EchoicChamber

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

@Sir Knight Approved!

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

@Joker892 That's perfectly fine, my dude. Stay safe over there, alright?

♠♣♦♥Welcome to Wonderland (AIW RP)♥♦♣♠

@SouffleGirl123 S'all good. I know how much of a pain HS is by itself, so I can only imagine how bad it must be on top of all that work. Take as much time as you need. :)

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

Even in a rain-thickened crowd such as this one, the woman was hard to miss. Jewels woven and buried in her hair spoke of riches that most of her fellow patrons could only dream of tasting. A dress made of finely woven, Parabolian silk, glinting with the colors of dreams. However, what stood out to Dawn the most was simply the way she held herself. Like she had the reins of life wrapped tightly around her fist, leading it along as slowly or swifty as she desired. Perfectly and utterly in control.

Dawn gave her an amiable smile as she sat down, shaking her head and placing the mug onto the table with a faint “click”. “Not at all, madam,” she said. “I don’t mind the company.” Unlike Alex, Dawn was a wisp of a woman, voice soft and face weary. Her dress was well-fitted, but simple in design and colored a modest cloud-blue. Her hair was pinned back neatly, but without much flair. The only thing particularly fancy about her appearance was her hat, which bore the black feathers of Surface ravens.

There was also her revolver, but that was concealed in the folds of her dress, neatly out of sight.

“And I’d have to agree with you, on that. There’s ah, less of a risk of slipping in regular London fog, I think. Although this place certainly seems to be benefiting from all the rain.” Dawn extended a darkly-gloved hand towards Alex, grey eyes meeting green.

“Dawn Memoli. It’s nice to meet you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dawn spotted a few more water-logged customers stumble in. A somewhat flustered looking soldier. A woman wearing the tattered remnants of a navy uniform. Curious, but Dawn kept her focus largely on the stranger before her, quietly respectful.

---

It wasn’t uncommon for The Mandrake to be populated with particularly colorful sorts of people. It was a place where inspiration could frolic, where Clay Men and writers could get drunk on each other’s shoulders. It was rather heartwarming to watch, really. The stuff of dreamy poetry and wistfully-woven novels, although Madison was by no means a writer. There were the Rubbery Men, a small flock of devils casting speculative looks about the bar, a soldier, a rather lovely noblewoman, and…

Madison looked up from his deck of cards, just in time to see a woman in a battered down uniform stroll in and into one of the nearest empty booths. In her hands was the muted gleam of Bottled Oblivion. It was difficult to read her expression fully, seeing as how she bore shades despite being miles underground, but she seemed rather troubled. While Madison hated to pester someone who was likely just trying to seek out some reprieve from the rain, that bottle, the dishevelled look- it concerned him.

Polishing off the last of his tea, Madison rose, patted out the front of his dress, then weaved his way through the crowd and to the table the woman was seated at. He hesitated a moment, glancing the woman over, then put on his most disarming smile and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, “I hope that I’m not bothering you, but would it be alright for me to sit here? You seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

His eyes once again travelled downward, falling upon the sinister gleam of the Oblivion.

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

@Bishop Approved!

_Project: P.H.O.B.I.A._ [CLOSED]

Percival Pelacour

“Ladies and gents, the show’s just begun!”

Name:
Percival Rowan Pelacour

Aliases:
Percy, Pierrot

Age:
19

Description:
Clocking in at an even 6’2”, calling Percival “noticeable” would be a severe understatement. With vibrant blue eyes, a bird’s nest of orange hair, and a grin that could aptly be described as “shit eating”, the young man gives off the impression that he’s planning some sort of mischief even when his mind is far from it. He has a penchant for clothing that’s a bit harder on the eyes, with his favorite outfit consisting of deep blue pants, leather boots, and a canary yellow jacket that he often wears like a cape. After starting the PHOBIA treatments, Percival has adopted a few unsettling aspects to his appearance. A certain hungry look in his eyes, for one. Unnaturally pale skin.

The razor sharp fangs that now line his mouth might also have something to do with the effect, as well.

Phobi-ablility:
Coulrophobia, the Fear of Clowns

- Incredibly flexible, to the point of putting most professional acrobats to shame. This goes beyond just plain contortionist skills, however, as he can easily fold himself into spaces where no ordinary human could be expected to fit- these include vents, cups, suitcases, and, of course, tiny cars. Percival also displays a knack for balancing on things.

- Access to a personal hammerspace via his sleeves, pockets, boots, or most anywhere out of sight that he can stick his hand in. This hammerspace grants him, among other things, a comically oversized mallet, pie, a unicycle, and balloons. It's also possible for him to store objects in this space, although, if asked, Percival will admit that he has no idea where the things go, or where they come from in the first place.

