Recent Statuses

5 mos ago
Current… - mfw people ask for incest ships
1 like
6 mos ago
I can't believe I've stuck myself with three girls for all of next year who think screaming, shrieking and making sex noises consists of banter. -_-
7 mos ago
Pepsi Max ftw!!!
8 mos ago
The facts and lore of a specific universe: Canon. A large piece of artillery used to shoot shells: Cannon. Writers, please learn the goddamn difference. This has been a public service announcement.
10 mos ago
Posts will be delayed until wednesday, my dudes. Got some uni wori to catch up on.
1 like


Howdy all! I figured it was about time I spruced up my bio section. Or, y'know. Wrote something in it other than WIP.

So! Things to know about my mostly-good self:

I'm a 20 year old female, hailing from a not-so-small town in the north east of England. I'm currently about a third through my second year at Uni, and have made some awesome friends there so far. I also debate. That's always fun - arguing has always been an annoying trait (for others, that is) of mine, so putting it into something one can have on their CV is great. The competitions are super fun too. Anyway, roleplaying.

If you've known me for a short or long while, you'll likely know what an absolute slut for fantasy I am. High fantasy to low, I love those kind of roleplays and will nearly always be interested in new ones that crop up. The same applies for Sci-Fi, but at the moment, I'm not feeling inspiration for a good ol' spacefaring RP. Gotta get the Mass Effect out again, get me craving some Turian booty again. However, I won't go for only these ones. SoL can interest me if they're run properly, alongside horror, mystery, romance, etc. I won't ignore something simply because it doesn't have magic or flying bears in it or something. As for level, I like to consider my writing high-casual to low-advanced. Hopefully others will agree with me on that one, haha. Anyway, here's a list of specific fandoms I enjoy, kind of in order of preference:

  • Lord of the Rings Universe (Including The Hobbit)
  • Dragon Age series
  • Elder Scrolls
  • Mass Effect Trilogy
  • Star Trek (I'd love a Discovery one right now!)
  • Star Wars (Specifically the time around the Prequels; while I shan't get into the whole Prequel/Original war on which is better, roleplaying makes for more excitement in the prequel era. Clone Wars guys, c'mon!)
  • Buffy the Vampire Slayer
  • Fringe
  • Greek Mythology (PJO, but with the amount of Camp Half-Blood roleplays that have come and gone, I'd prefer one based more on the Original Mythologies)
  • Norse Mythology
  • Marvel
  • Left 4 Dead
  • The Walking Dead (Or any Post-Apocalypse Roleplay, really.)
  • 'A Song of Ice and Fire' Series
  • House of Night Series
  • True Blood
  • Deus Ex
  • Blood Ties
  • The Vampire Diaries (I admittedly abandoned the show and books when the plot got too boring, but I still like the Universe. I'd join a roleplay based in it, if it had original characters, that is.)
  • Pacific Rim

Aaannndd I'll stop the list here before I go on forever. Basically there's a lot, particularly in the realm of fantasy. Hit me up if you want me in your roleplay, of if you'd like to do a 1x1 based around any of those areas, or even some additional ones if you think I'd be interested. I love original plots and Universes too, especially if they're done well.

Current Active Roleplays:
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention
The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion - Crimson Skies (GM)
Escaping the Blight (1x1)

Most Recent Posts

Could I reserve lifestyle blogger please?

Actually, scratch that - my idea probably wouldn't fit the roleplay style. Sorry!
21st Second Seed

Rather than things improving like they had almost seemed to be in their first successful counter-attack against the Dwemer, the next few events went greatly downhill, particularly for Sol. While he avoided death or injury in the second attack with the Rangers, the journey back to Skingrad had been a harrowing one. Barely anything to eat or drink, and not a second wasted on sleep in the hurry to return to the safety of stone walls. A false hope really, considering how easily the Imperial City was taken... but it was better to forget that fact when the relief washed over you as you spied the castle in the distance. This was how Solandil felt, despite his exhaustion - exalted to be back to a city he didn't know nor care for, just for the false safety it provided.

Of course, this relief swiftly ebbed away as he caught wind of it's newest protectors. Before the word "Dominion" could even come from Pollux's mouth, Sol's facewraps and helmet had taken up residence on his his head once more, hiding a very stricken, pale face. These coverings stayed there for the next 24 hours and beyond, out of sheer paranoia of being recognised by any of the soldiers patrolling Skingrad. He could only find relief in that fact that his group were all leaving for Anvil on the morning, but even so, he couldn't relax. He failed to find any sleep that night, despite his exhaustion, and didn't rest until the group were well away from the fallen city. Sol couldn't quite balance the two schools of thought running around his mind - that the Dominion never gave a shit about him in the first place so wouldn't waste time and effort on bringing him to justice, or that they'd do anything to put down the abomination he was.

