Rockette

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

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_{Location: The Chimera's Lair - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.050: immortal.

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_{Interaction(s): &&}

Previously: descension & malcontent.

In the dark hours meant entirely for lovers, she drifts atop slick rocks and deadened braids of reeds. Delicate perches of her feet betwixt one step and the next, silver cloaking her like lamplight that defined every feature of pale skin and blue eyes aglow in direct challenge of the stars above.

Cliff faces loom ahead in the night, sighing with the waves against their rigid peaks and caverns, the sapphire depths below churning with froth. She stands as a specter until the dawn approaches, the world awash in grays and pale blues and when a certain figure dots the horizon, only then does she leave her vigil. The ground where she had been is blackened, rotted, but beneath the coating of ash a flower possessed of a fiery red core stands tall.

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Amma didn't have a roommate, and such was a luxury as she dressed languidly and donned the fitted blazer she paid little heed to. A skirt settled over her hips, belt secured and black stockings rolled carefully up to her thighs before she balances on the balls of her feet to slide into the loafers she opted for this day. The heels beside them beckon, but she recalls being scolded more often not and combs arachnid gestures through her tumble of ebony hair before exiting the dorms.

At the mess hall she is quiet. The night prior has her flitting to the outer edges of the team, the tense atmosphere is subtle, but later broken by a performance of antics. Amma looks on carefully and doesn't shy away from the moment Lorcán adjusts himself into something proper. Heat flushes her neck, but she simply pans her gaze south and then away with arms crossed delicately. Brazen, sure, but just a smidge tactless.

Still, a small smile forms there.

The proceedings into the stadium is met with the same silence where she finds her seat somewhere on the edges of Blackjack and it is there a coiled ball of spires shoots into her spine. Blue eyes snap to the stage, and there they stay - unwavering .

Something isn't right.

The speeches are pretty, the anthem is darling, and still her eyes never leave the dais. So, when the announcement sounds and a familiar pair is introduced, Amma's entire being stills. What follows thereafter is a haze, a film, muffled voices plucking away at her ears that she cannot hear. In the distance she looks to Winter Caspian -- what was the fucking point? Why take her, why fight so hard to transfer her here. If only to allow them beyond these walls she once thought, maybe, could be something more.

Amma's rage is not personified in explosive breadths of power, nor is it explicit words coated in hate and confusion; it is not contained emotions that wallow in the pit of imprisonment or the despair of the unobtainable.

Her rage is a silent quake: a shaky breath before the storm whilst the world suddenly stills, appetence rots away at her core and with it the void arises liken to a beast slumbering away in the depths of the deepest recesses of forgotten shadow and legend. Her poise remains refined and elegant, but within the bank of her darkening eyes rimmed in crystalline hues, Amma is positively incensed. Beneath the perch of her body, the ground shudders in fearful reproach and the chair is lost in hopeless bedlam as red and silver fissure through the metal and groan in protest. A pitched drone sunders the silence, hidden beneath the outrage and declarations to a future suddenly forsaken.

Amma stands with a flourish, and the world takes a breath.
Holds it.

And she laughs.

It punches through her throat in a sudden gasp of air and it's all Amma can do to contain the mania abound through her blood and bones, crackling whips of red and black snaked down her thighs and imbedded deep through the sphere of destructive power that answers to her roar.

She had been traded from one prison to another, only this one was gilded in bars of tarnished gold.

Her laughter suddenly ceases, abruptly shortened by the puncture of breath whistling through her lungs as the world trembled at her feet. Control, she commanded. Control. It was a singular mantra betwixt both heart and mind, forming a construct of stability as vicious lines of scarlet snapped away from her palms and corded themselves tight around her throat whilst she whispered a sullen lullaby. Amma regains her composure swiftly and much like a queen is to her court, she primly folded her fingers at her front and regarded Torres from afar with a cool detachment that betrayed the symphony of nihilism that still sang through her body.

It is no surprise then that she approaches her, assistant at her flank as they descend from the stage, eyes of both wariness and superiority. Amma ascends to the baited challenge there, meets them halfway by closing that distance with an empowering swagger.

"We don't have long, seems ten minutes is all we can spare." Almassian informs, halting just before her, whilst Torres performs a show of taking one more step forward.

"I won't go back." It is not a denial or a plea; it is Truth, it is her Will and it is Conviction.

"It seems your world really did get smaller if you think this is all about you, Tiamat." She does not bother to correct her, for this was a game: a chess board of muddied ebony and ivory pieces, only she knows not what side she stands upon or what pieces she is to play. It is with a restrained laugh that Amma says:

"A whole year goes by, and not a word. Why now?"

"That is not your concern, interesting uniform, by the way. I recall you much better suited to chains and void-black. The yellow does nothing for your complexion my dear." Amma clutches at the wolverine crested over her breast, the muted ochre against her inked and embellished skin suddenly stark in contrast. She doesn't realize she opted for the tailored alteration that advertised her assorted house and team, the spade woven there on her sleeve suddenly weighing akin to a stone.

"You really thought you could do it, didn't you? Think you could be a normal girl, in this school, attend classes, graduate. The Foundation Force is still cross, you know. Such potential - wasted. And for what? All purpose of individuality lost, traded for a limitation on your very nature." A harsh whisper, almost in sheer disbelief.

"My nature -"

"Is what we made it. Do not forget, Tiamat, that you are who you are, because we made it so." Torres beckons yonder, to where a warped chair is left in display. Almassian silently then procures a colorless box with her name scrawled atop in penmanship eerily familiar. The name branded to her throat suddenly flares alive in memoriam. "Consider this a reminder, or a present rather. Welcome home, Ammar-"

"Don't." It is the closest she has ever come to supplication, a crack in her usual cadence. Fists clenched at her sides where ruby smiles bloomed into her palms, she hardly notices the pain. All she can see is the void where a child weeps to the shadows - maman where did you go?

"Take it. Remember, for chaos is not done with the likes of you, and neither are we."

Her nails prick against the ivory in her hands, she knows what lays within, her name emblazoned there, her name --

Amma Cahors can feel their eyes on her, the rest of Blackjack, awaiting her next move, wary for the coils of her manifest to spiral to and fro. She wants to lay waste to the land.

