Burger

War Notes

Hider

---

Neno Antić

15

Neno stands at 157.4 centimeters (5'2") and weighs 44 kilograms (97 pounds).

Sharp tongued and bitter, Neno is an abrasive person to be around. He's the type of person who speaks without filter and is a rather strict proponent of tough love. Despite what it sounds like, Neno was born to a caring mother that showered him in love, even though his father had vanished before his birth. Despite his tone, he isn't an actual bad person. He does concern himself with others. What he doesn't care about are the woe-is-me attitudes others have. He is rather self-conscious of his own appearance, much to his own chagrin.

Neno's vessel, Frigg, is a rather strange one. Rather than having any defined dormant form, Frigg is a single line of yarn. Because of this, Neno can freely manipulate the threads into whatever dormant form he wants.

Its active form is less ambiguous. It takes the shape of eight individual threads, all connected at the base. Because of Frigg's ability to manipulate and extend itself, the threads can be expanded or tightened at will, changing how Frigg can be used. Usually, Neno keeps one thread wrapped around each arm, while the rest follow him as a cape.

Thread Manipulation

Neno can manipulate the threads of Frigg, controlling them as if they were alive. Additionally, he can expand and contract the gauge of each thread. Doing so changes the properties of it, however. Extremely thin thread acts like metal wire. It becomes incredibly hard, but is significantly more controllable. Extremely thick thread acts more as a large cotton ball, it being extremely soft but unable to do much. He can also extend the range of the thread, but it is proportionate to the gauge. His soft and wire threads can't extend much, but his regular thread can extend the most.

The only thing that Neno carries with him is a photo of his mother.

N/A

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Harvey

---

Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. A great man once said that. However, to Harvey, that man was an ass. His morning started abruptly with urchins banging on his door, something that they did for fun. Harvey lay on his bed, his hands grasping his face. His entire body was sore. Right when he was about to fall asleep once more, the urchins knocked again. This repeated for the most of the morning, and Harvey was forced to wake up.

He stretched his aching body and walked to his kitchen. He filled himself a glass of water and got himself a slice of bread. He ate his morning meal by the window, looking out at the city. He didn't live in a nice part of town. He had enough money to get a decent apartment in a nice part of town, but that was never his style. He felt like a sore thumb whenever he was in those parts of town. They were much too fanciful for his tastes. Besides, that money could be used on better things.

He finished his bread and took a large sip from the glass. The urchins knocked once more. Without so much as an ounce of hesitation, Harvey opened the window and dumped the rest of the cup out, emptying its contents upon the urchins that had decided to play around by knocking on the door to Harvey's apartment building. The children shrieked and ran, laughing as their day had been a fraction more interesting.

He put on his usual attire - a nice dress shirt, a vest, and dress pants. Jackets were never his style. He left his apartment, somewhat prepared for the day ahead of him.

---

The meeting was much more eventful than most. An all-out war? Harvey wanted no real part of it. But, such a conflict would be inevitable. As such, he would just have to deal with it when it gets there. His assignment was to go along with Valoran and Michael, neither of whom he particularly had a fondness of. Valoran was like speaking to a wall sometimes, but he could at least respect the path he took. Michael was, however, an ass. He never liked his attitude, no matter how nice he acted.

It would be the three of them on a rather simple mission. Just convincing a group of people to step off. Simple enough, Harvey thought. He nodded at the don before leaving the room. "So," Harvey propositioned to his compatriots, "I suppose we start by checking with our sharks?"

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Harvey

"Respect is earned through blood, not titles."

Alias:
Oddjob McDowel

Age:
38

Appearance:
Harvey stands at an imposing 6'2". Despite his height, he is of a more average build. Others are easily stronger than him. His black hair is usually left at a medium length. The most consistent part of his appearance is his facial hair, or lack there of. Despite being 38, he's still unable to properly grow a beard.

He usually wears whatever clothes are clean, as he doesn't quite care about fashion. However, being part of the family and all forces him to dress well.