The arrival at Anvil finally prompted Solandil to free his head from hiding, and breathed a weary sigh of relief for it. Several days with his skin and hair utterly covered had left him sodden with sweat, and all he truly desired was a bath, a soft bed, and something beyond scrappy barbecued meat to eat. Unfortunately, those three things weren't going to come to him without money. As Daro'Vasora had so promptly put, the group were not going to be paid their promised amount. Sol could have threatened Rhea for his payment as he had with reluctant employers in the past, but he just felt too tired to do so. Rhea looked too tired to even feel intimidated by him. In fact, everyone he looked at seemed tired, barring the blase Anvil residents who hadn't been affected by the budding war so far. Hopefully they wouldn't be too frightened of a grubby snow-white Altmer asking them for a job. Whether they were involved or not, war always made people skittish.

As the group dispersed, Sol left wordlessly, picking a random direction and not looking back. He was surprised to find himself disappointed. Though he hadn't spent much time with them, the group had been a good one to travel and fight with. It had been diverse, and filled with capable men and women. One woman in particular had struck him more than the others, but now he supposed they wouldn't cross paths much again. Once more, disappointment hit him. Attempting to shake off the feelings, Sol affixed his usual grim visage as he entered the nearest tavern. Bartenders had plenty of word of mouth about tasks around the city, and looking like a forlorn pup wouldn't do him any favours in getting any.

22nd of Second Seed

Trudging along the muddy backstreets of Anvil, Sol's lip curled as he squinted at the piece of parchment in his hand once again. This had been one of a dozen odd-jobs he'd picked up in the past two days, and was still being paid a pittance for it. Some old lady had lost a ring while out walking her pet rats, and had employed him to find it. He didn't even want to know why she had made such awful creatures her pets, and was fairly certain that one of them would have just gobbled up a shiny object if it had fallen in front of them. Whatever the case, he had nothing else better to do than to trawl back alleys for something of the ilk. Chances were the decrepit Dunmer would just find it in her jewellery box or something.

As the alleyway emptied out into a modest courtyard, Sol took note of the two men standing at the other entrance. They were lingering in the dark, and as he made his way forward, noted with narrowed eyes as they copied his movements. The slightest noise behind him caused his head to whip around, and there stood another man, stepping out behind him. Clearly, it was an ambush of some kind.

"Yes?" He sighed, coming to a halt in the center of the courtyard as the men formed a triangle around him. A particularly ugly one stepped forward, offering a grin that was missing several teeth.

"We've been lookin' fer you." So... not a random attack due to bad luck then. Sol didn't really need two guesses as to who had sent them, and once again, he was very disappointed in his sister. Even after all this time, she found the lowest of the low to try and kill him. Not once had he had a Dark Brotherhood or Morag Tong pay him a visit - just mercenaries who had happened across his bounty papers, of which several had been randomly sent around the continent from Alinor. She just didn't seem to learn.

Sol regarded the three uncouth attackers with about as much interest or alarm as he would a bird pecking at the floor for scraps. The three were leering and jostling their swords foolishly, possibly in the hopes of intimidating him but only appearing more inept as time went on. Their grip was flimsy, their manner thuggish, and they all reeked of filth and pickled... something. Fair to say, Sol wasn't exactly shaking in his boots.

"Let's get this over with then. I've had a long week." He said in a bored, tired tone as he lazily drew his swords. All he really wanted was a warm bed at this point, but didn't exactly have the money for it, even after all of the jobs he'd taken on. He brightened up slightly as he realised that these idiots would at least have some coin on them. If not, there'd be plenty of merchants in the streets that he could hawk their items to. The trio looked at him uneasily, but still advanced with a hearty bellow. Sol stayed unmoving, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Naturally, the fight hadn't lasted very long, but Sol was still displeased with the lack of money the three had carried between them. There was enough for a room at an inn for perhaps three days, food and drink included. Not enough left over to send a certain package back home to his dear sister, to yet again remind her of her pathetic failures to end his life. He pondered between comfort and petty revenge, and logic eventually won the former choice. He'd have to wait until next time to send her another broken toy. After counting up the coin, Sol took the men's swords and knapsacks, sighing heavily as he continued on his way towards the closest inn. Hopefully, wherever it was had a bath. His once silver hair was beginning to turn black.

23rd of Second Seed

Half-submerged in a steaming tub laid Solandil, enjoying his second bath of the week with a content smile. The Flowing Bowl had been more than accommodating to him despite the filthy state of his body and fresh blood on his swords. A room with a steaming bath had been provided swiftly, along with some well-earned hot food and wine. His first bath had quickly turned brown with the layers of grime on his body, and the luxury of his room was quickly forgotten as he fell into a soft bed, still half-naked from being too bone-tired to get dressed. The next day, another bath was called and paid for, and this time Sol made sure to enjoy it as much as possible.

Bathing was nearly always a luxury for adventurers and mercenaries such as himself. Spending so long on the road meant a lack of resources for such a thing, and if one was in a city long enough to enjoy one, they clearly weren't earning enough money from work. But especially for Sol, he couldn't even enjoy bathing in rivers or waterfalls in the wild. Self-conscious of his own body, along with the paranoia of someone noticing his unique colouring and the Dominion receiving word of it. This meant bathing in private was almost impossible for the Altmer. But not now, in his own little room.

