Avatar of Plank Sinatra

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4 yrs ago
Current deconstructions are fake lol
1 like
5 yrs ago
"return of the mack, you know that i'll be back." in his bed, joe biden lurches awake, wild-eyed. many a year he has watched, waited for the mack's return. hes as ready as he will ever be. he t-poses
5 yrs ago
Today Show 9-11-01 ~ Live on NBC as Tragedy Occurred [s l o w e d + r e v e r b]
1 like
5 yrs ago
40 hours into the mass effect remaster. gameplay is good but not sold on the plot changes. wish garrus would stop saying "reaper? i hardly know her!" laugh track on the normandy is a weird choice too
6 likes
5 yrs ago
fine, since you asked so nicely officer, i will confess my crimes. since i was seven years old i have refused to match any socks in my sock drawer. i practice sock hookup culture. i am a slut
7 likes

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In CLOSED 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Dana Harada


Location: Diner, Olympus Academy
Interacting With: Rebekah Cross @Krayzikk


As Rebekah went on detailing her theories, a small smile began to tug on the ends of Dana's mouth - the only parts of her grin that were unimpeded by the straw that she was vacuuming her shake with. The Japanese girl chewed over the well of information, no doubt painstakingly accumulated, that her fellow demigod had shared. Some of it made sense. Some of it was beyond her, clearly spoken with a wealth of research that Harada hadn't partaken in. Some of it was...just cool to think about.

She took a sip from her shake again and then spun the straw 180 degrees, so that it pointed forward against the side of the glass facing Rebekah.

"Or perhaps it is a more...human boundary? Perhaps they go where they see a chance to find love." Dana shrugged and flicked her straw back in her direction, slinging her right hand over her bare left tricep as she leaned down and took another long sip of her creamy beverage. Her eyes never left Rebekah's, even as she sat up straight again with ramrod posture. "Gods revel in worship. Many of us remember our parents as being there for a brief time upon our birth, or when we first discovered our nature. They were around long us to remember them, to make us ache in their absence, and then they leave when we have other wants and needs beyond them. Think of baby birds."

Harada put a hand over her book softly and thought of her own father, as she knew him - handsome, brash, coarse; mercurial, her mother told her...but around Dana, he had always laughed.

"Just a thought."
WHOAAAAAA

OA-OA-OA-OAAAAA-OAAAAAA
NEVER FORGET
Angel Ferrara


Man! I would suck as a secret agent!

He had known that tailing her like that without revealing himself was a bad idea, but had little other idea of where to find the hot tub in this place. The woman had carried herself with such assurance and poise that she had to know where the hot tub was, right!? Angel was just following the leader! At the same time, following people...clearly not the best of ideas. Any idiot knew that. How often had he and Kaia worried about being followed somewhere on the swathe they had cut on their journey? The least he could have done was be polite and introduce himself.

Plus it would have avoided...the thing. The miss thing. Again.

She's looking right at me...

"Uhhh...sorry. I mean, no offense. But you already did. I just...needed to know where the hot tub was, and you seemed like you knew where it was at. No shower with my rooms. Sorry I didn't ask. Just didn't want to seem like I was...cat-calling you or anything."


Angel blanched, then blushed, then finally subsided to his normal peach coloration again. He could do this. Normally, he would have been able to do this. But this girl was nearly as tall as him, and even though she carried a robe and towel like anyone seeking out a soak in a hot tub...Ferrara hadn't missed the fact that she'd brought a sword as well. How would Kaia ever find him if he were in chunks in a hot tub!?

"My name's Angel. Angel Ferrara. A...a boy." The slim young mage chewed on the right side of his lip and frowned anxiously. He found himself blushing again. "Sorry for the mixup. I know it's hard to believe."
Angel Ferrara


After leaving a note for Kaia on the only place she'd know to look for it - resting on her forehead - Angel trudged out of the room slowly. A blonde girl who looked to be a few years older than Kaia, maybe his own age, passed right by his room carrying a towel and robe, and Angel belatedly realized that they hadn't sprung for a room in the inn with an adjoining shower. They would need every spare coin to travel as long as possible before stopping again. But if there was a communal tub somewhere...

