Name: George Ellington Alias: Gambol Age: 16 Gender: Male
Appearance:
To the average Japanese citizen, George has an appearance that screams “foreigner”. A lanky frame standing just under 1.9 metres if you include his gelled, gravity-defying pompadour, dusty brown hair, and wide, rambunctious blue eyes are clear indicators of his ethnicity. Besides his physical features, the most prominent clue to his heritage is his fashion sense. The Illinois native can usually be found in his trademark leather jacket, boasting 50s greaser fashion or any other archaic American style. It would not be unreasonable to assume that George was some half-rate Elvis impersonator with his rollicking charm, bedazzled jackets and voluminous ‘do.
History:
The Ellingtons immigrated to Japan when George was four years old, hence making it near impossible for him to have integrated into the culture as deeply as he would have others believe. Being the only foreigner in a class full of Japanese kids, little Georgie became the centre of attention. Little Georgie decided that he rather enjoyed this position. Before the novelty of being a foreigner ran out, he picked up some visual tics to cement his position as someone worth looking at. Inspired by the vinyl records his father had shipped from their home in Illinois, George began dressing strangely, picking up strange hobbies and becoming more and more outlandish as the years passed.
Learning to dance was simple enough, though his freestyle moves left something to be desired. The circus tricks weren’t too absurd either, a balancing act there and a bit of juggling too. The Ellingtons were more than willing to pay the expenses of the boy’s whims if it meant keeping his grades up.
It was during the first year of middle school that Academy City first drew his eye. A whole city-state full of souped-up whackos? Now that sounded like a blast! It only took a bit of persuading to convince his parents but in the end they reluctantly agreed. As long as it kept him out of trouble, right?
Personality:
George is one “cool cat”, as he likes to emphasize time and time again. He's loud, rowdy, excitable, someone who is always trying to find the thrill in mundane life. Optimism is like a freakin' plague around this guy. How could it not be, with this brother who's always willing to help out a pal, no matter how ridiculous the job.
Yeah, you won't be callin' him a wet rag any time soon. George is a performer at heart. A natural showman who thrives under the spotlight. Hell, it'd be more accurate to call him an attention whore. The flashier the tricks, the easier it is to rake in the dough, right? Still, he puts a surprisingly honest amount of effort into his developing his show. The smiles make all the scrapes worth.
Despite his rockabilly aura, George is quite the klutz, physically and socially. To a casual acquaintance, he is more likely to be known for his clumsiness than his flamboyance. Well meaning as he is, it'd be a terrible idea to trust him with any kind of secret. His physical clumsiness shows its colors so frequently that it is a wonder that he has remained in one piece after so many years of living. People are more likely to tip him out of pity than because of his skill. Nevertheless, George possesses an indomitable will and enthusiasm. Sticks and stone can break his bones but you'd have to set all his possessions on fire before you even nick his spirit. He takes all his misfortunes in his stride, assuring himself that he’ll do better next time around.
Lastly, George constantly speaks in a selection of 50s and 60s slang. Something about “good vibes”, he claims. It is unknown how he manages to keep this up in English, much less in Japanese.
Esper Power:
Level 3: Grav Zone – Within a radius of five metres George can manipulate gravity, increasing it or decreasing it completely. The power applies to everything in the radius including George himself, though he can pick and choose which and how objects in the radius are manipulated, as long as they are in his line of sight. Gravity Zone doesn’t manipulate any forces or vectors besides gravity. For example if someone throws a dumbbell at George while Gravity Zone is activated, George can make it drop to the ground as soon as it enters the radius. However if George doesn’t make it drop hard enough to embed itself in the ground immediately, it will probably keep sliding due to its horizontal velocity and crush his toe.
George primarily uses his ability to perform balancing acts and acrobatic dances. It is also incredibly handy for transporting heavy goods like the Hot Box and leaping from building to building. In theory, George could jump to the moon if he wanted to but his parents have strictly forbidden him from it.
- Makes a decent buck with his busking. On weekends he can be found in the shopping district, casually lugging his Hot Box around, trying to find a decent spot to perform.
- Initially wanted throwing knives to complete his Hot Box collection. His parents forbade him from ever bringing it up again and immediately took away his credit card privileges.
On his person – Smartphone, lighter, swiss army knife, bag of skittles
In the Hot Box – Chopsticks, juggling pins, juggling balls, spinning plates, foldout chairs, unicycle wheel (he couldn’t fit the whole unicycle in), novelty anvil, bowling ball, various pieces of colored paper, pens and pencils, square piece of cardboard that folds open to around nine meters squared, fedora for tips.
Wren was downright restless inside the carriage, pacing from one window to the next and stopping only every so often to try and scratch at her newly acquired mark. With each step, the trinkets around her neck clacked together like little wooden chimes. She missed the birds. She missed the trees. She missed the air. Was it stuffy in here, or was it just her? It was stuffy. Super stuffy. Why did they have to wait inside this thing? Why were there so many people outside?
Defeated and overwhelmed, Wren finally threw herself back onto the seat, propping her elbows up on the ridiculously huge bag of belongings she'd insisted on bringing. She stared out the window and felt a tiny sense of calm at the sight of the sky, but she still didn't like it. She didn't like any of this. But she liked Amelie and apparently that had been enough. Gee, when did she ever get to be so stupid?
Wren scrunched up her nose and sniffled in annoyance, briefly running her pinky along the inside of one nostril and disposing of the offending booger before burying her face in her bag. A barely audible sound of disapproval vibrated from Wren's throat.
Stifling a chuckle, Amelie fetched her handkerchief and reached over to properly dispose of her partner's booger. She'd noticed the Sixths' expressions when they caught sight of the forest-dweller. There was one in particular whose nose kept flaring and whose mouth had turned into a perfectly horizontal line as soon as Wren entered. The line seemed to thin with every passing second.
"It is rather cramped in here, huh?" Amelie whispered to Wren placatingly, folding away the handkerchief.
Wren lifted her head and glanced at Amelie, just long enough to roll her eyes and nod before resting her cheek against the bag. She still didn't get it. Amelie was so excited to come here. An emperor, a war, a bond, a ritual. Just a few of the words she'd heard repeated over the last several days and still she had no idea what any of it had to do with Balwyn Forest. A forest was a forest no matter who thought they owned it. Amelie could have just lived with her.
But nooo.
"I can't breathe," was all that Wren muttered, feeling it was the best way to describe her current predicament.
Amelie looked out the window, trying to observe the quality of the paving as the horses trotted towards their destination. The sound of their steps had definitely been changing as they got closer to their destination.
"We're definitely almost there. If it's the stuffiness you're worried about..."
The brunette reached for the window knob, only to find that it was jammed. Wren perked up, hat seeming to look a bit less droopy at the idea of an open window. She eagerly watched her friend fiddle with the contraption. A few further rattles provided no result.
"Oh. Well, maybe I can..."
Her roaming hand turned the carriage door open, trying to crack it open slightly. The breeze might have been relaxing, had it not wrenched the handle out of her hand and sent the entire door slamming open with a loud thud. Wind rushed through, sending strands of hair into her face and any loose petals on Wren's arrangement flying around in a whirl. Amelie winced when the accompanying Sixth shouted from behind them.
Wren cringed at the loud bang, but scurried over the moment she noticed the open doorway. Completely unphased by the displeased shouting, Wren promptly snuck around Amelie (close, but never touching), stuck her nose out into the open air, and inhaled gratefully. She gripped the doorframe tightly and stayed there, simply breathing with her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them to see the large estate. A massive gate, which to Wren seemed obnoxiously unnecessary, loomed at the entrance up ahead.
"Woah. We're...we're actually here!"