As he reached for a glass of wine he had left nearby, his eyes were drawn to the knapsack he had taken from his attackers yesterday. A cursory look through had revealed food, a tinderbox that was nearly empty, and a sheaf of bounties, some of which had crudely been crossed through. Ironically enough, they had crossed his out... far too prematurely, as their corpses would show. Reaching from the tub and grabbing the strap, Sol tipped it upside down on the floor beside him, looking through the remainder of rubbish that the thugs had accumulated. They truly seemed to have picked up every little thing they had come across. Scraps of paper, shiny rocks, wooden ladles, a rusted old dagger... nothing of any use.

Just as he was about to turn away, a small item glinting amongst the rubbish caught his eye. Brushing away a pile of feathers, Sol's expression turned incredulous as his long fingers delicately picked up a golden ring, embedded with an emerald.

"Well, I'll be. Looks like the old woman was right." He murmured, turning the ring over and over his palm as he examined it. It definitely matched the description she had given him, and he'd even found it in the alleyway where she had claimed to have dropped it. It appeared that the looting of his thugs had been far more lucrative than he could have ever imagined. In no time at all, Sol had sought out the old woman with her missing heirloom, returning to the bar of the Flowing Bowl with reward money in hand and feeling more content than he had in days.
Are you still looking for more members? I'm interested and willing to wait for the OOC to come up to let us know how to build characters but had a brief couple questions.

We certainly are still looking for new members! The more the merrier.

Are you allowing synthetics?

Synthetics (or robots) will be a part of the universe, but we won't be allowing characters of them. Strictly human.

Are neurological-based implants a possibility?

Absolutely! More information will be available with the OOC, but it's fair to say that if you can think of a body part, there'll be a cybernetic enhancement for it.

And are you willing to reveal more details on the paragraph you seen describing climbing stairs?

It was extremely tedious, and I do wish I could remember where I saw it, haha. Let's just say there was about a sentence dedicated to each step paired with pointless inner monologuing. *shudder*


Hey! As we're wanting the CS to look as much like a dossier or colony case file as possible, we'll only be allowing static images, so no GIFs please.

Flesh Wounds

A Collab by @MiddleEarthRoze and @MacabreFox

After reuniting Daro’Vasora with Latro, Brynja picked her way through the carnage, and while her chipper attitude might have come across as unusual, or even out of place, she couldn’t help but feel that way. However, just like fog in a field evaporating with the rising sun, so did her brief moment of joy. There were the dead and dying to be taken care of, and the first one on her list was Solandil. As promised, she told him she would take care of that flesh wound, and she intended to keep it. She found Solandil not long after.

Nodding her head, she spoke, “It’s time. Let me take a look at this flesh wound of yours.”

Following the destruction of all the Dwemer present at the ruin, and their strange airships secured, Solandil had found himself checking the mangled remains of the metal constructs, ensuring each of them were well and truly dead. With the living, one could check for tell-tale signs of life. Faint pulses of blood, a rising chest, and if that failed, the clouding of metal when held against their mouth from dying breaths. With metal, things became more complicated. The best he could do was kick away their soul gems after wrenching open carcasses, provided it hadn’t been done already. The Rangers had certainly done a thorough job.

Starting slightly as Brynja spoke up behind him, he turned to look to her, surprised. Last he’d seen she’d still been at Latro’s side, rejoicing that he was still alive. He’d just assumed she had forgotten about his injury and moved on with her friends.

“Ah.” He paused, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. “... I’m sure there are far more grievous injuries on the field to be tending to.” He couldn’t really understand his discomfort, before he recalled that it had been a long time since someone had willingly gone out of their way to make sure he was alright after a battle. The past mercenary jobs had never held such compassion.

“Nonsense.” She said, waving her hand for him to remove the armor. “You first. There are plenty of healers among our ranks.”

It only took a look at her face to understand the Nord woman wasn’t going to waver in her decision to help him. “Very well.” He replied stiffly, fingers fumbling at the clumsily repaired strap of his cuirass. Outwardly, he could have appeared ungrateful, whereas within he was just unsure of how to tread in this unfamiliar territory. There didn’t appear to be any ulterior motive in Brynja’s desire help him, and she didn’t owe him any favours. After a lifetime of being distrusted himself simply for his appearance, Sol was having a difficult time in trusting too.

Despite the hasty repair made in the midst of battle, Sol’s cuirass and pauldrons soon clunked to the floor beside the pair, and his lip curled in annoyance as he saw his bloodied undershirt. That had been his last good one, and with no payment from Rhea and a lack of entrance into Skingrad, he was going to be stuck with it for the foreseeable future. Not that it was much use with a bloody great big rend through the material. As he shifted the shirt over his head with a wince, Brynja would see the scarlet of his fresh wound peppered across his chest, still in the middle of clotting. Against the paleness of his skin the red of blood stood out as brightly as a fire, and the older wound from the Falmer still remained on his shoulder, the once purple bruising which surrounded the cut now giving way to a vivid collection of blues and greens.

