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7 yrs ago
My power grows exponentially each day as we come nearer to Halloween.
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@Nallore: Consider this a miracle in the making. As Sam puts pressure on her wound, the blood flow levels off, with the bleeding beginning to stop. She's still going to need medical attention, but the odds that she's going to bleed to death have heavily decreased. Instead, it's once again more likely that Harley James will be the death of her. He's putting his weight up against the door, but it hasn't budged yet. However, in less than a minute, James comes crashing through, glancing around the restaurant in an attempt to find Sam. Sam's got seconds to make a decision, and Sam notices the windows seem to be the kind that slide open with a good shove. Does she attack? Does she attempt to jump out the window?

@Witch Cat: Samantha doesn't finish her spell in time. John's fingers twitch as he pulls the trigger, the bullet released from the chamber--only to stop in air, right in front of Sylvia. Her spirit has come in handy after all, and the bullet reverses course, burying itself in John Moses' temple. The man drops to the ground, but only for a minute. He'll be back up again soon. Now, Sylvia could follow the bartender and flee -- or enjoy another round with Moses.

@Witch Cat: Eudora's stomach is starting to burn, likely from the immense stinging sensation of the cut. The goat collides into Sutton, its horns digging into her stomach and ripping it open in the process. The blonde girl slumps down against the wall, yet her fingers twitch with life, as the symbol on her hand -- the mark of a Witness -- begins to burn. Eudora likely has recognized Sutton for what she is, a mere shell of a person, acting in accordance with the rise of Lucifer. But with Eudora's stomach wound, it's unlikely she'll be able to leave the Hut, as the blood continues to flow freely from it.

@BlueSky44: Those first few shots don't do much for the sheriff. Jake fires another bullet, and this one hits Zachary directly in the left knee. The pain is unimaginable, and Zachary isn't going to be able to put any weight on that leg for a while. However, his stamina pays off. Zachary manages to shoot directly in the head, the bullet penetrating what was left of Jake's brain. The undead creature drops, but in a few moments, he'll be up again. Zachary isn't walking anywhere--but I suppose, he can always crawl, right? Maybe someone at the station will be listening to the radio...

@BlueSky44: Jeez, LLA seems to be with you guys tonight in terms of dealing damage! Katsumi hits Sorreast with the knife on both occasions, and as she tackles her, her frenzy of cutting seems to have some effect. The corpse ceases moving, and in the chaos, perhaps Katsumi gets an idea. As one of the fingers falls off, it seems to take the corpse a moment more before it's up and moving again -- but fuck, there she goes again! This is getting repetitive isn't it? Too bad for Kat, she doesn't notice Sorreast is up before it's too late -- and her own knife is used against her. Sorreast stabs Katsumi in the thigh. Ouch.

@Lady Amalthea: The devil looks entirely confused during most of that speech. Despite having the ability to read minds, most of those references went entirely over his head. He glances towards Hanson, as if expecting an explanation, only for the Satanist to shrug a bit, as if to say I just met her, don't look at me. After that moment of awkwardness concludes, however, Lucifer clears his throat. "I need a vessel, Amy Chang. Not everyone is able to contain the power of the rebellious son--but you, you are something special. You are the only person who can contain me and live." He holds out his hand, and if Amy were to throw anything at him (because let's be real, that's probably an Amy-type thing to do), it would go right through. He's not really there, more an illusion or a ghost than a living being.

@Lady Amalthea: You know how I said there were two deaths? Yeah. If you let out a strangled sob, it's okay, I did as well. Vivian doesn't attempt to follow them into the Morgue, strangely enough. If anything, Danica and Cecily can hear the sound of moving furniture in the main lobby. If they try to leave the morgue, they'll notice that the exit is blocked off. Something on the other side has been piled up against it. And it won't be long until the scent of smoke becomes prominent, and the fire alarms begin to wail....Only there's no escape. Vivian was as ruthless and clever in death as she had been in life. And for what it's worth, Cecily tries her hardest, even having the two of them hide inside of the fume hood, in order to escape the smoke. But even that doesn't change the burning building that surrounds them. (Feel free to elaborate this on your last post for Danica, as well as control the actions of Cecily).