She knows she can't.
But fuck, did she want to.

Instead she lifts her chin, glare defiant and framed by lashes spiked by unshed emotions she is too proud to spare. She is the solitary creature suspended between friend and foe. Between the known and the unknown. Amma pirouettes on her heel, exciting the stadium with all the command of a goddess compounded by the wealth power oozing off of her in tangible waves.

It continues all the way to her dorm; she passes her teammates unseeing and unhearing, passing by them all from those still seated to those that had ran away to escape outdoors.

There, a beast suddenly becomes a little girl, her scars emblazoned all anew.
She had been right all along.
For once, she wishes that she wasn't.

Checkmate.

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

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_{Location: The Beach; Flashback. - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.049: malcontent.

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_{Interaction(s): katja. - @Zoldyck.}

Previously: TBD

Amma was the next to speak up after Katja, and she had quite a few things to say. Her words were harsh. In but a few lines she shattered the illusion that some of her fellow team members had about their futures. To others, it was a reminder of the cruelty that awaited them outside of P.R.C.U.

Despite Gil’s best efforts, it was clear that Amma’s words had irrecoverably soured the mood. It didn’t take long before the first of the group said a quick goodbye and left. Blackjack’s wholesome little campfire gathering was officially over.

Her words had indeed been harsh. But to Katja, they were the truth. Not only that, but Amma’s words seemed to confirm what Katja had felt about the girl all this time. That she might in fact truly be a kindred spirit. It sparked a curiosity in her. An immediate desire to talk with this strange girl.

Blackjack’s powerhouse slowly got to her feet, never taking her eyes off of the raven haired girl. She said some absent minded goodbyes to some of the others before making her way over to Amma. Katja took a knee in front of the other girl, the fire burning brightly behind the blonde girl.

Katja gazed up at the sky, her eyes darting from one star to another. “It’s a beautiful night.” A gentle smile formed on her lips when she turned her attention back to Amma, her blue eyes meeting those of the tattoo-covered girl. “I think it’s a wonderful time for a walk, don’t you agree?” Katja kept her eyes fixed on Amma’s, giving a barely perceivable tilt with her head to emphasize that she wanted to speak with her in private

The blonde girl got back to her feet before the other girl replied. Katja did her best not to break her eye contact with Amma’s blue eyes, making sure she kept the French girl’s attention. “I would love it if you joined me.” She then extended her hand, hoping Amma would accept her invitation.

“No,” Amma snaps, the bite of her gleaming teeth perched on her pout, “I don’t, Katja.”

She knew what she was doing, from the cant of her head, to the rigid stare that bespoke of gentle intentions and calming intensity. She was trying to get her away from the group, likened to an animal bearing fang and claw, needing to be placated less she turn rabid. She knew the procedure. From behind the powerful figure, the fire crackled in response, now woven intimately with her power and casting a hated, scarlet glow. Whilst she denied her, Amma also knew that Katja was unwavering in her conviction and would not hesitate to take that proffered gesture and turn it lethal to grab her and drag her off into the moonlight with a reprimand baited on her tongue.

Still, she rose with grace to her sandaled feet, and tucked the wine bottle into the crook of her clothed arm. The tendrils of flame dancing and beckoning to her influence, sparks of red and silver betwixt them as if enslaved to her very nature.

“But I’m bored of this, anyways.”

She made a notion of parting through those that remained in the group, deliberately approaching them instead of turning her back to them in a miscalculated retreat. Amma sliced her blue eyes through the night, the eerie demonstration of power illuminated through the depths of her striking gaze. She walked farther away, back towards the way she originally came before she stopped, angling her body just so; her guarded profile immediately drawn and taut.

“I know what you’re going to say.” She confessed, expression suddenly melancholic. “And I’m not sorry.”

A regretful sigh escaped Katja’s lips as Amma rejected her offer and got up on her own. Her extended hand had slowly closed into a frustrated fist. Not so much because of Amma’s reply, but more so due to her own lack of subtlety that she had clearly seen through. Katja’s approach seemed to have offended her, which had been the exact opposite to what she had intended.

She paused for a brief moment, thinking that it might perhaps be better to not bother Amma for the rest of the evening. But the faint traces of energy that she left behind still drew Katja to confront the raven haired girl. So, after taking a deep breath and with her fists clenched in determination, she turned around in pursuit of the other girl.

It only took Katja a few strides to catch up with Amma, just in time for the girl to address her. Keeping a respectful distance, a sad but amused smirk on her face.

“It was never my intention to reprimand you, Am.” Katja spoke with an uncharacteristically soft, apologetic tone clearly resounding in her voice. Putting her hands in her hoodie’s pockets, she tried to come across as disarming as possible.

She cast her gaze down to the ground, kicking up some sand as she contemplated her next words. “I just wanted to talk with you. No reprimand, no demand for an apology. Just a conversation between the two of us.”

Katja’s eyes looked up at Amma again as a sad smile formed on her lips. “So please, indulge me on this one… You know how stubborn I can be.” She said as she chuckled softly, hoping that Amma would relent.

It was something of a novel, witnessing that crestfallen expression etch its way across that face often alighted in a broad grin. The kind of smile that accentuated her already placating demeanor and overall exuberance, of which now bore a frustrated sort of sorrow.

Amma realizes, and not for the first time, just how cutting her words could be.

However, regret evades to her lips, refusing to utter an apology for what she was. Unyielding, uncompromising - almost unfeeling. It is a retrospect for another time, another place, perhaps even never. Instead a soft sigh pumps out from her lungs, deflating her tense posture just a tad as she says:

“How was your… summer?”

It is the closest to an agreement Amma can give, all that she can offer as the sand beneath her shifts and quakes, the individual grains sifting through the eternal wake of power she expels just by simply being.

”I was stuck here, on the island,” she continued, gaze tossed aside, seeing nothing as the night phases into the gloom, bedecked in silver linings. ”Turns out I have restricted permission when not on school grounds.”