Brynja took note of the older wound on his shoulder, part of her chastising how she could have missed this injury. After all, out of all the skills she took pride in, healing was her forte. As her eyes traveled across his chest, she couldn’t help but take a closer look at his torso. Her face coloured darkly despite her furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Brynja had gone to retrieve her rucksack after leaving Vasora, “I’ll clean this up. It’ll hurt, so… grit your teeth.” She said, and took a deep breath. Unravelling the leather thong that kept the water skin closed, and opened it enough so that the water wouldn’t spill everywhere. With practiced hands, Brynja guided the water skin to the glaring red wound on his chest that stretched from his right shoulder down to his left pectoral muscle, and began to pour the water along the length of the wound, washing what blood she could from the wound. She had to admit, Solandil was… very fit, and she struggled to maintain a proper stature.

Indeed, Brynja wasn’t wrong. As the liquid splashed against the cut, Sol inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut and gritting his teeth as suggested. While it was hardly the most painful experience of his life, it still stung like a bugger. One thing he’d noted with wounds involving cuts was that the shallower they were, although less fatal, always burned more than a deep wound. Whether that was typical for everyone or just him, he didn’t know - but his minor wounds had always brought to mind a far more fiery pain than others.

Opening his eyes and glancing down, he realised that for once he didn’t have to look down all that much to see Brynja’s face. It was rare to see a human of this height, particularly a female one. A nice change, in his mind. A tall height in human women was seen as a physical disadvantage from what he’d seen, though he couldn’t understand the basis behind such a thought. They were lesser, because they were taller? Silly men. Brynja was clearly an extremely capable woman on the battlefield, and her height only aided her in this.

Suddenly, Sol came to the realisation that he’d been staring at her in silence for a few moments now. More specifically, her red hair. It certainly captured his attention with ease, and he watched as a few stray tresses blew in the breeze. Altmer’s never had hair with such vibrant beauty within it.

Deciding that was quite enough ogling before Brynja noticed, Sol cleared his throat, still wincing here and there as the water trickled down his chest. “What of your arm, Brynja?” He couldn’t tell whether she had already tended to herself or not… surely, she hadn’t put him before herself? The very thought brought a flush to his cheeks, and he bit the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He hated when he blushed. It always stood out too much on his white face.

“It’s nothing but a scratch. I’ll take care of it later.” She said quietly, she shifted to her rucksack beside her feet and rummaged through it before she pulled out a simple cloth, and wet it with her water skin. She applied the cloth to the wound, removing the blood that had dried, she did her best not to cause him too much pain.

“I’m sorry…” She glanced up at him, their eyes meeting briefly, was he blushing? And she hadn’t noticed the color of his eyes before, a pale grey, like a cold winter morning when the sun had yet to rise. She averted her eyes quickly before she continued, “...if this hurts. It doesn’t look too deep, which is good.” Brynja moved her hand along his chest, and again her cheeks flushed. Gods, what was wrong with her, it wasn’t as if it were her first time seeing a man without his tunic on. She turned her face away for a moment, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip before she faced him again, continuing her work with a dedicated diligence. She finally put the cloth away, and nodded.

“This might feel uncomfortable, but tell me when you’re ready.”

Sol had almost forgotten the sharp pain in his chest as he locked eyes with Brynja, noting her expression curiously. It swiftly came back to his senses as she began wiping with the sodden cloth, cleaning the wound and the skin around it thoroughly. As she kept her head ducked, Sol was once more drawn to her hair. It seemed so warm. As if it were giving off the heat of a fire that shared its crimson tones. Even her skin, pale by human standards, had more life in it that his. Looking down to his chest, the contrast between their skin alone was obvious, even when streaked with blood. Once again, he questioned her motives for helping him out, though he grew increasingly more trusting of her actions.

Meeting her gaze again, he nodded in response, though briefly wondered what he had to be ready for. Stitches? Cauterisation? A brief bit of panic filled him at the thought of the latter by way of a fire spell, before he recalled Brynja was about as proficient in destructive magic as he was. He still had scars from when far less sympathetic mages had healed him in the past. Sol certainly wasn’t used to such careful first aid.

She rocked back on the heels of her boots and turned her hand palm up. A pulsating orb appeared, glowing with white and golden light swirled in the center of her palm. She rotated her hand towards Solandil’s exposed chest, as if the orb was liquid, and she didn’t want it to spill. The light flowed out towards his skin, inching along his wound until the entirety was consumed. Slowly, the broken skin began to knit itself back together, like how a mother mends the torn fabric on her child’s torn sleeve. She had never much enjoyed the sensation of her skin pulling itself back together, it itched like a scab she wanted to pick. There, she had done it.

Brynja pulled her hand back, closing it into a fist, where the healing light was quelled. She raised her eyebrows, admiring her handywork. There would be no scar, that much she knew.

“And there we have it.” She smiled, rising up to stand. She stretched her arms behind her head, her shoulders cracking. “I think we’re needed to destroy those airships.”

Restoration magic had been the last thing Sol had expected. Perhaps leftover prejudices against the Nords from his life on Alinor, or the knowledge that she hadn’t know destructive magic, but he had just assumed that Bynja didn’t know any magic whatsoever. The surprise was so great that he didn’t even notice his discomfort, instead enraptured by the gentle ebbing glow of the healing spell, and the concentration upon her face. “So that’s why she’s known as ‘WhiteHand’...” He thought to himself, touching the new pink flesh as she finished. The colour would fade eventually, leaving no mark upon his snow-white skin.