Aloise Zamora

Location: Aunt Sue's Room 10
Interacting With: Liam and Sariel @Pundii


"Liam! Get out of here!" Aloise shouted, glancing up briefly from her latest fight with Mason. The man tackled her into the wall, and this time, the pair of them went through. The wall was, thankfully, not the outer one. They fell into the ninth room, and Aloise kicked up, flailing her legs in an attempt to get Mason off of her. The pair of them roll, grappling, back into the main room.

"Leave!" Aloise hissed again, managing to grab her gun, and shoot Mason at pointblank range. The bullet causes the body to drop to the ground, only for Elizabeth to once again make herself known, stomping on the Marine's head. Aloise's vision doubles as she weakly attempts to aim the gun upwards, only for her nose to crack as Elizabeth kicked her once more.

However, Aloise was used to pain. She had died and gone to hell, brought back to suffer only more. She rolled and rose to her feet, emptying her clip into Elizabeth's body. By the time she finished, Mason had already begun to rise once more, and Aloise snatched the gun from Sariel, emptying its clip into Mason once more. At seeing the pair of them stay down for a moment, Aloise glanced behind her, expecting to see Liam and Sariel.

But only Liam was there.

And when she turned to face the bodies on the ground, they too were gone. They had vanished.


Jade Cornish

Location: 1 Grant Road
Interacting With: the Undead, Darren Andrews @Pundii

The Reverend managed to dodge Darren's attack, before grabbing the hunter's head and slamming it against his knee. Blood trickles down Darren's face, and the former man of holiness continues on his onslaught. Grabbing the oversized candle holder that Darren had used, he threw it out of the way, and Jade glanced around quickly, hopeful that no one else would join in the fun.

"This is such a cock up," Jade muttered, grabbing the candle holder, and bringing it down across the Reverend's head. This time it hit. The weight of it forced the Reverend to the ground, his head bursting like it had been a pumpkin. Grey matter and blood sprayed over the room, the skin unusually soft and the tissue appearing rotted. Darren ended up almost entirely coated in it, and Jade laughed at him a bit, watching as the Reverend appeared to stay down.

"Well, that's ace," Jade shrugged, picking the candle holder and brushing it off. "Guess we just got to smash the things, eh?"


Mercurial Crypt

Location: Crypt Manor
Interacting With: the Undead, Belladonna @Lady Amalthea, Javier @Pundii

Mercurial stood up straight, dusting herself off as she straightened her braids. "It was hardly a scratch, mother," Mercurial reminded Belladonna, a slight line of blood marring her otherwise pale complexion. Without showing much emotion on her face, Mercurial picked up the axe she had dropped, and swung it idly in her hand. It had been one of her favorite weapons, ever since she heard the tale of Lizzie Borden, the famed axe murderer in Fall River.

She eyed the broken pile of flesh across the way, watching with a disinterested face as it picked itself back up, before once more resuming the charge. Her mother was a witch by training and her father immortal by an Aztec curse, yet Mercurial preferred more practical methods of slaughter. Charms failed to intrigue the raven haired girl. Noting that her father didn't have a scratch on him, Mercurial couldn't help but find his immortality to be awfully convenient.

At her father's kiss, Mercurial raised an eyebrow. "Are these friends of yours?" Mercurial inquired, driving her axe into the neck of the next one to come towards the family. "Or has hell finally run out of room?" Each time they struck the creatures down, they stayed dead for a moment longer, and then resumed the assault. While Belladonna may be familiar with the need for a spell to force the dead to rest, Javier may instead know the most accepted method of killing an immortal:

complete and utter separation, to the extent that their very atoms are forced apart.
I will say this....Only one of them is mine for once.
We've got two deaths, folks....


Cecily Ashworth

Location: the Morgue


Cecily's phone vibrated incessantly, receiving texts from Riley and Caesar. She peeked at them quickly, before shoving the phone away, seeing no need to reply at the moment. Caesar continued to frighten her, but over the last week, she had become more accustomed to the grieving Mexican. Ironically, it was when Caesar was at his most dangerous that he ceased to terrify the forensic analyst.