The tall blonde’s eyes initially lit up as Amma appeared to lower her barrier towards her, a smile starting to form on the blonde girl’s face. In her excitement Katja got a little closer to Amma, now standing alongside the other girl. But the corners of her mouth slowly fell as Amma’s question finally started to get registered by the taller girl.

Katja averted her gaze as ran a hand through her hair before letting out a long, frustrated sigh.“If I’m being completely honest, I don’t think it would’ve mattered whether you were stuck here or out there. At least here you’re not forced to wear their damned collars.” Just mentioning the HZE Inhibitors made Katja’s skin crawl. She hated those devices with a fiery passion. They denied her of what she truly was and above all felt like a tool to humiliate her and her fellow Hypes.

Katja hesitated for a moment before she replied. “My summer actually could’ve gone a lot better. I went back to visit my sister and uncle, as I always do. But the outside world is changing at a rapid pace.” She paused for a moment, as a lump formed in her throat. She bit her lower lip to collect herself before she continued. “It took less than a week before the first brick flew through the front window. Me being there put them at risk.” Balling her fists, Katja turned her gaze to the horizon. “So I told them that I wouldn’t return after I finish my studies. It is the only way to keep them safe. Safe from being associated with me.”

Her expression noticeably hardened, a barely perceptible twitch could be seen on her lips before she continued speaking. “You were right.” Her voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable trace of anger in her tone. “What you said earlier, about them being afraid of us. You were one hundred percent right.”

Katja cast her gaze towards Amma, her blue eyes locking with those of the raven haired girl next to her. There was a fierceness in her eyes, one borne out of anger and determination. “Honestly, that was the primary reason I wanted to talk to you right now. You said what the others don’t say, or they refuse to say it. And for that, I wanted to thank you.”

“Hah,” Amma rejoins, lips curling around a sneer that narrows her gaze into a glare. “I’d like to see them try and put those things on me.”

She’s worn them once before under the disguise of conditioning and training, when it was cruelly intended to harden her constitution whilst helpless and weak. She doesn’t say so aloud, for what good would it do to utter the past sins under the secretive cloak of the night.

Instead, Amma goes silent, almost in reverence. She has heard the stories before, the tales of Katja's family and her struggles into adulthood. In her reflective moments, bricks are exchanged for splinters of wood and stone, a pool of acclaimed purity looming before a scarlet twilight that shatters through elegant, stained glass adorned in depictions of worship.

What Katja utters next banishes her solemn reflection, trading for perplexity instead. She is surprised, in some way, to have someone agree with her without hesitation or even a shred of doubt. That bold, unwavering gaze of blue has her stilling, her reserves of self preservation allowing a bloom of kinship take place. Amma was the harbinger of rage, the harkoning call of betrayal and truth that reaped the world for all the wrong it had permitted. She was the reaper in the crimson light of dawn and subdued blues of twilight; the void that was nothing and yet everything.

Omnipotent.

“They live in a rose colored world,”Amma claims with what could be a twinge of perhaps envy inflecting her voice. Her fingers clutched around the bottle tucked into the crook of her arm wherein she studies that nondescript label before slowly tipping it over, allowing the contents to spill and drench the sand at their feet. “Better they know the harsh reality that awaits them than be taken under by it.”

She had been there once before: a ten year old girl taken again and again.
She inhales sharply suddenly, splintering lines of temperamental red snaking through the now empty bottle. It splinters, glass plinking and being reduced into nothing but crushed remains that surrender to the growing night.

“But I wouldn’t thank me just yet, Katja. I wouldn’t thank me at all. I don’t deserve that, not even from you.”

"It is simply the truth, and nothing more.”

Katja solemnly nodded in affirmation to Amma’s words. She had never really spoken about her feelings regarding the outside world. Not to anyone in Blackjack anyway. Now, for the first time, it felt like she had someone who understood this side of her. And someone who wasn’t afraid to give her a much needed reality check.

She observed the shattering of the wine bottle with great interest. Or, to be more precise, she observed the demonstration of Amma’s powers. It was a terrifying and destructive power, possibly the most destructive one Katja had ever witnessed up close. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it. The red sparks of all consuming energy easily shattered the empty bottle, its splinters turned into dust before her very eyes.

It was a terrifying power, yes. But to her, it was also exceptionally beautiful.

She remained quiet as Amma continued speaking. A feeling of regret came over Katja as she looked down at the other girl. Even Though she wasn’t great at reading people, it was clear that her words had an unintended impact on Amma, one of sadness and pain.

Katja gingerly wrapped her arm around Amma before giving a gentle, comforting rub on the smaller girl’s shoulder. Still looking down at her, a reassuring smile formed on the taller girl’s lips. “It meant more to me.”

Slowly her smile turned into a smirk before she uttered a singular chuckle. “And last I checked, I decide who deserves my thanks.” Katja bent through her knees to reach eye level with Amma. “And Am, you definitely deserve it.” She flashed a grin before rubbing her shoulder again, a little rougher this time but still meant reassuringly.

If Amma Cahors ever had a friend in the world, she wouldn’t know it. There was nothing that she could compare it to. The genuine words, the reassurances communicated through touch and the sheer lunacy of reality that came with it. She does not deserve anything. Not like this. With a shuttered breath, she allows the remainder of destroyed and splintered glass to fall away from her palms, her chin dipped into a slow nod. To have Katja at her level was daunting, the sheer presence of her doubled in intensity.

“I suppose.” It’s the closest she comes to acceptance, not quite willing to allow herself this moment of merit and praise.

“Goodnight, Kat.” It’s all she has left to give, all that Amma can spare as she nods in confirmation and maneuvers herself away, retreating back into the shadows.

Katja’s smile twitched at the realization that Amma was planning to leave. She didn’t want her to leave yet. There had been one more question she had wanted to ask the other girl, one that was on the tip of her tongue. But even Katja could see that she would be pushing it with Amma if she tried to extend their conversation. Instead she resigned herself to their goodbye, for now at least.

She gave Amma a short wave after getting back to her full height. “Goodnight Am, and see you tomorrow!” Her gaze followed Amma, thinking about how she maybe should go after the raven haired girl and ask her question before she disappeared into the night.