Angel had never been modest, and had some idea of relatively how attractive he was to people when they thought he was a girl, but something like a hot tub would pretty much dispel that illusion as soon as he decided to try and remove so much as a layer. Too many tokens from his childhood in the forest dotted his shoulders, chest, and back. It was definitely better than the alternative, and Kaia's blindness meant it almost never came up, but he could still imagine how disconcerting it would be to share a hot tub with someone who looked as though they'd just come back from a war. So he hesitated for a fleeting second or two before finally tugging at his bangs nervously and following the young woman to wherever she was headed.

Probably could've been a good idea to get my own lay of the land last night...

A lesson for the next town.


"Ayy-yooo! Leave it to you to turn a right good penthouse into a fookin' soup kitchen on the first afternoon, Noël." From the other room, there came a large smacking sound, as Brennan Griese high fived the doorway with two hands. The flight had clearly made him restless; every step of his had a quote-unquote subtle energy to it that rang in the air. "What'd you slap yourself together this time, darlin'? I hope it's fricasseed Mistralian young, or I'm gonna sulk me way through dinner."

Walking into the kitchen with his carry on still slung over his shoulder, Brennan made a show of looking delightfully surprised and slung his left arm around Noël's neck. The team captain tightened it playfully and let the carry-on bag slide onto the floor without reverence. His eyes were locked on the plate at the end of the table, with the large glass of milk, extra potatoes (!) and the most perfect slab of meat since infant Brennan himself.

"Well, ayy now, I suppose that's actually not the worst meal man ever slapped to a fookin' plate! Close. But you stopped yourself right 'fore the bottom of the barrel."

He picked up his bag again and set it on a spare section of the countertop, unzipping it and pulling out a grey t-shirt he'd purchased while spectating the last Vytal Festival. It read 'ATLAS WILL INDOCTRINATE YOUR YOUTH,' complete with a foreboding-looking airship branded with 'INDOCTRINATE,' and was one of Brennan's favorite shirts to lounge about in. Though he had put on a good bit more muscle since he had joined Atlas; it had begun to feel a bit more snug whenever he put it on, and now that they were back in the familiar fairgrounds where all of Remnant flocked once every two years, it might be time to size up again.

"So what the fook was that thing you put on the end of your text?" Brennan asked, unbuttoning his dress shirt with his back to Noël. "Looked like a perforated spleen. Or a sinister whoopie cushion."
Angel Ferrara


"Nnungh."

For someone so keyed into the very nature of survival, and how flexible your biological schedule had to be in case of a surprise attack from some vicious monster in a forest thicket, Angel Ferrara could well have been the worst morning person he knew. Barely audible, hair kinky, hardly able to even muster the energy to smile. Even poor Kaia tended to crawl out of bed less bleary eyed than him.

Hence?

"Nuuuuuuuuuuuuungh."

Valiantly, Angel sat up in bed and pushed the covers down to his waist. Raising his right arm and holding the inside of his bicep against his face to muffle a yawn, the androgynous chef put his left fist against the small of his back and arced around it, feeling a few dull pops in his spine with a soft moan. Sleepily, he reached up to ruffle his hair with both hands...and without support, collapsed back against the mattress, first reservoir of energy for the day spent.

"Kaia. Hey Kaia." Another yawn, as Angel turned his head to the other bed in the room, where his traveling companion may or may not have been awake to hear him. "I'm gonna...motivate. And see if I can do some hunting for the job board. Might get lucky."

If she wasn't able to hear him, he might just go anyway. But he didn't want to leave her blind and alone in the room...especially not without food...

