January

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Cat's Cradle stickied topic is up in the OOC for your curious eyes. Baklava's handling interior decorating before the corresponding 20 NPC sheets are posted (21 with Garrote). They're all brief at the moment to avoid spoilers, but information will be added to them as we progress.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Snagglepuss89

No, I very much mean Moby Dick. 8D

To everyone: reiterating

discord.gg/udBM7Jj

Poke your fellow players even FASTER and MORE FREQUENTLY. Especially when you need to tell them that you're about to do something bad to their character or something. Shameless advertising.

Edit:

Also, I apologize for failing to meet my schedule of having Precursor and Cat's Cradle NPC pages up by this time. I am ashamed and you may set fire to all my pumpkins to teach me a lesson in procrastination. I am working on them now and hope to have them up in 3-5 hours.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Riffus Maximus

Angélique Lachance - Aberration - Death's Screaming Angel

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Angélique (Angel) Lachance

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

19

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

5’09’’ ft.

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

123 lb.

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

Screaming attitude yet maturity, Angélique’s style mixes her fan of metal music side with her young womanly self. Her choice of appearance often includes black – of which various shirts of metal and hard rock bands – leather bracers, chains, silver jewelry depicting skulls and other esoteric emblems sported by metal bands, and her trademark shades she seems to wear even inside.

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Angélique has always been a kind person who was looking out for others in a more passive way, using music to soothe the mind of others whenever she could. As a matter of fact, music is a central part of her life, having taken a liking to sing ever since she was young.

While she remains someone good inside, the constant nightmares she is having left her with an irritable attitude, always at the edge of screaming at the others, even for the tiniest of issues. Time hearing whispers had eroded her patience and left her very short-tempered. As such, she tends to isolate herself from others, although deep inside herself she yearns to have friends and have friendly discussions. She had her moments she would come out as arrogant and aggressive, but it was always because she needed to vent all the darkness lingering inside her heart.

Angel knows all too well of the darkness that is plaguing her, and tries her best to remain in control. Whenever she is down or feel the rage bubbling up to the surface, she isolates herself and blast music at the loudest possible, singing (rather screaming her lungs out). For an Aberration, she has shown a rather surprising degree of control over herself, most believe because she made it into adulthood and has become somewhat mature.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

Ever since she was young, Angélique inherited her parents’ love for music. She loved music so much that she had taken singing into being a main part of her life. Because she worked so hard on that aspect, Angel never had been one with the highest grades in school, but she had become someone noticed in the domain of music. Reaching her teenagehood, her golden voice made the young girl quite famous over the internet, at some point she would be invited to shows and even a few concerts as a guest star. However, she had always felt that people only liked her for her sweet voice, not for the person she is, and that was always something that kept gripping her heart whenever someone spoke to her. Even her parents felt so distant to her. They seemed to care more about the popularity of their daughter and the money they could make from her rather than simply loving the caring little girl she had always been.

For many years, until she turned into an adult, she took upon making music as her career. She was quite successful, but her perfect life as a musician took a turn for the worse during her latest concert. On that day, she wanted to give a go at a new kind of genre she was getting into, something darker and more “metal” than usual, and something that seemed to have gained popularity on the younger audience these recent years. The result ended in a carnage, literally. Her voice had killed most that had been standing at the front rows, while those further in the middle ended up deafened permanently, and the people at the back felt nauseated. Broken in tears, Angélique never resisted the city’s authority that had come to take her into custody.

And that was her story. Instead of ending up executed like most of the Subnaturals, it was decided after deliberation by a jury that it would be most beneficial for her to be shipped to the USA and be under surveillance in one of the specialized schools over there, as she was convicted of accidental murders by manifestation of her powers after much investigation. Canadian Government also didn’t want to create an uproar because of the angelic singer’s popularity by sending her off to USARILN instead of applying the death penalty to her.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

Death’s Screaming Angel

Angélique’s power is her very voice, capable of unrelenting destruction. Using various high-pitches, Death’s Metal Little Angel is able to cause confusion to one’s brain or blur their vision should they get caught up in the range of her sonic blast. AS for the moment, Angélique is able to emit a 20 meters cone of sonic wave or a weaker 10 meter radius blast centered on her. People caught in the cone are deafened temporarily, confused and unable to see clearly, while those caught in the radial blast are only slightly deafened and slightly disoriented. Her voice is just enough to shatter glass and any other fragile material and even weaken structures, however still not strong enough to affect internal organs or utterly destroy matter.

The downside of using her actual voice as a power is that Angel’s throat gets sore really quickly. After a dozen of shouts without resting her voice for a few hours, Angel overexerts her vocal cords and can suffer from bad laryngitis for the next days, making her almost unable to shout during that time period, or doing so would come with great pain. Going over that limit or shouting during a laryngitis can even result into a permanent loss of her voice.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

A huge crowd had gathered on this gorgeous sunny day, comparable to how AC/DC and Metallica had their most successful concerts. Standing on stage, tall and proud bearing an enthusiastic smile, a young woman accompanied by her band was holding a microphone stand in one hand, with an electric guitar in the other. Sounds of cheer and excitement filled the air all around her, chanting in unison “ANGEL!”. Even the young girls’ parents were standing by the edge of the stage, embracing each other and smiling, radiating pride and joy to their daughter.

