Rockette

mus.lings

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<sub>"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"</sub>

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mus.lings

_{exit says I bully him but I think he secretly likes it.}

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█ L O R E M I P S U M | ♫ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?" "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?" "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?" "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

^{"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"}

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

She likes to tell herself, in her disillusioned mind, that the weight on her hands is paint; heavy, thick, hot. Pungent, aromatic, decayed.

She knows she can shed it like a worm does its cocoon, but there is something about the baptizing of humanity worn on her skin that she likes. It reminds her, it holds her accountable. Sanctioned murder, some call it, when diplomacy failed and negotiations floundered, when plying words and cooling thoughts eddied out in hazed particles and energies undone by solar phenomenon.

She likes to tell herself, in her disillusioned mind, that she is an artist; embodied with cynical detachment, downcast, downtrodden, warped hideously through a slick membrane that writhes and pulsates as a tempered coil. That she is mania in all deluded colors worn a shade too bright and too deep, ridiculous splashes and thick clumps of acrylic paint worn onto water color basins – all sorts of pinging and ringing thoughts that drown, drag and deflate; maybe it’s pink, perhaps it’s grey, her insides wrought black and blue, her skin hued pearlescent. The color on her delicate fingers, though, is a rusted stain and edged shadows, greyish-green splotches that are sickly and wet, congealed and embedded underneath her fingernails, which are painted electric pink at their tips. Prickling touches, whispering prints, ghostly tendrils whisking away before inching ever closer, forming as talons, claws, sickles that puppet and mime against heaving ribs and webbed veins. The human body is a myriad of delicate tissues that ripple beneath her touch, a medley of life so coveted and depraved, studied carefully and expertly. Blackened lungs and fatty deposits, bones pocketed with disease, brittle and dead, and organs bruised. She feels and knows it all as molecules that conform, split, and peel apart at the seams as she plunges through their pores to push and pull. It’s nearly the same every time, with consistent performance and success in the numbers, the darling face preened prettily and perfectly, pale eyes misty and silvered, and petaled lips surrounding gleaming teeth. The face of the sun and all life therein sent with blinding warmth, the doll, the face, the voice that soothes and curls around her ‘R’s and sluices across her ‘L’s, her vowels drown out long and hard.

Evelyn likes to tell herself, in her disillusioned mind, that she does what she does because someone has to. Because she must. Because she can.

And if it’s her face they see in their last moments, and her touch they sense in the finality of pain, the funeral tolls traded for her delightful laugh, then was dying such a bad thing?

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: ... somewhere in America.}

Time of Trouble #1.008: girl next door.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Interaction(s):&}

She has denied the call three times, tossed her pager into a storm drain (she later claims she lost it), and has stepped out of her motel room on different occasions. Through the adjacent wall, dropped down through the floor (into the pool, no less), and finally, through the stairwell and up to the roof, where Evelyn Deveraux shimmied down the fire escape earlier that morning. It’s done, again; she’s completed the assignment, sent the body in, arteries plucked and pinched, invoking spasms, reminiscent of a heart attack. A common thing, really, for a mortal creature. It’s not often she’s pinned to the mundane, but it happens. Too loud and abrasive, ventured too close, and couldn’t keep their mouth shut. It happens. Problem solved. Fixed. When she’s assigned to Hyperhumans, it’s messier, more intense, phasing through HZEs like wet cement, or thick humid air stuck to her lungs and skin. Like weilding through a storm, when everything draws a shade of yellow, and the rain strikes your skin, drowning and heavy. Some are more electric, where she braids their ions together, atoms surging and molecules colliding, her fingers warped over their souls before she forms a fist, clutches their hearts, or sinks an inhibiting poison into their very core.

She once pushed their face into the wall, suffocated, and fused to the stone, her palms cradling against their skull as she felt their life violently end in wetted, crunching screams.

It happens.

She carries pennies in her pockets sometimes, flicks them over her thumbs, she’s seen someone place them over their eyelids, some forlorn token for a ferryman, but Evelyn never does and carries the weight in her pockets and tosses them into fountains instead.

