Azereiah

Balbasorus Academy

Hugo tilted his head to the side. Ember didn't seem like the kind of person who'd be called Diablo, but if that was what she wanted to be called, he'd happily oblige her. Both were obviously nonhuman. He didn't think it would be polite to point out their 'unusual' features, though. He had to catch himself whenever his eyes strayed to a tail or wing. That seemed impolite too.

"Good to meet both of you. So, about that tour...?"

Third time was the charm. He managed to avoid rhyming this time.

Balbasorus Academy

Hugo, sensing something vaguely resembling confusion from the felid girl, begins making a focused effort to speak like a normal person. He fails on his first try, to his displeasure. The music in his head isn't about to let him go without a rhyme this time around.

"Ah, thank you! I'm Hugo, but you can call me Hugh."

Balbasorus Academy

@Neko of Death

No problem. It doesn't have to be super fast paced for me. :)

Balbasorus Academy

@Neko of Death

In that case, I suppose I'm addressing it to you and @Firegirl1015. :P

Balbasorus Academy

@Neko of Death

I'm not actually sure who is present in the courtyard at the moment, so I left it open. :'D

Balbasorus Academy

Hugo, the Human

A young man in a tan suit walked through the courtyard of Balbasorus Academy. He was, of course, completely out-of-place there. The nonhumans wandering about eyed him cautiously, but school rules kept them from causing him any trouble... And it was obvious that he wouldn't be there if he didn't have some sort of power. He placed his suitcase on the ground and turned his pipe upside down, giving it a few taps to dump the ash into the dirt, and he refilled and relit his pipe. He then retrieved his suitcase and continued on his merry way down a path towards one of the buildings.

He approached the first person who didn't instinctively avoid him, armed with a single question. Entirely on accident, he phrased it with a simple rhyme, framing it with a short wave of his pipe in his free hand.

"I'm new, though I'm not sure about you. Which way is the dormitory?"

Balbasorus Academy

Hugo Schumacher

Name: Hugo Schumacher. Goes by Hugo or Hugh.

Age: 17

Appearance:
Hugo is unusually tall for his age, standing at roughly 6'4". He is by no means skinny, though, and instead appears very athletic, like a swimmer. Though mostly of German descent, he has a slightly darker skin tone and short, neatly combed black hair, with a greying goatee. High and sharp cheekbones suggest some degree of Greek ancestry as well.

He wears lightly colored suits - often beige, pink, white, or light grey, and carries a red handkerchief in his left side breast pocket. Dark tortoiseshell rimmed, square glasses sit upon his face. On hot days, the suit jacket comes off and is replaced with a comfortable vest of some sort.

Personality: Hugo is... A beat poet?

He is somewhat on the enigmatic side. He has difficulty not speaking as a poet, as music has been woven into the tapestry of his soul from day one. Despite speaking in rhythm, though, he is an honest man, and very helpful and friendly to his friends, though his help always carries a price of some sort - be it an owed favor, hard cash, a meal, or advice on how to improve his wordcrafting.

He is especially fond of soft instrumental music and all forms of rap and poetry.

When he's not busy with his writing and homework, he can be found standing outside in a common area, puffing away at an old, black pipe. Attempts at treating his addiction have been met with Words of Force.

He speaks with an odd accent -- German in nature, but adulterated with years of having lived in London with his family.

Species: Human?

Powers: Music and poetry, woven into the world as though they are laws of nature in and of themselves. Hugo currently knows how to create barriers with words of power, and how to manipulate distance and lighting.

Weaknesses: Any weakness normally present in a human. Time, as well, as the spoken word carries his power and will not manifest in the world until released.

Other: How much pipe tobacco does this guy even go through, anyway? Is that even tobacco?!

His family is respectable enough, though not particularly wealthy. His mother left his family when he was rather young, and his father retained custody. At four years old, his father remarried. At twelve, his family moved from Brussels to London in search of work, and only in the past year has his wordcrafting improved to the point at which he needed to be transferred to Balbasorus Academy. No sad stories here.

Raaawk

Name: Raaawk

Age: 12

Appearance: Raaawk stands at 7'4" from head to toe, and 13' long from nose to tail - a tiny fraction of the size of a fully grown wyvern. He is exceedingly thin, rather than bulky like other species of dragon, with a total wingspan of fifteen feet. Beginning at the crown of his head, brilliantly colored plumage coats his body all the way down to the tip of his enormous tail.

Two enormous legs, tipped in three-toed claws support him at the midpoint. Whereas a full dragon is a winged quadruped, Raaawk and his wyvern kin are bipedal, with wings tipped in prehensile claws. Raaawk's wings, while feathered along the upper arm and forearm, are membranous like those of a bat, albeit colored with a beautiful shine.