Various songs were sung in a perfect harmony, telling tales of how the world came to peace as the monsters stopped attacking after the Dreamcatcher’s “barrier” had crumbled, heroic tales of those who had sacrificed their lives for the welfare of the entire world, and ballads invoking unity among Earth’s numerous ethnics. Everyone were singing in harmony the hits that had made Angel famous on to this day, and it was with a huge roar of exhilaration the concert came to a close.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

”Nobody cares for what you are. In you, they only see a fleeting voice that captivates others and a gold mine to exhaust for as long as they can. Nobody loves you, little girl.” A voice echoed constantly in the young woman’s mind.

Flying high above town, there stood a metal-feathered angel, watching down below as citizens ran off in panic when faced against a gigantic monster. The metal angel simply stood there witnessing the slaughter happening, waiting for the Regulars to finally kneel in front of the mighty Archangel and plead her to save their lives. It was only then that the winged woman reacted. Without even moving, she opened her mouth to let out a terrible shriek, tearing apart both the giant monster and all of the surrounding buildings with it.

“They all deserves it.” A wicked grin and tears of blood could be seen from the angel’s face.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration

𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :

Either her nightmare reoccurring every night, or the memory of the carnage she had caused in her last concert.

Whispers at the corner of her mind speaking just loud enough taunting words that would fill Angélique with anger.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

None

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

Main Theme
Battle Theme
Nightmare Theme

Accepted. Fixed the indent on the image and on the magic's name.

Angel's CS Code

---

@PapiTan

Siena Santana - Arbiter - Literary Empowerment

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

16

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

5'7"

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

115 lbs

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Where does one start with an oddity like Siena? Probably with the fact that she's a grade A nerd. It's rare that one can find her without a book or an e-reader on hand in some way, and rarer still are the moments when she hears a subject that she doesn't look up more about. Curiosity burns strong in Siena's mind at all times, and it shows in how she devours new information without a hint of hesitation. It's fortunate for Siena that she was born into the realm of privileged wealth, for her quest for knowledge was never impeded by lack of resources.

Much like others born to the wealthy, Siena has never really been in want of anything in the material world, and it can show. She rarely thinks about money as a problem (never, really), and while seemingly generous, is only so because she doesn't know what it's like to not have the funds. Her idea of normalcy is what most people consider a luxury, and honestly? She is aware of this to some extent, and even tries to dial down her usual lifestyle with conscious effort--something not helped by the way that her parents treat her. One would think that knowing that she has no monetary concerns would make her carefree, but they would be off base. Siena frequently gets anxious, usually assuming a worst-case scenario when left to her own devices. Better yet, it's easy to tell when the stress sets in--just keep an eye out for trademark twirling and tugging at the ends of her hair.

Another notch to the odd? Siena is effectively a chuunibyou in an odd sense of the word. Beside the fact that she's wildly creative (so much that she often feels pain for her own creations), she suffers a few delusions as a result of her powers creating emotions that were never hers. Emotions that went unresolved until Siena created events to match them out of desperation. In all honesty, a large portion of Siena's belief in her past events are inaccurate at best and completely fake at worst. The girl frequently loses track of herself, telling others a history that never quite matches up with what she's said before. Though her power is real enough, much of her supposed angst is not. The fact that her ability to both empathize and sympathize makes connecting to people easy enough isn't exactly a boon in the situation either. How do you tell someone about your emotions when you're not sure which ones are really yours?

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

Siena Santana was born into this world with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her family was rich, her family loving, and she was never left wanting for anything. To her, the world was set behind a rose-tinted lense, and her playpen was just another realm where she could dive into fantasies that her sunshine-filled life couldn't provide. (Yes, that was familiar. That had to be right.) Even before she had been chosen, Siena fully believed that her life was magical.

Her sister was the reason for that. Chosen and blessed with magic, and no wonder why. She was lovely, sweet, and beautiful, and the warmth of her magic even more so. Siena had hazy memories of warm lights, hazier memories of screaming not to be taken away when that sister vanished for good. (Wrong. What was her face? Her name? There was no sister.) Perhaps that was why her family panicked when Siena's own abilities began to come to life. They didn't want a repeat of that event. They didn't want to run the risk of her powers surging, wild and uncontrolled. Her mother and father reassured her that everything would be okay, even when she lashed out. Even when their sweet daughter had struck them hard enough to scar. (No...Siena Santana never raised a hand against her family. The scars came from a boating incident, but the emotion of horror felt so real.)

There was never a question on whether Siena would present herself to the government. Never a question on where the girl would end up. Her family promised to keep in contact with her, to send her supplies and care packages filled with their love and affection while she was surrounded by her own kind. (Correct.) Siena only regretted leaving without her farewells to the sweet neighbor boy that had stolen her heart. (Wrong. There were never any real feelings for him. Only remnants of someone else's grief.)

She can only pray that USARILN East is what she needs to stop the lines from blurring.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

Literary Manipulation

If she's formed an intimate enough connection to a character in printed media, Siena can literally assume their name. That's not just taking on a name and living as them, it is dragging the name out of the print and taking it on herself. In this state, Siena can mimic one attribute or ability from the character in question--the one most prominent to her. Need a deductive mind? She can take on Sherlock Holmes and bring his keen eye to the scene. Need someone that can run real fast? How about Barry Allens? Useful for a variety of situations, assuming that Siena cares about a character enough.