She knows what this is, though, it’s a call back to Base, her missions completed, one life traded for another, glossy dossiers shuffled and handed over. Some are dead drops, and when you can slip your fingers unknowingly into a sealed compartment, what better method to relay targets? Some are long, drawn out over months, as she hunts and seeks. Always slipping through homes and offices, peering into high-security establishments like banks or political offices. Laboratories or factories where Hyperhuman-endowed weaponry struggles to find purchase in its newly forged concept. (But she’s not here to talk about that, not when they told her to look the other way, for now.) Some are short, quick, simple executions that require little to no finesse, just a job, just a name, just a face.

It happens.

The Bureau is ringing her line constantly, well, the motel’s landline, and it doesn’t come as much of a surprise when Evelyn has been playing this cat-and-mouse game for years. It never lasts, not for long. She waltzes through the crowd, waiting beside sidewalks, traffic signals, and simply allows herself to be part of the mundane. Blonde hair coiled back into a braid, the asphalt warmed from the day, smooth beneath scuffed combat boots, she counts out the minutes that toil into hours until they come to retrieve her. They’re not far, she knows this, as she makes a rotation of right turns, skirting to the left at random intervals, and makes repeated passes around an unassuming park with its scattered benches of wood and iron. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go back; she doesn’t have much of a choice either way. Sometimes it’s just seeing how far they’ll go, again, to bring her in. And in those moments, she’ll stall, think she can slip away, meld away into shadow and brick, but a vice collars her every time, manacled with unseen irons, and she’ll always walk through those doors and into the bull pen. Sometimes it’s a room, the ward, the interrogators, series and phrases and numbers sputtered through lips, seeing if she can keep up, testing her mental fortitude. It’s another game, and Evelyn never plays to lose.
But, for now…

“Evelyn.”

“Rats. You caught me.” It’s admitted in a whisper, surrounded by idle pedestrians, the crosswalk symbol flashing from an orange palm to white, a person in motion, and everyone parts around them. Evelyn curls her tongue against her teeth and tucks a cherry candy piece into her cheek, an Agent at her back, silent and wreathed in black.

“You should’ve reported back three days ago.” Chastising and exasperated, a hand swiftly curled around her bicep, steering her elsewhere, their arms linked almost casually as they finally crossed, and turned left. She hissed, spat, snapping her teeth close before she turned her grip lethal and held fast, nails scraping against their arm. An interesting pair silently entered the crowded sidewalks, pressed close, their conversation hushed and careful. Tensed.

“I know.”
“So, why haven’t you? There’s only so many times you can get away with this before you’re detained or penalized for desertion.”
“So you keep saying,” she drawled, the sweet nestled against her lips, hued red, now captured by her teeth before she bit down, splitting it into two. “But nothing comes of it, and I’ll keep being moved from one side of the country to the next.”

“So what’s it this time?” Evelyn gleefully questioned, cheek cushioned against a cotton sleeve.

“You’re not going anywhere, you’re going back to Base.”

“Huh, knew it. Usually I’m left alone for at least a week, but three days? Something is going on.” They were silent, which confirmed it, and Evelyn sighed dramatically.

“Lemme guess, a restructure in the chain of command, someone got promoted, they’re moving people. Shuffling. Someone pissed someone off, you know, the typical-ness of power.” She roasted her wrist, gesturing broadly, drawing attention to her current wardrobe.

“... What are you wearing?” They paused, Evelyn creating distance to tug at the crop blouse and red flannel tied around her waist, her legs clad in ripped jeans that were acid-washed.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s grunge. In fashion, I’ll have you know. I have to blend in. Not all of us can just change our faces like.. What’s their face.” She giggled. “Literally, I mean -”

“Evelyn.”

“I know, I know. Hush. But seriously, what’s going on, or is one of those ask questions later kind of things where I’m given another -”

“You’re exhausting, I don’t know why Church-”

“Because no one can do what I can, dollface.” Evelyn pushed, just a smidge, pink nails prickling through their arm, linking into sinew and ligaments, pluckling against the tendon bunched there. They had stopped walking entirely, and the pale blue of her eyes immediately lightened to silver, pressed coin surrounded by lashes that crinkled with the slicing pressure of her grin.

“Feel that?”