Her train of thought got interrupted by her phone buzzing in her pocket. Her eyes lingered on Amma for a few more moments before she finally fished her phone out of her pocket. Reading the plain text message, her expression visibly hardened. She stared at her phone for a few seconds before closing the screen. When she looked back up she saw that Amma was gone, and with her went the burning desire to ask that simple question.

Katja pocketed her phone again before she turned around and went back to her dorms. “Right on time, I guess.” she murmured to herself.

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

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_{Location: The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.039: descension.

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_{Interaction(s): everyone.}

Previously: TBD

She wasn't going to go.
She doesn't want to.

In hindsight she reflects on the muttered invitations that Katja mentioned about the dance, the banter traded back and forth and the subtle tensions that diffused through sand and surf and sun. The air peppered and drenched with colors of jaded longing and oblivious confessions that she noticed all too well. Thinly veiled were their words, both Katja and Harper, and whilst they traded innuendos, Amma's gaze had drifted back to the sea, gestures clasped against chilled aluminum, the waves beckoning forth --

-- and somewhere on a sun-kissed breeze, she heard it once again.

Tiamat.

She doesn't realize that the beer can within her grasp slowly disintegrates, liquid and manufactured components too suddenly nothing, as if it never was at all.

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The Alexandria Foundation's idea of an initiation was far more, for lack of a better term, harsh. A ten year old Amma had been thrust through rapid ascension to assess her powers. Spent and shaking and broken, a child knelt before her betters and carved lines of weeping red and silver through the linoleum; fissures of a broken soul illustrated through every crack and every coiling wisp of black that whips down her spine hunched over as she screams --

She flinches.

Through the gloom of the banking sun, fire blooms and crackles to life, off set in the distance as she absently twines brass and silvers and golds on her fingers. Dexterous notions, through every twirl of her rings as she follows loosely after Katja who settled herself kindly around the fire. Blue eyes fixate through the rising flame, figures distorted through a collage of rubies and copper tones that match the first gaze she snags onto. A molten glimmer that punctures through the night as Amma pauses, head canted and body averted - as if to intend herself else where suddenly.

Its a subtle vibration in her back pocket, tucked away into ebony threaded cuts off, that she pulls forth and eyes the illuminated scroll of a unknown number there. She answers on the forth ring, a muttered greeting whispering past her lips as she scales back, ambling around the group gathered around the fire.

What sounds through the line causes her spine to snap tight, her posture rigid as she says:
"I'm working on it."

Amma crosses an arm over her bust, her figure donned in a cropped pullover that rises above her decorated navel, the pale sliver of her nape exposed at the back wherein the cotton thread drapes down to the top of her shorts. Straps cross over themselves at her slender ankles, thickly soled sandals carving a line through the sand as she rolls her weight to one side; visibly stressed.

"I don't appreciate the demanding tone," Amma drawls, striking eyes peering through her lashes fanned against her cheeks. A soft sigh and then, "I know. I understand."

Without much ceremony, Amma ends the call, clutched fingers falling at her side, dead weight as she casts her gaze heavenward to the moon heralded in the night sky. The silver radiance she often envies, the glow fixated on the waves in the distance that whisper to her inner musings. The power it displays almost mocks her, that simple freedom lost in the toiling of the sea as she pivots on her heel and aims back towards those she now has to call teammates.

Amma catches the lingering voices of their goals and dreams, their futures admitted in shades of rose gold and she can't help but think of how relatively mundane it is. From desires to travel the world, to children and hopes of matrimony, to the uncertainties that life often gave the innocent and the cruel. Silent as her usual impression, she sits across from Lorcán and Aurora [she has to remind herself often of their names, but maybe not as often now] and tosses her hair over one shoulder, curiously tucking her phone away. Forgotten.

For now.

She procures the wine bottle noted earlier in the day, twists and flicks the cap away with a flourish and promptly takes her first drink for the night. It's a twist cap; some unknown, cheap label and much too heavy in tannins - clearly it needed to breathe, but who else was going to drink it aside from her. Not that Amma was one to even share. She catalogs every spoken confession and hopeful desire, tucks it away for later, their individual wants and aspirations reminiscent of a simpler time and a child suspended on her mother's every word.

And when Katja finishes - Amma speaks.

"Do you really think any of that is going to happen. Do you think they'll just simply let you go. Once we graduate, what happens then. The Institute is breathing down our necks now." The fire sparks in answer at the mention of her former association, the hiss of drift wood punctuated by the sliver of crimson power reaping through the flame. Beneath her, the sand trembles, the grains shifting at her beck and call as her smile lances through her features akin to a vicious slash.

She finds molten eyes through the haze of the night and says:
"The world outside of this perfect little bubble is cruel and it is dark and it is afraid. Afraid of you. Afraid of me. Outside that shield of fog," Amma gestures abroad, lines of silver coiling betwixt her fingers, lighting the depth of her eyes to an eerie glow. In those chasms of blue lies a void; a never ending sky that collides with something. Someone.

"They lie in wait to take everything you hold dear. And they will. They always do." Amma's nails lance against the name inked into her neck. "And I welcome them to try. I will take everything from them. Just as they took everything from me."

"But no matter what, this world will never accept you. They won't forget. They haven't forgotten. I doubt they will ever forgive."

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

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_{Location: The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.022: within & without.

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_{Interaction(s): katja. @Zoldyck - harper. @Qia - gil. @Roman}

Previously: TBD

"Yeah, well, that's their problem."

Amma lances back swiftly, a flicked wrist of dismissal punctuation what little space remained between her and Katja. She was the only one to approach Amma this way, the entitlement to her breadth of existence that most [really, everyone] allowed her. Gave her. Sometimes, Amma wonders if they even realize they stare, that she can feel their eyes and toiling apprehensions whenever she draws near. As if a specter or harbinger of ill premonition. If Amma didn't know better [and who was to say it wasn't true] she would say they were simply afraid.

It's fascinating. She often ponders just how much closer she could get, how far she could bend and break; how far she could take them if they only allowed it to be so. Loneliness did not bedevil her life or shade it in monochromatic lenses, and years prior bartered companionship in the currency of heated flesh and baited breaths. Lovers came and went, for never would she bequeath them with any other term. And friends?