Amelie, too, leaned out the doorway, admiring the sheer size and splendor of the estate as the horses slowed at the gate. As the driver conversed with the gatekeepers, the Sixth hurried over to the empowered bond. He implored them to stay put through half-breaths, somehow having gotten himself winded by his panic and the rush over.
"Uhhhh," Amelie looked to Wren, "He wants us to close the door."
Wren wrinkled her nose, quickly turning to look down at the man who was making the request. The carriage granted her some height, serving as something of a reminder. She and Amelie were important, weren't they? Isn't that why THEY needed THEM to save the kingdom?
Wren glared down her nose at the man before positioning herself more squarely in the doorway, evidently preparing to exit.
"Any chance we can walk the rest of the way, sir?" Amelie shrugged in response to the man's exasperated expression. She knew full well what Wren's intentions were.
The only response was a dumbfounded stare.
'Any chance'? Wren looked between Amelie and the man for a moment. The reasoning seemed sound and she was happy to prove it. She promptly hopped down from the carriage, feeling the refreshing texture of solid ground through the thinly worn sections of leather beneath her boots. Wren took a few steps and then immediately turned to ensure Amelie survived the small jump from the carriage.
Survive, she did. The Celestial Knight wasn't just going to let her partner wander around a strange new location all by herself. As she hopped down, the lion-headed gates began to open, revealing more of the most beautiful garden she'd ever laid eyes on. The guards seemed occupied with the drivers ahead.
"Please," the Sixth panted, "I implore you. Just return to your carriage."
"I..." Amelie glanced at the garden, having a very good feeling about what her partner was about to do.
Wren turned to face the gate as soon as Amelie safely touched the ground. Her mouth fell open and she stared, stepping forward like a moth drawn to light. One hand pressed over her heart, Wren looked from one flower to the next. There were so many! And such variety! Flowers she'd never seen more than once! Flowers she'd only seen in Amelie's books! Flowers flowers flowers! And the smell was amazing.
She stopped just short of the gate, regarding the large metal contraption with an irritated snort.
"Wren, don't stand too close to the horses," Amelie called out, her gaze following the short girl. With dismay, she spotted the guards beginning to open the gate, with Wren standing right before them. "Oh, sirs, that might not--"
"Yes, she should get away from the barn animals," the churchman sniffed, "Even if she fits in right among them."
Immediately, Amelie's mouth shut. Her expression froze into a hurt glare. It didn't seem like their escort appreciated them very much.
The gates finally opened.
Wren staggered back, narrowly avoiding the horses and left with a scarce chance to respond to the churchman's insult. Back at Amelie's side, she managed a hateful scowl before evidently deciding he wasn't worth the time. Her attention returned to what lied beyond the gate, eagerly waiting for a chance to rummage through the garden.
She looked to Amelie, coal black eyes shimmering with excitement. This having been the first truly great thing to happen so far, she fully expected her friend to appreciate it properly.
Amelie maintained her glare. Her father had warned her about city folk, that her disposition would have them walk all over her if she wasn't careful. Add 'that walking bird's nest' to the mix and it would make things harder on herself. It had only been a warning, not an instruction, thankfully. Amelie squirmed, unsure of what to do with this sudden frustration. Part of her wanted to grab Wren's wrist and run through those open gates just to spite the man who'd insulted her friend without even trying to understand. But those guards had weapons. Very sharp ones. But even if they were weaponless, Amelie doubted she'd be able to summon the will to rush past them. After all, why hadn't she said anything to the Sixth?
The brunette's fist curled as she glanced at Wren, her eagerness, and all at once the dark feelings fell away. Right. They were here for a reason. Forcing a smile back on her face, she began climbing back onto the carriage.
"W-we're keeping the door open," she declared, failing to produce a defiant tone, "C'mon up, Wren. Just a bit longer."
"Tch," crestfallen, but more so shocked, Wren looked at the garden longingly for a moment before grumpily following after Amelie. At least the door was open. Wren took her seat on the floor of the carriage, dangling one foot out the door as she continued to admire the flowers from afar. It wasn't like her current arrangement was close to death or anything, but.... She'd have to be downright nuts to pass up an opportunity like this one.
Evidently Wren's perception of how long they'd be staying there was severely warped. "The blue ones," Wren said suddenly, peeking at Amelie out of the corner of her eye. Wren recognized them from Amelie's book, but couldn't procure a name.
"Delphiniums," Amelie recited the name, momentarily snapped out of her funk. Of course, Wren was still fixated on the flowers. She always knew what she wanted. Amelie glanced back at her partner, then out the door.
To hell with it.
She murmured so the churchman wouldn't notice, "You can always wait until we're past the gate."
"Delphiniums," Wren repeated to herself, even though she knew she'd never remember. There wasn't any need to anyway. Amelie would always be there to tell her again.
Wren leaned back on her arms, perking up once more at Amelie's suggestion. She turned to her partner with a mischevious smirk and a short nod, though impatience continued to fester inside.
Well, it was pretty clear that the servants were not their biggest fans.
Amelie flopped onto the bed with a sigh, watching idly as Wren meticulously adjusted the flowers on her hat. Her own bed, of course. Wren's was on the other side of the room they shared. Her request, since Wren didn't seem to mind. The faces the servants had worn when they could finally leave the empowered duo to their lodgings wasn't something she'd forget anytime soon. Rather rude, for sure, but she couldn't exactly blame them. The garden tour had barely fallen short of a disaster that would have gotten the two of them evicted by Carridan himself. And Amelie didn't even want to recall what had transpired in the kitchen.
These weren't complaints, mind you. Amelie knew what she had signed up for when the two of them performed the ceremony. Rocky beginnings were to be expected. And maybe most of this was her fault, dragging them so far from the fields of Balwyn. Taking Wren along on something that was based solely on her own whims and dropping the both of them so far out of their comfort zones.
No. No, they hadn't even finished their first day. She just needed to stay positive and work harder. Two things she excelled at, especially when Wren was by her side.
With new invigoration, she sat up.
"How are you feeling about this place? Like, the whole place."
Wren methodically returned her hat to her head before looking up at Amelie. She pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side-- a tell-tale sign that she was thinking a little harder than usual.
"Smells nice, I guess... Don't like the people... and there are too many--" Walls. Doors. Rooms.
The mansion was like a maze. If not for their bedroom window and Amelie, Wren was certain she wouldn't be able to sleep here. As it were, Wren couldn't help but feel anxious in such a new environment. Even a little trapped. But the last thing she wanted to do was look weak-- even in front of Amelie. So instead she waved her hand above her head, vaguely motioning to all the decor for which she couldn't find the word.
"Fancy..." she finally settled on.
"Yes, the people are rather...uh..." Amelie probably shouldn't have put so much effort into finding one word, "perplexing."
Her gaze moved to the window, the tree next to it. Would Wren be able to get to it safely at night?
"Is it a good or bad fancy?"
Wren shrugged, eyeing all the different things inside their room that constituted as fancy. "They're pretty, I guess but... kinda... stuffy...." She was referring, of course, to the mansion as a whole, but decided to leave it at that.
"Mmyeah," Amelie moved to open the window. The tree was a bit of a jump from the ledge but otherwise nothing her partner couldn't handle. "Nothing really compares to home, huh?"
"Yeah," Wren agreed, standing up to follow Amelie to the window. She stared outside curiously.
A knock on the door and a soft voice informed them that dinner was to be served soon. And with that, the first gathering of the Celestial Bonds.
"Oh, the others..."
She began rooting through the dresser, sorting through the provided garments. Meanwhile, Wren moved closer to the freshly opened window, sticking her head out so far her toes didn't touch the floor. She dangled there for a moment, contentedly kicking her feet before the sudden growling of her stomach sent her back inside. She looked expectedly at Amelie, who still seemed fixated on the clothes in the dresser.
