SARA@banjoanjo Fair enough, though I wonder would Sara feel a little comfortable with Connor being that both behave as the ESFJ type? Plus I wonder... her brother Willard was in a car accident, when was this? Connor was in a car accident at night at one point. Idea: maybe Connor and Willard crashed? Maybe they saw each other around Delton in enough years to be familiar at the reunion?
Sara's brother's crash ended up taking their father's life since he was in the passenger seat so I'm not sure you'd want Connor to be saddled with that kind of trauma. I am up for Sara being more comfortable after graduation and realising he's not as bad as his jock friends though. They'd probably see each other often at the general store Sara works at.
---
Also @Salsa Verde back in high school, how obvious would Meir's crush on Freya have been to Sara?
“Mm. Nah, <<no, I haven’t eaten yet.>>” Sara sat in the dark of her car across from P.J.’s, combing a hand through her hair. The other held a phone to her ear. She winced when it came out damp. Ugh, maybe she shouldn’t have squeezed that shower in after work. “<<No, I am! Yes, I’ll get something to eat. We’re meeting at P—uh.>> We’re meeting at a bar first then heading to the school so I’ll probably just grab something on the way. Or after.” “<<Yeah, Jack organized the whole thing. And, ah! Do you remember Meir? We carpooled to science decathlon. …Yes, he was the skinny one. There were a lot of skinny ones, Ma. He had glasses—okay, a lot of them had glasses too. He…>>” Sara sighed. “The Jewish one, Ma. Yep, he—yep, now you remember. Yeah, Meir! He’s gonna be there too. It’s gonna be good.” The voice on the other side of the world continued, asking a question that made Sara frown. “<<The nice girl.>> …Freya?” She paused longer than she liked. “Well, Facebook said she’d be there. I dunno. I don’t really… eh, it doesn’t really matter. I’ll let you know if she shows up.” She turned to stare out the window. A familiar looking man was entering the bar. “<<I better head in. You eat something too, yeah? Isn’t it like lunchtime for you now? Mm. Yeah, okay. Tell Uncle I said hi. Love you too. Okay. Bye, Ma.>>”
Another hand-comb of her hair and Sara stepped out. The entrance to P.J.’s was certainly a familiar sight, one that brought a little comfort even. It wouldn’t have been the first place she’d have chosen for a high school reunion. Then again, if you’d asked her seven years ago, Sara wouldn’t have guessed Jack as the one who’d suggest a gathering either. Sara stopped in her tracks, neurons firing. P.J.’s, Jack, old classmates… She… wait, was she planning to come out? … “…No, that’s dumb.” Sara stated it solidly and banished the idea before she headed inside. There were already a few familiar faces at the bar, and she almost bounded right up to them. But as she scanned the establishment a little more, she saw the man who’d been outside. Ah, now she recognized him. Why was he slouching all alone in the corner like that? She could guess why, of course, but still, that wouldn’t do. If Jack wanted this to be a fun night for old acquaintances, then Sara would make sure that was the case. She went to the booth and propped herself against the opposite wall. “Hey, Lucas.” Yep, that was his name. She nodded her head in the bar’s direction. “You been well? I just got here too – was about to head over there myself.”
@fledermaus I can picture Sara keeping an eye on Gen after that big incident at later parties out of her sense of duty, and them getting to know each other from that. Maybe after a while, if they somehow started talking at school as well, she'd even 'accidentally' leave her notes out for Gen to copy.
@Gisk That works with me! If we want to take it further we could even say they went on one date that went terribly then started drifting apart haha.
@nodogs Wooah. Reading over that old IC, Sara was a lot angrier/bitter than I remembered lol. Anyhow, she'd have the same opinions about Jack's sexuality as the last iteration, maybe more light-hearted about it since they're more familiar here. I hope Jack likes beer cos Sara needs someone to taste all her dud batches.
@Eleven That sounds great, I really enjoy fleshing out Sara and especially Willard's friendships. The double disappearance is gonna be very uncomfortable for Sara to deal with after all these years, gonna be interesting to see it play out.
If you'd like, we could PM more about some Willard stuff?
Her brother worked part-time as a kitchen hand at the Bistro. If he didn’t get the job at first, he would have nagged his way into the position, constantly swinging by to get the staff to try his cooking. When Willard disappeared, Donovan was the first person Sara asked for his whereabouts.
Willard dreamed of opening a restaurant in Delton, one great and crazy enough for Guy Fieri to feature on his show. He swore that Sara would be his right hand chef. (“It’s sous chef, you dork.”)
Sara’s mom told her to get a hobby so she decided to get into beer brewing with help from the guys at P.J’s. In return she lends them a hand with their events, occasionally with bookkeeping too. Due to her unofficial apprenticeship she often goes straight there after work.
She’s not gay though. Why do people keep assuming that?
She campaigned for Student Council President back in high school. The campaign ran out of steam after Willard left so she settled for the position of Treasurer.
No one knows how she balances her day job with her P.J’s commitments and her online degree. (She naps a lot in the break room.) Once she heard about the reunion, she would have had a big hand in getting the word out about it. She’s bringing a keg in her trunk for the demolition watching.
Lucas @Mao Mao If Lucas was friends with Meir they probably talked often enough for her to remember the boy behind all the tragedy. But after the profile leaked and he started flunking, he became little more than an example of what not to be.
Connor @Sweven7 It would be nice to hang out with another beer appreciator but unfortunately she finds it hard to look past the stereotypical popular white jock he was back then, even if he’s mellowed out now. She’s cordial to him and his wife at least when they pop by the store. Has made the mistake of asking if there were any kids on the way at least once.
Freya @Eleven Depends if she was one of Freya’s ‘unlikely friends’. Sara would have wanted to keep it under wraps, knowing how other people viewed her relationships as weirdly contractual. If anyone knew about it, Freya – or worse, other people – would likely just assume she was using the rich girl for popularity or a brief escape from middle class life. If they weren’t friends then Sara wouldn’t take the initiative to talk to her. Freya would just be a face she’d note from the periphery of a party.
Benjamin @Odin Maybe if his grades were better she’d probably remember who that was.
Hanna @Prisk The bathroom encounters were an inevitability. Sara would have tried making an acerbic comeback before realizing there was no way she’d ever beat a mean girl in a competition of smack talk. She used a different bathroom for the rest of that school year. The years have passed and Sara has let go of her grudge, chalking it down to it being a standard high school experience. Honestly, after the cheerleader drama, the thing that stands out the most about Hanna in her mind is her hypocrisy.
Meir @Salsa Verde(i get hungry every time i read your gd username) They probably were good friends. Decathlon buddies? Sara would have been openly jealous of his superior grades but also appreciative that there was another person who excelled through hard work rather than natural talent. Out of the cast, he’s the only one she would have tried staying in contact with after graduation, though that stopped after a measly few months.
Genesis @fledermaus If Genesis was the one chugging vodka on the table, Sara was the one wiping the shoeprints off afterwards. Sara secretly prided herself on knowing how to avoid trouble.
Jack @nodogs A casual friend in high school likely. She would have tried recruiting Jack to the girl’s soccer team several times, until it became a running joke between them (from Sara’s perspective anyway). Though Sara would consciously avoid the Bistro, since they both stayed in Delton and weren’t actively hostile, there's a good chance Jack is the person Sara is most familiar with out of the cast currently.
