EchoicChamber

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Ranch House

It didn’t take long for Mina to descend to the basement, and it didn’t take long for Dawn to pick up on how quickly the Good Doctor’s relief twisted into surprise and a sort of roiling disgust. Dawn lowered her bundle of meager medical supplies beside Mina as she began her work, then stepped away to allow her better access to her patient. Even from where she stood, Dawn could easily see how bad just how bad the woman’s wounds had gotten in the absence of any proper medical care. The flesh was visibly diseased, angry red streaks stretching up along the skin and disappearing from sight.

The scent of it lodged itself within Dawn’s head.

“I’m not sure,” Dawn said. Her eyes darted towards the doorway, just in time to catch the flutter of Montana’s coat as he left the basement. “If there’s anything still in there, that is.” Upon Mina’s instruction, she gave a brief nod, turning on her heel and slipping off towards the stairs. “I’ll be as soon as I can,” she called over her shoulder.

Dawn found herself returning yet again to the ranch’s office, stepping carefully over a mess of papers that had been cast upon the floor in her hasty exit. Inside was a hat rack propped precariously against the doorframe- the finish had long since peeled away, the wood mottled and eaten at by whatever insects had called it home, but it was tall and sturdy and would likely support an IV bag without collapsing from its own weight. Her hand had just clasped about the splintered frame when she abruptly paused, shoulders slumping, eyes glazing as her mind went somewhere distance.

They had another guest.

It seemed as if Montana and Eld Fen had already gone to greet them- him- at this point, but the fact that they were receiving so many unexpected guests seemed worthy of sharing with the group at this point. Especially when the one currently speaking with their group had his mind closed off, thoughts kept hazy and left with the bare minimum of planning. Whoever this person was, he was either incredibly cautious, someone who had done his research on the Wanderers, or both.

We have company, Dawn announced. They’re outside. They don’t seem to planning against us for the time being, but make sure to be on your guard.

And, she mused, one of the guests just so happened to be right next to the well. With a slight grunt, Dawn hefted up the rack, carrying it out of the room and to the basement entrance before setting it carefully against it. With that done, she headed out, taking a detour to grab a bucket from one of the few closets around.

Upon stepping out, Dawn was met with the sight of their second guest, holding a visibly tense discussion with his greeters, and Toby and Rei watching their first from a distance. She eyed the man carefully, the mask that covered his face, then shifted to the various posters that now littered the aged peach tree in the ranch’s yard. Each bore the face of a different Wanderer, herself included. She immediately looked to Montana and Fen, brow raised, but didn’t ask any questions- only giving Montana an acknowledging nod and the others a quiet “good morning,” before eventually, somewhat reluctantly moving on. As much as Dawn wished to join the meeting, Mina was waiting for her. She would ask for details later.

Dawn watched the first guest just as warily as she approached the well, taking note of the crimson dripping from his hands and into the thirsty soil beneath. Just as before, she didn’t speak to the man, although her eyes never left him as she tied the bucket, lowered it down, and, with some effort, hoisted it back up again. It was only once the bucket was safely in her arms that Dawn looked away, making her way back to the ranch with a light tread.

Several more minutes had passed before Dawn eventually entered the basement again, pushing the door open with her shoulder. One hand carried the rack, and the other was supporting the bucket, keeping it tucked securely beneath her shoulder. “Here you are,” she murmured, She set both beside Mina, taking care not to let any more water slosh free from the bucket as she did so, then straightened.

”Do you, ah, need anything else?”

Keeping herself occupied seemed preferable than just sitting about, absently twiddling her thumbs while Mina tried to revive the prisoner.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Ranch House, Basement

It was in silence that Dawn watched Montana take pause, knife still gleaming maliciously in what dim light managed to enter the basement. Her fingers, which had been tightened to the point of drawing blood from her palms, relaxed as the man sheathed the blade, kneeling to offer their resident prisoner a drink from his canteen over the death he had intended. She watched as he neatly bound the woman’s hands once all was said and done, and met the coal of Montana’s gaze with her own dusty ash.

“Thank you.” The words were sincere. While the prisoner’s life was still at risk, it would not be taken by his hands. Dawn gave Montana a nod as he passed, a sort of warmth livening up her face for a moment. It faded as the man ascended the stairs, and, taking a deep breath, she turned her attentions back onto the prisoner.

Her life being spared today would ultimately mean nothing if she died of infection.

The first thing Dawn did was step over and around the prisoner, switching the radio off and ending the wailing voice it emitted. She didn’t speak as she did this, nor did she as she ascended the stairs herself, steps light and purposeful.

