HereComesTheSnow — Roleplayer Guild

「Name」: Lucas Schwarz

「Age」: 17

「Gender」: Male

「Race」:  Human

「Affiliation」: Every pariah, every exile, every person cast off by society.

「Weapon」: A seemingly endless supply of Semblance-created Flatheaded Screws, each about the size of the average arming sword but seemingly lighter than their size would suggest with the ease and accuracy with which he tosses them. They can be used as Melee weapons as well, with rather standard steel-esque toughness and durability, making them a good choice for blocking or parrying. When puncturing an opponent, they surprisingly do next to no physical damage, despite being quite capable of fully impaling someone. Instead, they conduct the semblance, detailed below.

Possibly capable of manifesting different weapons through his semblance's workings, such as a sword, a hammer, or a spear, but he defaults to the screws.

「Semblance」: 「Imaginary Numbers」 - The semblance is said to be a reflection of the soul of its wielder. Their hopes, their goals, their dreams, their virtues, and indeed their vices. And as a young man filled to the brim with vices and the intent to spread them, the effects of「Imaginary Numbers」come as no surprise. Manifesting the aforementioned screws through his imagination (we think) as both weapon and conduit, when they strike someone they target not the body, but the opponent's heart. And no matter who his opponent may be, from a Signal initiate to a grizzled veteran of 40 years in the Hunting World, they will forcefully make the fight on equal terms. Body, technique, talent, intellect, heart, determination, health: all will fall to match Schwarz. They will know his misfortune. They will know the pain they and others have inflicted upon him. Under trial by combat, so often used to decide wrong and right in the world, both good and bad will finally be given the equal and fair shake they deserve. Has the passive effect of surrounding him with a dark and gloomy aura. His force of will causing reality to bend over backwards for him is not a permanent effect, though, and each screw typically lasts roughly seven and a half minutes.

「Personality」: Lucas's personality is, on the surface, that of someone who has been beaten by life to the point that he has simply stopped caring. He always seems cheerful and innocent, speaking with a friendly, trying-to-sound-cool-esque voice even as he reminds you 「This isn't my fault」before trying to drive a screw through your heart. He makes no attempt to understand others, ignoring their feelings altogether unless he honestly feels like taking stock of them. He will have no qualms if he were to beat you mercilessly, even kill you, with the grin of a child who is just playing a game. He tosses lies into the air as if it were simply breathing, he'll shamelessly declare his perverted ideals right to a woman's face, even discussing the topics at length, with no regard to the other party's objections. A loser to the core, he simply has nothing left to give.

That is, until he is met with failure at his goal of dragging the strong down to weakness. The most painful times, where his inability to win even counters his ability to make the other person suffer as he does, to change their damnably idealistic and heroic selves, to show the weakness or fear every person has; those are the times where Schwarz's facade falls apart. Where his bitterness, his anger,  the chip on his shoulder all show plainly upon his face. The obstruction of his sense of justice, his personal, twisted form of justice, still to this day strikes the young man to the core, redoubling his determination to kick your legs out from under you, even as that vicious scowl fades back into a wide-eyed grin.

「Appearance」: 

A young man of below-average height and below-average (read: kind of skinny) build, Schwarz's face is dominated by a stepford grin and wide, too-innocent gray eyes. His inky black hair is perpetually unkempt, washed but never combed or brushed or anything that would give it your bog-standard "I pay more than half a second of attention to my hair" look. His skin is an almost sickly pale, and is mostly covered up by an unremarkably black school uniform. Not even his kicks are fly. An effective aura of complete undesirability cloaks him, to the point where those around him subconsciously try to ignore him as much as possible. Unfortunately for them, Luke very rarely lets himself be ignored. Forcing himself into whatever group he chooses, his presence instead usually unsettles his company, especially compounded with his dissonant cheer and calmness in the face of his powers and situation.

「History」:  A young man born into a family of heroes and heroes-in-making, and fell brutally short of the mark. His mother a Huntress, his father a police officer, the normal young boy found within himself a strong sense of justice from the outset, carrying it with him in spite of strangely sub par performances in school and life, defined by barely scraping by. In a world populated by the talented, the smart, the hard-working, the beautiful, and successful, he found himself as none of those things: in comparison, he was practically a born loser. The pressure continued to mount as he grew older, seeing the disparity between his own life, and even those of his younger sisters, who by the time he was but ten had already learned to gang up on him whenever they got into their familial squabbles, and always found ways to pin the blame upon him.  