► Age - Twenty-five ► Gender - Female ► Sexuality - Asexual (Homo-romantic) ► Nickname - Z ► Occupation - Assistant Manager at Delton General, seasonal event planner ► Qualifications - Barista certification, First Aid Training including defibrillation, half an online Bachelor of Commerce, kinda good at brewing beer? ► Residence - Delton, Maine
▼ PHYSICALITY
► Scars - Miniscule, almost invisible, scars littering her fingers. She was not dexterous in high school, but that never deterred her brother from constantly dragging her into the kitchen for help. ► Tattoos - Sprigs of Diphylleia Grayi crawling up her calf from her ankle. ► Piercings - Five in each ear. ► Style - T-shirts and loose button ups, almost always flannel. Practicality is the vibe here, as Sara doesn't do anything purely for aesthetic's sake. Her hair, though straight and clean, has lacked maintenance since high school and falls to the halfway point of her back at its fullest length. It is usually tied up in a messy but charming ponytail. Wears light makeup to work, only because she has a job to keep.
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
LIFE AT RITMAN
They were never meant to stay here. Thank god it was Delton though, there are plenty worse places to get financially stranded. They were one family out of the thousands of classic immigrant stories, arriving with nothing but their luggage and barely applicable Chinglish. A father and a mother, a daughter and a son. The town received them generously but that wasn't grounds for getting complacent. The Zhous worked themselves to the bone as repayment. Surely they expected their children to do the same.
There was... some adjustment to be done. Sara, bright as she was, sure as hell wasn't spectacular, not in the way that would get her into an Ivy League school. Not the way she knew her parents secretly wished, as stubbornly mute as they were about their children's future. But Sara was a Zhou through and through, and she was determined to prove it.
High school was an academic breeze and Sara rode high on the winds. She had a reputation for knowing everything and everyone. Science decathlon, student council, soccer team. People respected her because of her work ethic but they liked her because she was a reliable friend. Very reliable, almost worryingly so.
Of course, being a high school, there were some detractors. Rumors of her being a secret lesbian, citing her laissez-faire fashion sense and apparent lack of romantic interest in boys. Calling her a narc, a goody-two shoes. Man, she was totally overloading. How does she cram all the shit she has to do in a single week? She was gonna burn out so hard.
They were wrong. The fire never flickered. It was extinguished.
It was a senseless, excruciating thing. Her father always insisted on providing their driving lessons himself, to cut down the costs. Her brother had been the one at the wheel. Willard never forgave himself, skipping town four months afterwards in a car bought with his own money. Couldn't use the one he totalled on the highway. They were only halfway through the school year then.
There was no moral. No lesson to be taken from this. Sara graduated, numb as frostbite. Exemplary grades, outstanding extracurriculars. And for what?
She returned to Delton after a single semester of college and hasn't set foot outside ever since.
PSYCHE
Sara is an emotional pragmatist. The Consul (ESFJ) archetype. A confident speaker, cool under pressure, dry of wit, the rock amongst her many, many, fr-- ...acquaintances. Need an extra planner for the fair? Need a substitute for your volleyball team? Need someone to move all the orchestra equipment? Sara was up for the job. Not only that, she'd do it pretty damn well. There was an unnatural level of perseverance in every action she took, topped off with a grit smirk as she conquered everything in her path.
Seven years since graduation, Sara has remained sturdy as ever, albeit with a more noticeable sense of brusqueness.
It became apparent the more distant she got from her old social circle. It wasn't loyalty to her colleagues. It was loyalty to a job well done. Her investment in others is questionable, as if their problems are mere checkboxes on a to-do list rather than something she wants to help with out of genuine concern. There's a peculiar engrossment she finds in other people. She doesn't always want to 'help', in the traditional sense. Sara sees the path to victory, to the completion of a task, and she gets it done. Whether this makes her come off as scheming, or even manipulative, means little to her.
"Little factoid about sharks. If they stop moving, they die."
Beyond it all, in the quieter moments when there's nothing she can keep herself busy with, it flakes away. She flinches when cars go too fast past the crossings. She pales at the sight of any blood. She wrings her hands as she stares into space, lips pressed into a vacant frown. It's dangerous to be alone with her thoughts. Some time P.J's usually does the trick. Something to plug the leak for a few hours. Every night she numbs her brain.
Pretty straightforward stuff. By making physical contact with a target, organic or non-organic, she can ramp up the passage of time affecting it. Her maximum output currently sits around ten years per minute. Both hands must be used for this. Sara cannot de-age a target, nor can she use her ability on herself.
There are severe consequences if she uses her ability too much in a short amount of time, sensations akin to sparks and spasms running up her arms until she can no longer move them at all. Thankfully, this cooldown period is temporary, but with every occurrence of this seeming longer than the last, Sara is unsure if she wants to keep testing her limits.
When her ability is in use, glowing, golden circuit lines trace their way up her arms from her hands.
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
- ▼ STRENGTHS
► Restoratively, her power can be paired with her first aid knowledge to essentially amount to an insta-fix, provided the procedure is done right. ► Destructively, she has even more potential than her restorative applications. Converting milennia into a wall to completely erode it. Aging an organic being, paralysing them, forcing their cells to simultaneously decay and regenerate, until they finally turn to dust. Likely much more, if she dares to put her mind to it.
▼ WEAKNESSES
► Range, in that her power has none. ► Overuse during too short of a timespan can result in her arms ending up completely paralysed. This cooldown period can last from hours to days, depending on the degree of excessive usage. ► Because Sara cannot de-age her targets (yet), her effects are permanent. ► Still has her normal, human weaknesses. Her power does not work on herself. ► The specificity of the ability can also be its handicap. Its application is limited to Sara's improvisational capacity. ► A significant mental and emotional block is in place when it comes to using her ability on living beings. The potential consequences are too serious to play around with this sort of stuff.
Applying with my character from the last iteration of this RP. Changed the limitations of her powers from the last version, let me know if it needs adjusting.
► Age - Twenty-five ► Gender - Female ► Sexuality - Asexual (Homo-romantic) ► Nickname - Z ► Occupation - Assistant Manager at Delton General, seasonal event planner ► Qualifications - Barista certification, First Aid Training including defibrillation, half an online Bachelor of Commerce, kinda good at brewing beer? ► Residence - Delton, Maine
▼ PHYSICALITY
► Scars - Miniscule, almost invisible, scars littering her fingers. She was not dexterous in high school, but that never deterred her brother from constantly dragging her into the kitchen for help. ► Tattoos - Sprigs of Diphylleia Grayi crawling up her calf from her ankle. ► Piercings - Five in each ear. ► Style - T-shirts and loose button ups, almost always flannel. Practicality is the vibe here, as Sara doesn't do anything purely for aesthetic's sake. Her hair, though straight and clean, has lacked maintenance since high school and falls to the halfway point of her back at its fullest length. It is usually tied up in a messy but charming ponytail. Wears light makeup to work, only because she has a job to keep.
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
LIFE AT RITMAN
They were never meant to stay here. Thank god it was Delton though, there are plenty worse places to get financially stranded. They were one family out of the thousands of classic immigrant stories, arriving with nothing but their luggage and barely applicable Chinglish. A father and a mother, a daughter and a son. The town received them generously but that wasn't grounds for getting complacent. The Zhous worked themselves to the bone as repayment. Surely they expected their children to do the same.
There was... some adjustment to be done. Sara, bright as she was, sure as hell wasn't spectacular, not in the way that would get her into an Ivy League school. Not the way she knew her parents secretly wished, as stubbornly mute as they were about their children's future. But Sara was a Zhou through and through, and she was determined to prove it.