It was as she was returning to her room, digging through her bag for supplies, that she caught it. Her head lifted, tilted to the side like a bloodhound catching a scent. Someone was here. Before she could raise the alarms, however, Dawn heard her own name flicker through the head of one of their own, and she quickly tuned into the specific “channel” before the thought could pass.

I caught him right now. she began. If you think that he’ll cause trouble, then do whatever you feel best to keep him away. And thank you. With that, Dawn cut out, returning to her searching. Toby was one of the more...reasonable of the group, thankfully. He could be trusted to handle the unexpected guest.

Dawn eventually returned to the basement after a few more minutes, face stoic. In her freshly gloved hands were a variety of medical supplies- a roll of gauze, a small bag of cotton, and water. As she descended, she sought out Mina with her Gift, and began to “speak” to the doctor.

Mina? Once you’re less… For a moment, she paused, struggling to find the right word to use. ...preoccupied, could you please come down to the basement? I could use your help. Dawn was by no means a medical professional. Life in the ash had taught her the basics of treating a wound, of stitching yourself up in a pinch, but the smell of diseased flesh and rat spoor had formed a near miasma in the basement. The woman’s face was haggard, likely doing little favor to her health, either. If Mina (quite understandably) turned her down, Dawn would do her best to treat the prisoner, but professional assistance in such a situation would likely be of great assistance.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@Claw2k11 Mmmm, yeah, that would work. And the mind clearing makes sense. c: Just wanted to make sure that your character couldn’t bar mentalists from getting into his head or something like that, haha. Would you mind clearing that up in your page, and editing the time limit for his Gift? Once that’s done, you can consider him approved.
EDIT: Also, if you can PM me a bit more on his history, I’d appreciate it a lot. You don’t have to put it in your page, but I just want to see if you have anything specific in mind or anything if you don’t mind. c:

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@Claw2k11 Specter looks really good! I do have a few things that I'd like to bring up before he's officially approved, however. The first is that a full on resistance can't probably be built up by repeated exposure to mental Gifts, or else the faction folk would've exploited this a long time ago. (Oren was an experiment specifically made to keep out telepaths, along with being a general Gift dead zone, for instance) He can have the skills to keep his surface thoughts kind of ambiguous and vague and hard to get at/have mental distraction techniques and the skill to empty his mind, or he can have a fully blown Gift of mental resistance, but general mental resistance as a skill that he built up would likely not work.

Also, him becoming a ghost for six hours is fine, although just keep in mind that six hours might be a very long time in IC standpoints. Would that be alright with you?

Sorry for the trouble! Just wanted to kind of get that out there- Specter seems like a very interesting character. c:

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Yo, @ZB1996, just as a heads up, Canvas is a guy and not a woman. c:

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Capital Base, Liberty

The Councillor had been about a hair’s breadth from dozing off, head bobbing and swaying like a blade of grass in the breeze, when the sound of her name brought her back to reality. She snapped to attention, squinted in the brightness of the fluorescent lights, then turned towards Riza with owlishly wide eyes. “Oh. Hey. You must be…” Heather trailed off. Gave a long, lazy yawn. Glanced at her tablet. “Agent Khan. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, you know.

“I plan on seeing for myself if they’re true.”

For a moment, the sluggishness Heather carried with her seemed to fade. Her gaze locked onto Riza’s face with a sort of alarming focus, scrutinizing it carefully. Then she gave yet another yawn, and whatever spell had come across the Councillor was broken. She flicked her stylus idly across her tablet’s screen, absently searching.

It didn’t take too long for the next Agent to arrive- stumbling her way in like a newborn foal. Heather did a well enough job of keeping the amusement off her face as she waved Beretta off, “It’s fine. Nice shoes, by the way. Very classy.” She couldn’t quite repress the undignified chuckle at the next arrival, however. Unlike Agent Beretta, the man strutted his way in with a practiced swagger, fully decked out in proper Erubescian garb.

Like Beretta, however, he seemed utterly flustered by her being there.

To say Heather was quite pleased with her decision to stop by would have been the understatement of the year.

“At ease, Agent.” She stood, walking slow, steady circles around the man, taking every last inch of silk and sparkle. After a few silent rotations, she eventually spoke up again. “You look absolutely ridiculous. Which means that in Erubesco, you’d be charming. Good job.” Heather nodded, satisfied, then returned to her seat.

As Canvas strolled in, Heather’s eyes landed not on the man himself, but instead immediately honed in on the bottle in his grasp. The contents sloshed loosely about.

She didn’t comment. She might have given the Supervisor a half-pointed, half-amused look, and might have slid her stylus in such a way to make the man think she had made a note, but she didn’t comment.