A champion of falling short of the mark, school was a cruel and miserable place as well. Always reminded that he was the one who failed the test that only he didn't know was coming, that he was the one small and weak enough to be shoved into a locker, that he was the one rejected by the pretty cheerleader, that he was the one sitting alone at the cafeteria with no food in front of him, lunch money lost to a stiff breeze, that he was the one who was beaten up by the tougher, angrier, members of the student body for having no lunch money to give.

Then one day, he learned to smile. Through all the pain, torment, and misery, he learned to smile. It was an unremarkable event: one of the nerdy and acerbic (yet cute in spite of it) girls in the class calling a meeting after school to discuss the notion of foul play during one of the many math exams he'd failed. Something about answers being distributed during the study session prior that the teacher had held, accounting for everyone attending getting 20% higher scores than those who didn't, yadda yadda yadda. After an uneventful and fruitless trying of countless methods of determining a possible culprit, they eventually called it to a vote. "Who thinks who did the dirty deed?" To his and her surprise, the fingers were, in vast majority, aimed at her herself. Why? "She was being annoying, she was wasting our time, she's the only one that cares about this crap anyway." The mob's resentment had turned its pursuit of justice into one of condemnation, seeking the least likable person who could plausibly be a culprit (he had neither gone to the session nor passed the test) and branding them with the guilt. He learned that it wasn't simply him that suffered under the system: it was everyone who failed to have those perfect, likable qualities. He learned that he had a crusade to go on, and that his sense of justice stood directly opposite against that of the world.

A man who has been hurt a thousand and one ways knows a thousand and one ways to hurt, and he resolutely made it his life goal to bring that pain to those who so readily inflict it. He wants those seen as admirable, the heroic, the smart, the pretty, and successful to crash and burn, to fall to his level, and taste what it means to be like him, someone who is craven, who is dumb, who is nasty, who is a failure. He wants to cut down those who stand tall, to kick the pedestal those who are beloved are placed upon out from under them, bring the good to the domain of the bad, where they can stand on equal footing. There are so many champions of "right" and so few of "wrong" in the world, and he now sees his place as filling that vacant niche. In short, he wants to destroy the concepts that only the likable are good and of worth, he wants to prove himself better than the Main Characters!

Sterling Johnson -- Firing Range

"Sorry, kid, it's strictly senior business only. I'd have to kill you after I told you." he growled, affecting a stern face as his eyebrows attempted to merge into one, scrunched up, severe-looking entity, spreading across the entirety of his brow.

A facade that lasted all of a half-second, as his easy snicker-into-chuckle followed, and mischief exposed itself and took a bow.

"Naaah. CPLT's been missing the whole day, so Goodwitch sent out a notice to all the seniors asking for help on our Scrolls. Speaking of which..." he explained, whipping out his vibrating scroll even as the rapid fft fft ftts of his ball bearings sailing downrange brought forth a symphony of shattering glass.

>Sender: Jorie Ngo
>Receiver: JESS
>Body: Sorry, no luck at the pool. However, has anyone noticed the new name for the team? Team JESS? I'm kind of confused about this change... Can we go to back to the dorm to figure this out?

Huh. That was weird. Thoughtfully frowning, he typed out a response.

>Sender: Sterling Johnson
>Receiver: JESS
>Body: Huh 
>last time that happened it meant a new teammate so I guess that's it
>anyways Practice Area came up dry too, nobody been around for at least 2 and a half hours. I'll head back

"Well," he slid the phone into his pocket. "Thanks for the help, kiddo. Gotta bounce!" he called, recalling all his floating ball bearings and beginning to walk towards the door.

"And keep it up! For a first-year, you're a hell of a shot."

Luke Schwarz -- VGNB Dorm

...

"So, to the pool, right?" he asked, looking to Beryl. If the experiment was truly done, there was no sense in keeping her waiting.

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