His head is almost exactly like that of a raptor, save for a plume of feathers rising up between his eyes, and a second plume of feathers sweeping back downwards across his chin like a goatee. He has shining, predatorial, golden eyes.

Personality: Raaawk is a very territorial creature, and will protect his "nest" at all costs. He will also protect those he considers to be his tribe from any and all harm. Unfortunately, due to not being a humanoid creature, his specific personality is hard to pin down.

But he seems to be very friendly, for the most part. Spends his time taking classes or 'singing' outside (more like birdsong than anything normal).

Species: Feathered Rainbow Wyvern

Powers: He's basically a dragon. He flies and spits fire. What did you expect?

Weaknesses: Head pats and belly rubs.

Other: Raaawk doesn't speak much, due to lack of a humanoid mouth. He prefers to write to communicate, as his speech is performed similarly to a massive parrot, and isn't very pleasant to listen to.

Balbasorus Academy

@Neko of Death

I'm thinking that he's definitely a "monster" in his own rights, although not a completely non-human one. ;)

I'll get an IC post up.

Omertà- A Superpower/Mafia Roleplay (Freshly Active Again -- Apply Now!)

Sergio, the Black Flag

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Out on business.

---

B^AN_G

^B_AN^G, _BA^NG

B^A_NG ^BAN_{G B}A^NG

_{Click. Click. Click.}

Smoke rose from the barrel of a shaking pistol. At the business end of the pistol, man dressed in a checkered vest and black slacks, with shining glasses sitting over top of a black bandana, was outlined by a series of holes in the door frame in which he stood, and he was leaning on a sledgehammer as though it were a cane. Beneath the glasses, his eye twitched in anger and fear, and he looked down at himself. No blood. A quick patdown showed that there was no blood coming from anywhere that he could tell, and he turned his head to look at the series of holes around him. Wood was splintered and the door's hinges were smashed to dysfunction, and yet he still stood, completely alive. Shakily, he turned his head to the man holding the gun.

"Are you fucking kidding me?", the man in the black bandana screamed. His voice would have been a smooth baritone were he not shouting, and in his anger, he slipped into an extremely heavy Spanish accent.

The other man, holding the pistol, was slowly backing into a corner in what appeared to be a small parlour. A door in the corner opened up to a hallway, and across the hallway in another room was a child, tied to a chair and gagged.

"I come here for a little fucking conversation, and you pull a gun?", he continued. "You kidnap a kid, you mail a god damn ransom note with a return address on it to his mother, and then you try to fucking shoot me when I come for some simple negotiations?"

The man in the black bandana's face was red with rage. He picked up the sledgehammer and hefted it over his shoulder, and stepped into the parlour. He took a few moments to breathe, and slid a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket. With a shaking hand, he put the Camel to his mouth through a small hole in his bandana and fumbled for a few moments to find his lighter. With a flip and a click, he lit up his cigarette and returned the lighter to his pocket. The red subsided over a few minutes as he smoked half of his cigarette, and he walked to the kidnapper very slowly. He kneeled down in front of the kidnapper and put out the remainder of the lit cigarette on the man's shirt, prompting a pained yelp.

"Look. I was willing to deal with you before this, and... Y'know what? Fuck it. I'll still make a deal with you. A bit less equitable, but a deal nonetheless. You fucked with someone in Canaglia territory, so I'm going to fuck with you, and then you're going to leave town within the week. If you're still here in seven days, I'm coming back to finish the job."

He stood again and brought the sledgehammer head down on top of a wooden shelf, smashing it to pieces. The kidnapper dropped the empty gun and scrambled into a corner. The man in the bandana smashed the remaining pieces a couple more times until he had a suitable piece of wood, which he broke over his knee to just a bit under shoulder height. He then ripped the tablecloth off of a short table in the parlour and wrapped it around one end of the piece of wood as a pad. "You'll need this."

He placed the makeshift crutch against the wall and brought the sledgehammer back to his shoulder, and kneeled back down in front of the kidnapper, who was shaking in utter terror. He untied the kidnapper's tie and stuffed it into the man's mouth. "This is going to hurt a lot. You'll want to bite that tie really, really hard."

He stood again and swung the sledgehammer downwards at the kidnapper's left thigh. The sound of cracking bone and muffled screams filled the parlour, and the black bandana'd man walked to free the kidnapped child, mumbling to himself as he eyed the craters in the walls. A window across the street was broken by a stray round, and he noted the address so he could return and repair the damage later.

^{"God damn... If that wasn't divine providence, I don't know what is. 4505 Hemingway Street... Better patch that up when I get the chance."}

---

Sergio returned to the Canaglias' main office and knocked three times. The doorman opened the front door, and Sergio tugged the black bandana, now lightly splattered with blood. Sergio then handed the doorman his sledgehammer and walked in. "Is the Don in? Finished the job. Guy put up a fight, and we've got a bullet hole in a window at 4505 Hemingway."