- Can weaponize magic tricks.

- Has a mouth filled with sharp, razorlike teeth, and an increased jaw strength. While this allows him to bite and tear into things quite easily, it also leads to Percival biting his own mouth often.

Personality:
Percival is, put simply, quite the personality. For all of his annoyance with the powerset he developed, the young man certainly acts the part of a clown, joking constantly and keeping up an enthusiastic, over-the-top air almost constantly. His fondness for theatrics and dramatic flair can be...quite grating to some, but in the case that one has a thick enough skin to put up with his joking, Percy can be surprisingly friendly.
Beneath his cheery persona, however, Percival is somewhat bitter about his circumstances, and can quickly sober up when the need comes for it.

Relations:
Indigo (Twin Sister), Caroline (adopted younger sister), Soren (adopted father), TBA

Backstory:
Percival and Indigo were the result of a pregnancy between two people who were, quite frankly, unprepared to have children. They were given up for adoption soon after birth, and, two years later, were taken in by a gentle bakery owner by the name of Soren Pelacour. Soren, having always wanted children, had been unable to have his own, and was delighted to take in the two in, although the two quickly wound up becoming a handful with their combined rambunctiousness. That didn’t stop Soren from taking yet another child in once the two had turned twelve, and that certainly didn’t stop the family from becoming incredibly close-knit through the years.

By the time Percy had graduated high school, he had set his eyes on becoming a famous actor one day. While a somewhat difficult choice in career to follow, he was nevertheless supported, and was accepted into a small arts oriented university close to home. Before he could make much progress in his studies, however, the family began to fall on hard times. It became more and more difficult for a small bakery to compete with its larger rivals, and the Pelacours were only just able to scrape by with what loyal customers it could find. Eventually, in desperation to support his family, Percival dropped out of college and signed up for the PHOBIA program. While dangerous, it certainly paid well, and getting some neat superpowers out of the deal just seemed like icing on the cake.

Of course, it also hadn’t been the powerset of a clown that Percival had expected to get.

Theme:
This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race

One of the few perks about Percival's new powers is the fact that he no longer has to fear being eaten by sharks. He tastes too funny, after all.

Dawn Memoli

“Dream of a better tomorrow.”

---

Name:
Dawn Evelyn Memoli

Aliases:
TBA

Age:
23

Description:
Clocking in at roughly 4 foot 9 inches in boots, and without much muscle mass to speak of, Dawn isn’t exactly the most imposing figure around. Her face is soft and open, with ash-grey eyes and light skin. Her hair is black and thick, and Dawn has grown it to her hips- although, as a result, she has developed a habit of styling it in a side plait to keep it out of the way most of the time.
Dawn usually tries to “dress to impress”, donning skirts, tights, cardigans and flats to work and throughout everyday life. Winter sees her swapping to a modest sweater and slacks, and warm seasons have her lose the cardigan entirely. In more casual settings, she’ll don a simple pair of jeans and a shirt, but there’s one constant throughout many of her wardrobe changes- a hat. Regardless of setting, she’ll often be found wearing a hat of some kind, although her apparent favorite is a black sunhat.

Phobi-ablility:
Oneirophobia, the Fear of Dreaming

- Can create vivid illusions and hallucinations.

- Has the power to enter the dreams of other people, and alter them if desired. It's also possible for her to drag other sleepers into her own dreamworld, although the effect only lasts for as long as both parties are asleep.

- Can manifest tulpas, or thoughtforms, in the real world to serve as her familiars. While these creatures are bound to Dawn, and are naturally protective of their host, they have a minor level of sentience and often act independently of Dawn's orders. These tulpas tend to vary, but, due to being drawn from her dreams and nightmares, are often recurring.

Personality:
By nature, Dawn is a gentle soul, soft spoken and polite towards strangers and friends alike. She tends to be quite protective and maternal towards friends of hers, and makes an effort to grant a level of respect to most. However, while friendly and slower to anger than some, she is not necessarily a yes-woman- oftentimes, when made annoyed by someone or a situation, her irritation will manifest itself as a dry sort of humor and a somewhat snarky commentary. This humor tends to be present regardless, however. When genuinely angered, Dawn grows calm to the point of frigidity, becoming vengeful and keeping her grudges close at hand.

While Dawn attempts to stay composed and professional for the most part, she can quickly become flustered if the right buttons are pressed.

Relations:
Allen (older brother), Darrien (father), Lyla (mother), TBA

Backstory:
Born the second child of an teacher father and a lawyer mother, Dawn’s early life was generally quite pleasant. The family resided in the suburbs, and, while not rich, had enough money to live comfortably. By all accounts, she was a happy child, with little to worry about.