"You're doubly welcome," Cecily replied, before watching Natasha get to work. Forensic analysts used entomology on occasion in order to date crimes, and while she was educated in Pittsburg and then employed in California, she hadn't learned too much about the field. She knew enough to follow the procedures and perform the needed calibrations, as it all boiled down to chemistry and biology in the end. "I have a feeling you'd like the Body Farm," Cecily commented, remembering the more disturbing technique developed there. It was a process called degloving. Skin could sometimes be peeled off in patches, and worn like a glove. A technician would then simply take a fingerprint, while wearing the skin of another.

With a fresh set of gloves on, Cecily nodded, grabbing the skin delicately. "Cyanoacrylate and heat, yes," Cecily replied, with a bit of a smile. "The carbon and tape method is simply awful...I really hate lifting prints off with the dust as well, it makes a complete mess. Heating iodine is my favorite method, mostly for the purple color it gives the print...But in honor of bad movies, we'll do the superglue and heat method."

Cecily set to work, motioning for Natasha to follow her, if she was curious. Fume hoods were generally the preferred method for doing it, but she had once heard that someone used a fish tank. Handling the patch of skin carefully, Cecily prepared a high molar concentration of cyanoacrylate and heated it, using a hot plate. Setting the makeshift contraption inside of the fume hood, Cecily watched carefully, seeing the print come to surface.

"Our latent print is now a partial print," Cecily grinned, excited for the small break in the case. Careful not to breathe in the fumes, Cecily collected the print that had formed, and then put the skin from Alicia on the tray next to her corpse. She slid the fingerprint inside of a bindle, filling out the paperwork and the information quickly. "I'll run it through A.F.I.S. and see if anything comes up," Cecily offered, though she was skeptical about it. "We're much more likely to be able to use this to test for suspects...Though we can't exactly force everyone in Justice to give us fingerprints....Thank you, Dr. Brinne."

And then, in a method to help with her own paranoia, Cecily removed the print from the bindle and photographed it. Having done so, she put it back inside, and texted a copy of the prints to Gregory. She expected that someone would burst in at any moment, ready to finish the job. The more she investigated the deceased, the more danger she felt she was in. Cecily already knew that she'd likely be killed for knowing too much.


Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway

Location: Imperial Apartments 4C ---> the Bus ---> Boston Heights


"Just making sure that you don't get any stupid ass ideas," Tuesday reassured him, jokingly hugging Ronnie with a single arm. She climbed onto the bus behind him, taking a seat by his side. It smelled awful on public transportation, and Tuesday let out a brief sigh, momentarily reflecting on how different her life could have been. Had she not made an idiotic choice in college, she wouldn't be sitting in a cramped bus that smelled of piss and farts. She glanced out the window, noticing as a confident man strolled by, acting like he couldn't care less where he was. She couldn't help but roll her eyes.

No one lasted long in the Deadlight District with that attitude. "What do you think you'll even find?" Tuesday asked, not intending to sound unsupportive. "The police don't give a shit about anyone, man. It can't be healthy to fixate on it like this....Hell, you're only doing pot. It's weird as fuck snorting crack alone."

However, she wouldn't press the matter more than that. Coming from the infamous Murder High, Tuesday had seen her fair share of dead bodies. Answers never made anything better, justice never truly existed, and even revenge couldn't fix problems. For all she knew, Marc could've only been in town because Riley freaked out. He was the caring type, and she wouldn't be surprised if that turned out to be the reason. "Look, I'm not saying nothing happened...But don't stop living because she can't," Tuesday said, grateful for the short and relatively uneventful bus ride. She could see the Boston Heights looming into view, and as soon as the bus stopped, Tuesday would get off and head towards the Classic Building.

"You texted Rye that we're coming over, right?"


Jaina Sarbye

Location: Conference Room ---> Jaina's Room ---> Hangar C; The Vindicator


Jaina's face scrunched up in confusion, recalling the last time she attempted to make a determination as to whether or not someone was dead or alive. She had done Kordath's test, shooting at them, but apparently she had done it wrong. The person had either been dead to start with and then alive, or alive to start with and then dead -- she'd forgotten what Jesmand had told her. The entire thing got mixed up in her mind, with up not being merely down by a one hundred eighty degrees rotation about the x-axis. "...Got it!" Jaina lied, figuring that she couldn't be blamed for the death of a rebel anyways. It wasn't like death meant anything to her. It was no different than sleep.