Still feeling somewhat awestruck, Sol simply nodded in response as Brynja’s back-to-business attitude returned with a smile. He couldn’t find any words to thank her just yet, so instead cracked a rare smile in return. Though small, it still lit up his face.
I'll throw my interest in as well. Never been able to find a BtvS roleplay before, and I've been a fan since I was a kid. Also be happy to take a co-Gm spot too.
Would the Slayer be an NPC? Could be problematic having the Slayer as a PC in a group roleplay, as they're the main character.

Texting Abigail @Kirah & Ignoring the Methuselah Court because they ruined his morning routine.

The fairly standard routine of Theo's morning didn't vary all that much from day-to-day activities - he figured that he didn't have enough enemies desperate enough to harm him that he needed to change up his schedule all that much, and therefore had settled in certain habits each day he awoke. Firstly, was breakfast. He'd never been fond of heavy meals, but at the same time, wouldn't touch human food unless it had been well made with decent produce. Therefore it was usually some freshly warmed blood (When he couldn't get it from the vein from one of his... "employees") paired with poached eggs and whatever he could be bothered to pair with it. Following this, he was bathed, groomed and dressed before leaving the apartment and opening up his business. Far too early for most wine-lovers to come in, but he usually had some people come in for brunch. And students, strangely enough. He couldn't imagine how drinking at 9 in the morning would help the children in their studies, but then again, Theo had never suffered the stress of a higher education. Regardless of his customers, they were seen too by his staff; offices above were checked for voicemails or important business, and once tended to, he could finally indulge himself in his morning coffee. The Crypt Cafe wasn't the typical aesthetic he'd grown accustomed too, but the coffee there was good, the barista's polite, and the clientele quieter than other cafes in Edgetoun.

A simple schedule, but one Theo liked to stick too. Unfortunately, his day was shattered the second he'd finished poaching his eggs.

An text 'pinging' on his phone stopped Theo as he plated his breakfast, a frown creasing his face. As any businessman should, he kept separate phones for separate occasions. One for pleasure, one for work, and the last one was connected to the Court. With the latter being the one alerting him, Theo abandoned the kitchen to see what the issue was. Those of Methuselah weren't ones for idle conversation via text message, that was for sure. Examining the text for a brief second, Theo was by his radio in the next, turning it on and tuning it to the correct radio station to hear the last few sentences of the hijacked broadcast. His hands clenched in irritation, and he waited a moment before answering the text.

Damned humans. No doubt the Court would be pestering him all day now.

While Theo held no ill will against the werewolves, he didn't particularly hold any love for them either. An attack on their kind wouldn't bother him in the slightest, but it was the fallout of such an action that would be concerning. Vengeance would breed vengeance, and if someone didn't do something, the humans and Weres would be in all out war against one another. A war the humans would surely lose, but with homo sapiens being his and many others' favourite food source, that too was a problem.

It would be even worse if their turned their sights to the vampires, and Theo had no doubts that it would. In no time at all the humans would be screeching in terror at their oceans and forests, polluting the former and burning the latter in order to kill mermaids and bigfoot. As if they existed.

Ignoring his phone as more messages pinged through, Theo turned to his bedroom and got ready for the day. The office would have to wait now, as would his espresso. AS it happened, he had other priorities on this day as well. For one, he had an appointment with the good Doctor Wilcox, provided she was finished with her other 'patients'. No doubt she had some opinions about the broadcast as well.

Swiftly dressed in an impeccably clean and pressed suit and tie, Theo was ready to leave before hearing another text alert - this time, from his personal phone. Looking at it with interest, he raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw who it was from. So, Abigail was back in town. Was it coincidence, that she'd arrived the same day the humans had issued their formal threat to their world?

"A long time indeed, cousin. We've plenty to catch up on - I'm in the same place you left me. Noon should be fine."

Now he was fully booked for the day. Although different to how he would have liked, Theo much preferred spending time between Clara and Abigail than complaining with the other old vampires at the Court. He just hoped something else didn't come up later in the day...


Chatting to Olivia @Nallore, hoping her lawyer will be more personable than her patients later on.

Zoey was still frowning at the news on her phone when Olivia replied, drawing a look from the Doctor.

"I'm Australian." She retorted swiftly, raising a chastising eyebrow, though smiling so that the younger girl knew she was teasing. Although it had been many years since she'd lived in Australia, remnants of her accent remained, along with a strong sense of pride in her home country. It was just a matter of principle to be mildly offended at being called a pom. Booting up her computer, she waited for the fairly decrepit machine to wake up fully as conversed with her. "Not much to do, unless we get some more bodies through the door. You can always chase up some tox reports for me, though you'd get a quicker answer from the corpses themselves." She said with a grin, pulling up her calendar as the computer finally arose from it's slumber. Just a reminder about a lunch meeting with a certain pernickety lawyer. Of course. That explained why Belinda had fled the country so quickly.