“You know that’s not-”

“Allowed. I know. Just messin’.” Just as quickly as she had invaded their space, she pulled back, shaking out the hazy smoke curling around her delicate gestures, everything snapping into place with the tension betwixt them shimmering in curiously hued golds. The world continued, ignorant of what lingered there on the sidewalk as bodies pushed around them, mundane and simplistic despite what befell them. Evelyn breathed through her nose, crossed her arms at her bust and rolled her weight to one side to defuse the situation whilst the Agent, whose name she did not care to remember, made a peculiar motion that summoned more from the sides, crowding around her subtly, but still there, pushing in closer. It was a culmination of their game, the constant shift, where Evelyn Deveraux would either run or play along. She could feel the surging HZEs that crawled beneath her skin, tingling through marrow and blood. It wouldn’t take much, she knew that, but there was the curiosity she couldn’t deny at what was happening and why she was being sought out with such an entourage attached.

“Something really is happening,” she muttered.

“Specter.” Someone murmured, a warning, a calling, a mask that carefully and expertly slid into place and held there, pooling silver that shuddered and snapped, drowning beneath blue as Evelyn smiled, held out her arms, shards of candy against her lips and bleeding cherry against her teeth. They wouldn’t touch her, not without a signal, a cue; they knew what would happen if they did, what had happened before.

It happens.

“All right then.” She giggled. “Take me home.”

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

&

E.. V.. E.. L.. Y.. N......D.. E.. V.. E.. R.. A.. U.. X
E.. V.. E.. L.. Y.. N......D.. E.. V.. E.. R.. A.. U.. X

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^{_{"𝒊 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖: 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔."}}

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P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N ________________________________________________________________________________________ NAME: | Evelyn 'Evie' Lou Deveraux _______________________________________________________________________ STATUS: | Active _______________________________________________________________________ INDEX DATE: | 1988.12.23 _______________________________________________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH: | 1960.02.061 _______________________________________________________________________ ALIAS(ES): | The Specter _______________________________________________________________________ RESIDENCE: | Baton Rouge, Loisiana _______________________________________________________________________ CITIZENSHIP: | American, Canadian _______________________________________________________________________ CLEARANCE LEVEL: | Special Agent B A C K G R O U N D B A C K G R O U N D ________________________________________________________________________________________ ....The individual 'Evie' is an enigma, splashed and adorned in obscene colors of gaudy embellishment, tales spun through elaborate gestures and broad smiles, an obtuse bearing grin and laughter wed to the brim with delight. Lived and told of jovial pursuits in life edged with manic, euphoric dalliances. Felt, but never seen, flitting through life as a touch of radiance: blinding and adoring and suddenly never there. She is razor nails linked and edged in metallic and hole-punched ears, smoke and ash fallen on her curling tongue found to be entirely charming with loosely spun utterances and darling drawls of a Southern Belle with prettily enunciated endearments: 'Oh bless your heart.' ....Evelyn has been studied as an eternal creature of the sun, a glowing lamplight of existence therein to eclipse the shadows of unknown origins, smothered in the brightest of lights to cast the darkest of shadows. An overbearing wraith that stands on high as a would-be defiler of torment to shade blonde and blue bearings with a waif figure adorned in chimes, trinkets, delicate touches of dainty jewels befitting a royal dame rather than an Agent acclimated to espionage. Uttered as the literal cloak and dagger, a silent creature that stalks through establishments unseen and unheard; a ghost, a specter, an illusion that phases through wall and shadow. The apparition ornamented in shades of grey as monochromatic conspiracies of what one would refuse to acknowledge or endure, the underbelly of society in which she thrives because someone has to. ....A child found wallowing in the swamp and marshlands of Louisiana, thrown through reeds and muck and grime, an orphan babe thought pitiful, forlorn, and silent-bound clung to cypress trees. The assumed year of her birth was hastily