"We'll be having dinner soon," Amelie smiled back and held aloft two expensive looking dresses. "I think they want us to dress up for the occasion."
Wren immediately frowned, stepping forward to inspect them. She leaned over and pinched the fabric gingerly, rolling it between her fingers.
"Looks itchy," she surmised. "Is this a... requirement?"
Wren frowned again. She had heard that word tossed around a lot lately. And had decided quite quickly that it wasn't one she liked. Just barely visible from beneath the brim of her had, Wren's dark eyes met with Amelie's.
There was no pleading in them, but Amelie knew by now that when Wren asked if something was a requirement, she didn't want to do it. But she would. She would do it for Amelie.
Wren subconsciously itched at her mark.
Amelie had to think it over.
She wasn't ashamed of her relationship with Wren, nor of Wren herself. But she'd heard the servant's whispers. Seen the other groups that were touring the estate at the same time as them. There was going to be a fair amount of nobility present. They, even moreso Amelie, had duties to fulfill where the upper classes were concerned. This first impression had to count.
"I'm afraid it is," the brunette sighed, knowing how much they both disliked that word.
Wren sighed through her nose, dipping her head towards the ground just enough so that her eyes were no longer visible. She held both arms out for the dress in question.
Amelie handed the dress over with a rueful smile, sniffing the air while she did. Oh dear. There definitely wasn't enough time for a bath. None that would entirely erase Wren's, uh, distinctive scent anyway. They'd need a whole week for such a daring endeavor.
Amelie took another quick breath. Hm. On second thought, this was one of her better days. Hopefully the other guests wouldn't mind it too much.
"Tell you what," Amelie said as she began hurriedly undressing, knowing that there would be quite the figurative storm ahead, "as soon as we're done with everything around dinner, we'll go straight to one of the gardens. Get some of those delphiniums for you."
Wren walked towards her allotted bed, holding the dress out in front of her like a live snake. Tossing it on the comfortor, she carefully removed her cloak and vest. Small crumbs of dirt and leaves fell to the floor. Her clothing was clearly unaccostumed to being removed. Stopping at her tunic, Wren set aside her hat and began searching the dress for the opening through which she was meant to put it on.
By the time Amelie had voiced her suggestion, Wren was throroughly tangled. One of the feather braids in her hair had crossed a lace somewhere, and one arm was sticking out of its proper sleeve while the other seemed bent and pinned to the side of her face. She wriggled and squirmed in stubborn silence.
Half-done with tying her dress, Amelie stifled a giggle.
"There's no shame in asking for help," she remarked. Using her thumb and forefinger to minimise contact, she tugged at alternating sections of the dress until Wren finally fit comfortably.
Wren didn't comment; her opinion on asking for help was quite sound. She would have untangled herself eventually. Her mouth thinned into a small line as she immediately looked down at the dress, turning her arms every which way and straining to see over her shoulder. It didn't fit right with her tunic and feathers underneath, but at least she was wearing it. That was enough, right? She gave Amelie a curt nod of thanks before putting both her hat and cloak back on and waiting at the door.
Putting the finishing touches on her braid, Amelie looked the forest dweller up and down. It...wasn't great, admittedly, but it was the best they would probably be able to do on short notice. There was still plenty of concern about the other guests but...
Amelie squared her shoulders.
They could do this. They could do anything together. It wasn't like they were completely unpresentable. Her sister always said it was what's on the inside that mattered. As long as the guests had open minds and down-to-earth dispositions, it shouldn't be too awkward.
Amelie stared into her food, eating nothing. Her jaw remained slightly open from the sheer dismay she felt, an inadequacy she felt was getting hammered into her being with every passing introduction.
Wren, on the other hand, wasted no time in helping herself. She certainly tried to listen, but such titles and phrases meant little more than nothing to someone like her. As did the concept of using utensils. Fortunately, Amelie had taught her a thing or two about proper fork, spoon, and knife usage... but old habits died hard. Especially hard in Wren's case.
She gripped the spoon like a toddler, trying to fit as much as much onto her fork as possible before attempting a bite-- sometimes resorting to the use of her hands. When it came to the steak, Wren didn't even remember her knife until after doing her best to quietly tear at it with her teeth.
When the last word was spoken, she turned to Amelie. 'Romance'. She thought she'd heard it before, but... she didn't care to remember where. Whatever it was, the lady seemed awful pleased with herself. In an irritable sort of way. Mouth full, she waited, as if for a translation. Before she could recieve one, however, one of the 'bonds' began their introduction. Each person more fancy than the next, it seemed. Her eyes especially lingered on the man with strawberry blonde hair, whose features and attire seemed, to her, the most perfectly suited, though she couldn't explain why.
When it came time for Amelie and Wren to introduce themselves, she was blissfully unaware, having stopped eating long enough to curiously observe the assortment of new faces at the table.
Amelie stood. Suddenly, her dress felt very loose. Suddenly, the nobles seemed to be so far beyond where she was supposed to be.
She was nothing more than a girl playing dress-up.
"Wren and Amelie..." she trailed off where her surname was meant to be said, noting the Rochean noble at the table. Almost immediately, she amended her accent to something more commonly found in their rural home region. "We hail from Balwyn and..."
Was this the part where they talked about their powers? But only the Arden fellow had prepared anything. He hadn't even looked at any notes. Amelie considered it for a second before realising that she'd left her sentence unfinished.
"...a-and it is an honor to serve with you all in the future. We hope to be of service...too. Thank you."
With a hasty curtsy, she sat back into her seat, clearly embarrassed.
Wren stood with Amelie after what seemed like a moment's consideration. When she finished so suddenly, Wren remained out of her seat, looking around the table like she might have something to add. A few seconds passed and she promptly sat down again.
Name: George Ellington Alias: Gambol Age: 16 Gender: Male
Appearance:
To the average Japanese citizen, George has an appearance that screams “foreigner”. A lanky frame standing just under 1.9 metres if you include his gelled, gravity-defying pompadour, dusty brown hair, and wide, rambunctious blue eyes are clear indicators of his ethnicity. Besides his physical features, the most prominent clue to his heritage is his fashion sense. The Illinois native can usually be found in his trademark leather jacket, boasting 50s greaser fashion or any other archaic American style. It would not be unreasonable to assume that George was some half-rate Elvis impersonator with his rollicking charm, bedazzled jackets and voluminous ‘do.
History:
The Ellingtons immigrated to Japan when George was four years old, hence making it near impossible for him to have integrated into the culture as deeply as he would have others believe. Being the only foreigner in a class full of Japanese kids, little Georgie became the centre of attention. Little Georgie decided that he rather enjoyed this position. Before the novelty of being a foreigner ran out, he picked up some visual tics to cement his position as someone worth looking at. Inspired by the vinyl records his father had shipped from their home in Illinois, George began dressing strangely, picking up strange hobbies and becoming more and more outlandish as the years passed.
Learning to dance was simple enough, though his freestyle moves left something to be desired. The circus tricks weren’t too absurd either, a balancing act there and a bit of juggling too. The Ellingtons were more than willing to pay the expenses of the boy’s whims if it meant keeping his grades up.
It was during the first year of middle school that Academy City first drew his eye. A whole city-state full of souped-up whackos? Now that sounded like a blast! It only took a bit of persuading to convince his parents but in the end they reluctantly agreed. As long as it kept him out of trouble, right?
Personality:
George is one “cool cat”, as he likes to emphasize time and time again. He's loud, rowdy, excitable, someone who is always trying to find the thrill in mundane life. Optimism is like a freakin' plague around this guy. How could it not be, with this brother who's always willing to help out a pal, no matter how ridiculous the job.
