HereComesTheSnow

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

*muffled camera flash*

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Looked at the dialogue you actually left me and figured I needed to change anyway

my b fam

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

It's something

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Luke Schwarz

Clear shots?

What the heck? I can't possibly be in front of everything, I'm a small gu—ggrbl

In his moment of distraction, the hoodie-clad hunter found his situation to have suddenly grown much more dire, as long arms, clawing at and past him for purchase, found hold of his neck, instantly squeezing tight. His eyes bugging, he cut off his complaints (through no mean feat of psychological effort), and directed his focus to the task at hand. Teeth grit as his neck muscles tensed in an instinctual method to fight off the squeeze, his consciousness flashed back to a more practical method of dealing with the attack.

Grab the choking hand.
Four fingers on the meat below the thumb.
Peel away.
Counterattack with all your might!

Deftly adjusting his grip upon the creature's arm, he caught one of its fellows trying to slip by—

"OOOAAAAAAAAH!"

And with a haggard cry of war, clubbed it with the Grimm he'd been dealing with.

Letting out a rough cough as he released, he returned to his usual demeanor that everyone knew and loved once more.

"I can't be getting in the way of every shot, can I?!"

Consummate everydude just trying to make sense of the world around him. The more this mission dragged on, the crazier everyone was getting! They had to get out of here, and fast.

And with some remorse, he noted that he was definitely a major factor in slowing their process down in the first place. Just as the sparring class had time and again proven:

I think too much.

"Just put lead on anything that moves that isn't us!" came the amendment, "If there's a worker in here, we'd have known by now!"

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

I just lost my Conure this December. I know how it is, man.

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

"We're a six-man comedy troupe."

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

@Caasicam

Jason Alexander

I looked down at the distinctly feminine voice, because it is, without any lies on my part, always a girl who this happens with—

Ascetic Arts:

(The 108 Skills of A Loner):

Confrontation Buster Series: Stink-Eye.

—and affixed her with a deadpan stare. One of my specialties for warding off people who felt like being shitheads first thing in the morning.

Not that I agree with the common assumption that grouchy, morning me is any more or less repulsive than my usual self, or that any of my selves really are at all (I especially think my cleaned-up self is dashing as can be), but, hey; I've got a weapon I don't always like, yet it still works.

That'd be a dangerous line of thinking for someone like Harken. Another of my admirable traits: I would never act upon my evil ambitions if I had them. I always get chastised and reprimanded by those around me for hating work, but the joke's on them. My low-energy sensibilities and emphasis on efficiency are arguably some of the most effective weapons I have from turning to villainy, since even if my self-awareness should falter, planning a massacre for a massacre's sake would be boring, pointless, and stupid. As for the girl standing at a whooping clavicle height—

No dice. She wasn't buying it at all. Like she didn't even register my patented glare, my indomitable "Stink-Eye". Or, for that matter, anything besides the crown of my head, as opposed to my eyes, nose, or anything that could really be called my face. Just staring right in my direction.

Rather, looking. I noted there wasn't any sense of focus with her gaze up.

No focus.

Which, to use a term this girl wouldn't be able to appreciate, put things into perspective for me.

"No. You are, though."

Two statements of fact. Them being such, I spoke flatly and with nothing overly acerbic.

For me.

RWBY - Only the "Finest"

Albert Morgan

"I appreciate the sentiment," came the even-keeled voice from the other end of the line, "but I just got up here. Going back down in so ignoble a fashion would, in frank terms, be absolutely unacceptable even for a loyal manservant, much less myself."

The line was rudely clicked shut, but the words continued, this time much less distorted by frequency limitations that not even the gaudiest scroll could avoid. The door, for it's part, found itself once more ceremoniously opened, revealing a tall, strong man with a mostly-clean and kempt head of blonde hair, and eyes reminiscent of the sea they'd crossed to get here.