scrawled on loose sheets of paper, her likeness embellished with coiling, barrel girls, saturated eyes of blue and dusted pink on cherub bearings to promote health and vigor, to charm and ploy and pry into families that would see her in awe, fostering her with care and intention to fill empty homes and vacant hearts. From home to home, Evelyn was shuffled and plucked, moved at a constant pace through each sparkling American family that sought to preen and pride itself on its image of an ill-fated dream unachievable by mortal depravity. Darling nicknames here and there, attached as leashed monikers to bribe and coax words from her, small names of family attached as loose-stitch merits, praise unwanted or unheard as she refused to entertain them, even as a small child. She didn’t speak until the Dark Eclipse as the world stood still, bridling through adult and child alike in throes of concentrated energy that would shift the destinies of all. She unleashed laughter and song and accented words with impacted vowels and shortened whispers. ....Age eventually wore her out of the system, family after family trading her for less. Evelyn cycled through doors and arms for years, learned their particular graces of home, learned to speak and soothe and phase through them all. Appearing in places she should not be, never quite belonging but always present. ....It was not long before she briefly entered the home of [REDACTED]. ....It all goes hazy and murky when she crests adulthood with a meager education in hand and shadows worn into the light of her exuberance. At only eighteen, Evelyn Deveraux vanishes from public society, gone unnoticed and unheeded, just another statistic lost under a crumbling system of war-orphaned children. 1Speculated Birthdate. R E C R U I T M E N T R E C R U I T M E N T ________________________________________________________________________________________ ....Virumosis ravages her body swiftly, every cellular structure expanding, twisting, painful awakenings that erupt at the age of eleven and push outward before sluicing through slivers of skin and bone that phase out into whispers of ethereal wisps. It ebbs and flows, and Evelyn is left with the hideous sensations that canter through her body as she unwittingly phases through objects, materials, even people with little control possessed to temper the occurrence. As a child, it goes unnoticed whilst she moves from place to place, interlinking her fingers through doors, walls, and glass, fringing onto shadow and light as dust motes intimately twining through shaded darkness. ....Through time, Evelyn lingers close to fortified facilities, leans in just so to decipher utterances of phrases and curious words exchanged under breaths. From one place, and then another, casually trespassing onto high-security properties, blinking out of view as she merely drops into basements and chambers and vaults. She doesn’t take anything of material value, not quite; it’s information she seeks, names she hunts, looking toward and for answers that she’ll use another day, for another time. Realistically, it’s just because she can. She plays the part, laughs and soothes, and bribes; moves along to an unheard song and dance. There’s little to inspire a criminal penchant, for the world is donned with shades of grey, and she the pinprick of light in its perpetual gloom with an eternal smile. Her appetite gradually wanes until Evelyn wonders a little closer than she should, beside an unmarked, unassumed building, unbeknownst to her, that immediately casts her likeness upon H.E.L.P’s radar, particularly the Enforcement and Response Division, which results in a constant cat and mouse game for two years. She performs just enough to be interesting, walks into establishments she shouldn't, smiles at the camera, and then whisks away. Not enough to advertise her differences publicly or to be worthy of immediate recruitment, much to the vexation of her soon-to-be superiors, not until Evelyn manages to [REDACTED] ....It goes without saying, upon immediate detention, that ‘Evie’ is introduced to the Bureau officially. C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U ________________________________________________________________________________________ .... Evelyn is sporadically deployed for rather lengthy operations, an inconsistent career that employs her skillset for less than desirable situations and interactions that H.E.L.P would rather not be publicized. The other side of the coin, so to speak, that has Evelyn loosely labeled as a 'Fixer', a particular brand of Agent that operates primarily on solo missions, assigned to distinct underhanded methods and dealings that fester in favor of the undesirable person she has been assigned to 'fix'. In seven years with the Bureau, Evelyn has secured an alarming success rate.