Yeah, you won't be callin' him a wet rag any time soon. George is a performer at heart. A natural showman who thrives under the spotlight. Hell, it'd be more accurate to call him an attention whore. The flashier the tricks, the easier it is to rake in the dough, right? Still, he puts a surprisingly honest amount of effort into his developing his show. The smiles make all the scrapes worth.
Despite his rockabilly aura, George is quite the klutz, physically and socially. To a casual acquaintance, he is more likely to be known for his clumsiness than his flamboyance. Well meaning as he is, it'd be a terrible idea to trust him with any kind of secret. His physical clumsiness shows its colors so frequently that it is a wonder that he has remained in one piece after so many years of living. People are more likely to tip him out of pity than because of his skill. Nevertheless, George possesses an indomitable will and enthusiasm. Sticks and stone can break his bones but you'd have to set all his possessions on fire before you even nick his spirit. He takes all his misfortunes in his stride, assuring himself that he’ll do better next time around.
Lastly, George constantly speaks in a selection of 50s and 60s slang. Something about “good vibes”, he claims. It is unknown how he manages to keep this up in English, much less in Japanese.
Esper Power:
Level 3: Grav Zone – Within a radius of five metres George can manipulate gravity, increasing it or decreasing it completely. The power applies to everything in the radius including George himself, though he can pick and choose which and how objects in the radius are manipulated, as long as they are in his line of sight. Gravity Zone doesn’t manipulate any forces or vectors besides gravity. For example if someone throws a dumbbell at George while Gravity Zone is activated, George can make it drop to the ground as soon as it enters the radius. However if George doesn’t make it drop hard enough to embed itself in the ground immediately, it will probably keep sliding due to its horizontal velocity and crush his toe.
George primarily uses his ability to perform balancing acts and acrobatic dances. It is also incredibly handy for transporting heavy goods like the Hot Box and leaping from building to building. In theory, George could jump to the moon if he wanted to but his parents have strictly forbidden him from it.
- Makes a decent buck with his busking. On weekends he can be found in the shopping district, casually lugging his Hot Box around, trying to find a decent spot to perform.
- Initially wanted throwing knives to complete his Hot Box collection. His parents forbade him from ever bringing it up again and immediately took away his credit card privileges.
On his person – Smartphone, lighter, swiss army knife, bag of skittles
In the Hot Box – Chopsticks, juggling pins, juggling balls, spinning plates, foldout chairs, unicycle wheel (he couldn’t fit the whole unicycle in), novelty anvil, bowling ball, various pieces of colored paper, pens and pencils, square piece of cardboard that folds open to around nine meters squared, fedora for tips.
“This’ll make a most enthralling tale, don’t you think?”
Full Name: Amelie Laurier Gender: Female Age: 20 Height: 5’7” (170 cm) Weight: 112 lbs (51 kg)
History: Born the third child of a former high-ranking banker, in an eastern village not even worth naming, Amelie would have despised her circumstances if she was capable of such an alarming emotion. Life was about as exciting as a sleepy town of 300 could be and while she loved her family and neighbours, the distant horizons and prospects of adventure were always calling. But the duty to her family remained. She whiled away the days peacefully. As her siblings pursued magical studies, Amelie learnt to read from her father and worked the lands with her mother.
Then her socks were stolen.
The culprit was a vengeful forest spirit at worst, and a ratchety, old vagrant at best. The truth was neither. It didn't take long to catch the thief red-handed: a strange girl with a strong gaze and even stronger odor. Eager to investigate this extraordinary occurence, Amelie began a dialogue of sorts, leaving food and provisions on the windowsill to find them replaced with small animal carvings later. This trade system was the beginning of a friendship that would transform the village girl's humdrum life.
Amelie's bags were packed before the Emperor's messenger had even finished speaking. Though the decree that they were to become warriors was daunting, this was their destiny. Their horizons were going to expand more than they could possibly imagine.
Brief Personality: Frequently described by fellow villagers as an all-around pleasure to be with, Amelie's positive disposition is likely the most distinct aspect you'll find upon first meeting. Polite even when she doesn't need to be, helping wherever she can, it is clear that the girl was raised to be a model citizen.
She possesses a naturally curious mind, one that may sometimes be too inquisitive for her own good. Poor intelligence isn't her vice here, rather it is ignorance and the naivety borne from that. Due to sheer inexperience, Amelie has a habit of seeing things the way she wants to see them, often assuming the best of people even when past encounters suggest otherwise. The tales she's devoured in her books has led her to romanticise the regions outside of Balwyn whilst underestimating the extent of the threats that loom outside the borders.
Emotional Bond: Friendship and unending adoration. What had begun as a mere distraction, a source of fascination and amusement, became a genuine connection over a very short time on Amelie's end. Wren was an adventure in a backwater town, an escape from the monotony of village life. However, it became apparent that the forest-dweller was more than just a storybook legend. She was a girl just like any other, lonely and strange and human. Following a particular adventure in the Balwyn Forests, Amelie became determined to stay by her friend's side, no matter what.
Despite the development in the relationship and occasional misplacement of Wren's ego, Amelie's exuberant admiration for the girl is still very genuine. Even with the passing of many years, the village girl is still fascinated by Wren's crafts and lifestyle, always waiting to see what intriguing thing her friend will do next.
Partner: Wren
Fighting Style: Swing and hit. That's all there is to it, right?
Amelie may be the farthest thing from a soldier as a person can get. In the chaos of a warzone, the best way to cope is to keep things simple and set herself clear objectives and parameters. Hit this, move here, shield them. She moves with a sense of clarity, as if the magic is guiding her actions instead of the other way around. Her unfamiliarity with her new abilities will most likely make it difficult for her to gauge her own strength, resulting in rather destructive incidents.
Equipment: - The standard luggage and provisions. - Handmade bracelet from Wren. - A small sack of Wren’s animal carvings. She didn’t have the heart to leave them behind. - Her emergency coin purse. - A hunting knife she bought as an afterthought.
Weaknesses: Inexperience and the subsequent lack of situational awareness that comes with it. As a simple village girl, for now she lacks the physical strength to wield a war hammer to its full potential. Amelie is easily distracted and will most likely be more focused on Wren instead of other important factors in battle. Dirty tactics will incapacitate and outsmart her if she has not encountered them before. Extended use of her Celestial Gear will take a toll on her ability to defer to others.
When the time comes to take a human life, Amelie's human empathy may cause her to hesitate in potentially fatal situations. The limb, however, is a whole different matter...
Name: Daphne
Type: War Hammer
Function: Dendroo - Amelie's right arm mutates into a gargantuan, multi-jointed, oak tree-esque appendage. The wood is gnarled, writhing and roped with leafy vines. The reformed limb is about as wide as she and is triple her height though Amelie seems unaffected by its mass, being able to swing it around with ease. At its 'base', the growth's roots embed itself into its wielder's side, covering about a third of her chest and jaw. The transformation process takes 10 seconds as her arm undergoes a rather grisly mutation. She can maintain this form for a maximum of 30 minutes and requires an hour-long rest period between each use.
As it currently lacks fingers or digits of any kind, Amelie's primary use for it at the moment is to use the immense strength that comes with the limb and bash it into whatever needs to be bashed. Its size also provides defensive properties, being able to act as a makeshift shield for Amelie and others. However, the wood is about as sturdy as standard hardwood and can indeed be broken under duress. Mobility is also another factor granted by the new arm, though a slight fear of heights makes Amelie hesitant to try this ability.
The limb does have its drawbacks. Opponents with the advantage of speed or even close range will find that the sheer bulk of the limb will make it difficult for Amelie to defend herself. Furthermore, Amelie's main body will be all but paralysed. Extreme strength and mobility in her magical arm comes at the cost of being able to properly move what remains of her human body.