Position:
Soldier

Speciality:
Harvey, as his nickname implies, has no real specialty. He does whatever job comes up, be it fighting, intimidation, taxes, laundering, fencing, and one time, even prostitution.

Personality:
Harvey is blunt. If he has an opinion, he's not afraid to voice it, no matter the consequence. He openly distrusts and has no respect for all forms of authority. Despite this, he still sees those with authority as equals, which may or may not be a bad thing.

Despite being somewhat of an enforcer, Harvey has a certain disdain for violence. He'll fight if need be, but he'd rather solve problems by speaking. He also has a hatred for guns and murder, but not necessarily those who are affiliated with such.

About himself, Harvey is an open book. He'll gladly tell whoever asks about his past, but he doesn't bring it up unless asked. He generally cares about others, but doesn't really care for himself. He is rather pessimistic, despite his openness.

History:
Harvey was born an urchin. His parents were Irish immigrants, searching for a better life in America. The better life never came and they were stuck in the slums. Despite this, Harvey was happy. His parents loved him and did whatever was necessary to feed him. Harvey grew up thinking that even in the worst of times, things would work out.

As Harvey was a young man, his parents became increasingly sicker and sicker. Treatment for them would cost money, which they didn't have. He was unable to get a job for one reason or another, but one place accepted him: the army. News broke out about America entering The Great War, and as such, Harvey entered the army to fight against the Germans. Be a hero, they said, protect the homefront.

The war changed him. He no longer saw war as a great battle where heroes went to protect what they held dear. All that war created was husks. Generals who lead the battles to fight were no longer geniuses. They were just horrid people. When he came home, he learned of his parent's fate. Both had passed from their sickness. Harvey had no news of this. The last beacon of his hope was wrought.

Harvey was lost, both literally and metaphorically. He had no family, no dreams, and no past. He quickly fell with the wrong types of crowds. He fought his way through life. He did whatever it took to survive, be it with blood or a pen, sometimes both at the same time.

He gained an impressive repertoire of skills. However, as he continued, he felt hollow. In a sense, he was still carrying the war with him. He broke free of his path once he realized, but it was the only path he knew. He could only steer it to a better destination.

One fateful day, Harvey was trying to find a regular job (to little avail). A few police officers cruising in their paddy wagon remembered him and his past. They arrested him and tossed him into the wagon, which by chance was carrying someone else. By pure chance, Harvey's hand glanced the side of the wagon, causing each piece to fall off. The door came off the hinges, the wheels flew off, the windows unbarred. Like any criminal, Harvey ran off. One man gave his thanks and said he'd pay him back.

Years later, Harvey (still jobless) was approached by the man. The man said to join their family. He would be taken care of. With little discord, Harvey agreed.

Power:
Dismantle
An oddly specific psionic ability, Harvey can dismantle anything he touches. For example, if he touches a gun, every single part of the gun would act like the other parts don't exist. However, this only works if each part is separate. If he touches a cotton shirt, then he can dismantle it, turning it into threads. However, if something is made from, say, rubber, it is impossible to dismantle unless it is multiple rubber parts glued together. Dismantle also works even if the objects aren't fully attached; if a plastic bag holding bread was dismantled the bread would fall out, but the bag would be fine. Note that it is unable to be used on living things.

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

bleh

"Respect is earned through blood, not titles."

Alias:
Oddjob McDowel

Age:
38

Appearance:
Harvey stands at an imposing 6'2". Despite his height, he is of a more average build. Others are easily stronger than him. His black hair is usually left at a medium length. The most consistent part of his appearance is his facial hair, or lack there of. Despite being 38, he's still unable to properly grow a beard.

He usually wears whatever clothes are clean, as he doesn't quite care about fashion. However, being part of the family and all forces him to dress well.

Position:
Soldier

Speciality:
Harvey, as his nickname implies, has no real specialty. He does whatever job comes up, be it fighting, intimidation, taxes, laundering, fencing, and one time, even prostitution.