But he didn't want to wake her up, either. It was important that she got her rest if they meant to travel again soon. Damn it. So often his top priority - the comfort of his friend - ended up clashing against itself when there were two potentially comfortable options, and she wasn't able to tell him which she preferred. It all boiled down to his guesswork.

And girls were much more stupefying when they didn't think Angel was one of them.

I think I'll motivate.
“Without us, what is Remnant? Vale, Mistral? There’s no life in these places. Who wants to see the sights in Vale? Vacuo? Vacuo should be paved in solar panels to run our theme parks! But where Atlas goes, we bring the future. And Atlas goes where we lead it.”



Name: Brennan Ailill Griese, the Captain of Industry

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Nationality: Atlesian

Team: BANK

Designation: Subject 0081: Highly Ravenous, Do Not Unleash Huntsman

Appearance:



Several inches over the average height and athletically broad, Brennan only tends to look somewhat leaner in comparison to his teammate. In reality, though perhaps not a powerhouse on Kek’s level, it’s clear he doesn’t take many cheat days. Brennan himself is very handsome, with a strong jaw, bright red-gold eyes, and a perpetual hysterical laugh never far from his lips. Ever professional, he tends to wear black pants or jeans with white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. He will always either wear suspenders or a slim-fitting black vest. His coal-black hair is long, but not unruly – half the time it tends to be pomaded backwards lustrously, and half the time he lets it hang free over his eyes. Surprisingly, he’s not one for much gaudy orientation. The only concession to jewelry he wears is a slender silver chain on his neck, from which hangs two Claddagh rings barely visible through an unbuttoned collar.

History:

Brennan’s father was only one generation removed from their fortune, but it was clear he had forgotten where it came from. Brennan’s grandfather had initially gone into business as a founding partner of the Schnee Dust Company, but foresaw a coming monopoly on the Dust market and the coming problems with the use of Faunus labor. Therefore, he sold every last share at top dollar and came out with enough money to float him through the rest of his life; a series of sensible investments in property and budding tech firms with interests in Aura and Dust only compounded the fortune, until it was clear no Griese would ever have to worry again.

As you can imagine, this had made Brennan’s father complacent, a trait not shared by his rowdy, implacable only son. A talented little scrapper (to his father’s chagrin) from an early age, Brennan seemed to have determined his path even before he quite knew what the Huntsman path was, and went away to Sanctum Academy in Mistral for combat training at the age of 12. When he returned to Atlas after four years, though, he took a couple drop years to begin taking a hands on role in some investments of his own. Finally, at the age of 19, he enrolled in Atlas Academy to seek out a career as a Huntsman and engage himself in higher study.

Pleasantly, he found himself on a team with three other members of the Atlesian business elite, and though at first their squabbles over leadership and natural competitive edges had led them to all eschew each other, once the question of leadership was truly decided and began to work as a unit, BANK (as they had been first colloquially, then officially known) became an inseparable juggernaut, often able to discern strategies and fight alongside or independent of each other with mere near-telekinetic glances. At the head of this specialized team is Brennan Griese himself – and though his father insists he’s going through a phase, Brennan finds the thrill of being a Huntsman and the challenge of impossible odds far more satisfying a life than a sterile boardroom, where he had no chance of anything but even greater success.

Not the most heady of futures to a young man such as him.

Personality:

Despite what his teammates like to mutter to themselves, there’s really no one but Brennan who could lead BANK with any efficiency. He balances the three proper attitudes for business on the tip of his finger – cold and pragmatic on the battlefield, when his team is most in need of direction; open-hearted, jovial, and irreverent at a public setting or presentation; and funny, fluent and respectful in a one on one setting. While not an out and out asshole, years of relative dominance amongst his peers and the restlessness of being born into wealth and lacking things to do with it has completely coated Brennan in bulletproof confidence. This sense of self-assurance can often cross the line to out and out conceit.