High school was an academic breeze and Sara rode high on the winds. She had a reputation for knowing everything and everyone. Science decathlon, student council, soccer team. People respected her because of her work ethic but they liked her because she was a reliable friend. Very reliable, almost worryingly so.
Of course, being a high school, there were some detractors. Rumors of her being a secret lesbian, citing her laissez-faire fashion sense and apparent lack of romantic interest in boys. Calling her a narc, a goody-two shoes. Man, she was totally overloading. How does she cram all the shit she has to do in a single week? She was gonna burn out so hard.
They were wrong. The fire never flickered. It was extinguished.
It was a senseless, excruciating thing. Her father always insisted on providing their driving lessons himself, to cut down the costs. Her brother had been the one at the wheel. Willard never forgave himself, skipping town four months afterwards in a car bought with his own money. Couldn't use the one he totalled on the highway. They were only halfway through the school year then.
There was no moral. No lesson to be taken from this. Sara graduated, numb as frostbite. Exemplary grades, outstanding extracurriculars. And for what?
She returned to Delton after a single semester of college and hasn't set foot outside ever since.
PSYCHE
Sara is an emotional pragmatist. The Consul (ESFJ) archetype. A confident speaker, cool under pressure, dry of wit, the rock amongst her many, many, fr-- ...acquaintances. Need an extra planner for the fair? Need a substitute for your volleyball team? Need someone to move all the orchestra equipment? Sara was up for the job. Not only that, she'd do it pretty damn well. There was an unnatural level of perseverance in every action she took, topped off with a grit smirk as she conquered everything in her path.
Seven years since graduation, Sara has remained sturdy as ever, albeit with a more noticeable sense of brusqueness.
It became apparent the more distant she got from her old social circle. It wasn't loyalty to her colleagues. It was loyalty to a job well done. Her investment in others is questionable, as if their problems are mere checkboxes on a to-do list rather than something she wants to help with out of genuine concern. There's a peculiar engrossment she finds in other people. She doesn't always want to 'help', in the traditional sense. Sara sees the path to victory, to the completion of a task, and she gets it done. Whether this makes her come off as scheming, or even manipulative, means little to her.
"Little factoid about sharks. If they stop moving, they die."
Beyond it all, in the quieter moments when there's nothing she can keep herself busy with, it flakes away. She flinches when cars go too fast past the crossings. She pales at the sight of any blood. She wrings her hands as she stares into space, lips pressed into a vacant frown. It's dangerous to be alone with her thoughts. Some time P.J's usually does the trick. Something to plug the leak for a few hours. Every night she numbs her brain.
Pretty straightforward stuff. By making physical contact with a target, organic or non-organic, she can ramp up the passage of time affecting it. Her maximum output currently sits around ten years per minute. Both hands must be used for this. Sara cannot de-age a target, nor can she use her ability on herself.
There are severe consequences if she uses her ability too much in a short amount of time, sensations akin to sparks and spasms running up her arms until she can no longer move them at all. Thankfully, this cooldown period is temporary, but with every occurrence of this seeming longer than the last, Sara is unsure if she wants to keep testing her limits.
When her ability is in use, glowing, golden circuit lines trace their way up her arms from her hands.
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
- ▼ STRENGTHS
► Restoratively, her power can be paired with her first aid knowledge to essentially amount to an insta-fix, provided the procedure is done right. ► Destructively, she has even more potential than her restorative applications. Converting milennia into a wall to completely erode it. Aging an organic being, paralysing them, forcing their cells to simultaneously decay and regenerate, until they finally turn to dust. Likely much more, if she dares to put her mind to it.
▼ WEAKNESSES
► Range, in that her power has none. ► Overuse during too short of a timespan can result in her arms ending up completely paralysed. This cooldown period can last from hours to days, depending on the degree of excessive usage. ► Because Sara cannot de-age her targets (yet), her effects are permanent. ► Still has her normal, human weaknesses. Her power does not work on herself. ► The specificity of the ability can also be its handicap. Its application is limited to Sara's improvisational capacity. ► A significant mental and emotional block is in place when it comes to using her ability on living beings. The potential consequences are too serious to play around with this sort of stuff.
___________________________________________ Sara Zhou _______________________________________________ 25 | 06/05 | ♊︎ ___________________________________________
▼ p e r s o n a l d e t a i l s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Gender - Female ► Sexuality - Asexual ► Nicknames - Z ► Occupation - Manager at Delton General, seasonal event planner ► Qualifications - Barista certification from Santucci Coffee, First Aid Training including defibrillation, half an online Bachelor of Mathematics ► Residence - Delton, Maine
▼ p h y s i c a l i t y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Scars - Miniscule, almost invisible, scars littering her fingers. She was not dexterous in high school, but that never deterred her brother from constantly dragging her into the kitchen for help. ► Tattoos - Sprigs of Diphylleia Grayi crawling up her calf from her ankle. ► Piercings - Earlobes, though she doesn't wear any kind of jewelry. ► Style - T-shirts and loose button ups, almost always flannel. Practicality is the vibe here, as Sara is repelled by anything that exists purely for aesthetic's sake. Her hair, though straight and clean, has lacked maintenance since high school and falls to the halfway point of her back at its fullest length. It is usually tied up in a messy but charming ponytail. Wears light makeup to work, only because she has a job to keep.
▼ l i k e s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► P.J's homebrew ► Captain Morgan ► Walking
▼ d i s l i k e s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Assholes ("Basic, I know.") ► Hayfever ► "...That's it."
▼ a c h i e v e m e n t s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Honor roll through all of high school
► Six-time Employee of the Month at Delton General
► Holds the skeeball record at the local arcade. Git gud, children.
▼ a s p i r a t i o n s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► ...Does visiting the Rockies count? Whatever. Aspirations are for people with too much time on their hands. For people who think too much. Ask her again and Sara will just respond with a hearty scoff.
life at ritman high
They were never meant to stay here. Thank god it was Delton though, there are plenty worse places to get financially stranded. They were one family out of the thousands of classic immigrant stories, arriving with nothing but their luggage and barely applicable Chinglish. A father and a mother, a daughter and a son. The town received them generously but that wasn't grounds for getting complacent. The Zhous worked themselves to the bone as repayment. Surely they expected their children to do the same.
There was... some adjustment to be done. Sara, bright as she was, sure as hell wasn't spectacular, not in the way that would get her into an Ivy League school. Not the way she knew her parents secretly wished, as stubbornly mute as they were about their children's future. But Sara was a Zhou through and through, and she was determined to prove it.
High school was an academic breeze and Sara rode high on the winds. She had a reputation for knowing everything and everyone. Science decathlon, student council, soccer team. People respected her because of her work ethic but they liked her because she was a reliable friend. Very reliable, almost worryingly so.
Of course, being a high school, there were some detractors. Rumors of her being a secret lesbian, citing her laissez-faire fashion sense and apparent lack of romantic interest in boys. Calling her a narc, a goody-two shoes. Man, she was totally overloading. How does she cram all the shit she has to do in a single week? She was gonna burn out so hard.
They were wrong. The fire never flickered. It was extinguished.
It was a senseless, excruciating thing. Her father always insisted on providing their driving lessons himself, to cut down the costs. Her brother had been the one at the wheel. Willard never forgave himself, skipping town four months afterwards in a car bought with his own money. Couldn't use the one he totalled on the highway. They were only halfway through the school year then.
There was no moral. No lesson to be taken from this. Sara graduated, numb as frostbite. Exemplary grades, outstanding extracurriculars. And for what?
She returned to Delton after a single semester of college and hasn't set foot outside ever since.