The doorman mumbled a response.

"A meeting, you say...? Thanks, amigo. I'll go wait outside his office for orders."

With that, Sergio untied the bandana from his neck and stuffed it back into his pocket, and made his way up to the office door. It was closed, and so Sergio took a seat on a bench outside the door. Some minutes passed, and in his impatience, he stood and gave two short knocks at Corvi's office door. He wasn't yet the most trusted associate, but given the business he had had to attend to, the Don would likely want to know how it went. Public image was extremely important in this business, after all. And, as an added bonus, Sergio figured he might be given another job to do.

Mentions

@LostDestiny@KimmiNinja@GingerBoi123@GrizzTheMauler

Is that everyone still in the office? Hope I didn't miss anyone.

Omertà- A Superpower/Mafia Roleplay (Freshly Active Again -- Apply Now!)

A Spanish Revolutionary

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"Ah, shit. Now look what you've made me do."

---

Name: Sergio Valdez

Alias: Black Flag

Age: 38

Appearance:


Sergio is a refined gentleman, generally found wearing black slacks and a checkered vest over a white dress shirt. Every day he wears a differently patterned tie, and he hasn't been seen to wear the same one more than once in a month. A low quality watch sits on his left wrist. A bulge in his breast pocket indicates a hidden weapon of some sort -- likely a pocket pistol.

Position: New recruit -- Soldier.

Speciality: Propaganda development and distribution, trade agreements, force multiplier.

Personality: Sergio is a member of the Confederación Nacional del Trabajo. As such, he is an anarchist, and believes strongly in mutual respect amongst the members of the working class. He disapproves of the United States government and its police forces, and views them as oppressors fighting to keep the working man down.

Respect, honesty, honor, and fairness are his highest priorities. Those who do not show respect to the average worker are respectfully dealt with. Sergio is known to have a vicious streak when dealing with those who he feels do not uphold the values of respect, honesty, and honor -- and he is quite aware of this fact. He has some anger management problems as well, which oftentimes lead him to break his own code, much to his despair, and he deflects blame for his own violence onto his victims.

He is a romantic -- a lover of freedom, of experience, of escapism. To this end he writes poetry. Badly.

History: Sergio was a factory worker in Spain for fifteen years before he joined the CNT, and then he continued his work for five years further before his belief in the power of unions strengthened enough to try to spread the good message. One day he packed his bags and jumped on the first available boat to the United States in order to teach its citizens about syndicalism, and when the boat arrived at Ellis Island, he was amazed at the Statue of Liberty and at the efficiency of the immigration checkpoint. His English was rather spotty at the time, but over the past couple years he has become fluent in the language, and eventually found himself in Otropolis in search of other immigrants from his home country.

Seeing the working conditions in Otropolis hardened him and drove him to terrorism. The police harassed immigrants and the poor. Bankers put forth exploitative, high interest loans. Children of men and women working full time were begging on the streets. Over the course of a week, he managed to put together a gang of vigilantes to fight against the slavish conditions in the city, and for months, he and his allies rode around town at night, smashing windows and lighting police cars ablaze, until one day they were caught by the North Scharole High Rollers in the middle of an attempt at bombing a high profile lending business. The explosives were defused well before they went off, and Sergio and his allies were tortured, shot, and left for dead in a back alley. Anger at his failure and the love of his friends brought him back from the brink of death -- but only him. The others didn't make it, and alone once more, Sergio took to the streets to find allies.

Rumors of a mob family that treated its members well and fought to protect the people in its territory brought him to the East Canaglia Gang, where he offered his services. Though he was met with skepticism initially, the amount of enthusiasm he has put into his work is earning him trust and respect. The High Rollers do not yet know he is still alive, and he hopes to eventually give them the good news, preferably in the form of a petrol bomb through a window.

Power: Unity of the Proletariat

Sergio's power is directly proportional to the support he gains from his Comrades. While completely alone both in person and in spirit, he is no stronger than a single man. However, when working amongst his comrades, he feeds off of camaraderie to feed his abilities. Those around him, including himself, find themselves healing faster than normal and lighter on their feet, with increased stamina, and he radiates a feeling of strength to those he considers his allies. The effect feels similar to feeding the party an unhealthy dose of amphetamines.

He acts as a force multiplier, and through the strength channeled through his spirit, nearly impossible odds become more possible to overcome. Beware rash action, however. Despite the well of power present in Sergio, he cannot prevent anybody from dying if they do something stupid. It's merely a subtle manipulation of odds and emotion, and the sense of power may push him and others to try to do more than they're capable of.

Extra: He is the Gang's top contact to Spanish criminals and workers. If ever a product needs to be exported to Europe, he's your man. He enjoys smoking filterless Camel cigarettes and watching passersby on the streets.