"Tah." Taking the tea as soon as it was handed to her, Zoey took a few grateful mouthfuls. She hadn't realised just how dehydrated she'd felt, but then, a diet of red bull and coffee since 3 in the morning didn't do much for quenching one's thirst. Pulling up a new file to start filling in the report for the John Doe autopsy she'd just finished, Zoey hesitated. Nick had been pretty lost on where to go after the examination didn't pull up anything to do with murder. She should really just wait for the toxicology and forensic reports to be finished and come back, but the temptation always hung over her head. Physical evidence was all that could be used in court (God knows what kind of shit would happen if they allowed psychics to give testimonies.), but if she could find out once and for all how that man died... all it would take was a touch.

Pausing and glancing at Olivia as she continued talking, Zoey mentally corrected herself. A touch and some privacy.

God, that sounded wrong.

"That's nice of them." Zoey replied idly, realising that she'd never asked Olivia much about her life back home, beyond work-related stuff and small talk. Still, Olivia had never really surrendered much information about her home life, nor had Zoey. Her own existence as both a witch and a psychic hadn't had all that much impact on her so far, but one could never be too careful these days. Especially with the current climate. "And I doubt it'll be a problem. You might have to come in if we end up having a pile-up of bodies or something, but Professor Carlisle should be back by then. You'll need to let her know, though." The Prof was in charge of holidays and the like, but she was a decent sort, as long as you didn't lie to her or mess her about.

Pondering over how long the meeting with Mr. Carvallo would take - probably a while, what with three victims to go through and the very thorough nature of the man - Zoey's mind turned yet again to the other victims laying in fridges in the next room. Some of them were still unsolved, and definitely needed her unique help. Depending on how busy the day was, she'd have to be out tonight to stick her nose where it didn't belong once again to stir up some clues.

Interacting With: Aoife @Write

"This has got to be the best summer ever." The thought kept drifting through Stef's mind in an equally content and excited manner. There hadn't been a summer like it before. Sunning amongst gorgeous ancient Greek ruins, the deep blue of the Mediterranean glittering in the setting sun before her, and the rich scents of local cuisine wafting her way. Turning as she heard a raucous laugh behind her, Stef joined in as she saw Caleb messing about on the scattered stones behind them. Jumping about, doing ridiculous headstands and just generally showing off for his younger siblings. It was pretty standard behaviour for her eldest cousin, but she couldn't help but laugh herself. Head turning as her Aunt, Uncle and parents joined the group, her gaze held for a moment on a shadowy figure in the distance, before her head whipped to her parents all of a sudden, frowning. Something felt wrong.

"Everything alright, love?" Her father asked as he took a seat to her right, Mother on the other side. He was wearing a ridiculous holiday shirt covered in the garish patterns he always liked, and had a sunburn on the back of his neck.

"I... I thought-" Stef faltered, trying to remember. Everything around her seemed hazy. Looking up again, the silhouette of the distant man had disappeared, and it was then that she recalled. "You're not supposed to be here. You... you and mum, you had to work!" Both of them looked confused and concerned as she jumped to her feet, now feeling panicked. Something was going to happen, but she couldn't remember what.

"What are you on about? We've been here for a week!" Mum said with a placating smile. In the distance, Stef could hear an alarm begin to blare.

"Come and have a sit down. Think the sun's got to you, Margot." The man was behind them now, and instead of a shadowy black, he was blood red. A flash of lightning, and her parents lay dead. Next, her aunt and uncle. Caleb and the rest of her cousins were still messing about in the background as Stef witnessed the massacre, unknowing of what was happening. The alarm grew louder.

Another flash, and her cousins were lying on the floor, motionless and bleeding out. As the stranger turned to her, fangs glinting in the setting sun, the alarm grew deafening, and she awoke with a start.

Despite the quantity and severity of the nightmares she'd been suffering from for the past year or so, Stef still couldn't get used to how real they still felt. Turning over and burying her head into her pillow with a tired groan, the young vampire tried to mentally shake off the last few images she had seen. It was nearly always the same design; starts off great, see's a man in the distance, and then everything becomes not so great. The people sometimes changed. A lot of the time she saw Aoife in place of her parents, or some of the other friends she'd made dying. It always cycled back to her family though. Dying, bleeding out, the dream so realistic she could even smell the coppery scent of their blood.


Stef jolted upright, realisation flooding over her. Blood! The last thing she could remember was smelling blood, and now here she was... but it was the void in her memory that concerned her the most. She couldn't remember going to bed, calming down, anything after seeing the cut Aoife had made.

"Oh my Go-AOIFE!" Jumping to her feet and promptly falling over in her tangled mess of blankets, Stef barely even saw the mess she had made in her room as she flung open her door, only to see a strangely tidy living room. There was no blood, no corpse, not really much sign of the usual carnage she wreaked when she lost it.

Not calmed in the least by the lack of mess, Stef paced from room to room, calling out for her guardian as she did. Her senses told her that the angel wasn't even present, but with the panicked blood rushing in her ears, Stef couldn't even think straight. What if she had killed her, and then started cleaning up after herself in her bloodlust? It was weird, and didn't really make sense, but ever since she'd been turned the world was full of weird. As she circled back to the kitchen, she was about to call out for Aoife yet again before clapping her eyes on the note.