Hardly.
And yet-

Wrapped in her massive arms sired spears of warmth through her spine, spindling down her arms as she huffed and uttered: "Down girl." Her voice lilted in a whisper before the waters caressed her feet once more.

"If I did, I wouldn't ever tell you, Kat-ja." Her name snapped from her pout, teeth edged into something of a smile.

Katja was imposing and intimidating in every facet of a woman, impossible strength laced through every muscle, every detail pronounced and exaggerated - intense, she thinks. In those nuances, they are alike, creatures of dramatic purpose and poise. She contemplates if maybe this is why Katja sought her out as one of the first in their team to talk to her, to invade her life [because personal space meant nothing to her, clearly] and cast the literal sunshine of her demeanor against her harsh edges.

That sphere of influence of which consumed her hummed suddenly with an appetence that was eternal through her very blood, bones aching and power thrumming 'neath flesh as her gaze turns oblique through her swept lashes. So, it took only one for the others to work up the nerve to approach her, she recalls maybe once or twice they've said her name; included her, tried to bring her into that fold. She traded small musings here and there, enough to announce her name and part of her previous education, parts of her power that even she sometimes grew fearful of.

She'd never tell them though. Not even Katja.
She won't even admit it to herself.

Camaraderie was a perspiring beer can and the light of her eyes fixated on the brunette, her name...
"Harper," she labels, a manipulated wind stirring through her hair where she lifts her hands, rakes nails back through the locks and brings up her glasses to get a better look at her. Straight-laced, polished, rigid almost. A woman that carries herself in refined discipline, it's in her very posture, Amma notes and reaches with a ring-bedecked hand, her nails tapping against the aluminum and grazing over her kind gesture.

She hums a: "Thank you." Her nails pricking against the tab, not opening it quite yet. She doesn't drink cheap pilsner by any means, but she wouldn't know that, now would she. Amma cants her head to glance over her shoulder, yonder to where the others stay, and thinks she maybe spies the neck of what could only be a wine bottle.

Huh, so Rory [she remembers, for often she caught his compelling stare] was listening.

It's the collective commotion next that Amma finds distracting; interesting, humorous. Her lips lift, a grin that Katja once told her was far more endearing carving through her cheeks as Lorcán - yes, that's right - falls. What a fascinating display! On his back, arms splayed, disheveled. Amma almost laughs, a manic sputter that plants itself in her throat and chest.

She wonders what he would look like on his knees instead. With those molten eyes, he could certainly be her undoing.

Amma knows nothing of the mentioned dance, and she can hardly inquire further when another joins their trio.

"Well, you certainly have plenty to spare, don't you. Gil." Her aforementioned laughter spilling across her tongue, a soft chortle that caressed her lips around his name. Katja made plenty sure that she knew them, drilling such into her memory despite her initial protests. Amma didn't care, didn't want to know. Names were titles of affection, names held power. Sway. Manipulation. It was what marked creatures of life, and even those of death. Amma angles herself carefully, offering her profile as she balances her nails on her beverage, the brightness of her stare sweeping down his figure before climbing up in slow increments, every detail committed.

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

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_{Location: The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.007: within & without.

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_{Interaction(s): . . .}

Previously: TBD

The first time Amma Cahors came to P.R.C.U was a day with no celebration: it was little ceremony that plucked her from the oceanic solitary of her dorm wherein a pamphlet and a syllabus that conformed her credentials from the Institute was dropped upon her lap. Forsaken was the latex and shawl of black gossamer that clung to every cleft and cinched her bodice with laces and silver, in trade she donned what some uttered as Gulo yellow and arched the prick of her nails on the embossed wolverine poised in a shield. She knew not what the creature represented at the time, her world suspended on the mutterings of H.E.L.P officials eager to fly her yonder the seas to the island that awaited her unannounced arrival.

To this day, she doesn't know why. She has then stopped asking, accepting the fate of infamy that cloaked her presence and bedecked her moniker with a spade.

The second time is more or less, the same.

Amma was not privy to the relaxation hours the year prior that saw friends reuniting after the summer apart, her months of solace had been little but a self imposed confinement for there had been many restrictions. Returning home [where that was, she knew not] was not an option. The spires of Rouen were foreign to her and unwelcoming at best. She had found small comforts in the village but whispers of her renown traveled fast and far, the shadows of her former association cantering after her lissom figure wherever she went.

For Amma, it was just fine.

The warmth of the beach permeated through her bones, the sand shifting beneath the delicate path she walked down the shore line with gestures clasped at the small of her back. Waves lapped up to her ankles, playful in intent and pulling a shudder from her pursed lips. Amma would not utter it aloud, but the sea was a beckoning facet that called to her like none other. Perhaps it was from the years spent in the pyramid structures of the Alexandria Foundation in the middle of the ocean, but there was little comparison to the simple freedom of trudging through sand and surf. She was done in a sheer pullover of black that descended just at mid-thigh, the inked profiles of moths, skulls, and other creatures seeming to ripple beneath the fabric, the delicate straps of her ebony two piece accented with beads of white. She allowed her hair down for the venture with the longest layers curled at the base of her spine and framed her critical gaze and lashes that fluttered behind thick sunglasses that often slid down the bridge of her nose.

It wasn't her first perusal down the shore, but this had been the first time others had been... so close. Granted, most were her sudden teammates, a word she was not entirely accustomed to [she doesn't know if she ever will be] and others that were fresh faces that simply knew to give her a wide berth. Her rejoining smile was all white bone and gleaming lips, the slightest cant of her head encouraging at best if not entirely suspect. Amma said little to any new arrival, for what words she could spare would be waspish replies and biting wit.

She just doesn't care.

As the waves pull after her footfalls, she pauses, gazing out over the horizon as the breeze tugs through her tresses and out to the darkened waters. A void beckons yonder, somewhere in the gloom of sapphire and ebony darkness, where rock and sediment quake, where sometimes Amma wonders if she willed it just so, what would happen were she to rent asunder the depths below. She inhales, a sharp pull of breath over her pouted lips, and steps further into the slightly warmed waters. The waves lap playfully on her calves and higher still as she settles her palms over the swaying surface, caressing the waves as they ebb and flow beneath her gestures.