Personality:
Harvey is blunt. If he has an opinion, he's not afraid to voice it, no matter the consequence. He openly distrusts and has no respect for all forms of authority. Despite this, he still sees those with authority as equals, which may or may not be a bad thing.

Despite being somewhat of an enforcer, Harvey has a certain disdain for violence. He'll fight if need be, but he'd rather solve problems by speaking. He also has a hatred for guns and murder, but not necessarily those who are affiliated with such.

About himself, Harvey is an open book. He'll gladly tell whoever asks about his past, but he doesn't bring it up unless asked. He generally cares about others, but doesn't really care for himself. He is rather pessimistic, despite his openness.

History:
Harvey was born an urchin. His parents were Irish immigrants, searching for a better life in America. The better life never came and they were stuck in the slums. Despite this, Harvey was happy. His parents loved him and did whatever was necessary to feed him. Harvey grew up thinking that even in the worst of times, things would work out.

As Harvey was a young man, his parents became increasingly sicker and sicker. Treatment for them would cost money, which they didn't have. He was unable to get a job for one reason or another, but one place accepted him: the army. News broke out about America entering The Great War, and as such, Harvey entered the army to fight against the Germans. Be a hero, they said, protect the homefront.

The war changed him. He no longer saw war as a great battle where heroes went to protect what they held dear. All that war created was husks. Generals who lead the battles to fight were no longer geniuses. They were just horrid people. When he came home, he learned of his parent's fate. Both had passed from their sickness. Harvey had no news of this. The last beacon of his hope was wrought.

Harvey was lost, both literally and metaphorically. He had no family, no dreams, and no past. He quickly fell with the wrong types of crowds. He fought his way through life. He did whatever it took to survive, be it with blood or a pen, sometimes both at the same time.

He gained an impressive repertoire of skills. However, as he continued, he felt hollow. In a sense, he was still carrying the war with him. He broke free of his path once he realized, but it was the only path he knew. He could only steer it to a better destination.

One fateful day, Harvey was trying to find a regular job (to little avail). A few police officers cruising in their paddy wagon remembered him and his past. They arrested him and tossed him into the wagon, which by chance was carrying someone else. By pure chance, Harvey's hand glanced the side of the wagon, causing each piece to fall off. The door came off the hinges, the wheels flew off, the windows unbarred. Like any criminal, Harvey ran off. One man gave his thanks and said he'd pay him back.

Years later, Harvey (still jobless) was approached by the man. The man said to join their family. He would be taken care of. With little discord, Harvey agreed.

Power:
Dismantle
An oddly specific psionic ability, Harvey can dismantle anything he touches. For example, if he touches a gun, every single part of the gun would act like the other parts don't exist. However, this only works if each part is separate. If he touches a cotton shirt, then he can dismantle it, turning it into threads. However, if something is made from, say, rubber, it is impossible to dismantle unless it is multiple rubber parts glued together. Dismantle also works even if the objects aren't fully attached; if a plastic bag holding bread was dismantled the bread would fall out, but the bag would be fine. Note that it is unable to be used on living things.

Q - FLUX

With End's armoured van fleeing and Policus surrounding the area, Warthog decided it was a good idea to escape. Especially after seeing the anti-armour round penetrate the van. He wondered if everything was fine in there. Rather quickly, he needed to escape. He wouldn't want to try his chances against that gun. Who knew if his armour could hold against whatever ammo the main robot used?

He began to walk backwards, still providing covering fire, but he prepared to dash into an alleyway to try to escape the large truck.

Edged Horizon

Odile couldn't respond. He had never seen this atrocity before. His senses no longer functioned properly. He could barely hear anything except for the slight movements the beast made. His eyes were focused solely on the abomination. He lost his sense of surroundings, becoming bumbled with directions. He could no longer smell anything other than that otherworldly odor. All of his senses failed, except one - survival.