On the flip side of the usefulness of her ability, Siena's magic is limited by a number of rules. For one, she has to have a source available. Though she doesn't necessarily need a physical book thanks to the advent of technology, while she's taking the name out of the book, the name of the character must be visible. That means closing a book or turning the screen of her e-reader off will effectively disrupt the casting. More than that, Siena can only imitate one attribute from a given name at her current level. What gets imitated is likely to be only what Siena finds the most prominent, and may not be the best thing to imitate. To take things further, if the character should be particularly willful or powerful, they can potentially overpower Siena's own consciousness, effectively turning her into a possessed puppet of said character for however long the effects last.

And what, exactly, dictates how "powerful" a character is? Once again, that's Siena's perception of the character. The stronger she perceives a character to be, the shorter the amount of time that she can take their names for. This perception extends to the point in time that she is drawing them from as well--a character that is out of their prime at the point in the work she takes their name is not going to be as powerful as the same character at their peak. Even assuming she could take a character's name at their prime, control it safely, and maintain the effects for a long enough time, Siena can't push a character past their limits. Did she take the name Achilles? Shoot her in the heel. She's still going to go down, even if she's not vulnerable herself.

Her abilities are also far from subtle too. It takes a bit of time for Siena to take a character's name, and that's nothing to speak of how very unsubtle it is visually. The name literally pulls itself from the page, printing itself neatly across the back of Siena's neck, and using her powers has several visual cues including magic circles (they glow purple), changes in eye color (it varies), even Siena's hair can be affected by the magic itself. In addition, certain characters may have some...unexpected effects on Siena physically.

Also of note, Siena can read fast as a side effect of her magic. When she sees words, regardless of the language that they're in, they transmit their meaning directly to her. In a sense, she's not reading so much as she is listening to the book as she sees the words. However, she cannot listen, speak, or write in languages that she hasn't mastered.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

She was a goddess.

A name printed on the back of her neck, blocked by trails of wispy light and strands of dark hair, her hands wrapped around a dusty tome with no title on the cover. A familiar book with a name that she had always been drawn to, but never brave enough to call. Her eyes were green, flecks of hazel and gold visible for the light that dared to peer through them. Trasncendent. She was powerful and confident, sure of herself in ways that the present version of her couldn't understand. A smile crossed her face, her hand pressed softly against the chest of an ailing man, his heart weak from injuries that should have overwhelmed him. On cue, a faint glow washed over the woman's hand, and Siena could feel a soft heat pulse through her fingertips. A warmth that she passed onto the ailing man. She could help people. She could be much more than the girl with a silver spoon.

She could be a goddess.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

In the face of opposition, there was an army. Her army stood strong, friends that she knew well from the countless pages she devoured. Friends that, unlike those that she could remember, wouldn't leave her side. Her eyes, a noxious green flecked with shards of black, didn't see the unworthy. A single movement of her hand was more than enough to send a legion of monsters to level her enemies to the ground. The world was at war against her, and somehow, this demon of a woman didn't care.

Siena the devil, she could hear the whispers. She didn't have to separate the two worlds she loved so dearly with pages and words. These worlds were hers for the taking, and it would be worth every drop of blood spilled. Every scream and desperate cry. It was worth it. She flicked through pages of a book, looking unimpressed and uninterested. There was nothing for her in a book found in joy and peace, only monotony and weakness. Dropping the tome into the dirt, she waved a hand, ordering a prisoner to her side with yet another of her rosters.

To bring these worlds under her control, it was worth it.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Arbiter

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

xxx

You have none, yet. You will get some as the story progresses. Keep track of them here. Some of them might be really important or something, I don't know.

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

The Riddle Story - CRANKY
A Bella! - M2U

Accepted. Please become Moby Dick at some point.

Siena's CS Code

---

@Alupi

Samantha Summers - Arbiter - Lifeline

𝕊 𝕒 𝕞 𝕒 𝕟 𝕥 𝕙 𝕒 𝕊 𝕦 𝕞 𝕞 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

Nineteen

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 / 𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥:

5'11" (180 centimeters) / 145 pounds (66 kilograms)

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Samantha isn't the most sociable person. Although she may appear ill-tempered and stern, its just mostly because of her resting bitch face; she can't help it. Samantha isn't that mean of a person, she just doesn't mind keeping to herself. Growing up in an environment where everyone eventually left her, she simply decided that it would be for the best if she didn't get attached to others. When it comes to outlook in life, Samantha is quite practical and realistic; over enthusiasm and optimism aren't really her style. She's open-minded but often speaks her mind, to the point that her words would be considered blunt and personality to be tactless. She doesn't really care though; Samantha's well aware that people are entitled to their own opinion. She's fond of animals and enjoys all things sweet.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

Samantha grew up in an orphanage and never found herself a family. Eventually, she ended up simply working at a nearby hospice for terminal patients. Too blunt and unapproachable to make friends, she frequently found herself speaking to the people waiting out the short remainder of their lives in her spare time. Over time the hospice staff noticed something peculiar. The girl - whom they'd begun calling Oscar the Grouch because of her usually aggressive demeanor - always spoke to residents shortly before their death. Before they went to sleep for the last time she would approach them and being abnormally friendly would listen to the person's stories. It was as if Samantha knew the person's time was up. After a few dozen consecutive instances of Samantha's visits heralding a patients last breath, the hospice staff started treating her talks with patients as a sign to call in their next of kin.