Even if Brennan isn’t the most talented fighter on the team (an honor that goes to Kek) he’s easily the psychological warrior of BANK. A born performer, hyping up the crowd comes as easily as breath to Brennan – the sheer act of pumping his arms to raise a mob’s volume seems to feed him with a psychotic, insatiable energy. Though he’s cunning enough to guess at many a psychological weakness, public displays of disrespect towards the other three Huntsmen academies are more his speed. Brennan is a madman. He will raise chants amongst students. He will spout disrespectful limericks towards upcoming competitors. He will buy other students dinner and a Scroll because “those on death row have rights in Atlas. We love the damned! We love them so much that we give them last meals and phone calls home.” He is not above buying out a Mistralian merch stand and tying shirts to banners in a sick mockery of a funeral procession.

Despite this, surprisingly, the charismatic, quasi-psychotic Atlesian is not inglorious in victory or defeat. Often he will seek out as many opponents as possible after the post-fight bloodlust has worn off and his throat requires a brief rest and congratulate them on their performance. It would appear that this frenzied, hypercompetitive jock state ebbs away as soon as the bellows in the arena die down, giving way to a civil, if overbearing, young man who fights every duel like it’s the time of his life. In addition, though he will never advertise this fact – going so far as to pin all credit/blame on Noel – he tends towards charity, or taking his excess money and scattering it through the immediate area.

“Tears, laughter, pleasure and pain! I bring the fire, THEN I MAKE IT RAIN!”

Skills:

A skilled orator and hand-to-hand combatant, Brennan is most skilled in a fight when he’s able to manipulate Dust to full effect. Both of his weapons – as well as his fortune – rely upon the propellant, and he’s learned to use them appreciatively. He’s also the leader of BANK for a reason – a smart tactician, gauging his team’s strengths and weaknesses, he can coordinate group attacks with relative ease and very rarely has to deal with someone falling out of formation or losing their head in the fight. Ironically, not even he is exempt from this sense of focus.

Semblance:

Slick as a Whistle: Brennan’s Semblance is friction manipulation. Simply put, he is able to generate, remove, or control friction in order to propel himself forward, stop something in its tracks by sending it slipping and sliding, or maneuver up solid surfaces more fluidly.

Weapon:

Veblen Good: An energy whip of Brennan’s own design, Veblen Good is a potent weapon even without a power source, able to open up stinging cuts on an opponent with ease or ensnare itself around a body part with a flick of Brennan’s wrist. Its real power, though, comes from the holster built into the handle of the whip, complete with small trigger. When loaded with a Dust crystal or cartridge, the trigger can be pressed in, energizing the whip with Dust for several minutes and imbuing it with whatever particular type Brennan loaded it with. In a pinch, in case of a lack of crystals, the whip can also be powered for a limited time with the Trustbusters.

In its coiled form, Veblen Good can still be loaded with a Dust cartridge and powered up. In this state, Brennan can utilize the weapon as an energy targe, also imbued with whatever element the Dust was and combining with his aura to form a large protective shield.

Trustbusters: A pair of Dust-knitted gloves that operate independently of Veblen Good, the Trustbusters would ostensibly not have much power on their own. Thus, Brennan has done some modification, turning what was once a pair of glorified hand protection into augmented weapons all their own. When a Dust crystal or cartridge is crushed inside one of the Trustbusters, the specialized fabrics and the Dust already latent inside will absorb the Dust Brennan wants to utilize. This surcharge allows him to power up something he chooses with Dust, whether it be Veblen Good or something inanimate…or just hit someone with a burning fist.

Relationships:

Albert Morgan: To put it frankly, Brennan and Morgan aren’t friends – but they should be. Both tend to speak fast and take shots at the things around them, and while they often fall into a rapport and coordinate alongside each other well in combat, they don’t hang out on a personal level very often unless someone else is the bridge between them. Despite their aloofness from each other, Brennan enjoys the other heir’s company, and can even be heard to openly laugh at some of Albert’s ideas and jokes. The team leader has decided to try and attempt to forge a real bond with his partner as time goes on.