Pretty straightforward stuff. By pressing her hands to a target, organic or non-organic, she can ramp up the passage of time affecting it. Her maximum output currently sits around five years per minute. Both hands must be used for this. Sara cannot de-age a target, nor can she use her ability on herself.
There are severe consequences if she uses her ability to much in a short amount of time, sensations akin to sparks and spasms running up her arms until she can no longer move them at all. Thankfully, this cooldown period is temporary, but with every occurrence of this seeming longer than the last, Sara is unsure if she wants to keep testing her limits.
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▼ s t r e n g t h s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
Her ability can be extremely restorative and destructive, provided she can think up applications for it.
► Restoratively, her power can be paired with her first aid knowledge to essentially amount to an insta-fix, provided the procedure is done right. Say hi to the team healer, y'all.
► Destructively, she has even more potential than her restorative applications. Converting milennia into a wall to completely erode it. Aging an organic being, paralysing them, forcing their cells to simultaneously decay and regenerate, until they finally turn to dust. Likely much more, if she dares to put her mind to it.
▼ w e a k n e s s e s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Range, in that her power has none. In order for her ability to activate, Sara needs to have both palms pressed against her target. If something is too small or too weirdly shaped, if she loses her hand or is pinned down, she is powerless.
► Overuse during too short of a timespan can result in her arms ending up completely paralysed. This cooldown period can last from hours to days, depending on the degree of excessive usage.
► Because Sara cannot de-age her targets (yet), her effects are permanent.
► Still has her normal, human weaknesses. Her power does not work on herself.
► The specifity of the ability can also be its handicap. Its application is limited to Sara's improvisational capacity.
► A significant mental and emotional block is in place when it comes to using her ability on living beings. The potential consequences are too serious to play around with this sort of stuff.
▼ p e r s o n a l p l a y l i s t ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Loves sitcoms. It doesn't matter how garbage they are.
► Hikes whenever she can.
► Her Chinese hasn't been passable on the mainland for a long time now.
► Is very 'ends justifies the means' but also super stingy?
psyche
Sara is an emotional pragmatist. The Consul (ESFJ) archetype. A confident speaker, cool under pressure, dry of wit, the rock amongst her many, many, fr-- ...acquaintances. Need an extra planner for the fair? Need a substitute for your volleyball team? Need someone to deadlift all the orchestra equipment? Sara was up for the job. Not only that, she'd do it pretty damn well. There was an unnatural level of perseverence in every action she took, topped off with a grit smirk as she conquered everything in her path.
Seven years since graduation, Sara has remained sturdy as ever, albeit with a more noticeable sense of brusqueness.
It became apparent the more distant she got from her old social circle. It wasn't loyalty to her colleagues. It was loyalty to a job well done. Her investment in others is questionable, as if their problems are mere checkboxes on a to-do list rather than something she wants to help with out of genuine concern. There's a peculiar engrossment she finds in other people. She doesn't always want to 'help', in the traditional sense. Sara sees the path to victory, to the completion of a task, and she gets it done. Whether this makes her come off as scheming, or even manipulative, means little to her.
"Neat little factoid about sharks. If they stop moving, they die."
Beyond it all, in the quieter moments when there's nothing she can keep herself busy with, it flakes away. She flinches when cars go too fast past the crossings. She pales at the sight of any blood. She wrings her hands as she stares into space, lips pressed into a vacant frown. It's dangerous to be alone with her thoughts. Some time P.J's usually does the trick. Something to plug the leak for a few hours. Every night she numbs her brain.
► Age - Twenty-five ► Gender - Female ► Sexuality - Asexual (Homo-romantic) ► Nickname - Z ► Occupation - Assistant Manager at Delton General, seasonal event planner ► Qualifications - Barista certification, First Aid Training including defibrillation, half an online Bachelor of Commerce, kinda good at brewing beer? ► Residence - Delton, Maine
▼ PHYSICALITY
► Scars - Miniscule, almost invisible, scars littering her fingers. She was not dexterous in high school, but that never deterred her brother from constantly dragging her into the kitchen for help. ► Tattoos - Sprigs of Diphylleia Grayi crawling up her calf from her ankle. ► Piercings - Five in each ear. ► Style - T-shirts and loose button ups, almost always flannel. Practicality is the vibe here, as Sara doesn't do anything purely for aesthetic's sake. Her hair, though straight and clean, has lacked maintenance since high school and falls to the halfway point of her back at its fullest length. It is usually tied up in a messy but charming ponytail. Wears light makeup to work, only because she has a job to keep.
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LIFE AT RITMAN
They were never meant to stay here. Thank god it was Delton though, there are plenty worse places to get financially stranded. They were one family out of the thousands of classic immigrant stories, arriving with nothing but their luggage and barely applicable Chinglish. A father and a mother, a daughter and a son. The town received them generously but that wasn't grounds for getting complacent. The Zhous worked themselves to the bone as repayment. Surely they expected their children to do the same.
There was... some adjustment to be done. Sara, bright as she was, sure as hell wasn't spectacular, not in the way that would get her into an Ivy League school. Not the way she knew her parents secretly wished, as stubbornly mute as they were about their children's future. But Sara was a Zhou through and through, and she was determined to prove it.
High school was an academic breeze and Sara rode high on the winds. She had a reputation for knowing everything and everyone. Science decathlon, student council, soccer team. People respected her because of her work ethic but they liked her because she was a reliable friend. Very reliable, almost worryingly so.
Of course, being a high school, there were some detractors. Rumors of her being a secret lesbian, citing her laissez-faire fashion sense and apparent lack of romantic interest in boys. Calling her a narc, a goody-two shoes. Man, she was totally overloading. How does she cram all the shit she has to do in a single week? She was gonna burn out so hard.
They were wrong. The fire never flickered. It was extinguished.
It was a senseless, excruciating thing. Her father always insisted on providing their driving lessons himself, to cut down the costs. Her brother had been the one at the wheel. Willard never forgave himself, skipping town four months afterwards in a car bought with his own money. Couldn't use the one he totalled on the highway. They were only halfway through the school year then.
There was no moral. No lesson to be taken from this. Sara graduated, numb as frostbite. Exemplary grades, outstanding extracurriculars. And for what?
She returned to Delton after a single semester of college and hasn't set foot outside ever since.
PSYCHE
Sara is an emotional pragmatist. The Consul (ESFJ) archetype. A confident speaker, cool under pressure, dry of wit, the rock amongst her many, many, fr-- ...acquaintances. Need an extra planner for the fair? Need a substitute for your volleyball team? Need someone to move all the orchestra equipment? Sara was up for the job. Not only that, she'd do it pretty damn well. There was an unnatural level of perseverance in every action she took, topped off with a grit smirk as she conquered everything in her path.
Seven years since graduation, Sara has remained sturdy as ever, albeit with a more noticeable sense of brusqueness.
It became apparent the more distant she got from her old social circle. It wasn't loyalty to her colleagues. It was loyalty to a job well done. Her investment in others is questionable, as if their problems are mere checkboxes on a to-do list rather than something she wants to help with out of genuine concern. There's a peculiar engrossment she finds in other people. She doesn't always want to 'help', in the traditional sense. Sara sees the path to victory, to the completion of a task, and she gets it done. Whether this makes her come off as scheming, or even manipulative, means little to her.
"Little factoid about sharks. If they stop moving, they die."