The story of the strange girl who could see death was passed to a friend of one of the nurses, a priest who often came to speak to the dying. The priest, who had ties to USARILN, kept a close eye on Samantha. For some months, he kept watch over her without her knowledge. He almost gave up when he saw no instances of her displaying any magical capabilities; it seemed that her frequent interaction with the dying was simply a coincidence. It wasn't until he happened to witness a car accident as he was leaving the hospice that the hypothesis he'd nearly surrendered was confirmed. A man had been shattered by the vehicle crash, broken ribs poking out through his shirt. Quickly the priest organised bystanders to get doctors from the hospice and call in ambulances. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement and turned to see the girl called Oscar lean down over the man. She lay a hand on his head and another slid across his chest. Her eyes were glazed and aimed forward; her hand slowly moved across the man's torso as if it were seeking something. After a moment it suddenly stopped and she pushed her hand down onto his body hard. The man thrashed limply for a moment. Samantha got up from her kneeling position and walked away from the incident.

The man was found by emergency room doctors to have no life threatening traumas; his organs were all in fine shape and he suffered only minor broken bones in his arms.

The priest knew this for what it was; the girl was a subnatural. He immediately contacted the nearest Institute and Samantha's transfer was then facilitated. She was rather open-minded to the idea when it was brought up to her.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

𝕃 𝕚 𝕗 𝕖 𝕝 𝕚 𝕟 𝕖

Samantha can see "tangled threads of damage" projecting into the air from an injury like a hairball attached to it to indicate severity of the injury. Too big a tangle and a mess and she might as well kill you or ask someone else to give you a quick death. She heals by untangling the lines. It's a slow and bothersome process and once she's touched a "hairball" it becomes visible to everyone else and must be attended to by her personally. If she's interrupted during the process, the damage gets worse and the hairball gets messier and bigger. Once she's untangled the lines, the wound completely heals. Death is seen as disgusting mess of lines that are the size of tall buildings. She can heal herself with this method, too.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

It was like any other day as she woke up to the annoying sounds that came from her god forsaken phone; the number of times she just wanted to toss in out of the window was too numerous to count. From the looks of things, it seemed like it was finally the day Sam was going to give in to her urges. Her hand wandered throughout the confines of her bed, looking for her damned noise maker, but instead, her hands had grabbed unto something warm and kinda hefty. To her surprise, Sam found herself a sleeping pug beneath her sheets. She was overwhelmed with joy at how cute it was, causing her to envelop it in a bearhug-like embrace. The now awoken dog simply stared blankly into space before giving Sam a few licks to her face.

After squeezing the life out of the tiny canine, Sam finally realized that the bed that she was on, wasn't hers; she wasn't in the hospice anymore. "Where am I?" she wondered to herself as she started to wander around the room, with the pug still pressed against her chest. However, before she could get any answers, her attention was redirected towards the knocks on her door.

"Hey sweetie, I'm glad your up." she softly said with a smile on her face. Sam had no clue who this woman was, but strange enough, she had the same shade of hair and eyes as her. "Your dad and little sister are good to go. You better hurry up."

The little dog simply stared at Samantha. It was as if it was waiting for her to say something

"...Mom?"

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

She was in a narrow corridor of pitch black that lead to a single room; a bright luminescent glow escaped through the cracks, hinges, and crevices of the closed door in front of her. It was dead silent, but Sam cared little about this as she reached forward, turning the knob and entering the next room.

Instead of jet black darkness, the room was entirely bright white; it was almost blinding. The light soon dimmed and that's when she say it. All four walls that surrounded her turned transparent, and on the outside, were several individuals, all injured or suffering in some way. They made their way towards same and began clawing on the transparent walls as they moaned out loud their aches, pains, and frustrations. Pleads for help echoed throughout her surroundings. Everyone turned to Samantha and were practically begging her to help them

She couldn't help but smirk at what she saw. Samantha tried her best to stop, but the more she attempted to, the worse it got. A smirk soon turned into a smile, then a massive grin. Soon enough, she found herself unable to contain her laughter. The thought of being needed and sought after fueled whatever it was that was causing her to act this way. She didn't want to be like this, she wanted to stop.

Tears trailed down her face as she couldn't do anything.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Arbiter

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

None, for now.

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

The Sway - Jessie Siren

Accepted. You referred to her as Jamie at one point in the history, so I just changed that back to Samantha--unless Jamie was someone else entirely. Also, remember that regulars refer to mages as "subnaturals" not "supernaturals." The latter sounded too good for them and so the internet coined the term "subnatural" and it spread. I changed that as well.

Samantha's CS Code

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Alupi

My suggestion:

Sway

---

@Holy Grail

1. 1 post per week minimum. If your life is crazy, 1 post every two weeks. If you're in the military and the like, we can work out a different solution to handling your character while you're away. Either sideline them or puppet them. Or hand them to another player you trust, etc.

2. At the very, very latest, it will start this Friday. I want to start this Tuesday or Wednesday. We'll see if everything comes together as well as I'm hoping. You don't have to post immediately on the opening IC post, but if too much time goes by without a response, I'll simply shove your character aside for some extra guard checking so we can move on and then you can catch up your character somehow later.

3. Go ahead and skim through character sheets for the powers, but my personal opinion on OP so far? (Everyone's progression paths are secrets to each player for now, so I won't make any comment on future OP powers.) Check Kusari (Piercing Light's character).