Noël Du Acier: Perhaps the only member of BANK Brennan can truly said to be close to, Noel is the target of more of his mocking barbs than any other – as well as the target of slightly more extolled pride. Though he is first in the chorus of telling the talkative blacksmith to just shut the hell up, he tends to treat her as something of a precocious younger sister, and knows how to play to her strengths in the field. They will sometimes hang out without the company of anyone else, though usually only for a quick meal. Though he talks a big game about letting her reap her just desserts for running her mouth so often, Noel’s charitable heart is a quiet soft spot for the braggadocio-fueled Atlesian, and slights on her person or (undue) beatings that he thinks she can’t handle will be handled with hot fury.

Kek Tarik: Another team member who, like Morgan, Brennan doesn’t have much of a personal relationship with. Kek, however, has Brennan’s quiet respect if nothing else – as team leader, it’s his job to acknowledge to himself when he’s outmatched, and Kek is pound for pound a better fighter than Brennan himself. As such, he will often just point him in a vague direction and let the big guy go off on his own, only falling in with the rest of the team when it’s time for a complete formation. Outside of the field or classes, Kek will sometimes find himself called on as the deciding vote in an argument with Brennan and Morgan, but otherwise he’s left to his own devices – or to Noel, whom the big guy seems to get on well with.

Trivia:

Theme

Based loosely upon the personality and life of John D. Rockefeller

My Semblance would be telepathy.
“Without us, what is Remnant? Vale, Mistral? There’s no life in these places. Who wants to see the sights in Vale? Vacuo? Vacuo should be paved in solar panels to run our theme parks! But where Atlas goes, we bring the future. And Atlas goes where we lead it.”



Name: Brennan Ailill Griese, the Captain of Industry

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Nationality: Atlesian

Team: BANK

Designation: Subject 0081: Highly Ravenous, Do Not Unleash Huntsman

Appearance:



Several inches over the average height and athletically broad, Brennan only tends to look somewhat leaner in comparison to his teammate. In reality, though perhaps not a powerhouse on Kek’s level, it’s clear he doesn’t take many cheat days. Brennan himself is very handsome, with a strong jaw, bright red-gold eyes, and a perpetual hysterical laugh never far from his lips. Ever professional, he tends to wear black pants or jeans with white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. He will always either wear suspenders or a slim-fitting black vest. His coal-black hair is long, but not unruly – half the time it tends to be pomaded backwards lustrously, and half the time he lets it hang free over his eyes. Surprisingly, he’s not one for much gaudy orientation. The only concession to jewelry he wears is a slender silver chain on his neck, from which hangs two Claddagh rings barely visible through an unbuttoned collar.

History:

Brennan’s father was only one generation removed from their fortune, but it was clear he had forgotten where it came from. Brennan’s grandfather had initially gone into business as a founding partner of the Schnee Dust Company, but foresaw a coming monopoly on the Dust market and the coming problems with the use of Faunus labor. Therefore, he sold every last share at top dollar and came out with enough money to float him through the rest of his life; a series of sensible investments in property and budding tech firms with interests in Aura and Dust only compounded the fortune, until it was clear no Griese would ever have to worry again.

As you can imagine, this had made Brennan’s father complacent, a trait not shared by his rowdy, implacable only son. A talented little scrapper (to his father’s chagrin) from an early age, Brennan seemed to have determined his path even before he quite knew what the Huntsman path was, and went away to Sanctum Academy in Mistral for combat training at the age of 12. When he returned to Atlas after four years, though, he took a couple drop years to begin taking a hands on role in some investments of his own. Finally, at the age of 19, he enrolled in Atlas Academy to seek out a career as a Huntsman and engage himself in higher study.