“Hey girl,
Just running to the store to buy some breakfast supplies!

Stay Hungry,
Aoife <3”

"'Stay Hungry'? Really, Aoife?" Trust her to make a likely accidental joke about what had happened last night. Staying hungry was exactly Stef's problem. Grasping the note and holding it close to her body, Stef walked back to her room, feeling quite numb. Aoife was clearly alive, and clearly okay to clean up and go out, but that didn't stop the worry. It never would, not until she saw her safe and sound. On top of the worry was guilt, as usual. Going through on of her "episodes", as they were now known, always brought back memories of the time when she had actually killed someone. An innocent man, just trying to help her out. It didn't really matter how many times she tried to tell herself that it wasn't her fault, and she had no control, the guilt still ate away at her. Stef couldn't even imagine how some vampires could walk around quite happily, knowing the full extent of the deaths they'd caused over the years. And then there was the thought that she considered some of those vampires not just friends but family now, which was a confusing mess of feelings too. In short, emotions sucked, but life without them would be even worse.

By the time Stef heard the jangle of keys in the front door, she'd made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning up her room. It had looked as though a tornado went through it, but after throwing her duvet over her crumpled bedsheets and blankets, re-stacking her bookshelves haphazardly and throwing her dressing gown over the ever-growing heap of clothes sat on her desk chair to hide it, it just looked like a fairly mild storm had blown through. She'd been dithering about maybe alphabetising her books out of lack of both energy and something to do when her angel returned.

"Aoife! Are you okay?" Sprinting from her room, Stef was ready to practically bear hug her before coming to an awkward halt a few feet away, giving her a scrutinising once-over. No bruises, no cuts, and no smell of blood. It seemed as though they'd both been lucky, but after such a close call, Stef felt far too concerned about her self-control to hug Aoife.
Eyyy lmao, gotta bring back Roze and Rhasha to the party!

Interacting with DS Black, & Olivia @Nallore

Despite how much Dr. Alston loved her job and the very interesting aspects of it, the last thing she expected to be doing this early in the morning was dragging herself to the human equivalent of a rat’s nest to investigate a three-day-old body found nestled in the rubbish there. But with Professor Carlisle on a study trip to Munich that didn’t finish for another 48 hours, Zoey was the next sucker in line to examine the body in its environment, and then perform the autopsy some three hours later.

By the time she made it back to the cutting room with her disgruntled Detective and rotting cadaver in tow, she’d perked up a bit with the help of some tea and a sneaky red bull. Detective Black was still looking as sour as the corpse, but that wouldn’t deter Zoey from a throwing about a bit of morgue humour throughout the autopsy. Had to keep things light somewhere, even for someone as empathetic as she was.

“Body is that of a middle aged Caucasian male, probably between 55 and 65, entering the second stage of decomposition. Abdomen is distended, but whether this is due to a buildup of gases or trauma related to death is unclear until we open him up.” By now, enough morgue techs had been called in early for them to help out in performing preliminary blood tests, taking fingerprints, and examining x-rays of the bones and teeth to aid in finding an identity for their John Doe – unless the police got there first, that was. The external examination was always the quickest bit to do, unless she was looking for something in particular. Just by searching, she could draw conclusions about this man’s life. For one, he was a drug user. Track marks in the crooks of his elbows, his groin, and inbetween his toes were still visible on his mottled, discoloured skin. Another note was that he was overweight, with a sizeable beer gut. She could make bets now to say he was – or should be – taking aspirin, but by the state of what he looked like and where he was found, over the counter blood thinners probably weren’t all that high on his list of preferred drugs. ”Hehe… high.”

“He was beaten before he died?”

The question from Detective Black quickly stopped her private inner monologue of jokes. She looked up at him from where he stood in the viewing room connected to the autopsy room, his gravelly voice sounding even deeper as it came through the intercom.

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s got two massive shiners. Don’t tell me he tripped and hit both of his eyes on something at the same time.”

“Stranger things have happened.” She retorted with a smile, before going to examine the man’s face. Even after three days the bruises were quite swollen, though again, decomposition could have something to say about that. “But I’d say a skull fracture is more likely. The trauma from something like a skull fracture can cause blood to seep into the spare space around the eyes, causing it to pool there. No beating necessary for a bump on the head.”

“You have to wallop someone to cause damage like that, surely?”

“Oh, come on Nick. You’ve been in the game long enough to know how fragile humans can be. I’ve had bodies in here who’ve bumped their heads going down some stairs on a double decker and dying a day later with no symptoms.”

“Who says he’s human?” Although said gruffly, she could hear the hint of a joke in Nick’s voice. Still, he made a valid point. As far as she was aware, there weren’t really many tests out there for her to test whether someone was human or not. Did a werewolf show up as human while in their human forms? What about the rest of the supernatural? Witches like her, or the various others walking about?

Deciding to ignore Nick and continue with her work, Zoey had her techs take photographs of all the noticeable and possibly relevant signs on Mr. Doe’s body. Contusions scattered around the body, old and new track marks, his twin black eyes, and some pink-ish dried froth in the corners of his mouth. Could be drool from his last night asleep, but she’d done this enough times to know nothing could be taken lightly.