4. This RP depends heavily on player communication as I'm allowing a high tier of powers into the mix, which means I expect players to play them appropriately. Manipulators and the like must communicate OOC for power effects and the other person should be understanding and on board with the proposal in the interest of fun as long as it's nothing too ridiculous or completely unnecessary and petty (though there are a few scenarios where even I would clear a ridiculous request if it gives the overall group better survival chances).

Anything else I can answer, but at the moment things are a little hectic behind the scenes so responses might take a while. I will, however always get back to you if you mention me in a post that I need to respond to. Likewise for the co-GMs.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

So here's the Discord server as I continue working out kinks on it.

I will add this to the OOC as well under the rules.

discord.gg/udBM7Jj

You do not have to join, but it would help if everyone had an instantaneous method of communicating with each other in more complicated situations.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@GreenGoat

My mistake. Could you put Hephaestus's collar as part of Hazel's armaments? Overlooked that.

---

To everyone: So people were already doing it--which is great--but I was going to mention that you should consider your CS post a personal character space to input thoughts, notes, journal entries, whatever you want to help attune with the character.

Leave the actual CS alone outside of official changes, but feel free to link to Google Docs or make another hider in your CS post with anything character-related you want. Trains of thought, all that jazz.

I will set up a Discord soon to facilitate extra communication. Given that I'm allowing a lot of players trickier powers, I want you guys to have as many means of pestering each other as possible for any uncertainties.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@GreenGoat

Hazel Baker - Aberration - Void Impact

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Hazel Baker

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

18.

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

168cm

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

50kg

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

To others, she would seem polite if reserved, with never a harsh word, and manners immaculate. To those who knew her, they would find out she had no other emotions besides that. Her words were empty, her smile programmed and her manners automatic. A ghost living in an empty shell, she's constantly under a fog induced by drugs, to dampen her emotions and thus the frequency of her rampages. Her hair was styled to hide her eyes for this reason, for hers look lifeless, especially unnerving when she tried to put on any mask of emotion. The drug induced fog was not something forced upon her, but one she had taken voluntarily. She fears the clarity of her sharp mind, the memories of her burden, her shame. There was nothing she wouldn't do to forget her past, even for an instant.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

She was captured at a young age by the government, delirious and almost feral, having destroyed a large amount of property though with only small injuries caused by her directly. Interested in her capabilities as a bunker buster, she was taken in by the government, to try and harness her ability. They found out early on that it was hard to contain someone who destroys material with ease, so they had Hephaestus, who was also in that same underground facility she was in, design her room to be resistant to her attacks. She didn't exactly see much beyond her room, and what little she saw made little sense in her head.

They found out quickly she was exceptionally talented at destroying nonliving materials, but with the frequency of her rampages, she was hardly practical to use. However, after finding out she calmed down after every rampage, they have decided to make a sort of an obstacle course for her to run though, damping her need for violence. To further decrease her violent tendencies, she was put under some experimental drugs that induced a slight feeling of euphoria, though it clouded her mind so much the first time she remained motionless for the duration of the effect. They had perfected the drug to make it so she can still function regularly while under it, though it needed to be taken regularly, with which she was strangely cooperative.

While she was now stable in a sense of the word, it was decided she was to be released at USARILN East, for further experimentation, focusing mostly on socialization and to see how stable she can remain in a relatively normal human setting with multiple external influences. Before releasing her however, she was collared with something Hephaestus made when she was asleep, one designed to tone down her violent tendencies by suppressing her emotions every time she felt the need to rampage. Unfortunately, it also weakened her abilities, though it also weakens her Stigma's call. The collar itself is highly visible, bearing Hephaestus' stag horn symbol upon it.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 : Void Impact

It is the ability to produce spatial displacement attacks in a range of 15m around her. While utilizing her abilities, her affected limbs turns transparent. Using this ability, she could punch an object in range and leave massive craters in the shape of her fists in it. For now, she could produce craters around 10x the size of her fists. Her limbs, while transparent, are incredibly easy to injure, with even a poke being able to produce a stab wound. However, if she tries to use this ability on the living, she won't displace any materials, but they would still take the full brunt of the heavy, wide-reaching impact from her attack.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

A vast empty field, with but a single dirt path. The green grass seemed to grow as tall as her hips, but just in front of her a girl was dancing. It was Hazel, as much as she herself was Hazel, but she seems so free. Her smile was radiant as she took a step forward. But towards what? She was leaving, but what was she leaving? There was hope in those steps, there was despair, there was light, and the dark, but all was right. She took it all in, and she stepped forwards. She ran ahead of her, beckoning her, telling her its alright. But what was alright? What did she leave to be able to run so freely? But she could, and she could run on the path with her. She stopped in front of her, the real(?) her, and extended a hand, head tilted questioningly.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

Behind her she spoke, Hazel, like she was Hazel. All three of them were Hazel, none real, but no one fake. The Hazel behind her spoke, though no words reached her. The path behind was gone, cut off abruptly by waving green grass. With a wave, the Hazel behind her cleared a wide swath of land, the grass abruptly turning into ash, leaving a wide area of empty dirt. There was no more path, but she could walk without fear. This Hazel however, did not run or dance, she simply walked, probably due to her limbs being encased in heavy armor. She could run, but she did not, instead taking it in and carrying it with her. But what did she carry?Why didn't she remove them to run? She carried them and became all the stronger for it. Stronger, but what did she carry that needed her to be stronger? Like the first, she too extended a hand, a small smile on her face.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration

𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :

That smile haunted her even in the deepest part of the drug induced fog.