Pleasantly, he found himself on a team with three other members of the Atlesian business elite, and though at first their squabbles over leadership and natural competitive edges had led them to all eschew each other, once the question of leadership was truly decided and began to work as a unit, BANK (as they had been first colloquially, then officially known) became an inseparable juggernaut, often able to discern strategies and fight alongside or independent of each other with mere near-telekinetic glances. At the head of this specialized team is Brennan Griese himself – and though his father insists he’s going through a phase, Brennan finds the thrill of being a Huntsman and the challenge of impossible odds far more satisfying a life than a sterile boardroom, where he had no chance of anything but even greater success.

Not the most heady of futures to a young man such as him.

Personality:

Despite what his teammates like to mutter to themselves, there’s really no one but Brennan who could lead BANK with any efficiency. He balances the three proper attitudes for business on the tip of his finger – cold and pragmatic on the battlefield, when his team is most in need of direction; open-hearted, jovial, and irreverent at a public setting or presentation; and funny, fluent and respectful in a one on one setting. While not an out and out asshole, years of relative dominance amongst his peers and the restlessness of being born into wealth and lacking things to do with it has completely coated Brennan in bulletproof confidence. This sense of self-assurance can often cross the line to out and out conceit.

Even if Brennan isn’t the most talented fighter on the team (an honor that goes to Kek) he’s easily the psychological warrior of BANK. A born performer, hyping up the crowd comes as easily as breath to Brennan – the sheer act of pumping his arms to raise a mob’s volume seems to feed him with a psychotic, insatiable energy. Though he’s cunning enough to guess at many a psychological weakness, public displays of disrespect towards the other three Huntsmen academies are more his speed. Brennan is a madman. He will raise chants amongst students. He will spout disrespectful limericks towards upcoming competitors. He will buy other students dinner and a Scroll because “those on death row have rights in Atlas. We love the damned! We love them so much that we give them last meals and phone calls home.” He is not above buying out a Mistralian merch stand and tying shirts to banners in a sick mockery of a funeral procession.

Despite this, surprisingly, the charismatic, quasi-psychotic Atlesian is not inglorious in victory or defeat. Often he will seek out as many opponents as possible after the post-fight bloodlust has worn off and his throat requires a brief rest and congratulate them on their performance. It would appear that this frenzied, hypercompetitive jock state ebbs away as soon as the bellows in the arena die down, giving way to a civil, if overbearing, young man who fights every duel like it’s the time of his life. In addition, though he will never advertise this fact – going so far as to pin all credit/blame on Noel – he tends towards charity, or taking his excess money and scattering it through the immediate area.

“Tears, laughter, pleasure and pain! I bring the fire, THEN I MAKE IT RAIN!”

Skills:

A skilled orator and hand-to-hand combatant, Brennan is most skilled in a fight when he’s able to manipulate Dust to full effect. Both of his weapons – as well as his fortune – rely upon the propellant, and he’s learned to use them appreciatively. He’s also the leader of BANK for a reason – a smart tactician, gauging his team’s strengths and weaknesses, he can coordinate group attacks with relative ease and very rarely has to deal with someone falling out of formation or losing their head in the fight. Ironically, not even he is exempt from this sense of focus.

Semblance:

Slick as a Whistle: Brennan’s Semblance is friction manipulation. Simply put, he is able to generate, remove, or control friction in order to propel himself forward, stop something in its tracks by sending it slipping and sliding, or maneuver up solid surfaces more fluidly.

Weapon:

Veblen Good: An energy whip of Brennan’s own design, Veblen Good is a potent weapon even without a power source, able to open up stinging cuts on an opponent with ease or ensnare itself around a body part with a flick of Brennan’s wrist. Its real power, though, comes from the holster built into the handle of the whip, complete with small trigger. When loaded with a Dust crystal or cartridge, the trigger can be pressed in, energizing the whip with Dust for several minutes and imbuing it with whatever particular type Brennan loaded it with. In a pinch, in case of a lack of crystals, the whip can also be powered for a limited time with the Trustbusters.