Resting his cane upon wall adjacent to the door, he slid the scroll in a specialized pocket before seating himself.

"I do look forward to seeing how the locomotive flies, though. Tarik will have absolutely outdone himself this time."

RWBY - Only the "Finest"

Albert Morgan

“I believe men commonly have two reasons for doing things: The good one, and the real one. My job is to make those two as close as possible, and take it straight from the horse’s mouth here—It Can Be Done.”

Name: Albert Jonathan Price Morgan

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Nationality: Atlesian

Team: BANK

Designation: Blueblood

Appearance:

Alby

They do not breed weak men in Atlas, and certainly not in their elite. Albert Morgan, like any good fellow, follows the trend: At an athletic six-foot-three, he looms over all but the largest of Hunters and Huntresses (read: Kek fucking Tarik), and would look equally at home on a rugby team as he does one full of hunters. His hair, cut just a smidgen long and always kept in order, has a distinctively golden blonde sheen. His eyes are a rich, marine-reminiscent blue, calm as the rolling waves of the Atlesian coast on a warm summer day. His jaw is strong and his face statuesque as the rest of him, and seems to commonly carry an expression like he knows something the rest of you don’t. Hasn’t quite yet learned to part from the more traditionally upper-class in terms of clothing, lots of nice suits and the like have seen much more than they were ever made to outside of a spy flick. Likes his blues, owing to a maritime heritage the family has never forgotten.

History:

The firstborn son of a long, long line of bankers and financiers’ latest generation, Albert Jonathan Price Morgan has been, from birth, set up for success. Surrounded by opulence and the very highest standards of living in the world, Albert was one of those kids whose backyard was really more of a small forest and field, enjoying a privileged life to the fullest. Surrounded by the very best tutors money could buy, he quickly proved to be a bright young man with an exceptionally positive future ahead of him as he grew, in whatever field he was to pursue. Of course, as everyone knows but few care to recall, a sturdy foundation alone does not a building make. His aptitude for success and excellency was not purely due to the world around him, for the Morgan dynasty didn’t tolerate a lazy child in any respect.

“Work hard, think big, and never give up.” These were the words that Albus Morgan, Albert’s father, always repeated to him from the first time the young man could begin to form words. A family hailing from humble beginnings as sailors perhaps a dozen generations or more back, the Morgans never succumbed to the fate of “forgetting what got you here”, like so many other rich families do. They understood that it took dedication and know-how to get the job done, which meant you needed to put in the work.

And work Albert did, consuming all sorts of knowledge and experience wherever he could find it, be it physical, mental, or spiritual. Blessed with the strong constitution from his sea-worthy ancestry, he could often be found exploring outside, even at times venturing beyond the estate and into the town below, where he discovered the world outside his bubble. And while he was never gone for too long and absolutely NEVER out of someone’s sight, he did learn a thing or two about the world and himself out there with the rabble. Perhaps his father, the head of the business during a time where it was an achievement to not buckle under the expanding pressures of the SDC, let alone grow in one’s own right, recognized it as a good thing for his son, and continued to allow the field trips long after he’d been made aware of them.

Albus was always proud of Albert’s dedication to being the best young man he could possibly be. What he saw growing before him was a fine heir to the company that he could one day hand the reigns to, and soon to be a skilled executive beneath him until that time would come. He couldn’t ask for anything more out of his son, truly. But Morgans were always overachievers by nature, and to Albus’s shock, at the tender age of fourteen, the already cultured, prim, and proper young man asked to enroll for proper combat training, because he intended to spend his years not sitting around waiting for some friend of the family to kick the bucket and open up a cushy starting job for him.

Why would he, he reasoned, when he could spend his youth serving as one of Atlas’s finest, to fight for the country they called home and held so dear?

It only took one phone call, and he was already off to Signal Academy, to spend 3 and a half years preparing for Atlas itself.