Another drawback that is unknown to even Amelie is that her mental perception of herself as a human fades steadily with use, though its effects seem to revert as soon as she dissipates her Celestial Gear.
Likes: Fresh fruit, Wren’s crafts, the unknown. Dislikes: Tight shoes, tight dresses, cured meat. Hobbies: Reading, drawing, wandering through the woods, looking through Wren’s belongings, subsequently getting scolded by Wren.
Other: - Can't whistle. - Very good with dogs for some reason. - Sings better than Wren but neither of them will admit it. - Has a barely noticeable Rochean accent.
Like the drenched clothes clinging to his skin, Ernie's thoughts only seemed to drag at him more and more as he trudged back to the lighthouse.
He was miserable and for good fucking reason.
West had never made him fight city-crushing giants. West had never forced him into a team of psychopaths that had long since fallen off the edge of sanity. Hell, West had never made him get his food from a convenience store in a shitty, small-minded town with a shitty, small-minded store owner.
And most importantly, West had no Amigos. The same could be said for Reno.
Monsters could be trusted to be bloodthirsty. Tear apart a town with no ulterior motive. But Amigos? Dastardly, cruel, selfish humans. They terrified him more than any ice giant could. He'd seen the trigger fingers arrive in stained envelopes. The careless execution videos. The articles on massacres by the border. Sadistic, borderline-suicidal nutjobs. But somehow the thought of getting eviscerated by a Heph-knockoff's weapons was merely one biggest of Ernie's concerns. The fact that this team was being sent against subnaturals for the third mission in a row raised a dreadful question.
How long before they were sent against Senators?
It made his heart beat anxiously. Ernie didn't consider himself loyal. He'd never had the heart for it, or a cause worth fighting for. Maybe if Reno had gone differently he'd actually be capable of something. He doubted that. Seven years behind the counter had taught him well. They were scumbags through and through, often on a scale just as bad as the Amigos. If it were them against the Unit today, none of the students would have even gotten the chance to fight back.
Strangely enough, Ernie couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at that. He wasn't for the Senators but he definitely wasn't against them. If things had gone well, he would have been on the winning team. It was a cruel game he liked to put himself through, imagining what could have been. Lived a comfy life with Owen and his friends. Plan that webseries that his group at West had been pitching. Even here on the East Coast, if Ernie ever found the guts to actually do something...
He stopped himself there. Chuckled a bit.
What would he do? Follow Elvia's wishes and be an actor? What a fucking joke. He could do nothing, had done nothing the entire time he'd been stuck with East. He hadn't even realised that they'd lost three housestaff until halfway through the walk. Too busy watching his own back to even glance at their's. Elvia wasn't going to take that well and a shameful, selfish part of Ernie knew that if she truly was dead then it'd be better for him. He wouldn't have to see the look on her face when she eventually heard.
None of this mattered. He'd be dead, killed by mages far stronger than he and this team before he ever took the time to scrounge up some resolve. The only thing he could do now was deal with the situation at hand. Another try at the radio resulted in static. That only left the reason he walked back in the first place.
"Hey, we're heading to town," he called to no one in particular, "Probably a bad idea to stick around."
Taking into account that it's taken a whole year to have a single month's progression IC, it could be months (if not years) before slots get opened again, if we decide to open them at all. That being said, thanks for sticking around and thanks for the patience.
Christmas had huddled in the corner as long as he could bear while ominous rumbling and pattering debris collided with the lighthouse windows, hoping the next person to enter the door would be Sander, mission accomplished, and they could go. Anywhere but a battleground. Lily took and transferred distant wounds near him and he could still feel the low thrum of his power on Sander, but it was hard--impossibly so--to convince himself to move. To stand up and do something more than shake in a corner and hope not to die. Fear shifted to a petrified numbness that at least allowed him the presence of mind to notice Ernie ushering people back into the tunnels, their escape route compromised by god knows what. Peeking out the window only netted him a view of raging sand and rain and Christmas felt relieved that was all he could see. He had tried to look. At least he had looked.
The tunnel had offered a comparatively cozier place to resume his fearful vigil, waiting for the unmistakable frame of a lanky roommate to return. Then the water had come instead, raging into the tunnels and barely held back by the heavy stone and wood of the trapdoor, the current pouring in from every edge and sweeping his feet out from under him, soaking him to the bone as it pushed and shoved him further back in the tunnel until he lay in a coughing, sputtering heap where the water's flow finally ended in puddles and a muddy floor. Freezing. The morning air was cold and the water stole even more of his meager heat away, his thoughts still jumbled and lost in the tide.
It took too long, he felt, for his eyes to orient themselves again. For his vision to stop blurring from the saltwater and dizziness.
The tang of seawater coated his mouth and tongue, but he had already coughed up everything he could.
It was cold. And he just wanted to curl back up under the sheets in the soft bed of the mansion, beside Sander.
Sander. Who was still outside in whatever had caused the flooding.
The muck that had become much of the floor sucked at his arms and legs as he tried to stand, stumbling slightly as he righted himself and looked for the ladder again. By some miracle the dim lights strung along the tunnel's ceiling had remained mostly functional and he could see others recovering from the shock as well. He was shivering, but that didn't matter as much as getting to the ladder and getting to Sander.
He had lost a shoe, maybe further down the tunnel. He couldn't tell. His left ankle ached slightly when he put pressure on it. But he wasn't sure if that meant anything. Sander would know. Would let him sit somewhere soft and warm and find out with him.
He limped, sniffling, towards the ladder, because Sander was still out there and he could feel it--wanted to feel it even as the tingling of his power ebbed and finally disappeared, the prolonged effect dissipating at the worst time.
A wet cough as Ernie clung to the rope. Not that he needed to, as he'd secured it around both wrists about five times each.
He'd scrambled back as soon as the tower of water began blocking the dawn sky. Practically shoved any stragglers or late entries into the trapdoor, uncaring of how they landed in the subterranean sanctuary. He hadn't turned for the maidstaff remaining in the lighthouse, nor for the classmates outside.
The door had slammed shut with the weight of Ernie hanging from the rope that pulled it down. Even that wasn't enough to dam the torrent assaulting them from above, beating and drenching and drowning out everything. But they were alive. He was alive.
Ernie hung there for a moment, shuddering, though it wasn't from the freeze drenching his clothes. Alive, he was alive. The Amigos were possibly still lurking on the island but he was still living and breathing. Even if the weight of imminent death had only been lifted for a minute, he'd take it.
"Here...I--" he spat out another mouthful saltwater as he responded to Brent's role call, "Ernie's still kicking."
Not having noticed Christmas making his way to him, the buzzcut Aberration began making his way up the ladder.
There was someone else climbing up, so Christmas tottered forward, uncooperative ankle hampering his movements until he finally reached the base of the ladder. But it only dawned on him then that he couldn't climb it--not until he could rest his weight on both legs without issue. Yet the thought of Sander outside without the vague comfort that a healing effect persisted on the blood mage propelled the small boy forward and he whimpered as his left leg refused to support his weight without a burst of pain.
The noise prompted the X-mark to turn and regard the small boy with a vague disappointment. He was that desperate to get up, huh? Cringing at the lingering flooding that poured with the action, Ernie began pushing at the trapdoor.
"Give me a sec to check if the coast is clear," Ernie said.
He was shaking and his grip on the rungs was precarious at best, but Christmas waited, because he had to. Because he was sure he couldn't push past Ernie even if dared to.