Jaina skipped out of the room once Kordath had finished, dashing to her private quarters. There, she loaded up with all of her usual weapons for a fight. She changed into her usual dress, identical practically in every way to the one she was already wearing, but it had become a ritual for her. The blue and purple strips fluttered as she spun in a circle, and with the splash of colors, she stood out. It was more fun for her that way. Picking up her two blaster pistols she stowed them away, before hiding her knives on her person as well. She put her playing card in her corset-like chest piece, and stowed away the rest of her normal belongings. With her hair, Jaina braided it into two pig tails, and began applying her make up. She painted her face white, before grabbing blue and purple shades, and smearing them into an almost grotesque smile on her face. Her eyes were in the same blue and purple, yet styled with little diamonds on them, such as this. By the time she was done, she looked like a mental patient had dressed her.

"Let's do this!" Jaina squealed, before cartwheeling out of her room, and headed to Hangar C where she expected to find Kordath.


Sutton Corandel

Location: Main Hold ---> the Bridge; The Raven


Sutton blinked at Kayala's rage, almost staring at Luke with an open mouth. She didn't expect him to fix his decisions--most captains would stand by what they had said, in order to prevent a crew from second guessing them. However, he was a classic scoundrel, and admittedly, she should've stopped him before he put his foot in his mouth. Still, as a second, she shouldn't have to clean up after him.

"Captain, how long until we arrive?" Sutton asked, leaving the Main Hold and heading back for the Bridge. She may have been on Kayala's side at this moment, but she didn't want to be standing there when she came back. It was only a matter of time, she figured, until the Face returned to her normal hobby of interrogating Sutton relentlessly about her past. "I imagine I look fine for Tatooine scum?" Sutton joked, as if she hadn't lived on the planet for years.


Dorothy Pender

Location: Med Bay Exterior


"Always," Dorothy replied, smiling as she searched through the kits. There were plenty of useful supplies, and with how much of their resources she had to use on that day, Dorothy couldn't help but be grateful. That was one of the factors that determined whether or not someone would live more often, in her opinion, than the ability of their doctor--whether or not they had the materials they needed. Removing the useful materials, Dorothy sorted them into piles, ready to put them into her organization. That was until she noticed the box with the Alliance seal, a familiar one.

Dorothy let out a heavy sigh, looking at the box. "Jing chai..." she muttered, attempting to pry it open carefully. It didn't budge, and she figured that one of the more criminally inclined members of the crew would be able to open it. Dorothy nodded, though she dreaded having to bring the box to the Captain. It had taken her time and effort to earn the trust of the crew, due to her deserting the Alliance army.

"The Alliance wouldn't trifle with miners," Dorothy stated, glancing up at Daphne. "I'll tend to the boy--can you take this to the Captain? Best if you do it." She didn't need to state her fears or worries of being accused of being a spy, even with her close friendship with the Captain. Other members of the crew would make them, she figured. Letting out a smaller sigh, Dorothy kept an eye on the boy in front of her. "I imagine he's ready for the Captain to have a word with him, as well, if you'd like to tell her that."


Nora Kingston

Location: Bank of the Nile River (C10)


Her fingers passed through the water, grasping nothing. On occasion she scooped down more, until practically half of her arm was engulfed by the waters of the Nile. Still, like sand slipping through her fingers, the curious object eluded her grasp. In the near distance, she heard soft footsteps, and she turned, her eyes widening as she spotted the image begin to move. Carefully glancing around to ensure her father was not near to scold her, Nora dashed after the object, keeping a careful distance from the water. At each point she stopped to try and grasp it, she threw rocks into the water first, noticing that the object continued to move and no creatures came out of the depth to feast on her flesh.

Eventually, the image came to a stop, and Nora attempted to pluck it from the watery depths. As she began to bend down, however, she noticed a respectable gentleman and a movie starlet. Startled by their presence, Nora stood up straight, hiding the burning finger behind her back. The searing sensation did not let up, and acting as naturally as she could, Nora clasped her hands in front of her, noting the brand. Father will be displeased... Nora thought with slight dismay, ignoring the consequences. Magic of some sort was at hand, or perhaps, the couple in front of her was behind the matter.