Personality: The essence of tranquil, Albert has a self-assured air about him that practically screams his own confidence in his skills, even where he himself may abstain save for a few cheeky insinuations, and commands attention. Seemingly unfazed by any sort of stipulations, even those placed upon the team by the leader himself, his focus will entirely fall upon getting the job at hand done, and done smartly. His wit tends, ironically, towards the dry, and while unflappable to what may sometimes seem to the point of breeziness, he is not without a generous helping of smugness lingering below the surface. If he finds something funny, you’ll get the message, just perhaps through a beautifully penned letter as opposed to an open, raucous point-and-laugh.

Skills: Adaptable and calm under pressure, Albert is proficient in many fields, as someone with a lifetime of high standards placed upon them would be expected to be. A slick boxer, with very good defensive skills made only more effective by his semblance, a skilled marksman, and an all around crafty improviser. Has refined tastes and an eloquent speaking pattern, perhaps not as openly brazen and chutzpah-filled an orator as Brennan, for example, but all the same is well-spoken.

Semblance:

Silvertongue: Definitely on the odder side as far as semblances go, Albert’s allows him to convert his body, in part, to metal, effectively donning a lustrous second skin. However, there is a caveat to this power: the metals with which he imbues himself must have been ingested by him, and preferably recently, as the amount he can work with seems to diminish over time as well as with decreasing capacity. In a queer, yet entirely fitting twist of fate, he seems to have a particular affinity with precious metals—Gold, Silver, Platinum, and so forth.

Weapon: There are plenty of perks to being a rich kid. Quality of life those below hardly dare dream of from birth. Tutoring by the best in whatever field or education being pursued. And lest we forget, that which is chief amongst them, standing head and shoulders above the rest:

Rich kids get the best toys.

In Albert’s case, he wields the General Electric, an elegant cane that just happens to be an effective stun baton, being gilded, heavy, and a natural conductor of electricity that’s in constant supply thanks to dust infused metal. Very high class stuff.

Keeping with the theme of “have I mentioned I’m a plutocrat yet?”, the Electric is a trick weapon, capable of splitting apart with a quick twist into a beautiful combination of rifle and rapier, allowing for combat capability at effectively all ranges.

Relationships:

Brennan Griese: In surface-level terms, the relationship between Griese and Morgan is purely professional. Griese is the leader, Albert defers to him, and that’s that. When one looks a touch closer, they’ll notice two young men who by all means should and probably are going to be friends— but not yet, it would seem. They trust eachother in combat, and have a certain camaraderie on the front lines, but in terms of personal lives they mostly keep to themselves and deign not to delve into the other’s business too terribly much. Even so, Morgan can often be smirking in the presence of his leader’s antics, and is equally full of pride in his Atlesian pedigree. As a fellow young man with a biting tongue and more wealth to throw at something than most small nations, there is undeniable kinship there—but it would not seem to have been properly fostered.

Noël Du Acier: Noel is thankfully much more straightforward to deal with. In essence, she is the precocious little sister who just so happens to be his age. To wit, he will playfully make jabs at her expense and be the second to tell her to shut up in the group (he would be first, but Brennan would drown him out), and generally tease her whenever he feels it’d be funny. This hazing aside, however, he holds a good deal of respect for her kind heart, infallible work ethic, and unhesitant generosity where he would often have second and third thoughts. As with the others, only he is allowed to bully her.

Kek Tarik: The undoubtedly largest man on the team, Kek is still something of an enigma to Morgan, being a man of fewer words than most everyone he has ever had the pleasure to meet. Be that as it may, he does not in the slightest deny that his hulking teammate is an invaluable asset to the team, and whatever he’s busy holding off while being more lead than man, he will often find the giant set loose upon. It’s a good business partnership.

Trivia:

Based loosely upon JP Morgan.

I’d go with some sort of neural synapse speed-up deal. Precision and timing.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

not much that can be posted unless we wanna do an argument about how it's not actually that dark in there