She hears it then, the epitaph she shed in the darkness of one night when she realized that she wasn't going anywhere.

Tiamat.

It is a caress through her mind; a stuttered whisper that coils betwixt her ears with every beat of her heart. Again, and again, and again. Tiamat pings through her lobe as the sea courses through her fingers and chills her skin and it's only then she thinks maybe it wasn't just her mind uttering her former calling. Amma stills, fingers arching as glimmers of silver and red quake from nail to palm and through a subtle shift, she cuts her gaze through gilded lashes and pans her look over her shoulder and glares to the shoreline. And though nothing is there, Amma knows it wasn't just happenstance for the name to summon through her consciousness.

She exhales.
It's gone now.

Somewhere in the distance of sand and surf she hears the call of familiar voices and laughter. It is a world so far, so separated, and sometimes so unusual to the years she spent fending for herself. From bloodied noses and lips, to scarlet kisses and hissing cries that scoured her heart in her waking world. Amma carefully unlaces her sheer overlay then, letting the fabric pool at her elbows as she wades farther out before bending at her waist to pluck a shell curiously prodding against her ankle. She smooths her gesture over the pearlescent underbelly before her nails scrape against the outer layer -- it only takes a second for the trinket to suddenly crumble away into nothing.

Amma just simply smiles.

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

ａｍｍａ . ｃａｈｏｒｓ
ａｍｍａ . ｃａｈｏｒｓ

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_{^{"You're going to have a bad time."}}

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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Amma Fien Cahors. _________________________________________________________ December 2nd, 2005. | 23 | French/Caucasian. _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Pansexual _________________________________________________________ Rouen | France | Europe _________________________________________________________ Gulo | Team 21 - Blackjack C H A R A C T E R S T A T S C H A R A C T E R S T A T S _________________________________________________________ ◼ B U I L D || Slim ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Black ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Blue ◼ H E I G H T || 167 cm ◼ W E I G H T || 55 kg ◼ S C A R S || peculiar clusters located on her thighs, fingers, and lower back. ◼ T A T T O O S || expansive murals of snakes and birds; mammal skulls, shadowed out profiles, and miscellaneous practice flashes from various artists. most noticeable is the scrawl of unique penmanship on her throat; spelling out a name. ◼ P I E R C I N G S || lobes marked by dainty studs, and her septum pierced with a loop of gold. ◼ O T H E R || n/a.

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ The powerful thrive in a world of the damned, souls begone and forlorn of struggles and differences. Amma is the advocate for the depraved and the unhinged; she is rage, she is pain, she is the unexpected and the always desired. A glutton of the insatiable and the harbinger of the unknown and misunderstood. Sensuous in her debut of pallid skin and striking eyes with a temperament that begets cruel assumptions from the herald of power quaking through her mortal countenance. Lips pouted on feral smiles of gleaming bone and manic laughter as she stands before the maker -- as she was held before her mother with fissures of silver and red tearing through bones and flesh. Weeping eyes and screams of wood splintering through the sphere of chaos that rent asunder gothic spires and forced eyes heavenward in prayer. Charlotte Cahors adored her daughter, once, as an only child born out of wedlock, a gift from the man that came and went on whispered promises of matrimony. These would never come to pass, the man a mystery of shadow in memoriam and spoken of fondly if not wistfully from the loss of meant-to-bes. Amma worshipped her, for she was god in the eyes of her youth. Even when those eyes turned brighter, and brighter, and brighter, when serpentines coils of something broke across cherub bearings and dainty hands. Charlotte Cahors only held onto her all the more. And if she held on a little too tightly and a little too harshly, Amma never said. She was afraid, alone, as memory and broadcasts of persecution and ruin sired the desperations to hide what Amma was undoubtedly turning into - what she was becoming. The world is never fair for the different, for the misunderstood. For simply being not-as-we-should. Complexity wrought hell through a mind caged, a resentment that festered for simply being what life had christened as otherworldly. A multifaceted creature that grew under critical scrutiny from forces unseen. The world was enthralled to wherever she stood, manipulated by a flicker of a lash, to the shuddering breath, to the clenched fist that scored crescent smiles into her palms. Amma struggled within and without, until the Alexandria Foundation came to collect on the tears of her mother -- "Forgive me, dove. They said you had to go; they said they could help you!" There was fear laden there, a sorrowful circumstance that saw creator turned against the beloved creation. Amma felt the sting of betrayal with stoic malice as the doors to the Institute yielded to the force that was she. She was only ten years old. A year ago, through a long negotiation trial courtesy of H.E.L.P, Amma was penned for a transfer from the Institute to P.R.C.U. Utterances and speculation gather that she just wasn't fitting in; a waspish woman, vain incarnate and struck with hubris. Amma heralded to the concept of the individual rather than the place as a whole -- it was just fine. Better. Because who else could she trust, for the world was meant for such selfish creatures.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ________________________________________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || Destructive Force Manipulation __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Exoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Fundamental __POWER SCALE || 7 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Γ She would dub it pure chaos, the manifestation of what the world needed, for why else would it allowed to be so. Amma can shape and manipulate HZE ions, gather them to her person liken to a selfish lover, and in result induce destructive forces: erasing the existence of anything, controlling how something might be destroyed, nullify certain materials and objects - perfect nihilism, she would say. This is achieved sometimes by accelerating HZEs surrounding a target, causing molecules to be ripped apart to the degree of an explosion. Other instances produce a slow decay, manipulating HZE ions to be corrosive, almost plague like wherein a black cloud-like plume descends onto her target. Organic materials are sometimes subject to her whims by the HZEs present within their own biology, sometimes being erased entirely into what she affectionately dubs the Void. Through the grace of touch, HZEs gather, flaring bright and even reflecting into the depths of her eyes, humming with an esoteric tune whilst her fingers pluck and arch and dig and dig. Illuminating cracks through the gloom that tear through the opposition until nothing remains. L I M I T A T I O N S || Some instances depend on an emotional state, as many powers would be. Amma's often peculiar detachment from sentiment influences how easily it might be to persuade HZEs to her or the ones existing within another. Other circumstances would spell a loss of control, for if she does not concentrate long, sometimes HZEs scatter and cause disfiguring to other objects in her range. Such range can be limited, due to the difficulty Amma has in directing and maniupulating HZEs if such is not at least harnessed through the prism of influence of at least thirty-three feet. Smaller objects or people are far easier to destroy, whilst larger targets or opponents might be able to disrupt the HZEs long enough to flee. Creatures mortal and non with regenerative capabilities are the antithesis to her power. W E A K N E S S E S || Any tool or weapon adapted to deliver Electron Beam Irradiation, Amma cannot destory, no matter how hard she tries. If she were to be immobilized by her hands being bound, and eyes blinded, she would be rendered defenseless, as she is only able to manipulate forces within direct contact or by direct ocular focus. Thirty-three feet is the current sphere of which Amma can reach, even one inch beyond, she cannot manipulate no matter how much she expands her reserves. The reasons for such are unknown, but correct training could expand her reach. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Why was Amma transferred to P.R.C.U - what occurred to influence H.E.L.P to intervene with negotiation and plying tactics that spanned for nearly half a year. Was such voluntary or involuntary. What was the deciding factor in the Institute that convinced them to let her go. Redemption is an absolute force stricken upon the vain and wicked. For a woman suddenly told she has to work within a team, to shed the alias she has carried for so long, what will it take to convince Amma to fend for her peers and work alongside them without biting -- unless they ask, of course. Where is Charlotte Cahors? Once the Institute doors closed, her mother disappeared, much like her father. Who is the man that remains a shadow in her dreams and where did the woman who once was her everything vanish to. Is it revenge that compels Amma's search, to return the betrayal that no child should endure.