"Charming weather, isn't it?" Nora greeted cordially, yet her words had no warmth behind them. They were stiff and mechanical, the traditional conventions of the British. Had she been able to, she would have offered them a cup of tea, and commented on the state of the nation since the war had finished. Extending her hand to them, Nora smiled tightly. "Miss Kingston, daughter of Dr. Kingston, a professor of anthropology at Victoria University." she introduced herself, tilting her head slightly as if to inquire after their names.

As soon as the pleasantries were over with, Nora intended to head over to the museum. An egyptologist would likely be on hand, and she may be able to coerce them to examine the sketch of the brand. It wouldn't do for them to see the brand itself, and perhaps if she claimed it was an urgent matter for Dr. Kingston, they would acquiesce to her request. It wasn't very often that Nora headed to the museum, with her father sending her on urgent errands--such as washing his linens and scheduling his teas. It was hardly fulfilling. "I do apologize, but I must be off to the museum in a few moments," Nora apologized, smiling uneasily. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, the both of you. If you should ever be in Garden City, do call upon me. I would be delighted to receive you under other circumstances than these."
For me, I tend to not focus on labels when it comes to writing characters with mental disorders. I find that picking a label is perhaps the opposite thing to do, and instead, it feels much more natural to pick out traits and just write them. The more you try to stick to a label of a certain disorder, I think it takes away the potential for character depth, and the character begins to be characterized more by their disorder than by who they are. For example, I've got three characters currently with some form of mental disorder -- now, I could label each of them like this:
Jade - Major depressive disorder, PTSD
Édouard - Narcissistic personality disorder
Jaina - Mild Psychosis, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Histrionic personality disorder, Mild Dissassociative Disorder

However, I find that it's much more rich and intriguing to define my characters by their traits, rather than their illness. They then get profiles instead that sound like this: (I put them in hiders since I just pulled the descriptions from my CS tab):



Sure, I do mention some of their mental diagnoses in these descriptions, but the descriptions don't revolve around those various disorders. Myself, for example, I suffer from major depressive disorder and general anxiety disorder, and I'm a recovering self harm addict. I can draw on these experiences a lot, especially now that I'm recovering from all of that trauma. But I don't let myself be defined by them, even if depression and anxiety can color my thoughts and actions. At the end of the day, I'm defined by how I act and who I am--and that's more than just my mental disorders.

I think if you do things that way, you've more room for character development. Any character can develop, some will just take more time than others. No person is going to be a textbook sociopath or a textbook psychopath--those aren't real. No psychopath or sociopath is going to tick off each and every little box. I usually add to that by having some sort of event that caused my characters to be the way they are. Jade, for example, was sexually abused by a genius father. Édouard was neglected by his family and could only enjoy material things growing up. Jaina was essentially given electroshock therapy from her brother. Everyone is the way they are for a reason, and I think with that in mind, any character can get development. :)

That's my two cents on this matter. ;)


Jack Hudson

Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall: Kitchen)


Jack frowned a bit, heeding Miss Sally's words. He knew that in tense situations, accidents would happen. But the very idea that someone might shoot Tatiana and mistake her for an invader struck a nerve with him. He wasn't an idiot and he wasn't naive, but she was the only thing left in the world with an ounce of purity left to her. The notion that others could be blind to that stunned him.

"We'll keep quiet here," Jack promised, nodding at Miss Sally. The last of the trays had been moved over, and almost teasingly, he flexed at Tatiana. He knew that he was conventionally attractive, despite never being one to take advantage of it. Seeing how kind natured Bazhooli and the others were set him at ease as well. Even if Newnan burned to the ground, he expected that Tatiana, Miss Sally, Sophia, Bazhooli, and himself would be able to make it out alright.

His mind flickered back to the ring he had been preparing, stashed away in the apartment building. He frowned a bit, hoping that the invaders would be taken care of soon, so he could go back and grab it. As much as he wanted to propose at that very minute, he wasn't going to do it without a ring. Tatiana deserved a proposal just as beautiful as she.


Édouard Riviere

Location: Heard County High School (Franklin)


Édouard let out a small cry of pain, feeling the slice of the dagger against his beautiful face. It was all he had going for him in the end, his good looks and his charm. Had he not just been given a royal beatdown, he would have cradled his face, and began urging for someone to rush him to a surgeon skilled enough to prevent any scarring. However, then another fateful phrase caught his attention.