In its coiled form, Veblen Good can still be loaded with a Dust cartridge and powered up. In this state, Brennan can utilize the weapon as an energy targe, also imbued with whatever element the Dust was and combining with his aura to form a large protective shield.

Trustbusters: A pair of Dust-knitted gloves that operate independently of Veblen Good, the Trustbusters would ostensibly not have much power on their own. Thus, Brennan has done some modification, turning what was once a pair of glorified hand protection into augmented weapons all their own. When a Dust crystal or cartridge is crushed inside one of the Trustbusters, the specialized fabrics and the Dust already latent inside will absorb the Dust Brennan wants to utilize. This surcharge allows him to power up something he chooses with Dust, whether it be Veblen Good or something inanimate…or just hit someone with a burning fist.

Relationships:

Albert Morgan: To put it frankly, Brennan and Morgan aren’t friends – but they should be. Both tend to speak fast and take shots at the things around them, and while they often fall into a rapport and coordinate alongside each other well in combat, they don’t hang out on a personal level very often unless someone else is the bridge between them. Despite their aloofness from each other, Brennan enjoys the other heir’s company, and can even be heard to openly laugh at some of Albert’s ideas and jokes. The team leader has decided to try and attempt to forge a real bond with his partner as time goes on.

Noël Du Acier: Perhaps the only member of BANK Brennan can truly said to be close to, Noel is the target of more of his mocking barbs than any other – as well as the target of slightly more extolled pride. Though he is first in the chorus of telling the talkative blacksmith to just shut the hell up, he tends to treat her as something of a precocious younger sister, and knows how to play to her strengths in the field. They will sometimes hang out without the company of anyone else, though usually only for a quick meal. Though he talks a big game about letting her reap her just desserts for running her mouth so often, Noel’s charitable heart is a quiet soft spot for the braggadocio-fueled Atlesian, and slights on her person or (undue) beatings that he thinks she can’t handle will be handled with hot fury.

Kek Tarik: Another team member who, like Morgan, Brennan doesn’t have much of a personal relationship with. Kek, however, has Brennan’s quiet respect if nothing else – as team leader, it’s his job to acknowledge to himself when he’s outmatched, and Kek is pound for pound a better fighter than Brennan himself. As such, he will often just point him in a vague direction and let the big guy go off on his own, only falling in with the rest of the team when it’s time for a complete formation. Outside of the field or classes, Kek will sometimes find himself called on as the deciding vote in an argument with Brennan and Morgan, but otherwise he’s left to his own devices – or to Noel, whom the big guy seems to get on well with.

Trivia:

Theme

Based loosely upon the personality and life of John D. Rockefeller

My Semblance would be telepathy.
In CLOSED 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Dana Harada


Location: Diner, Olympus Academy
Interacting With: Rebekah Cross @Krayzikk


Dana considered that for a minute. She was far from the type of person who would let out a blanket "no, it's okay, what you're doing is very interesting Rebekah-chan," but this actually seemed like a topic of relevance to their lives. From her schedule, it appeared that much of what they were learning corresponded to the exploits of their parents. Dana was not so foolish to believe that the school they served as benefactors for, run by sycophant teachers, would serve them anything less than tales that were as idealized as Greek mythos could get.

Still, being so non-specific in her declaration of interest would be insulting. Clearly the girl had put much work into this, even going to lengths to interview her mother time and again on the exploits of the Olympians. Besides, Dana herself knew well that something as lazy as "that sounds cool" more often than not implied that you had breezed through the other person's words without truly listening and engrossing yourself in what they had to say. Dana may not have had to say much, but she was certainly polite enough to listen, and respond as intently as the other person in the conversation merited. Rebekah was threatening her way into an upper echelon of said acquaintances - and besides, it may be that she had a few of the answers Dana herself had puzzled over.

"Has your research..." she paused, thinking of the word that best fit, "yielded anything on why so many Olympians strike so far east? I find our...high number of Japanese students intriguing."
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