P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N _________________________________________________________ RACE: | Caucasian _________________________________________________________________ SEX: | Female _________________________________________________________________ HEIGHT: | 5'-3" _________________________________________________________________ WEIGHT: | 110lbs _________________________________________________________________ HAIR COLOUR: | Dirty blonde _________________________________________________________________ HAIR LENGTH: | Mid-back _________________________________________________________________ EYE COLOUR: | Blue _________________________________________________________________ HANDEDNESS: | Ambidextrous A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T 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 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 || INTANGIBILITY __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Dynamic __POWER SCALE || 5 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Γ ....Evelyn's virumosis wracked body can phase through a vast assortment of physical matter and materials, feeling her skin and bones and blood vibrate apart and back, fizzling outward into ghost-like tendrils off-white and silvered as she pushes outward and steps through. She can feel the grit of stone or slivers of metal through every link of the expanded cells of her figure or selected limb. She phases in and out, a flicker of a thought or shuddering emotion that also wills objects to pass through her and she through brick and motor and even earth. Evelyn can also phase through flesh and bone of others, interlinking her fingers through soft skin and hardened bone, and solidifying within, taking hold and rendering them immobile from the inside out. ....Evelyn is also capable of fusing objects and people; she pushes and intertwines high-energy particles through her body, concentrating vast quantities through her hands or portions of her body. She can push and pull through matter, provided she has a secure grasp, pulling objects or people through in the same manner she can phase through materials. L I M I T A T I O N S || ....Evelyn struggles with thick constructs, though able to phase through them, it sometimes takes longer than usual and introduces a unique fear of Claustrophobia. Massive objects that she attempts to pull through also prove difficult, as do more than one person that she attempts to phase and fuse with. Overloading masses of HZEs can also overwhelm Evelyn and disrupt her flow, vibrating molecules struggling to solidify and snap back together, as can intense waves of sound. Her glassy, weak constitution also limits the number of times Evelyn can phase her entire body through matter, requiring periods of rest in between vast and rapid usage. W E A K N E S S E S || ....Whilst phasing and stepping through, Evelyn is suspended in a brief, minute state of vulnerability, though capable of ignoring most physical constructs and dangers, she cannot react or respond in this particular state. Intense agony sears through her limbs when she phases, as Evelyn is incredibly sensitive and subjective to what is happening to her body. Able to bypass most objects, Evelyn, however, cannot resist Electron Beam Irradiation; her body locks up, contorts, and shudders, proving her to be overly sensitive to inhibitors. Physical touch also unnerves her, unless she initiates. Evelyn goes out of her way to avoid coming into contact with others.