"Brise de Mer?" Édouard asked, entirely stunned. He hadn't heard that name in ages, not since before the outbreak. His family, as much as he pretended otherwise, wasn't truly the sole mafia française. There were other sects, other factions. Félix had urged Édouard to discard his pendant, the very one that identified him as a member of l'Unione Corse. He had tossed it away, disposed of it, years ago. And now, here he was, face to face with Lyon de la Brise de Mer, and he gulped a bit.

L'année 1997....

Alisanne and Darcey had been left in charge, with Édouard's parents off in Cairo for business. The girls were still in secondary school, but already, they had shown a knack for leadership and for cruelty. With a house filled with guards and servants, hardly anything was suspected to happen. The Riviere family kept their children in Grenoble, far from the main headquarters of l'Unione Corse in Marseilles. Currently chief of the nineteen families that comprised the organization, their youngest son, Édouard, was being groomed to take over.

"Darcey! Attend! Le train marche très bien!" Édouard, hardly ten years old, exclaimed. He eagerly pressed the controller for the train set, sending the locomotive back and forth constantly. The family cat pawed at it curiously from its spot nearby, and Édouard laughed with glee each time the train managed to evade the orange paws of doom. His sisters hardly paid him any attention, sitting on the nearby couch, discussing with each other in rapid Japanese. They had learned the language in order to avoid their brother from understanding, but even then, he grew to know that bakayaro meant him.

"C'est absurde," Alisanne said pointedly, glancing at her brother. But he didn't care, continuing to play with the train. This time, rather than avoiding the cat, he turned it into a game. As the train went into motion, he sped it towards the orange nightmare, and then let out a bit of a squeal each time he managed to get the train to safety just in time. Darcey, for her part, chuckled in amusement at her brother. "Il est juste un petit garçon, il le faut jouer avec le train, Ali."

Alisanne shook her head, rising from her seat on the couch and heading over to retrieve her cat. Bending down to pick up her beloved furball, Édouard sent the train off once more, hardly noticing his sister's fingers against the track. And this time, he pulled back too late. The mechanical engine smashed into Alisanne's hand, causing the cat to scratch wildly with a scream and shoot off into the recesses of the house. Alisanne's fingers were jammed, and she shook her hand in pain, turning angrily to gaze at her brother. "Anata ga nani o yatta ka o mite, anata no kanzen'na baka!" Alisanne screamed, as Darcey looked on, concerned. The angered blonde picked her brother up by the scruff of his neck, and pinned the boy against the wall, as Édouard screamed and wailed.

"Je suis desolée! Il était un petit accident!" Édouard blubbered. Darcey walked over to Alisanne, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. "Kare wa wakakute orokadesu. Kare o kowagara seru, kare o kizutsukeru koto wa arimasen."

Alisanne shook her head, dropping Édouard to the ground. She bent down as to be at his level, and looked him directly in the eye. "Tu veux une histoire, eh, petit prince? Alors, je te donnerai une histoire. Il était une fois..." Alisanne began, before describing at detail the butcher of little French boys. He was a man, more of a shadow, and his helpers called him Lyon. She went into great length about la Brise de Mer and all of their activities, and with each word, promised Édouard that if Lyon hated anything, it was naughty boys.

"Il me tuera?" Édouard gulped. Alisanne only nodded, before sweeping out of the room. Édouard ran towards Darcey for comfort, tears streaming down his face, but she too had left.

He was all alone.
Le présent...

Édouard's face was entirely white, his hands clammy as the reality began to sink in. He couldn't decide which was better--to be tortured at the hands of Lyon or to die as a coward, a fool. Both choices were just as appealing as they were horrid, and with Svetlana's apparent ease with Lyon, Édouard's last shred of hope died. No one was coming to save him. He'd have to make a choice: education or death? He recalled that one brief phrase he had learned, the singular day he showed up to his college literature course. Translated into French, the original read:

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause

The Frenchman wept, afraid of death and afraid of life. "L'éducation," Édouard muttered quietly.

@Pundii Okay, good, because...

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