“Just decided to drop in. See how progress was going. I’m sure you know how much is weighing on this mission, Supervisor.” Heather paused. “It’s a lot. A lot is weighing on this mission. If nobody knew.”

She stretched her legs out, letting the joints pop.

“Just do whatever you’d do if I wasn’t here. Dance. Drink. Eat cake. I’m not going to report you for doing your jobs.”

---

Erubesco Citadel

“Thank you very much, Commander Botrelle.” Madison returned Lulu’s smile with a brilliant one of his own, rising to give her hand a firm pump. There was a brimming light of enthusiasm in his face now that the panic of finding the meeting hall was over- like a schoolboy bouncing off the walls before the start of class. Straightening up, Madison sprung towards the very front of the room, taking care not to block the screen as he did so.

“Hello, everyone.” He gave a slight wave, scanning the room for a response. “It’s nice to meet you all. As Commander Botrelle said, my name is Madison Lovette, a research-oriented Knight Commander from the Caer Guinevere base. Some of you might be aware that the research department there is a bit, ah...lacking, unfortunately. So, it’s my job to fix that.” Madison beamed.

“I’ve been sent here to study various procedures that you all follow here at the Citadel. I’ll likely be visiting several of you in your respective departments- asking questions, taking notes on how everything is organized. I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair while I’m here.” He flipped open his folder, checking to see if there was anything that he might have missed, when one of the gathered facility spoke up.

“That’s quite alright,” Madison chirped. He listened intently, interest quickly captured- by the sound of it, this man worked in the same department as he.

His smile soon faltered.

A look of shock fell upon his face.

“I...I’m sorry, but, ah…” He swallowed. “Did you just say- you’re experimenting on people- on serfs- and their, ah…” Madison shifted. “Their…their heads…they burst?” He glanced around, drumming his fingers on the front of his folder. The man who had spoken was smiling placidly. “He- I’m sorry. That was a joke, isn’t it? He isn’t-” The Commander gave a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. It must have been a joke.”

There was no possible way that such a thing was allowed, let alone legal. It was ridiculous to have gotten worked up about it. While Libertians were the enemy, and while serfs were often convicts more often than not, they were still people. It was absurd to think that they would be faced with such treatment.

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@VitoftheVoid Approved!

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@Arya10108909 Sorry to hear that, Arya. I wish you the best of luck in your future RPs!

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

@VitoftheVoid Approved!

@The Jest Also, John is officially approved as well. c:

A Truly "Gifted" Life (Ignore post count)

Ranch House, Unknown Location

Half of Dawn’s attention was on the maps spread out before her, the other somewhere far in the distance, flickering about the edges of her Gift’s range. As such, it was only at the sound of her name that she started, tearing her gaze away from the table and upwards, towards the doorway. Upon seeing who was standing there, she immediately brightened, stepping around the table to better meet the visitor. “Drake. It’s good to see you, ah, up and about again.” She smiled, clasping her hand on the other’s shoulder for a moment before releasing. “You’ve been out for a few weeks, now. I was getting worried, actually.”

By now, it was reasonable to expect that whenever Drake died that he would come back to life not too long after. It was...still rather unpleasant an experience, to say the least, and definitely something that she preferred not to see on a regular basis, but it was a reassuring bit of knowledge nonetheless.

“We were attacked by Liberty not long after you, ah...went out. So we had to move here.” Before she could say more on the matter, another of their group had joined them in the office- Mina, their resident doctor. Dawn nodded her head in greeting, stepping back to allow her better access to Drake. “Good morning, Mina,” she said. “The watch went well. Hadn’t picked anything unusual up, which is the best we can ask for, I think.”

Aside from Drake’s awakening, it had been nice and uneventful. It was shaping out to be a relatively alright day so far.

Which is why something had to happen to put a damper on it.

Dawn stiffened suddenly, fingers curling slightly against the sides of her legs. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, then unceremoniously took her leave, striding off as quickly to the basement as she could without outright running. Upon her entrance to the molded depths of the house, she sucked in a sharp breath at the stench of rot and infection. Dawn composed herself, stepping fully into the basement and allowing both captor and prisoner to fully hear the sound of her footsteps.

“Montana.” Her voice was firm. She said nothing more- little else was needed. Dawn had preferred not to enter the basement in the days that they had been there, not particularly wanting to stroll in and gawk at the scene that had been built beneath their feet. That had been allowed to pass. There was a reason why that had changed now, and if anyone knew it it would be Montana himself.

Her eyes flickered to the prisoner behind him. Starvation and fatigue had been imprinted deep into her face, showing the full, grisly truth of what she had undergone in every crevice and hollowed crack.

A fresh pang of guilt throbbed in Dawn’s chest.

She turned back to Montana, watching him carefully.