Magical temper tantrums? Every time the Leviathan attacked she nearly got herself killed. Every time the Leviathan attacked it nearly killed somebody else, too. Son of a bitch, Vashti was pretty sure she’d eaten a motherfucker. She needed it more than the others. She deserved it more than the others. The only reason they had any cures was because of her. The Coven would’ve came back empty handed if at all otherwise. “Emily!”
"I'm sorry Vashti, but it's the truth. We can get you another cure."
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. This was some sick fucking joke. Vashti scrambled up from her poolside seat and turned towards Emily, a verbal beatdown held fast on the tip of her tongue, ready to unleash a flurry of blows. Vashti sharply inhaled and said, “Okay.”
Okay? No, no, no, not okay. The word had come out in Vashti’s voice, but it hadn’t been what she wanted to say. She wanted to call Emily out for being the world’s biggest fucking bitch. Vashti wanted to let her know that being dead would’ve be better than being related to Emily. She wanted to let Herik know that his mom was old and had a good run and might not even really be cursed in the first place so why waste a potion on her when Vashti clearly deserved it more? She wanted to yell at them for failing to have her back, as if promises made at a Red Lobster meant nothing. No, no, no, this was unfair. This was so unfair.
“It’s okay, Emily. You’re right. They need it more than me. I’ll manage,” said Vashti.
Her words came out slow and strained, the Leviathan forcing her will over Vashti to deny the girl of a cure. Perhaps the Coven would think that Vashti had taken Madison’s words about her selfishness to heart, unaware that she was internally screaming herself ragged. The Leviathan forced Vashti to smile an unnatural smile at Emily, as if two spectral fingers had pushed the corner of her lips up for her. She turned and walked towards her deckchair in a near catatonic state, sat down on the edge of it, and stared at the ground in horror.
Estylwen
Punished GN
AtomicEmperor
FernStone
NoriWasHere
Arkitekt
Damycles
Fetzen
Atrocious