Don't worry, I'll protect you.

She had trusted her, and true to her words, she did try. But they weren't a match for him, not when they were still that small, that young. Hazel was picked out first, but she, true to her words, struggled and kicked so much, that she was instead the first. After he was done with her, he took a knife to her face, then took a brief rest. Before he regained enough energy to continue however, the police burst into the basement and shot him dead.

True to her words, she had protected her, and she had blamed herself for it.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

N/A

N/A

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

It is calm, is it not?

...useless.

Accepted. Nothing to change. YES.

Hazel's CS Code

---

@Lasrever

Zoe Fletcher - Aberration - Reassemble

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Zoe Fletcher

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

18

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

6'0"

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

150 lbs

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

Tall, lean and muscular, Zoe's appearance gives off what can only be described as a predatory vibe. She has the air and manner of someone used to fending to themselves, and an expression often firmly fixed into a confident smirk. There is an air of arrogance about her, not least because of the way she carries herself and her relaxed, lazy stride. She seems to have been in more than a few scraps, which is obvious if you take a closer look - small scars litter her body, and are especially visible on her knuckles. Her usual clothing is generally fairly muted and not designed to draw attention.

For the observant, it's apparent that her arrogance isn't quite all that it seems. While she puts on an admirable front, rings under her eyes, ragged nails and the way her eyes dart around as though waiting for an attack all speak to the insecurity and self-loathing that she tries to hide. All in all, her appearance is that of someone confident on the surface, but to the exceptionally observant it may seem she's struggling to hold it together.

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Zoe is the kind of person that comes off as a born warrior or an arrogant ass, depending on who you ask. An adrenaline junkie of the highest degree, if there's a fight going on then she'll do her best to be involved - and if there isn't, she'll more than likely make someone angry enough to start one. Despite her aggressive tendencies, she doesn't actively try to start fights despite often being involved. It just happens that a lot of people want to wipe the smirk off of her face, and that she's very easy to make angry. She's not sadistic, or lacking empathy for others or anything like that, but definitely volatile and easily provoked - something which has gotten far worse since she gained the 'X' on her throat.

Of course, like most people, she does have at least some redeeming qualities. For one, she's incredibly trustworthy, and will take a secret to the grave if she's trusted with it. She's also endlessly loyal, and looks out for people weaker than herself as best she can - a softer side which she endlessly denies. Beyond that, she's happy to put herself on the line to protect people who need it. Swift to become attached to anyone who sees past her attitude, it's almost strange how someone so starved of affection tries so hard to push other people away. She seems afraid of letting anyone get close in case she loses them, but being called out on this is a real sore spot for her, and there's no doubt that anyone doing so will find themselves on the receiving end of an attempted assault.

While her harsh manner extends to friends as well as enemies, there is certainly a difference between the two. Towards people she dislikes, her remarks aim to be as cutting as possible, and she will make no secret of the fact that she hates someone's guts. Even if she thinks they're right, she'll be as pigheaded and obstinate as possible just to avoid agreeing with them. Towards her friends, it's something closer to playing devil's advocate for whatever plans or concerns they may have rather than outright malice. Generally, her hatred is reserved for people who allow their power to consume them, or who harm indiscriminately without regret, an urge at least partially seeded in self-loathing and how she struggles against the effects of her own stigma.

One thing that she hates is when people she trusts lie or manipulate her, especially if it's 'for her own good'. As far as she's concerned, anything that's for her own good is something she can be told about. When she's particularly angry or upset, she has a habit of going incredibly quiet for a while before reacting, although her reactions will remain characteristically volatile. She has difficulty mustering the strength to keep control and master the urges brought on by her stigma, and it's a struggle she fails more often than not.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

Zoe rushed into the hospital, a look in her eyes like a cornered animal. In her arms, there was a small body bundled in cloth, unmoving. Desperation filled her voice as she stood in the waiting room, the cross on her throat clear to see. "Help! Please, you have to-" her voice broke, taking on a horrified note. "I couldn't stop myself."

After the bundle was taken from her, she knew what would happen if she stayed. Knew there was no way life would be the same. But despite that, her feet refused to move - and it wasn't long before they came to pick her up. She didn't resist, and soon enough found herself at USARILN East.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

Reassemble

Allows her to decompose organic material after touching someone. The ability requires contact with a person to become active, but once she's made initial contact it works within a 10 meter radius of her. The ability's effects can be sped up if she focuses them into one area, roughly the size of her hand. Initially all that her targets feel would be an unusual itch, but if they allow it to progress it will eventually become incredibly painful. Currently her ability is quite slow, acting at roughly the same rate as a severe case of necrotising fasciitis on full-body with targeted attacks somewhat faster, and she is limited to only affecting things she can see.

The ability's use is indicated by black veins appearing on whatever she made contact with, and wisp-like flecks of black dust appearing around her.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

The sun shines down on her face, standing in the middle of a remote village. Around her, ramshackle huts give way to homes of her own making, comfortable and safe. In the background, she can hear people laughing and imagine the smiles on their faces. They don't need to want for anything, to wish for anything, because she's created for them everything they need.