Beyond it all, in the quieter moments when there's nothing she can keep herself busy with, it flakes away. She flinches when cars go too fast past the crossings. She pales at the sight of any blood. She wrings her hands as she stares into space, lips pressed into a vacant frown. It's dangerous to be alone with her thoughts. Some time P.J's usually does the trick. Something to plug the leak for a few hours. Every night she numbs her brain.
Pretty straightforward stuff. By making physical contact with a target, organic or non-organic, she can ramp up the passage of time affecting it. Her maximum output currently sits around ten years per minute. Both hands must be used for this. Sara cannot de-age a target, nor can she use her ability on herself.
There are severe consequences if she uses her ability too much in a short amount of time, sensations akin to sparks and spasms running up her arms until she can no longer move them at all. Thankfully, this cooldown period is temporary, but with every occurrence of this seeming longer than the last, Sara is unsure if she wants to keep testing her limits.
When her ability is in use, glowing, golden circuit lines trace their way up her arms from her hands.
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- ▼ STRENGTHS
► Restoratively, her power can be paired with her first aid knowledge to essentially amount to an insta-fix, provided the procedure is done right. ► Destructively, she has even more potential than her restorative applications. Converting milennia into a wall to completely erode it. Aging an organic being, paralysing them, forcing their cells to simultaneously decay and regenerate, until they finally turn to dust. Likely much more, if she dares to put her mind to it.
▼ WEAKNESSES
► Range, in that her power has none. ► Overuse during too short of a timespan can result in her arms ending up completely paralysed. This cooldown period can last from hours to days, depending on the degree of excessive usage. ► Because Sara cannot de-age her targets (yet), her effects are permanent. ► Still has her normal, human weaknesses. Her power does not work on herself. ► The specificity of the ability can also be its handicap. Its application is limited to Sara's improvisational capacity. ► A significant mental and emotional block is in place when it comes to using her ability on living beings. The potential consequences are too serious to play around with this sort of stuff.
LE BANG KIEU | JEANNE DU BORDEAUX Collab with @ERode
He had half a mind to forgo his cane.
What was the bigger priority here, his image or his enrolment? Making sure another building didn't go up in flames before he located his ward? In the end he decided to keep it. As far as he knew, Jeanne had not caused another structural disaster yet, which meant he still had some decorum to maintain. The cane stayed in his false hand.
He saw her on the shore, and approached with his loafers hooked on his fingers, socks tucked into the shoes. Noted the sun's descent. On his right foot, the stumps where his last three toes should have been were plain to see.
"It's time."
"...Time to head in before it gets chilly?" Bang's smile was amiable as ever, perhaps softer even. He took a sandy step forward. "Had your fun for the day?"
"Fun?"
Jeanne's eyes flicked downwards towards the imperfection that marred Bang's form still, then strode towards him, past him. There was no particular malice or accusation in her tone, but the question was posed nonetheless. "What kept you?"
"Wanted to make sure Miss Whitehall was properly settled." He turned on his heels to follow her. "That, and I thought you wanted some space. Since you were, uh, speaking to James. And all. Did it go well?"
Jeanne ignored that question. "Your thoughts on what happened?"
Bang winced. "I'd surmised that she was the reckless type. It was a moment of poor judgment. She's almost certain to be sneaking out again tonight too. And the creatures themselves... There's no way the administration are unaware of their presence." A chuckle. "Call me crazy but I'm starting to believe they might have an ulterior motive to gathering so many international geniuses on this island."
"Though nothing is done to keep them there."
With an easy grace, Jeanne leapt up onto the grassy ledge separating beach and forest, hues of afterglow mingling with the deeper shadows of the tropical canopy. She looked down upon Bang, or perhaps upon the rising tide. "Do you," she said, "believe in God, Bang?"
"If a God truly does exist, it is a cruel and unwise thing."
"Because of what happened to you?"
His eyebrows raised in bemusement. "Do I seem that bitter of a gentleman?"
Jeanne's own expression didn't change.
"Yes."
He exhaled sharply from his nose, planting a smile in place. "And you? Do you believe in one?"
"Only He could craft a world so unbound by reason." Jeanne smiled. "That is a yes, if you were wondering. But I've yet to hear your answer."
"I'll settle on a 'no'. I simply don't want to believe such an uncaring deity exists."
Jeanne laughed, peals of arid bemusement rolling out of her mouth. "The Occidental answer," she said, as if that explained everything. But she offered her hand nonetheless, to pull him up into the forest as well. The two came in close for a brief moment, just enough for Bang's senses to catch the smell of a flower garden upon his companion, before Jeanne separated again, striding down the well-marked forest path.
Striding down, deeper into the foliage, into the humid heat of the rainforest.
Bang hopped his way back into his shoes, one then the other, stuffing his socks into his pockets and ignoring the feeling of sand between his toes. He had to hurry to catch up once more. "Are the beaches here like the ones in France?"
"Small talk so soon?" Jeanne didn't turn back. "They're nothing alike." A hint of wistfulness. "They're adequate, for one."
"Did you reside near one back home?" He paused. "It's not the beaches I want to know more about, you know."
"A gentleman would take the lead."
The Egoist blinked. Pondered the consequences. He surged further and took her hand in his. A regulated heartbeat passed, his brown eyes on the girl, before he lifted her hand to place a kiss on her knuckle.
"By order of elimination, I believe I'll be on guard duty once more tonight."
"Merde."
Jeanne looked more exasperated than either charmed or disgusted. But she didn't snatch her hand back, nor reduce her 'gentlemanly' companion to cinders either.
"Latin is truly an archaic language. I meant for you to speak of your life, if you wish to learn of mine."
Ah. He assumed this would be the part where one would have blood rising to their cheeks. Their ears too, if he recalled correctly. He allowed the pressure to build, for warmth to grow in his face and chest. Ran some further measurements to keep it regulated. Warmer, longer.
Then he laughed. That part wasn't calculated.
"I... haha, I'm sorry." He grinned uncontrollably. Dear, he really should have just stayed at the hospital for good if this was how he was going to behave on his own. He shook his head. "Perhaps I should start off with a list of all my public humiliations. That would certainly fit the mood now, huh?"
He scrunched his eyes shut out of embarrassment, still laughing to himself.
"This is the age of embarrassments, as the philosophers oft decry." She extracted her hand from his, then turned the palm towards Bang. "But if self-denigration is the way of your Egoism, then by all means."
"From the denigrated form comes rebirth. Regeneration." Bang placed his newly abandoned hand on his false ribs. "Though I don't believe the old masters pictured it as figuratively as this current situation."
"The mind is as substantial as the flesh, so your humiliations are undoubtedly just as solid." Jeanne flashed a smile that was all teeth. "Those who espoused the strength of the soul have yet to persist after the removal of their brain, after all."
Her eyes danced skywards, towards cobalt skies turning darker, specks of the Creator's Formulae emerging with the death of the Sun and the rise of the Moon. Bermuda was a poor place to be an astrologer, but in twilight, at least, such things could still be enjoyed.
"But that is beside the point. Was this path of...ascension, as the ascetics are fond of claiming, the one you chose? I understand that your circumstances were unique."
While Jeanne's gaze was cast upwards, Bang's own were fixed foward. Somewhere even further away.
"I suppose... there was a chance I could have lived without it. Received however many donated organs however many anonymous donors. Had the same pieces of metal nailed to my skeleton. Attached an unmoving tool to my forearm rather than the appendage I have currently. I would be alive, sure. Maybe not as long as I would have wished, but how many people would, in that situation?"
He pursed his lips.
"Before the incident I was fully prepared to live an incurious life, free of Formulae. As a scientist yourself, that's likely not something you care to hear, is it?"