S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Bilingual || French is her first language, English her second. She can understand bits and pieces of German, but is not fluent by any means. ◼ Contortionist || Amma is freakishly flexible. ◼ Clandestine || Want something done without anyone knowing, she's your girl. Have secrets to utter? She'll take them to the grave; but maybe she'll use them to her advantage first. ◼ Perception || Perhaps she sees and notices a little more than you want her to; too bad. T A L E N T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Singing || A siren call beckons. Mostly wistful and forlorn lullabies once sung to her by her mother. C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L _________________________________________________________ A T T I R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Fidget Rings || Amma's inked and scarred fingers are adorned with multiple rings of varying shades from gold, bronze, and silver. Each with a peculiar attachment. Often she twists and twirls them through out the day. ◼ Uniform || She'll wear the bloody thing, sure, it's different. Doesn't mean she has to like it. I T E M ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Clove Smokes & Lighter || She finds them therapeutic. T O O L ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Essentials || What is necessary for a student's day to day. A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ SATURN was her old classification. There was speculation that Amma was intended once for the Foundation Force. ◼ Her codename was once Tiamat. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{E N T E R I N G I N T O Y O U R F I N A L Y E A R, W H A T A D V I C E D O Y O U H A V E T O A N E W S T U D E N T?}

She scoffs, a muttering of breath that whistles through her teeth as her lashes flutter high in an eye-roll.
"You're joking with me, right? I'd tell them all to run for the hills."

_{W H A T W E R E Y O U R A S P I R A T I O N S W H E N Y O U S T A R T E D H E R E? W H A T C H A N G E D, W H A T S T A Y E D T H E S A M E?}

There's a grin marked across her cheeks, all obtuse and bright and feral.
"Ask the people who put me here."

_{I F Y O U C O U L D M A K E O N E C H A N G E T O Y O U R T I M E A T P . R . C . U ., W H A T W O U L D I T B E?}

Amma just laughs.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University RP

ａｍｍａ . ｃａｈｏｒｓ
ａｍｍａ . ｃａｈｏｒｓ

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

_{^{"You're going to have a bad time."}}

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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Amma Fien Cahors. _________________________________________________________ December 2nd, 2005. | 23 | French/Caucasian. _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Pansexual _________________________________________________________ Rouen | France | Europe _________________________________________________________ Gulo | Team 21 - Blackjack C H A R A C T E R S T A T S C H A R A C T E R S T A T S _________________________________________________________ ◼ B U I L D || Slim ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Black ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Blue ◼ H E I G H T || 167 cm ◼ W E I G H T || 55 kg ◼ S C A R S || peculiar clusters located on her thighs, fingers, and lower back. ◼ T A T T O O S || expansive murals of snakes and birds; mammal skulls, shadowed out profiles, and miscellaneous practice flashes from various artists. most noticeable is the scrawl of unique penmanship on her throat; spelling out a name. ◼ P I E R C I N G S || lobes marked by dainty studs, and her septum pierced with a loop of gold. ◼ O T H E R || n/a.