Ernie finally got the trapdoor open, rope stiff and primed like a snake about to strike. Hazel eyes peeked up and scanned the ground floor. Nothing. Just two maids who were ungracefully flopped on broken furniture like a bunch of wet towels. There was also that blue light in the distance, a distasteful sight that brought back the anxiousness he'd failed to repress during the battle. Old rumors of glowing Amigos and a 'bootleg Heph' trickled into his consciousness but...
We're safe now. Don't count your blessings.
"Floor's clear!" he announced to his classmates and lifted himself out.
But it took Christmas too long to get up the ladder and every other step the boy seemed to whimper pathetically. By the time he pulled himself out of the trapdoor he was crying, wiping streaks of mud onto his face with the dirty sleeve of his sweater as he tried to stymie the tears. Even that couldn't distract him from limping to the door, water splashing in his wake as he pushed it open to look for Sander.
"Whoa, whoa, you can't go out there!"
Christmas was pulled back roughly, held by both of Ernie's arms. There was still too much, too many people rushing around. Chris had bounded off. Sander was nowhere to be seen. Callan was running somewhere.
And Zoe.
He prayed that the situation would resolve itself. The battle still seemed so far from being over.
"You can't go," Ernie repeated.
”But...S-Sander,” he protested, the open door revealing a battlefield in flooded earth and some segment of a building that had fallen.
Still keeping Christmas in his arms, Ernie kicked the door close. "It's too dangerous."
The healer squirmed, struggling against Ernie’s grip until his bad ankle took the weight again and he cried out, falling forward.
All these strength-building exercises over the last few weeks and he still couldn't lift a freaking kid. Ernie felt gravity take the both of them and did his best to rotate and let his reinforced shoulder take the brunt of the fall. However, Christmas still suffered a knock on his side.
"Shit," Ernie hissed and sat up. His hand was still on the Arbiter's wrist. "Are you okay?"
Nothing but quiet sniffles answered him and it took a moment longer for the healer to finally ask, ”...Where’s Sander?”
Ernie felt that it was counterproductive to answer that. "Are you hurt?"
”Where’s Sander?” The question came faster. More panicked.
"Outside," A rapid-fire answer and a rapid-fire improvisation, "With Callan. Lily already healed him, he shouldn't be hurt at all."
This was pointless.
"Christmas, are you hurt?"
”B-But the water...” Already he was trying to get up, headed for the door again. ”I—I didn’t see him.”
The Aberration pushed him down by the shoulders, gentler this time. He looked to the phone. Thankfully, it was still functioning despite the indoor tsunami.
"Look." He zoomed on Callan and Sander's dots moving up the shore, handed it to Christmas who took the device with a trembling hand and stared at it fervently.
”Th-They’re r-right over there...?” He sat up, then tried to stand again, because if they were so close it should have been fine to go out—
His left ankle collapsed under him, finally unwilling to put up with anymore as the joint throbbed with pain and the blonde boy curled up on his side with his legs against his chest, trying not to sob.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The last times Christmas cried in his company?
Crimen Culpae 1. Wisford.
Red eyes. Red hands.
Not again.
Ernie squeezed his eyes shut. Panic and hurt easily burst past the feeble barrier he tried to erect. After a few deeps breaths, hazel eyes snapped open.
"Lily, get over here," he called out.
As he waited for the other healer to arrive, the buzzcut boy put a hand on Christmas' shoulder, only to be met with a sharp stiffening of the healer's entire body, the tension knotting up under his fingertips. He tried reassuring rubs and shushing noises, like what his mother always used to do.
"Sander asked me to keep an eye on you," he admitted quietly, "You weren't supposed to get hurt."
Something like 'I'm sorry' tried to leave his mouth. Selfish, perhaps even insincere. Hopefully not. Ernie didn't let that weak solace pass. Neither of them deserved it.
"It sucks."
Of all the people to ask, Sander had asked Ernie to watch him. Mixed feelings collided in his stomach and Christmas was already making excuses for Sander: Ernie was the only one available. Sander was in a rush. No one else was willing to, maybe. It was supposed to make sense, but of all people, why Ernie? It was hard to sift through what he felt about Ernie as well, because there was a dark, seeping something that he didn't want to face. Didn't want to see. He didn't want it to be a part of him--afraid of letting it be.
But of all people, why Ernie?
The question drummed itself against his thoughts, trying to pound out an answer that he didn't have.
Christmas curled up tighter on the waterlogged floor, waiting for that nauseating rush of emotions to pass and for the jabbing pain in his ankle to subside. Even when he could heal himself, it was so slow. And of all people, why Ernie? He squeezed his eyes shut.
Sander chose that exact moment to barge in, still red-eyed and trailing smoke. The sight of Christmas curled up on the floor came focus first, and red eyes immediately flickered to Ernie kneeling nearby. It only took him three strides to get across the room, fists tightened and jaws clenched. Dark rage boiled in his veins alongside the bloodhigh, and Sander had to focus on Christmas so he wouldn’t immediately take Ernie’s head off. With a light tap on Ernie’s shoulder, he signalled for the Aberration to leave.
He hoped the message got across.
It did. Ernie scrambled back immediately. Too late to fix it. Now all he could do was pray for mercy.
Despite the resignation, the rope lingered by Sander and Christmas.
Sander only spared Ernie a brief gaze before leaning down and pressing a warm hand against Christmas' cold cheek, clearly more interested in getting the healer back on his feet.
"Hey." -He called out, stroking carefully -"I'm here."
The scent told him that there was no bleeding wound, but those could have healed before he got here.
Christmas didn't know where to look first, his eyes busy tracing the lines of Sander's face before finally locking with the red gaze. He wanted to ask about Ernie. Why of all people Sander had to ask Ernie, but the words wouldn't come then. Instead he placed a hand on Sander's wrist, lips trembling in place of words until he finally coordinated the right sounds on his tongue. "You're--You're okay..." he murmured, the sound of the confirmation the second most calming thing in the room.
"I'm okay." -Sander confirmed, hands snaking down around Christmas' back to slowly lift the blond boy up from the soaked floor. He then pulled Christmas close, uncaring as the cold water made contact with his heated skin.
Callan slowed to a jog as they neared the lighthouse. Sander sped past her-- eager to get inside it seemed. She immediately saw why as the door flew open and a startled Ernie scrambled away from Christmas, who didn't seem to be doing too well. She lingered in the doorway and exhaled, a faint smile tugging at her expression as she averted her eyes to give the pair some privacy. They certainly seemed to be getting along.
Cal vaguely noticed the terrified expression on Ernie's face (as well as the presence of his rope) before her attention turned back to her previously self-assigned task. Zoe, Allison, and Kusari were going to need some healing more likely than not. She hadn't stuck around long enough to know how much, but figured coming to the lighthouse to fetch someone would be the best course of action. While Sander helped Christmas, Callan stepped back outside, eyes scanning the debris-riddled cliff top as the sun proceeded to bathe everything in a soft, golden light.
A sick feeling, nauseating and heavy, festered in her gut as she caught sight of Kusari.
What was left of her anyway.
Speech and logic felt like foreign concepts in the moment. Unraveling her tongue just before her feet finally budged from the shock, all she managed to shout was, "OH, GOD!" before she started running again.
"W-WE NEED A HEALER!" she screamed, terrified panic clear in her voice, "NOW!"
"Like I told you, nothing you can do will kill me." The memory of Kusari's casual tone and pose as she'd reassured her that day seemed like so long ago.
Meanwhile, Zoe's previous statement rang in her memory as clear as a bell.