Stars above, and beyond, the shadow of the firmament, gleaming ever dark, fathomless yet forever close. She turned her gaze towards the one before her though, the one enamoured by what was ahead, even though he would turn back with every word uttered.
"I am not a scientist, Bang. I am a Technologist. What is the difference?"
"You get results?"
Jeanne suppressed the urge to groan, muttering something unladylike under her breath.
Bang hummed. "From the paths this conversation has previously taken, I wonder if you're going to make some point about channeling His divine will."
"Fifty years of ceasefire, and the East still see Technologists through the lens of the German death-machines? Preposterous. Disgusting." She spat, releasing a single, undiluted drop of venom, before her mien smoothed over to the uncaring irritation that Jeanne carried more naturally. "There are capitalists of course. Opportunists chasing wealth and prestige. Sycophants and diviners, bending the knee for the privilege of the crown's patronage. But blast 'em."
Starfire burned in her eyes, fervent and devouring. The Witch was mad, driven by passions that would make devils quake, an audacity unfettered.
"Scientists seek logic. Technologists seek dreams. What's life, without romance?"
Her lips quirked into a smirk, the fire shuttered within the furnace again.
"And by that, Bang, I mean not the romance that occupies the minds of smitten juveniles drawn to depravity by the shadow of a petticoat."
"It's easier to aim for the skies when you're not chained to a malfunctioning form. To dream of the beyond when you're not in the confines of a hospital bed. For all that you disparage those sycophants and opportunists, there are plenty out there that don't have the option to just ignore them."
If he didn't have an image to protect, if he didn't have someone he cared about in the arms of a beast, would he not also go around parading his Formulae like some crazed outcast?
"Romance is only for those that don't have anything tethering them to what's happening on the ground." Something in his jaw clenched. "So it's perhaps not for that as to why I'm drawn to you, but something else."
His cheeks were still burning. He turned away with the admission his voice more quiet now.
"Jealousy, maybe. Not a quality befitting of a gentleman."
"A malfunctioning form," Jeanne repeated as Bang spoke, slowing to a stop as words continued to tumble. It took two steps to close the distance, and hardly half a second for her gloved hands to press against his red cheeks. Warmth could not transmit so easily through black leather, nor was there any relief from the heat in her touch either. There was simply force, force enough to turn his face towards her again.
"You misunderstand, once more. So I will make it clear, once more. I am a vile woman, Bang. I will burn away my bonds without a thought because I know I will never be left alone. I disparage the idle happiness of others because they only regard present pleasures, and I burned down that library because that devil though I had not the guts to do so.” Her words were cold, exacting. Prideful despite the subject. “If you had lived an incurious life, away from this star-studded world, I would not care to remember your name, and I would sneer at you as I do all others. But I would not fault what you dream of, so long as it is your own. Whether it be to write a story, birth a son, captain an airship, or kill a king, it matters not. Only my eyes need burn for the heavens. I care not what your eyes burn for, so long as they do.”
She was looking up even now, the darkness of the canopy only brightening her cerulean eyes.
“If that fuels your jealousy. I welcome it, mon petit galopin.”
Jeanne pushed him away, clenching her fists.
“And if you will exchange fisticuffs instead, I welcome that too.”
"I don't consider either of us brutes," he said with a reflexive amiability. "Though I wouldn't blame you for hitting me for my earlier transgression."
The feeling he dubbed jealousy swirled into something more unpleasant, distasteful. Dreams? What a joke. All he had in this moment is a mission he'd clearly been too distracted for. He broke their gaze once more, consciously not addressing her challenge.
"We should pick up the pace. It's getting dark."
"But of course."
Jeanne dropped her fists, letting them hang and swing as she strode ahead.
”Perfect! Then what are we waiting for? Let’s pay the restaurant and go towards the hospital.”
And with much enthusiasm (along with a quick attempt to pay the servant). The duo finally started walking towards the hospital, where this mysterious incident involving Nazca Whitehall happened. She is simply curious at what happened last night, and perhaps conversing with Nazca might very well uncover the brouhaha that happened while she was fast asleep.
“James. If you would lend me your imagination. What do you think happened last night?” Bunga asked, her face expressing confusion at the thought of such chaos happening last night. The scale of the chaos, at least from her reading through the grapevine. Seemed to be quite unprecedented. A student hospitalized, a building destroyed, and potentially even more yet to be uncovered acts of destruction.
She’s kinda thankful that her dorm wasn’t really affected by the happenings of that night.
”It’s easy enough to speculate that there was an altercation. Destruction of that scale means that multiple combatants - perhaps polymaths - were involved. Whether or not it was Jeanne’s fault remains to be seen.” James had other reasons to go to the hospital. First was to see if Jeanne was around for the tonic and the other was to see about his roommate and Bunga’s meeting.
As he entered the hospital he uncovered his head, holding his hat with one hand and walking briskly while looking around for Jeanne and her compatriots. All the while walking alongside someone who’s admittedly underdressed. He paid no heed, though one could probably find such a sight strange.
He approached one of the nurses at the reception. ”Good day, we’re looking for a friend of ours. Perhaps their friends are here too, such as Miss Bordeaux perhaps?”
The nurse greeted the British man, and gave Bunga a weird stare, examining the choice of clothing she wore, her eyes squinted for a little bit. The dark-haired woman made no moves that looked overly cautious, however, and after a moment, she nodded towards the two of them. “And the name of your friend, Mr…?”
”Mister Porter. The name of the person I’m looking for is a Mister Le Bang Kieu or perhaps a Miss Nazca Whitehall? In fact, my language is a bit misleading. I don’t particularly know who’s injured, I just know they are in the same group and I wanted to check in.”
James smiled politely, knowing that this scene is particularly strange. He wasn’t lying though, Jeanne did write to him as if they were friends for a long time and Bang was his roommate who he found good company in, and Nazca was a half-lie they weren’t friends but they were both from the land of fish and chips - Good old Queen’s England damn it! So he did have some valid reasons to check in. The question really was, would they be surprised? Would they be friendly? What was going to happen if they were really here and if they were to meet them? These thoughts intruded in his mind, though he doubted any interaction would be met with too much hostility, especially around someone who’s wounded.
“I see. Well, if you could allow me a moment, Mr Porter.”
As she spoke, the receptionist’s eyes flickered down at a directory not visible to the two students, her long fingers spinning the dial of an old-fashioned phone before picking it up. A few more moments elapsed, and then she said, her voice a couple degrees brighter than before, “Good morning, is this Miss Whitehall? Your friend, Mr. Porter, is here to pay you a visit. Would you like me to send him and his companion up, or would you prefer to be left alone for now?”
…
“A Mr. Porter.”
…
“Understood, I’ll send him up promptly.” She ended the call, turned to the couple once more, and, without smiling, directed them up to the third floor of the hospital, towards the east wing, five rooms down.
The group walked towards the room directed to the nurse. She says that Nazca’s room was the East Wing, five rooms down. But it felt more like some sort of maze rather than going to the East Wing of some hospital.
Bunga herself is feeling a little bit confused by the directions within the hospital, not really helped by the crushing silence of the all white interior, white halls, white doors, white lighting, it was all white, save for the occasional window letting sunshine through. Honestly it would be trivially easy for Bunga to just simply get lost within the interiors of these halls if it weren’t for James accompanying her.
It was much to the fortune of the duo that they finally found Ms Nazca’s room in the east wing. Both of them finally standing in front of the door where Ms Nazca should be held.
And the sounds of argumentation can be heard inside of it.