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

evelyn.

E.. V.. E.. L.. Y.. N......D.. E.. V.. E.. R.. A.. U.. X
E.. V.. E.. L.. Y.. N......D.. E.. V.. E.. R.. A.. U.. X

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^{_{"𝒊 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖: 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔."}}

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P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N ________________________________________________________________________________________ NAME: | Evelyn 'Evie' Lou Deveraux _______________________________________________________________________ STATUS: | Active _______________________________________________________________________ INDEX DATE: | 1988.12.23 _______________________________________________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH: | 1960.02.061 _______________________________________________________________________ ALIAS(ES): | The Specter _______________________________________________________________________ RESIDENCE: | Baton Rouge, Loisiana _______________________________________________________________________ CITIZENSHIP: | American, Canadian _______________________________________________________________________ CLEARANCE LEVEL: | Special Agent B A C K G R O U N D B A C K G R O U N D ________________________________________________________________________________________ ....The individual 'Evie' is an enigma, splashed and adorned in obscene colors of gaudy embellishment, tales spun through elaborate gestures and broad smiles, an obtuse bearing grin and laughter wed to the brim with delight. Lived and told of jovial pursuits in life edged with manic, euphoric dalliances. Felt, but never seen, flitting through life as a touch of radiance: blinding and adoring and suddenly never there. She is razor nails linked and edged in metallic and hole-punched ears, smoke and ash fallen on her curling tongue found to be entirely charming with loosely spun utterances and darling drawls of a Southern Belle with prettily enunciated endearments: 'Oh bless your heart.' ....Evelyn has been studied as an eternal creature of the sun, a glowing lamplight of existence therein to eclipse the shadows of unknown origins, smothered in the brightest of lights to cast the darkest of shadows. An overbearing wraith that stands on high as a would-be defiler of torment to shade blonde and blue bearings with a waif figure adorned in chimes, trinkets, delicate touches of dainty jewels befitting a royal dame rather than an Agent acclimated to espionage. Uttered as the literal cloak and dagger, a silent creature that stalks through establishments unseen and unheard; a ghost, a specter, an illusion that phases through wall and shadow. The apparition ornamented in shades of grey as monochromatic conspiracies of what one would refuse to acknowledge or endure, the underbelly of society in which she thrives because someone has to. ....A child found wallowing in the swamp and marshlands of Louisiana, thrown through reeds and muck and grime, an orphan babe thought pitiful, forlorn, and silent-bound clung to cypress trees. The assumed year of her birth was hastily scrawled on loose sheets of paper, her likeness embellished with coiling, barrel girls, saturated eyes of blue and dusted pink on cherub bearings to promote health and vigor, to charm and ploy and pry into families that would see her in awe, fostering her with care and intention to fill empty homes and vacant hearts. From home to home, Evelyn was shuffled and plucked, moved at a constant pace through each sparkling American family that sought to preen and pride itself on its image of an ill-fated dream unachievable by mortal depravity. Darling nicknames here and there, attached as leashed monikers to bribe and coax words from her, small names of family attached as loose-stitch merits, praise unwanted or unheard as she refused to entertain them, even as a small child. She didn’t speak until the Dark Eclipse as the world stood still, bridling through adult and child alike in throes of concentrated energy that would shift the destinies of all. She unleashed laughter and song and accented words with impacted vowels and shortened whispers. ....Age eventually wore her out of the system, family after family trading her for less. Evelyn cycled through doors and arms for years, learned their particular graces of home, learned to speak and soothe and phase through them all. Appearing in places she should not be, never quite belonging but always present. ....It was not long before she briefly entered the home of [REDACTED]. ....It all goes hazy and murky when she crests adulthood with a meager education in hand and shadows worn into the light of her exuberance. At only eighteen, Evelyn Deveraux vanishes from public society, gone unnoticed and unheeded, just another statistic lost under a crumbling system of war-orphaned children. 1Speculated Birthdate. R E C R U I T M E N T R E C R U I T M E N T ________________________________________________________________________________________ ....Virumosis ravages her body swiftly, every cellular structure expanding, twisting, painful awakenings that erupt at the age of eleven and push outward before sluicing through slivers of skin and bone that phase out into whispers of ethereal wisps. It ebbs and flows, and Evelyn is left with the hideous sensations that canter through her body as she unwittingly phases through objects, materials, even people with little control possessed to temper the occurrence. As a child, it goes unnoticed whilst she moves from place to place, interlinking her fingers through doors, walls, and glass, fringing onto shadow and light as dust motes intimately twining through shaded darkness. ....Through time, Evelyn lingers close to fortified facilities, leans in just so to decipher utterances of phrases and curious words exchanged under breaths. From one place, and then another, casually trespassing onto high-security properties, blinking out of view as she merely drops into basements and chambers and vaults. She doesn’t take anything of material value, not quite; it’s information she seeks, names she hunts, looking toward and for answers that she’ll use another day, for another time. Realistically, it’s just because she can. She plays the part, laughs and soothes, and bribes; moves along to an unheard song and dance. There’s little to inspire a criminal penchant, for the world is donned with shades of grey, and she the pinprick of light in its perpetual gloom with an eternal smile. Her appetite gradually wanes until Evelyn wonders a little closer than she should, beside an unmarked, unassumed building, unbeknownst to her, that immediately casts her likeness upon H.E.L.P’s radar, particularly the Enforcement and Response Division, which results in a constant cat and mouse game for two years. She performs just enough to be interesting, walks into establishments she shouldn't, smiles at the camera, and then whisks away. Not enough to advertise her differences publicly or to be worthy of immediate recruitment, much to the vexation of her soon-to-be superiors, not until Evelyn manages to [REDACTED] ....It goes without saying, upon immediate detention, that ‘Evie’ is introduced to the Bureau officially. C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U ________________________________________________________________________________________ .... Evelyn is sporadically deployed for rather lengthy operations, an inconsistent career that employs her skillset for less than desirable situations and interactions that H.E.L.P would rather not be publicized. The other side of the coin, so to speak, that has Evelyn loosely labeled as a 'Fixer', a particular brand of Agent that operates primarily on solo missions, assigned to distinct underhanded methods and dealings that fester in favor of the undesirable person she has been assigned to 'fix'. In seven years with the Bureau, Evelyn has secured an alarming success rate.