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ The powerful thrive in a world of the damned, souls begone and forlorn of struggles and differences. Amma is the advocate for the depraved and the unhinged; she is rage, she is pain, she is the unexpected and the always desired. A glutton of the insatiable and the harbinger of the unknown and misunderstood. Sensuous in her debut of pallid skin and striking eyes with a temperament that begets cruel assumptions from the herald of power quaking through her mortal countenance. Lips pouted on feral smiles of gleaming bone and manic laughter as she stands before the maker -- as she was held before her mother with fissures of silver and red tearing through bones and flesh. Weeping eyes and screams of wood splintering through the sphere of chaos that rent asunder gothic spires and forced eyes heavenward in prayer. Charlotte Cahors adored her daughter, once, as an only child born out of wedlock, a gift from the man that came and went on whispered promises of matrimony. These would never come to pass, the man a mystery of shadow in memoriam and spoken of fondly if not wistfully from the loss of meant-to-bes. Amma worshipped her, for she was god in the eyes of her youth. Even when those eyes turned brighter, and brighter, and brighter, when serpentines coils of something broke across cherub bearings and dainty hands. Charlotte Cahors only held onto her all the more. And if she held on a little too tightly and a little too harshly, Amma never said. She was afraid, alone, as memory and broadcasts of persecution and ruin sired the desperations to hide what Amma was undoubtedly turning into - what she was becoming. The world is never fair for the different, for the misunderstood. For simply being not-as-we-should. Complexity wrought hell through a mind caged, a resentment that festered for simply being what life had christened as otherworldly. A multifaceted creature that grew under critical scrutiny from forces unseen. The world was enthralled to wherever she stood, manipulated by a flicker of a lash, to the shuddering breath, to the clenched fist that scored crescent smiles into her palms. Amma struggled within and without, until the Alexandria Foundation came to collect on the tears of her mother -- "Forgive me, dove. They said you had to go; they said they could help you!" There was fear laden there, a sorrowful circumstance that saw creator turned against the beloved creation. Amma felt the sting of betrayal with stoic malice as the doors to the Institute yielded to the force that was she. She was only ten years old. A year ago, through a long negotiation trial courtesy of H.E.L.P, Amma was penned for a transfer from the Institute to P.R.C.U. Utterances and speculation gather that she just wasn't fitting in; a waspish woman, vain incarnate and struck with hubris. Amma heralded to the concept of the individual rather than the place as a whole -- it was just fine. Better. Because who else could she trust, for the world was meant for such selfish creatures.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ________________________________________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || Destructive Force Manipulation __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Exoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Fundamental __POWER SCALE || TBD __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || TBD She would dub it pure chaos, the manifestation of what the world needed, for why else would it allowed to be so. Amma can shape and manipulate HZE ions, gather them to her person liken to a selfish lover, and in result induce destructive forces: erasing the existence of anything, controlling how something might be destroyed, nullify certain materials and objects - perfect nihilism, she would say. This is achieved sometimes by accelerating HZEs surrounding a target, causing molecules to be ripped apart to the degree of an explosion. Other instances produce a slow decay, manipulating HZE ions to be corrosive, almost plague like wherein a black cloud-like plume descends onto her target. Organic materials are sometimes subject to her whims by the HZEs present within their own biology, sometimes being erased entirely into what she affectionately dubs the Void. Through the grace of touch, HZEs gather, flaring bright and even reflecting into the depths of her eyes, humming with an esoteric tune whilst her fingers pluck and arch and dig and dig. Illuminating cracks through the gloom that tear through the opposition until nothing remains. L I M I T A T I O N S || Some instances depend on an emotional state, as many powers would be. Amma's often peculiar detachment from sentiment influences how easily it might be to persuade HZEs to her or the ones existing within another. Other circumstances would spell a loss of control, for if she does not concentrate long, sometimes HZEs scatter and cause disfiguring to other objects in her range. Such range can be limited, due to the difficulty Amma has in directing and maniupulating HZEs if such is not at least harnessed through the prism of influence of at least thirty-three feet. Smaller objects or people are far easier to destroy, whilst larger targets or opponents might be able to disrupt the HZEs long enough to flee. Creatures mortal and non with regenerative capabilities are the antithesis to her power. W E A K N E S S E S || Any tool or weapon adapted to deliver Electron Beam Irradiation, Amma cannot destory, no matter how hard she tries. If she were to be immobilized by her hands being bound, and eyes blinded, she would be rendered defenseless, as she is only able to manipulate forces within direct contact or by direct ocular focus. Thirty-three feet is the current sphere of which Amma can reach, even one inch beyond, she cannot manipulate no matter how much she expands her reserves. The reasons for such are unknown, but correct training could expand her reach. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Why was Amma transferred to P.R.C.U - what occurred to influence H.E.L.P to intervene with negotiation and plying tactics that spanned for nearly half a year. Was such voluntary or involuntary. What was the deciding factor in the Institute that convinced them to let her go. Redemption is an absolute force stricken upon the vain and wicked. For a woman suddenly told she has to work within a team, to shed the alias she has carried for so long, what will it take to convince Amma to fend for her peers and work alongside them without biting -- unless they ask, of course. Where is Charlotte Cahors? Once the Institute doors closed, her mother disappeared, much like her father. Who is the man that remains a shadow in her dreams and where did the woman who once was her everything vanish to. Is it revenge that compels Amma's search, to return the betrayal that no child should endure.

S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Bilingual || French is her first language, English her second. She can understand bits and pieces of German, but is not fluent by any means. ◼ Contortionist || Amma is freakishly flexible. ◼ Clandestine || Want something done without anyone knowing, she's your girl. Have secrets to utter? She'll take them to the grave; but maybe she'll use them to her advantage first. ◼ Perception || Perhaps she sees and notices a little more than you want her to; too bad. T A L E N T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Singing || A siren call beckons. Mostly wistful and forlorn lullabies once sung to her by her mother. C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L _________________________________________________________ A T T I R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Fidget Rings || Amma's inked and scarred fingers are adorned with multiple rings of varying shades from gold, bronze, and silver. Each with a peculiar attachment. Often she twists and twirls them through out the day. ◼ Uniform || She'll wear the bloody thing, sure, it's different. Doesn't mean she has to like it. I T E M ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Clove Smokes & Lighter || She finds them therapeutic. T O O L ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Essentials || What is necessary for a student's day to day. A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ SATURN was her old classification. There was speculation that Amma was intended once for the Foundation Force. ◼ Her codename was once Tiamat. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{E N T E R I N G I N T O Y O U R F I N A L Y E A R, W H A T A D V I C E D O Y O U H A V E T O A N E W S T U D E N T?}

She scoffs, a muttering of breath that whistles through her teeth as her lashes flutter high in an eye-roll.
"You're joking with me, right? I'd tell them all to run for the hills."

_{W H A T W E R E Y O U R A S P I R A T I O N S W H E N Y O U S T A R T E D H E R E? W H A T C H A N G E D, W H A T S T A Y E D T H E S A M E?}

There's a grin marked across her cheeks, all obtuse and bright and feral.
"Ask the people who put me here."

_{I F Y O U C O U L D M A K E O N E C H A N G E T O Y O U R T I M E A T P . R . C . U ., W H A T W O U L D I T B E?}

Amma just laughs.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - The 'Hype' Thread

You really made me work for it too.

@Lord Wraith

Only took a couple years or so, but who is keeping count.

Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - The 'Hype' Thread

'kay. I'll bite.

What Are You Listening To?