It's a paradise, but not one for her. She moves on, her job completed and another utopia created. Wherever she goes, she is celebrated for her actions, praised and loved. She's worth something, to so many people, but as she looks out upon the village as they celebrate without even noticing her departure, there's one thing that remains clear to her - she is completely alone.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

"You can protect them."

A whimper echoes through the narrow street. Wordless desperation, from a man who long since lost the ability to beg for mercy. She's never seen his face before, but she despises him - despises his kind, who act from nothing but selfishness and greed. Justice, for all that ever wronged her, all who ever sought to do no more than hurt. As she grips his face in her hands, she smiles, and moments later not an inch of flesh remains on his skull. The sight is, in a word, horrifying.

Letting go, behind him she sees the face of a child a few years younger than she is, smiling brightly and seemingly unaware of the bloodshed surrounding them.

"Is he gone?"

"I got rid of him."

As Zoe speaks, her eyes scan the ground behind them - a graveyard of mutilated, unburied corpses. Despite this, she speaks with grim certainty, a cold satisfaction. She has the power to ensure a perfect life, for her and the ones she cares about, to destroy anybody who would harm them. To ensure the happiness of everyone that matters.

"No one will ever hurt you again."

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration

𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :

Zoe's stigma manifests itself in what is essentially a feeling of bloodlust, an urge to hurt and harm other people. An intense compulsion telling her that giving in would make her happy constantly demands she give in. The more she cares about someone, the more it makes her want to hurt them - and whenever she gives in to the compulsion, the memory replays again and again, accompanied by a rush of joy.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

xxx

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

To be found when I get to an actual computer.

Accepted.

Took the image out of the hider and moved one indent around. Feel free to add theme songs at your leisure.

Zoe's CS Code

---

@Apokalipse

Lincoln Fucking Gilmore - Aberration - Opinokinesis

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Lincoln Gilmore.

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

Eighteen.

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

6'3 ft.

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

183 lbs.

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

Lincoln is a rather big guy – he stands at six feet and three inches and is made of muscle. Lincoln’s body is slim rather than bulky and his facial features are sharp like a fox’s. His black hair has a blue sheen to it and is almost always unruly, which is only worsened by Lincoln’s habit of ruffling it in times of stress – which is always. Lincoln’s eyes are described as being piercing and are a dull black that seem uninterested in everything around him, and when he looks at someone, they look as if they are bored with that person’s mere existence. An ever-present lopsided smirk sits on Lincoln’s face and no one has seen an actual genuine smile on him for years.

On the base of his throat, the black X stands stark against his cold peach skin and there are always fresh red scratches bordering the X as if Lincoln clawed his throat with his bare, short nails. Lincoln is usually seen wearing dark ripped jeans and black or blue guinea tees. Sometimes he wears a dark gray hoodie with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. If he can get away with it, Lincoln will go shirtless because he likes to show off those sick muscles he likes to feel the air on his skin.

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Lincoln is not a good guy – and you’d be a fool to think he is.

Lincoln is a selfish boy who will do whatever he needs to in order to get what he wants – his ambitious personality has left a path of destruction wherever he goes. He will hurt his friends if it means he will fulfill his goals. When it comes to loyalty, it would be best not to count on him – he’s more likely to throw you under a bus than pull you out of harm. Furthermore, he is violent and volatile; he’s quick to lose his temper and his favorite coping mechanism is destruction. When not angry, or going after a goal, Lincoln is a snarky little shit who breathes sarcasm and smells of arrogance. His cockiness has a tendency to piss other people off – though, of course, there are the couple of people who have found themselves making out with him in the back of a car because they just loved his smug, self-assured ass too damn much.

The most dangerous thing about Lincoln, however, is not his personality itself, but his lack of willpower in fighting the stigmas. While he fights it off when he needs to, Lincoln prefers to let himself succumb to the thoughts rather than reject it – he almost seems to revel in it sometimes, particularly in the destruction he casts when it becomes too much. And it becomes too much for him rather quickly. Of course, Lincoln hides this instability of his as much as he can, because he can’t have that pesky director getting rid of him before he’s gotten what he wants.

Of course, Lincoln isn’t a hundred percent bad. He does have his good points – though they aren’t as obvious as his bad ones. For instance, Lincoln is all about that empowerment life and fighting against The Man. A rebel without a cause Lincoln is not, because he constantly fights for what he thinks if right – even if he is the opposite of “the good of the world.” Feminism? He’s totally there for it. Gay marriage? You bet your ass he’s been to a rally. Subnatural rights? Signed every petition there is. He also has a soft spot for animals – not so much babies, as people might assume out of the kindness of their hearts, he’s actually quite bad with kids and makes them cry most of the time. And, as much as people would like to write him off as a total meathead, Lincoln is incredibly intelligent and has quite the strategic mind – he’s great at coming up with longterm schemes and is patient enough to slowly work towards what he wants through the years. But his ultimate weakness is that he thinks with his heart more than with his brain.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

Lincoln doesn’t like to talk about his past – not for some broody reason, but it’s just annoying having to explain that, sometimes, things are that simple but if we’re being honest here, they aren’t – he’s just buried in his own goddamn denial. His dad was this wimpy accountant who was born a nerd, lived as a nerd, and will probably die as one cowering in the fucking corner – at least, that’s what Lincoln thinks. His mom, though? His mom was a force to be reckoned with – a fucking hurricane that swirled into the room and jacked everyone up. Lincoln knows this – he has the scars to prove it. Funnily enough, it was when she was drunk that she was the most complacent.