"I almost killed Kusari a day after we got here"
Amethyst eyes fell on Zoe as she muttered absurdly to herself. She noted that the telltale veins of death weren't anywhere to be seen, but what had happened here was obvious enough. She lost control. And she'd picked the one person she thought could take it. Rage bubbled up inside her, but was vastly outmatched by the fear. Callan ignored the blabbering redhead and dropped to her knees beside her fellow arbiter's body. Were these just remains or was she still in there? Reaching tentatively for Kusari's shoulder, she felt even more foolish than she had with the dead maid.
But Kusari was invincible, wasn't she? She'd be alright. She was... yes, she'd be fine. The scent of rotting flesh was almost too overpowering for the sick feeling that was still twisting her stomach into knots. One hand over her mouth, Callan grasped her shoulder and gave her a small shake. There was, of course, no response. And to make matters worse, Kusari's head jostled in place with all the weight to be expected of a human husk.
"Kusari?" she whimpered pleadingly, the hope draining from her face.
Realizing the one healer who had any hope of fixing this was still nowhere in sight, Callan screamed again, her voice breaking, "CHRISTMAS!"
He had heard the call for a healer the first time, but Sander was so warm and it felt safer to hope that Lily would answer instead, selfish as it was. When Callan called him by name, though, he blanched and shifted in Sander's arms, trying to stand only to realize his left ankle refused to support him. "Sander, C-Callan's calling..." he tried to explain, "M-My leg..." His eyes tracked the bruising on his legs from the watery tumble earlier, the sock on his left foot loose where the lost shoe had tugged on it before disappearing into the tunnels.
Sander followed the boy's gaze to the wounded feet, and his expression only darkened. He let Christmas lean fully on him, supporting both of their weight with an arm around the healer's waist as he rose to his feet. He didn't really like it when Christmas was using his power, for obvious reason. But Christmas could heal now, and Callan was the one who called, so Sander didn't want to ignore her.
"Okay?" -He asked, looking at the boy's leg now that they were both standing -"We should go help Callan."
Christmas nodded, the only answer he could manage as he wondered how and where he could cut. A reddened scrape on his right knee seemed a good place to start and he limped outside on Sander's support, unable to help the sharp cry that came from seeing the bloodied, rotting mess near Callan. He hid his face against Sander's arm, the image already seared into his mind. A quick scratch of the skin on his knee and a small whimper later, white mist poured out from the wound, spreading slowly as Sander nudged him closer so the mist would eventually reach Kusari. It sparkled to life around their torsos first, before drifting soundlessly towards Callan and Allison, then finally Zoe and Kusari. Skin and muscles knit together on the unconscious immortal and her natural regeneration pushed progress even faster. Minutes later she was mostly whole once more and the last layers of flesh were growing back over her body, looking to all the world like she was sleeping.
Callan followed the mist with her eyes as soon as it appeared, holding her breath and withdrawing her hand from Kusari's shoulder as it surrounded her. The skin reappearing was a good sign. That wouldn't be happening if she was dead, right? Her doubt didn't entirely vanish until the girl's chest, once more containing lungs, began to rise and fall. Callan finally exhaled, relieved tears pooling at the edges of her sight.
Her heart, however, was still pounding in her ears. Rocking back into a sitting position, Callan pressed her fingers to her forehead and tried to calm herself. With the panic dying down, the single remaining emotion was one she knew couldn't be handled recklessly. She'd addressed the issue poorly in the past. Not again. Still, she found it difficult to keep her head level knowing that Kusari had nearly died and felt every second of it. She reached forward and gave Kusari's hand a short squeeze before looking towards the culprit.
"Zoe!" Callan said sharply though she tried not to include any of the animosity building up just at the mere sight of her. It was clear that Zoe wasn't well, but pity was a luxury the abe couldn't afford. Amethyst eyes were cold as ice as they stared, unflinching. As outmatched against Zoe as she knew she was, this wasn't an issue she could ignore. Taking her arm off was one thing. But this....
Recalling the information about stigmas she'd gathered from Emma and Ernie those several weeks ago, it was hard not to relapse into her prior state of thinking. Ernie, Emma, Sander-- they were all her friends. She had to believe that Zoe was more than just her stigma-- but that didn't exactly help her case.
"You wanna explain what the fuck just happened?" she asked. Optimism for an adequate answer was in extremely short supply, but she wanted to be fair. Wanted to be completely justified in what might happen. Especially if this confrontation was about to turn ugly.
Sander simply kept Christmas upright, shifting slightly to keep most of his body between the healer and everything else. He didn't really know exactly what happened, but apparently, it was Zoe who attacked Kusari. There was love lost between him and their former roommate, still, he didn't really wish harm upon the Arbiter. Whatever happened to her, it seemed painful, healing factor or no. And yet, Callan was challenging the very same person who caused that much damage to an immortal. Sander didn't stop her, but he was ready step in, red eyes focused on Zoe.
For a moment, Kusari didn't know where she was. She was cold and dark. Someone was holding her hand, it seemed warm, like a guide out of a murky freezing ditch. It seemed her limbs had grown back normal as well. She blinked as her mind caught up to the fact that she was seeing this from above. She had a slight panic attack. Looking around she saw the others around her and it dawned on her what was happening. No... This isn't happening. I-I can't die, I can't! She tried to reach for her own body, but she had no hands in the first place. A sense of dread pierced into her like a spear, she wanted to scream, to cry out for salvation, but all she could do was watch............
She opened her eyes and saw Callan by her side. It was a nice face to wake up to. Kusari looked up at the aqua haired girl for a moment, and then she remembered why she was on the ground next to a pile of her own rotten innards. The memory of the pain came back to her, the feeling of her body melting into nothing. What was after she couldn't remember. A shiver went down her spine, the feeling of being outside of her body, of having one foot in the door to Hades. She had died. Her breathing quickened, and her eyes became glossy. "Callan..." Her voice was shaky as she tried and failed to hold back tears. She wrapped her arms around the girl, pressing her face into her stomach.
Callan jolted slightly at the sudden contact, but made no effort to move away. Her expression softened for a moment as she looked down at Kusari. Callan had been attacked by Zoe before, but she couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to have her guts melted out in the same way and still be alive through it all. She wrapped her arms around Kusari's shivering shoulders and stroked her hair gently. Because that was what she'd probably want after such an experience. Plus she didn't like seeing Kusari like this. In her mind she was always something of a pillar of confidence. She only wished her sweatshirt hadn't been so sopping wet and cold from the water.
Tears of empathy and frustration spilled over her own cheeks-- goddamn hugs always did this to her. She did her best to blink then away as she turned her attention back to Zoe, expression immediately hardening again as she awaited an answer.
It took a few seconds for the words to get through to Zoe, her breathing still unsteady as she raised a tear-stained face towards Callan. For better or worse, the attack on Kusari had at least erased most of her panic, but it was hard to register her classmate's question. She seemed angry. "I did something." Zoe blinked slowly, trying to regain her usual confidence. What happened? There had been the water, and the fear, and then--
The redhead's expression twisted in horror upon seeing Kusari and the gory mess that surrounded her. Not at the gore itself, but at the sudden understanding. "That was me?" A statement, not a question, even if she seemed uncertain. It wasn't the first time she'd completely given herself over, and the scene was all too familiar. Trying to figure things out for herself as much as for the others. "Water is-- I panicked. Wanted it to stop, and something felt good, so I chased it. Didn't realise what I was doing." She shook her head, frowning. "No excuse."
"You're kidding," Ernie muttered a bit too loudly, clearly not taking whatever Zoe was trying to dish out. He was standing further away as to avoid not just Sander, but also the gory pool staining the scene. His rope was poised at his feet, ready to react to whatever the situation was leading up to.
"She lost control." -Sander stated the obvious. He was no stranger to the devastating effect of the Stigma, and what Zoe did just gave him another reason to look out for her. Regardless of her friendly demeanor the other night.