An hour later Nick had disappeared and reappeared twice now, each time with a fresh cup of coffee and having finished an exasperating phone call. As Zoey peeled back the corpse’s scalp and left it folded over his face, she held back on the oscillating saw as Nick began to speak.

“Apparently he had a roommate. Came back to the scene, fled like a rabbit when he saw all the coppers there.”

“Do you think he has motive?”

“Does a faerie shit in the woods? They’re druggies, Doctor. It doesn’t take much for one to bludgeon the other to death for their last bit of heroin."

“Oh, you have such a sweet outlook on life, don’t you?”

“I’m as sweet as my coffee.” If most were to look at Nick, they’d think he’d be one of those miserable bastards who always had coffee black and strong. Well, he was still a miserable bastard, but he liked good coffee. Plenty of cream, plenty of sugar, and usually trying whatever sweet caffeine filled treat that Starbucks had whipped up this time. Except he didn’t like Starbucks and their prices, so he went to the local coffee shops and tried their own cheaper knock-offs instead. Whatever the case, he drank too much of the stuff.

“What is that, your seventh coffee this morning? You can overdose on caffeine as well as heroin, y’know.”

“Listen, I got dragged out of bed at 3 AM to investigate this dead arsehole who may or may not have been murdered by his shitey friend. If I don’t keep the coffee flowing, I’m passing out on your damned floor.”

“Well don’t do that! We might get you confused for one of ours and stick you on the slab.” Zoey darted Nick a grin, and before he could retort, he was leaving the viewing room to answer his phone yet again. Now she could refocus without listening to Officer Grumps, no matter how entertaining he was.

As she came to discover, the fellow’s black eyes weren’t from a skull fracture or brain hemorrhage. His brain was in quite nice shape actually, considering it was three days dead. From there she moved on to the main body, planning to examine each organ until she found her answer. A heart attack wouldn’t be surprising considering the state of the guy. However, she didn’t have to go very far to find her answer.

“Ahh… pulmonary edema.” Hefting the heavy, fluid filled lungs from the man’s chest cavity, Zoey placed them into the scales nearby. “There’s our cause of death… now how did you get it?” There were countless causes of pulmonary edema – or excess fluids in the lungs – some were natural, and some could be evidence for potential murder. Taking into account the guy’s lifestyle and general health, it could be either.

“Have we got our prelim bloods done?” Turning to one of her techs as Zoey moved to the heart, aiming to look for symptoms of CAD. Looking through the various test tubes, the tech nodded. The prelim’s would let her run specific tests for chemicals present in the blood, but not the amounts of them. For now, she’d had them run tests for the usual suspects – heroin, cocaine, meth – and even threw aspirin in there are well. Just to see if she was right.

“Positive results for heroin and aspirin.” Well, her hunch was correct, but it still wasn’t a solid lead. Nick would have to wait and see for this fellow.

When Nick returned in the next hour, John Doe’s body had been taken apart and put back together again, and his Y-incision was being sewn shut and Zoey leaving the room as he re-entered it.
Catching up with her as she headed towards the locker room, Nick switched his phone off as it rang yet again. “Have you got a diagnosis, doc?”

“He died from a pulmonary edema, but until I get toxicology back, I can’t say for sure what caused it.”

“You can’t even give me a hunch?”

“If it helps, I went through the checklist of things that’ll cause it, and I couldn’t find much to assign it to a natural death. There were no signs of CAD, I highly doubt he went mountain climbing recently, there was no evidence of drowning, and his lungs were lacking trauma, clots and toxins that can all cause it. It could have been caused by pneumonia, but a heroin overdose seems more likely. But as I said, I need to wait-“

“-for toxicology, got it. If it is heroin, can you prove if he was given it forcefully?”

“Nope. There’s no bruising or signs of a struggle that would indicate he didn’t give it himself, or allowed someone else to do it."

"What about the black eyes?"

"It probably wasn't caused by a major fight. He took aspirin, which thinned his blood and made the bruising more prevalent. I wouldn't put it down to an assault. More likely a fall. So, if you want someone for murder, it’ll be down to you now, Detective.” Offering a sympathetic smile to the sleep-deprived copper, Zoey shooed him from the room so that she could get showered and changed in peace. With how rushed she had been this morning, a shower had been out of the question. She just hoped she hadn't woken poor Jack up.

Keeping the shower short but sweet, by the time Zoey had replaced her scrubs for her clothes, dried her hair off and made her way to her desk, Nick had left the building and Olivia had entered it.

"Morning Liv." Smiling at her younger co-worker, Zoey leant back in her chair and stretched, groaning as she thought about the day ahead. There were tests to chase up, police to deal with, and of course, a brand new John Doe report to write out.

"You wouldn't make us a cuppa, would you?" She asked the American, digging through her bag for her phone as it dinged. Scrolling through her local news app, a frown began to build on Zoey's face. A hijacking of a small time radio station didn't seem all that important, but with the current anti-Other climate going around, this was worrying.

"Oh, if I get a vision because of these arseholes I'm going to hex them so bad."
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