If it’s not obvious enough, Lincoln and mommy dearest didn’t get along in the least.

So, when she found the x on his throat (fuck that dreamcatcher asshole for deciding to put it in the most obvious place ever, amirite?) underneath the red scarf he used to hide it, Lincoln was quick to hightail it out of town. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye, not that he wanted to say goodbye to anyone, ‘cause screw that forsaken place. Considering where he is now, it’s obvious he wasn’t able to escape the dumbass government, but he put up as big of a fight as he could. Not enough to kill anybody, god no that’s too much work, but enough to cause a couple thousand in property damages that Lincoln is praying he won’t have to pay off. In the end, they had to drag him by the damn hair to USARILN East.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :

O p i n o k i n e s i s

Lincoln is able to control one of the five senses of his target at a time. He can manipulate them to taste, smell, touch, hear, or see something they’ve experienced before – but he can’t read their minds. For example, he can try to make them taste something putrid, like ear wax, and if there is no reaction, then they probably have never tasted earwax. Lincoln usually uses this ability to make his targets feel pain, though he can only make them feel a pain they have felt before. Lincoln’s visual telegraph is a red thread that is tied around his pinkie and trails to his target, the end of the thread is tied to his target’s pinkie.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

It’s beautiful and the edges are smoked white, like he’s in a movie dream sequence – how fitting. It smells strongly of eucalyptus and something soft, like roses or cherry blossoms, and the scenery is bursting with color everywhere he looks. Vibrant green grass, and vivid rainbow flowers flourishing in bushes. Lincoln is sitting underneath a tree, with someone sitting next to them – they aren’t real, this is a fact that Lincoln can feel so intensely in his gut. They have a cut on their cheek and Lincoln brushes their soft hair from their face, swabbing the cut gently clean. He doesn’t know where the real person is, doesn’t matter, because he knows he’s helping them. Lincoln smiles softly, but he can’t help feeling bizarrely out of place in this beautiful garden.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

White. White. White. The room lacks the vivid color that his dream held, but instead he is in a bare white room with only a metal door and a table that he sits at. No matter how much he wants to move, Lincoln can’t move – this is where he was supposed to be. Here. The room is pristine and smells sharply of antiseptic and old people – he hates it. The white is so stark against his eyes that, for a moment, Lincoln fears that he lost his ability to see and is actually blind. A red string is tied around his pinkie and slopes across the table and unto the floor, trailing against the white tile under the metallic door. The edges of his senses feel flayed, unfettered, as if he’s barely being held together by scotch tape and willpower. Lincoln itches. The itch gets hotter and fiercer until it’s burning and scorching and it hurts so much but it feels so fulfilling. And then copper is stinging his nose and red is smeared across the walls. So much red and so much copper. And so. Much. Pain.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration. Aberration. Aberration.

𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :

Everywhere he fucking looks, Lincoln sees her: his mom. Sometimes, Lincoln swears he can even feel her hand, hot and stinging, against his face. It’s mostly the things she says in his head, though, that drives him crazy – “You’re not my son, you’re not my son, you came from me but you are not mine.” // “How can my son be such a little bitch? You’re so much like your father, it’s disgusting. What? Are you going to fucking cry, you little bitch?” // “How can someone love a worthless little shit like you?” . In the night, Lincoln wakes up and can feel her fingers digging into his back and arms and legs, nails scraping against his skin and shaking him. She. Just. Won’t. Stop. Shaking. Him.

Lincoln likes to blast her out with hard metal. He doesn’t really like metal, Lincoln always preferred soft music, but he can hear her over soft music. He blasts metal until his ears bleed. And then he breaks things.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

xxx

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖 𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) - Eurythmics.
Where is My Mind - The Pixies.

Accepted. Nothing to change. YESSSSS, but for uniformity.

Lincoln's CS Code

---

Will head out for a few hours. I have banjo slaving away at filling out the NPC sheets that I haven't gotten to. Will have those up sometime after I get back today.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Apokalipse

Don't worry, Garrote is dead. But he's notable enough to make a postmortem sheet for.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Apokalipse

Great work. Will be leaving the CS here to stew in its own angry juices for a while in case anyone has comments or concerns.

To everyone else:

I am smashing out some NPC sheets of notable people that all your characters should know given how insane their presence has been in the news/world in the years since The Slumber.

I will start approving these current sheets and taking care of any last-minute ones within 6-8 hours, by which time I plan to also have the Precursor and Cat's Cradle NPC sheets done and ready to go. With probably another NPC sheet for Garrote because I keep bringing him up and won't talk about what his powers are and shit, haha.

I expect to start the IC by Friday at the very, very latest--accounting for potential worst case scenarios where I implode into a goopy mess and you all turn on me and bicker endlessly over the color of your dorm wallpaper--though I do certainly want to start sooner (Tuesday or Wednesday, preferably) and will be spinning around in my swivel chair slowly waiting on any "WIP" CS's/power decisions to come around.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Chasers115

I'm not that cruel teacher who tries to put the unhappy loner into the group of buzzing socialites. 8D

If you don't have anyone/don't care after request round, I'm going to put all the "don't knows" and "don't cares" together and you can all not know and not care about each other in your respective corners of the same apartment (assuming you're Arbiters). Aberrations can request to be in rooms closer to/next to other Aberrations they want to bother for eternity befriend.