Callan's grimace went slack at Zoe's response, her rage temporarily diffused. She didn't know what she was doing? She'd expected belligerence like before. A snap back to shut up and back off maybe. The thought that she might be bluffing never even occurred to her until Ernie spoke up.
"Zoe, you, like... killed her," Callan stated, for lack of better phrasing, "What-- what are we supposed to do with you?" The collar Hazel wore came to mind, but she immediately felt dirty for considering it. Something about whatever Hazel had gone through had made her... not right. For all her frustration, she didn't want to see Zoe become just like that. But she didn't want people turning into zombified husks either.
"If I knew, I'd do it myself." The retort was more tired than aggressive. "Tried everything I could think of, but..." She trailed off, frustrated. Trying to fight it head-on wasn't working, and she'd never known how to do anything else.
"Well clearly the school doesn't care if you keep this up-- but you do, right? What are you gonna do when somebody dies for good?" Callan replied, frustration mounting. She had no solutions. Only emotions that were suddenly crashing together like a pile up of cars. And Zoe was the semi-driver in back with the lead foot. They'd just been run out of another temporary home. People were dead, some were missing, and the state of the washed up cliff side was a sight so desolate and pitiful that she didn't want to accept it as her reality. But it was. And she wasn't just fighting against mages who wanted to do harm.
She was fighting with them. Hazel, Zoe... even SIena now.
"What are you gonna do when it's not Kusari?! Or when it's too late for Christmas to heal her?! Is this getting worse or better, Zoe?! Because it's kinda fucking important that we all know!"
"Are you done?" Zoe glared at the floor, pushing away what was left of the staff member she'd collided with. There was plenty of reason for the others to be pissed at her, but this wasn't exactly helpful. She was giving herself enough crap without this adding to the pile. "Yeah, it's worse than it was when I got here. Happened after one of those dreams. And it keeps getting more material to throw at me, too. Caring about stopping it doesn't mean I know how." And caring what happened to the others just made the whole thing worse.
She stood up, still not looking at them, but visibly on edge about the whole conversation. "You're not asking me anything I haven't asked myself. If I had to guess, they'll shoot me, but as for what I'll do about it, I don't know." And part of her felt like Callan wasn't looking for an answer.
Kusari's shaking calmed as she felt Callan's hand on her head. It was a nostalgic feeling, but she couldn't tell why. She wasn't paying attention to what the others were saying, she could take a good guess anyhow. Someone berating Zoe, Zoe saying she can't help it. As predictable as the phases of the moon. She didn't want to argue about this, she just wanted to get away. Kusari let out a sniffle as she let go of Callan and stood to her feet. "Don't waste your breath. She's beyond help." Kusari said to Callan, not even looking towards Zoe.
Ernie was tired too. It was bad enough having to deal with Amigos. Stupid Stigma problems from their own teammates just wasn't worth standing around in drenched clothing in the freezing morning air.
Stepping away from the scene for a moment, he spoke into the phone, eager to have something to take him away from all this. "Amigos have escaped on the ferry we were ordered to board. What do we do now?"
Nothing but a garbled, crackly, incomprehensible voice. Ernie had to resist the urge to throw the phone into the ocean. Not that it would have even scratched the stupid thing. He turned back to the group, a resigned look in his haggard face.
"Guys, can we just...go? The town's right there and I don't think we should stick around."
Oh, right. Always a spanner in the works.
"Zoe, can you walk with us? Or should we, like, choke you out or something?"
Callan wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. Definitely not that things were getting worse, but she'd already assumed as much. She chose to ignore Zoe's mentioning of dreams. It wasn't really a conversation she was interested in having right now, but it was certainly something to note. She stood up quickly after Kusari, glancing at her fellow arbiter with a good deal of skeptisicm. Beyond help? For all their sakes, she hoped not. But then... this was supposedly the second time for Kusari. It bothered her to think something like this might've already happened while she was holing herself up in her room.
No way she's walking with us! she desperately wanted to say. But that was the solution she'd offered last time. It wasn't realistic anyway. They were gonna end up here again. The cycle would continue until somebody finally died and she was powerless to stop it. She couldn't save anybody. Again.
She was definitely all for heading into town if it was safe, but she was done talking. She didn't have anything helpful to say and she knew it. Instead Callan simply lingered by Kusari, one foot protectively shifting between the immortal and Zoe as she waited.
"Knock me out if it makes you feel better, but I can walk." Zoe took a step back, deliberately keeping her distance from the others. There was plenty she could try to say, a thousand reasons for why this wasn't so easy to deal with, but at the end of the day it was her problem. Her problem for being weak and unhinged and too dumb to think of a solution. For being stupid enough to believe it was getting better. "Range is two metres, if you wanna stay out of it."
Ernie nodded. "I'll, uh, go tell the others," he said, clearly eager to take off. After informing the cuff operator of the group's next move, back into the lighthouse he went.
"I'll...walk with Zoe, if you want." -Sander volunteered, though he mainly looked at Christmas, still hiding from the grisly sight in front of them with his face pressed against Sander's arm, seemingly asking the blond boy for permission. The healer didn't seem to notice, shoulders shaking visibly from the stress of the situation. This only prompted the blood mage to pat his wet hair gently, trying to get his attention. Instead Christmas hugged Sander's arm tighter, waiting for further instructions or a cue to go, the white mist dispersing around them when nearby talk seemed to indicate everyone was fine.
"Christmas? Maybe you should...walk with Callan?" -Sander suggested, glancing hesitantly between her and the healer.
He knew it had to be done, because for all that he closed his eyes he couldn't avoid hearing the conversation. But of all times, he wanted to be near Sander, and no one else. Still, the question wasn't an option. A strong suggestion--the more appropriate category. And he didn't want to disappoint Sander, so he let go and stood back with his weight on his good leg, hands grasping now at the soaked hem of his muddied sweater and mouth trembling. They all looked miserable, but his was a sort of misery that dropped his shoulders and head as he nodded to Sander's request.
Callan exchanged glances with the blood mage with no small amount of uncertainty. "Sander, you don't have to walk with her," she said, stepping forward anyway as her eyes drifted down towards Christmas's ankle. She recognized the injury almost immediately as one she'd often seen on the basketball court. Of course she had no problem walking with him in Sander's place, but she got the distinct feeling that Christmas didn't like that idea very much.
"But...you don't want me to?"
"I'm just saying..." her eyes narrowed, flickering towards Zoe, "I think she already got her fix."
"Uh..." -Sander fumbled, clearly picking up on Callan's disagreeable mood. Quietly, he gave Zoe one last glance before walking back to Christmas' side, looping an arm around the boy's waist and resuming his walk. Despite the return of Sander's presence, Christmas's expression remained downcast, left ankle raised to keep the pressure off while he limped along beside the taller boy.
Kusari walked along silently, only just barely paying attention to her surroundings. Her eyes were on the ground, not focusing on anything in particular. She didn't feel... right. She put her right hand over her heart, it was pounding hard, but not fast. A tinge of pain? No, it felt more like a ball of anxiety swelling up inside of her. She wanted to lay down under warm covers and sleep in the dark. She scratched at her chest as if it were a slow healing wound. Her skin was devoid of any blemishes, but she could feel that a scar had been etched inside of her from her near death. She lowered her hand and continued walking, forcing her mind clear as she watched her bare feet.
With nothing more to say, Callan made her way over to where Allison was passed out on the ground. She gingerly rolled the girl over and pulled her into her arms, carrying her bridal style. It was a little awkward since they were both the same size, but she figured it would be more comfortable if Allison didn't manage to wake up soon. Weight certainly wasn't an issue. Callan waited that way for Ernie to return with the others, not keen on wandering too far when there still might be Amigos lurking about.