“Hmm?” The woman wondered. Listening to the rather loud murmurs of debate and argument from the other side, not really able to decipher anything, but able to understand the rage and frustration welling on the other side. “Perhaps… you should open the door Mr Porter? I feel like some stranger waltzing into the room right now would not be preferable. Considering the… rather heated nature of whatever’s happening in the other room.”
Gosh, just what could they be arguing about? The woman’s curiosity burned.
James stared at the door for a few moments, trying to make sense of their conversation, but as he was out of the loop, he might as well be direct. He took his right hand and knocked on the door as to make their presence known.
”Pardon the interruption, I’m sure whatever you’re talking about in there is of great import, but may I ask if we could come in gents?”
He paused before stating his intentions, ”... I understand tensions are high, but I’m here on some business relating to my ’good friend’ Jeanne, whilst the person beside me has some business with Bang. By the way, if you’re in there Bang, the dorm may smell a bit weird. If you should return today, know that it’s perfectly normal and perfectly safe and nothing relating to drugs of any kind.”
The last part he said in jest and one could almost hear his tone shift from professional to casual and laid back in an instant.
Bang’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a small smile gracing his face as he recognised the voice. Nonetheless, he looked to Jeanne for confirmation.
Jeanne nodded, rising from her seat and moving for the door. She deigned to offer James her arm, though her gait made it clear that she would be the one to lead in this walk they were taking.
He gave a small nod to Bunga before turning back to Jeanne and taking her invitation. Of course the package he had for her was ready, as for the rest of the walk, there was more that remained to be seen.
Bunga slowly opened the door. Sliding herself as slyly as an untrained snoop, her training back with that pervert master of hers didn’t really help her when it comes to sneaking around.
She meekly waved her hand to the group. The woman’s eyes glazing over the quintuplet of individuals, on the bed is definitely Nazca Whitehall, the woman injured by last midnight’s scuffle, and right next to her is Higashiakemi Ryuuko. A Japanese-German egoist who fled her homeland, while the man wearing the suit seems to be the Mr Le Bang Kieu she has heard some much about these last couple of days.
She should know these people, although not personally acquainted, all these polymathematicians are famous in their respective fields
Making such an observation. Bunga gulped a little bit, she’s standing among young prodigies, but there’s no reward without risk, and so, the Egoist introduced herself.
“Hello everyone. My name is Bunga Kurniawan. I’ve been searching for a Miss Nazca Whitehall and a Mr Le Bang Kieu. I have always been interested in the clockwork machines Miss Whitehall has created for herself, while I have a much more personal set of questions for Mr Kieu. Would you mind if I interrupt your uhh, discussion for a bit?”
“Oh, dan untuk awak yang faham bahasa melayu. Saya juga cakap berbahasa melayu, saya datang dari bandar Palembang. (And for anyone who understands Malay, I can also speak malay. I’m from Palembang)”
If she can make herself as small as possible while the quadruplet discussed among themselves who this stranger is, the better. Sadly, formulae that can change one’s size have not been invented in this world.
Perhaps she might innovate one assuming this turns sour? Ugh, the mood’s turning sour real fast for her to even think of such things. Wait, now that she thought about it, maybe formulae changing one’s size smaller might be invented after all. Has it though?
Her mind’s too scattered to think right now, considering the frying pan she entered here in this hospital room.
“We must take immediate, proactive action!” Nazca could be heard insisting as her new visitors filed into her room. As angry as she was, her voice was not overly raised despite the heated discussion going on in her room. Even after all this, she had not forgotten her manners, after all.
She did pause, however, to fix a withering glare on one Mr. Porter, and then the strange, ill-dressed woman that followed in afterwards. After all, she had been told that she was going to be visited by one acquaintance of an Englishman, yet said gentleman had entered the room and failed to address her, let alone offer his condolences for the reason she was in this recovery room to begin with.
Nazca was done with these shenanigans almost as quickly as they started.
“Yes. I mind very much, thank you.”
Expression still showing some degree of anger due to the heated discussion, Ryuuko looked at the two people that just entered the room with a raised eyebrow. The man left again, with Jeanne in tow, almost immediately after. While the other one was a woman who wore what seemed to be unfinished articles of clothing on her person. ”.... What’s this all about? Never mind. Frankly, we’re currently in a rather important discussion… So unless Bang would prefer we stow this talk for later in favor of having whatever conversation it is that you intended to have with him, Ms. Bunga…” She looked to the side at Bang, not finishing her sentence.
“I’ve uh… This is the first time I’ve seen this person,” Bang felt a strange need to clarify that. He winced. He was the type to try and see the good in people but this girl had interrupted at a very awkward time. Still, she didn’t need a third person haranguing her.
“I apologise, Miss Kurniawan. Do you have actual business here or is this purely a, uh…” He eyed her outfit warily. “...a social visit?”
“Ah… uhh. I think I’ll just.. slither into this couch right here and pretend that I don’t exist until whatever you’re arguing here is finished.” She responded. Slowly making her way into a nearby couch within the hospital bed and curling up, she knew that she interrupted at a bad time, and now it seems that their ire is going to be directed to Bunga herself.
She knows she can’t really go outside. Lest she won’t be ever let in again, but she has to get something off of both Bang and Nazca right now. Lest everything will become considerably harder for her.
Bang blinked in disbelief. He’d met kids like this in the hospital, the types too unaware to be left to their own devices or they would harm themselves or someone else. The level of severity was varied of course. He should have expected the ‘genius’ types to be socially stunted in some way. He watched the girl take her corner, cringing at the display the entire time, and stifled a beleaguered sigh.
“...We can continue this later.” If Bang still experienced headaches, he probably would have felt one at this moment. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, Miss Kurniawan. Let’s talk. Outside.”
He left the room without waiting for a response, cane clacking with a sharp tempo.
Huh. For someone with such a provocative outfit, this Bunga girl was a very meek one. So this likely meant that the outfit is merely something commonly worn where she came from. What a pity, I thought she's one of those who's brave enough to go against the norm... Ryuuko sighed and shrugged, and then responded simply to Bang. "Very well..."
Nazca shot the two of them a dirty look as they left.
The woman decided to go follow the Vietnamese man outside of the room. Her enthusiasm of the morning turned into nervousness as she walked towards the door, she bowed her head towards the man wearing the suit, and promptly introduced herself yet again.
“I’m Bunga Kurniawan, as you might know, but just call me Bunga if you prefer practicality. I’ve been uh, looking for you the entire day yesterday Mr Bang, and also I have some uhh, more professional business involving academics with Nazca. But, first things first.”
The Nusantaran Egoist proceeded to shake his hand very vigorously, smiling at the prospect of meeting another person from the same region. “You are the first person from Nanyang that I’ve met before. I know that Vietnam and the Federation ain’t really that close culturally, but I’ve been dying to meet someone from the general vicinity.”
She proceeded to let go of his hand, now awkwardly smiling. “Sorry, just… a bit too wound up from being the only person from the Southeastern Orient here. I’m just very excited to meet you.”
“I…” Huh, was that it? He gave her his best reassuring smile, finding it a little more difficult than usual. “I understand that one can feel a little homesick in these times. I hope you will find the solace you need soon. Though I imagine that isn’t the only reason you were seeking me out, I assume? A whole day is a long time to spend.”
Bunga does have a more klutzy and significantly more carefree demeanor than even most of her colleagues back in her days in Palembang, but she is a Polymath through and through, and one of the qualities Polymaths must possess is the ability to see detail, even if it’s just for a split-second.