Except for the dreams.

Dawn was plagued by nightmares and sleep paralysis, and there was hardly a night where her rest went undisturbed. It got to the point where she refused to sleep for as long as possible, sobbing when she was sent to bed, and clawing and hitting herself to keep from falling asleep. The condition only worsened after a favored uncle died, a soldier taken by the line of work. She was eventually put into therapy, and, while it helped to alleviate the worst of it, the dreams never truly stopped.

Upon becoming an adult, Dawn made the decision to go into law enforcement, hoping to protect innocent people in the same way as her departed uncle. She had just obtained her Bachelor’s degree when she heard word of the PHOBIA project. While initially hesitant, she eventually signed up for the job, deciding that using her nightmares to achieve her dream of doing good in the world was an opportunity to at least look into.

Theme:
Through the Valley

Dawn once dreamed that someone was shouting "On your marks...get set..." She woke with a start.

_Project: P.H.O.B.I.A._ [CLOSED]

@Majoras End Coolness, coolness!

_Project: P.H.O.B.I.A._ [CLOSED]

*rolls in*
Should I drop my characters in the OOC again first, or just move them directly to the Character Page?

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

Intro's up! It's not the best, as I wrote it at roughly two am where I live, but I promised that I'd make a post soon and I wanted to stick to my word, haha.

Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

London rain was far different from that on the Surface. For one, it couldn’t really be considered “rain” in the first place, given the fact that it was the leaking of the cavern roof and not the skies. It was rarely ever more than a gentle, steady pattering, and it smelled strongly of the earth and strange metals that Madison couldn’t quite place. Regardless, it was still rain enough for the citizens of the Neath, and most street-goers at this time were in a scramble for shelter or an umbrella.

Madison had been on his way to the local bakery when the false-rains hit, and, like others, had been left stranded without an umbrella (seeing as how there were no clouds down in the depths to read the weather by). He enjoyed a good storm, really. Even when he lived back on the Surface, there was something magical about the quiet drum of droplets against the roof. However, given how incredibly cold underground downfall was, it wasn’t long before Madison found himself rushing to his nearest hangout, bag hoisted above his head in an attempt to ward off the worst of it.

He found himself now in one of the plush loveseats of The Singing Mandrake. It was quiet, now, quieter than it usually was in the evening, but there was still a passionate young man waxing poetic about his lover on-stage. Still a crowd that hooted appreciatively, or laughed and hurled their drunken commentary. Madison himself was content to just listen and applaud, playing a round of solitaire and taking long, leisurely swigs from a mug of oyster tea (while spiced wine was being offered on menu, it was still rather early in the day, and there was research to be done). It was good and warm and mild, and the air was sweet with camaraderie.

All in all, with the chill of the damp air sealed outside, it was shaping out to be a good day indeed.

---

The fog was particularly heavy this morning.

London always seemed to have a wall of fog thick enough to cut, but the cool rain against the cobblestone left anyone trying to navigate the city streets almost dead-blind. From what Dawn had heard throughout the years, London had been prone to seas of mist even before the Fall. The main difference now was that the eternal night made it even more difficult to tell just where you were before you walked face-first into a lamp pole. Or off a pier. Many things, really.

Dawn clicked her way down the damp streets, one hand gripped around an umbrella, the other keeping a firm grip on the oil lantern held out in front of her. It did little to break through the fog, of course, but it helped enough that she was loathe to go out without it. Her hat was tilted upwards, almost jovially compared to her usual angle, and wisps of fog curled about the folds of her dress like the ghost of a cat. If the ghosts of cats were almost a sickly shade of greenish-grey and occasionally twitched and writhed and shuddered, that is.

She had no cases, currently, so had decided to take a bit of time for herself to unwind. However, Caligula’s Coffee, her usual haunt, had been crowded to the point of unpleasantness due to the rain. So, she found herself roaming in search of the next best tea-serving, leak-proof place she could think of that wasn’t too far off.

Dawn stepped into The Singing Mandrake, folding up her umbrella and tying it in two short, deft movements. It was a bit busy here, too, but not in the case of Caligula’s, where you couldn’t take a step before bumping into some other weary occupant. She quietly bought herself a mushroom tea and sat down in one of the few empty booths, savoring the warmth with both hands as the poet on stage rambled about Tomb Colonists and the secrets you could find under their bandages (“if,” the man said, “you can charm the folks outta them quick enough.” A lecherous wink.).

The rumble of the crowd was calming, and Dawn settled in her chair to listen, sipping idly at her tea. Could never know what you might pick up here and there.