With all of the strength he could muster, he ran away from the beast. He didn't think about Natala and Liza. He only wanted to live. Even with his curse, he knew that he should run. Whatever than thing was, it was dangerous. More dangerous than anything that Odile had ever seen. Even with the wound on his chest, he could muster the strength to run. He would do anything it would take to survive.

IᎶ.

Right, I've forgotten what you two are aiming for, please forgive me senpais:
SilverDawn

@Mae

The thome.

Oh, you mean actual builds. UNLIMITED MAGIC POWER.

Q - FLUX

The sound of tires screeching and gunfire broke the silence. Whatever the negotiating team did, it went wrong. One way or another, at least. Thankfully, the van was somewhat out of harm's way. He swung open the back of the van, stepping out.

"Stay here," he said to Zer0. After all, it would be rather dangerous for a young girl to participate in an urban firefight.

He quickly walked towards the fight. Five cars. Bullets raining from all directions. Advent's... things scampering around. Overgrowing plants. Warthog walked into the middle of the war zone. Bullets tore into his ragged cloak, leaving nothing left but strands and patchwork. Upon colliding with his now-exposed armour, the bullets were destroyed - either rended into dust or crushed into metal pulp.

“Warthog, I’ll leave the walkers to you.”

He had heard End speak to him, vaguely. The two of them always did work well together. Rather slowly, Warthog pulled out Jörmungandr. The heavy gun pointed towards the people unfortunate enough to be on the ground.

"I'm not really a pious man," he said to himself, his gun winding up, "but I suppose I should ask for forgiveness."

The gun roared out ferociously as lead spewed from the barrel of the gun. He didn't fire at the fastest his gun could, but whoever didn't run was sure to be hit.

IᎶ.

Odd. Sala, despite only entering a door, seemed to understand things better. What those things were, however, remained a mystery. She only knew that she felt like she understood things better. Strange how doors do that. As she walked, the world seemed to bend and twist and shift and mix. Sala, however, didn't care. She was much too young to establish any point of reference. If the world decided to be a chaotic mass of geometry, so be it.

As the hall began to normalize - out of patterns or adaptation, either worked - Sala entered a strange room. There were three pedestals. The first was an odd, flat surface covered in a strange fog. Sala had no clue what it was. That one was a big no-no. The second was an old tome. Despite never seeing it, Sala knew that something must have been hidden inside, like food. That one was the best choice. The third one was a head of some small beast for Sala to wear on her own head, no doubt created for her. In no way, shape, or form would Sala bend to the machiavellianism of corporate greed. Despite this, Sala deduced that the smartest possible outcome was to take all three. After all, they were all in the room with her. Nothing was stopping her from taking them all.

"ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ sʜᴀʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴᴡᴀʀᴅs. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ."

The voice reverberating in Sala's mind. So much for that idea. She knew that whatever this voice was, it would be better to not get on its bad side. After all, the voice seemed to be more powerful than her.

She made her choice. She grabbed the old tome which may or may not have contained food and pressed onwards.

Q - FLUX

Warthog listened intently to Cash's explanation. He didn't quite like the concept of being killed by sentient wind, but was glad to know that this nightmare may have a physical manifestation. But the thought crossed his mind - what if someone wrote it on his suit? The mere thought of it made him shudder. With all of the little questions he had answered, Warthog entered the van that he had borrowed from Cash.

Before the doors closed, he looked back. Most of them had entered End's van. There was only Zero left without a ride. The van that he was had enough space for one more, thankfully.

"Hey, Zero," he said, his voice reverberating as if he spoke into a bucket, "want to come along?"

He didn't want Zero to enter End's van. What if something went wrong? End's van was armoured, what if they perceived it as a threat? The van that Warthog was in wasn't armoured. Of course, they wouldn't enter the property or the surrounding area. Warthog was never good at negotiations. Something about an eight foot and half-ton suit of armour never really spelt diplomacy. Warthog would hide nearby, coming out if the situation needed it.