And she noticed Bang’s porcelain arm as she shaked the Vietnamese man. Something she’ll keep in mind for some later use perhaps, but nothing worth mentioning right now.
“Yes actually. I have much bigger inquiries for you than just the pleasure of meeting you, for one. Are you aware of polymaths from the Majapahit Federation around Bermuda? This sorta relates to you, but I feel that I am literally the only Polymath from Nusantara around here. Don’t you feel the same?”
He shrugged and answered honestly. “I suppose I have. I can’t say that has led me to feel any sort of isolation during my brief tenure at Bermuda however. The acquaintances I’ve made have proven to be engaging and I’m looking forward to furthering my connections with them. The aim of this academy was to unite the regions and Majors after all. I’m enjoying my freedom abroad.” Anything was better than his ‘castle tower’ back home.
Honestly. Bunga can’t really disagree with the Vietnamese man. She has enjoyed her time studying here in Bermuda, the libraries and other magnificent architecture wowed the woman when she first disembarked, and the various peoples from many different cultures also astounded her as well. It’s been a good learning experience for her.
But it just feels awfully strange that she is the only Nusantaran to be on this island.
“Don’t you find it weird that, for such a cosmopolitan and multicultural island, that we are perhaps the only ones from Nanyang here?” Bunga asked Bang. “This is supposed to be the nexus of knowledge and innovation, a place for everyone to meet and trade knowledge, and while I have seen many people from the Mughal Empire, Zhongguo, Nippon, Abya Yala and the Occident. I haven’t seen anyone from the region I lived in.”
“Say, have you encountered other Vietnamese while you’re here? Certainly Vietnam has made contributions to the field of Egoism, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t met any Vietnamese while I’m here. Hence my question about Polymaths from Nusantara not being here.”
“I haven’t myself but…” What was she talking about? “I really don’t think we’re the only ones from the South East? I was reading through the student register just last night actually and I did see people from our region. And even if what you’re saying is true, it might just be a case of personal bias on behalf of the administration. Our countries are rather small, you know. Comparatively.”
Ah, how to phrase this gently.
“I’d suggest going out and seeing more people. We’re only in our first week of arrival, I’m sure there’s plenty of familiar faces we both haven’t encountered.”
Well. you don’t become a polymath just by agreeing to every single idea, and Bunga did reluctantly agree mentally. This whole affair of hers has only been going for a couple of days, but the woman still felt like she’s the only person present here from her own nation.
But no point in beating around the bush. It doesn’t seem the Bang is all too familiar with the matter himself, Bunga expected the man to know people from Nanyang personally, not from reading the student ledger.
“Ah well. You might be right.” She relented. “I’ll try and go mingle with other people, it’s only been a couple of days.”
“Speaking of a couple of days though. Mind if I ask, but are you aware of what happened last night? Nazca Whitehall appears injured, and a building was also tentatively destroyed. I’m kinda tempted to investigate the matter myself, since everything that happened these last couple of days happened while I was asleep.”
The woman tapped her chin while she imagined the events of last night, fantasizing about potentially great duels and fights while she’s out like a light.
“She was out on her own investigation on behalf of Jeanne’s defense in a few days and she was attacked by…”
Bang glanced down the hallway, wondering who would be able to overhear this.
“Do you know anything about the fog that appears after curfew?”
“I’m aware, what about it?” She responds, leaning on to Bang’s face, her ears perking up.
Bang coughed politely and took a step backwards from the proximity. “There appears to be some unknown creatures out in the fog. Jeanne was attacked on the first night, and now Nazca was almost cocooned and taken away. For your sake, I’d urge you not to do anything reckless at those hours. Especially not an investigation.”
“Hmmm.”
Bang’s description certainly piqued the woman’s interest. So Jeanne du Bordeaux, the woman who got caught in the morning for burning the library was attacked by unknown creatures, and now Nazca whitehall was cocooned by some unknown creature as well. A mysterious assailant is afoot in this fair island.
Her mind’s thinking up possibilities, but one piece of information from Bang catches Bunga’s attention, and she needs to ask about it.
“Mr Bang, you said that Jeanne was attacked? Jeanne du Bordeaux right? Is her burning of the library an act of… uhh, self defense?”
Her tone was more hushed, she knew the gravity of the information Bang had told her, and she is fully intent on keeping it secret.
“Indeed.” He nodded, suddenly recalling something. “Actually, you may be able to assist with the matter of tracking down one of the unknown parties. You’re an Egoist who specialises in impermanent animal transformations, correct? Would you know of any Occidental Egoists who are capable of the same? Someone with bat-like wings, stinger tail, head like a two-sided battleaxe.”
The woman’s head tilted, and tilted back again, swinging around like a pendulum. Her eyes closed, and her arms were on her chin. Occidental Egoists? Might as well draw a needle from a haystack, an Occidental Egoist with such a specific characteristic though? Whew. That might be a bridge too far.
But now she has a mental image of a bat-like Occidental Egoist, and her curiosity is leaking out of the seams.
She’d always wondered what she’d do if she fared in combat, and if blows come to blows, she might try and fight this bat-like being.
“No. But thank you for the information.” Bunga responded. “Egoists from the Occident are already an endangered species, but with such specific characteristics. Sorry, but my mind came out blank. If you list someone from Nippon or Zhongguo I might have a bead on the person and telegraph my University back home. But someone from the Occident? Nay, not a chance.”
“Well, at least it gives me an idea on what to search for. I’m not a big fan of someone attacking students for no reason. Speaking of attack, you also mentioned Nazca being cocooned? So potentially an Egoist with spider-like abilities too?”
“It’s a possibility. But from the description given to me, there were several creatures in the fog acting in conjunction.” He frowned. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘search’?”
“Hmm? OH! Oh that. Hah.” Bunga laughed a bit. “Calm down Mr Bang, I’m just going to trawl the document space for all Occidental Egoists, don’t go assuming the worst from me Mr. I’m not a suicidal person y’know?”
She hopes that the feint works, an agent has to be good at misdirection after all.
“...I see. My apologies.” He found it difficult to believe her but he had no choice but to take the stranger at face value. “Well, do let us know if you find anything. Your efforts would be appreciated, even more so by me if you don’t risk your life in the fog for it.”
She nodded, smiling, partly to be polite and nice, and partly in the prospect of gaining a degree of trust from someone close to Nazca. “Well. Give my condolences to Nazca. I hope she recovers well, I don’t approve of random Egoists going about and attacking random Polymaths at night. I’ll buy a bouquet of flowers for her tomorrow while I’m at it.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate it,” he answered reflexively, before remembering who they were talking about. No, that wasn’t correct, was it? “Uhh. Perhaps when she’s further into her recovery at least. I don’t think she’d want a stranger in her business so soon after the incident.”
“Well, you did ask for my help on the matter.” Bunga retorted. “Mysterious Egoist aside. I’m more than willing to help, consider me as a… mysterious benefactor to your cause if you will. Now then, I guess you wouldn’t allow me to go back to the room again, yes? Well, tell Nazca my best wishes, and for the moment, I guess I’ll stay right here.” Bunga said as she sat down on some hospital chair by the wall. “I need to wait for James to finish up his discussions.”
Bang tiredly wondered if he’d signed up for more he could handle. He debated telling her how strange it was to linger outside the room of a stranger she’d barged in on but quickly decided it wasn’t the trouble. Instead he just bowed his head, offered a simple “Thank you for the conversation. Have a lovely rest of your day.” and headed back into the room.
stone
Izurich
Little Bill
LIFE AT RITMAN