P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N _________________________________________________________ RACE: | Caucasian _________________________________________________________________ SEX: | Female _________________________________________________________________ HEIGHT: | 5'-3" _________________________________________________________________ WEIGHT: | 110lbs _________________________________________________________________ HAIR COLOUR: | Dirty blonde _________________________________________________________________ HAIR LENGTH: | Mid-back _________________________________________________________________ EYE COLOUR: | Blue _________________________________________________________________ HANDEDNESS: | Ambidextrous A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T 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 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 || INTANGIBILITY __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Dynamic __POWER SCALE || TBD __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || TBD ....Evelyn's virumosis wracked body can phase through a vast assortment of physical matter and materials, feeling her skin and bones and blood vibrate apart and back, fizzling outward into ghost-like tendrils off-white and silvered as she pushes outward and steps through. She can feel the grit of stone or slivers of metal through every link of the expanded cells of her figure or selected limb. She phases in and out, a flicker of a thought or shuddering emotion that also wills objects to pass through her and she through brick and motor and even earth. Evelyn can also phase through flesh and bone of others, interlinking her fingers through soft skin and hardened bone, and solidifying within, taking hold and rendering them immobile from the inside out. ....Evelyn is also capable of fusing objects and people; she pushes and intertwines high-energy particles through her body, concentrating vast quantities through her hands or portions of her body. She can push and pull through matter, provided she has a secure grasp, pulling objects or people through in the same manner she can phase through materials. L I M I T A T I O N S || ....Evelyn struggles with thick constructs, though able to phase through them, it sometimes takes longer than usual and introduces a unique fear of Claustrophobia. Massive objects that she attempts to pull through also prove difficult, as do more than one person that she attempts to phase and fuse with. Overloading masses of HZEs can also overwhelm Evelyn and disrupt her flow, vibrating molecules struggling to solidify and snap back together, as can intense waves of sound. Her glassy, weak constitution also limits the number of times Evelyn can phase her entire body through matter, requiring periods of rest in between vast and rapid usage. W E A K N E S S E S || ....Whilst phasing and stepping through, Evelyn is suspended in a brief, minute state of vulnerability, though capable of ignoring most physical constructs and dangers, she cannot react or respond in this particular state. Intense agony sears through her limbs when she phases, as Evelyn is incredibly sensitive and subjective to what is happening to her body. Able to bypass most objects, Evelyn, however, cannot resist Electron Beam Irradiation; her body locks up, contorts, and shudders, proving her to be overly sensitive to inhibitors. Physical touch also unnerves her, unless she initiates. Evelyn goes out of her way to avoid coming into contact with others.

Commencement: A Farewell to P.R.C.U. [COMPLETE]

_{Location: Ünterland.}

Human #5.099: to create something new.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Interaction(s):&}

Previously: vertigo.

As if entirely on cue, thunder rolled and clashed with streaks of crimson lightning that lanced from cloud to cloud, igniting a fresh wave of tumbling trepidation through Amma’s core. Self-directed anger churned bitterly there, sluicing as tar through her entirety and clinging to the rungs of her ribs flexing under her sharp inhales that fell against pressed lips. A scarred palm nestled and flitted over her belly, a helpless seed of doubt, fear, and powerlessness taking root through her shredded soul, and the abilities without that, had she possessed them, would be fissuring across her skin in unease. Whilst she was undoubtedly whole, her hand still woven intimately with Gil’s (his only one, of which she tried not to think about), it was the prospect of simply waiting for an inevitable return of the dragon that inspired sour notes to muddle through her head. There was no denying that it had known her. Loathed blue eyes reminiscent of her own, a reflection of what wailed within, and without.

Kylmie and Gil had denied her entirely, another testament to a newly acquired emotion she wasn’t prepared to confront. While she did not have to face her monsters or demons alone, Amma knew that some of her fears and woes could only be undone by her own hand. It was a burden she had taken on years ago, hated eyes and hated needles impaled beyond barriers of flesh and into the fragile remains of her heart, as both child and woman that would stand against the world as its fated destroyer.

But that had been then, when she had sworn vengeance and wrote the script of her hate in phosphorescent remains wedded to her blood, and this was now, where Amma pushed more pieces of hair behind her ears and observed the interactions between her grandmother and her -

Whatever Gil was to her.

Now alone, Amma glanced down to where their hands remained joined. She marveled at the anchoring effect it had on her before another rumble of thunder withdrew her from her wavering thoughts.

“I’m tired of resting,” she admitted, her voice gone soft, her accent spun loosely through her annunciation. The storm was rolling back, evident by the encroaching roar of thunder and the immediate humidity that signaled impending rain. “I’ve been asleep for a few days or so since I crawled out from Limbo. I don’t like not being able to do something, I’ve never felt so…” Amma turned her palm up, mapping out silver scars and flexing her trembling fingers where no wealth of scarlet threads came to her gesture. “Helpless.”

Gil spun in place, halting their slow amble back to the hut and instead taking a moment to survey the village and the buzz of activity in place to repair it. Kylmie had returned to the other women of the coven, overseeing strange words whispered and intricate gestures made, intentions and intonations imparted into the earth. Furrowed brows and weary eyes belied the effort that went into what otherwise appeared to be quick work. For a moment, he allowed his rationality to spiral out from his circumstances, brought amidst witches in the realm of the dead by a woman unwillingly an insect, besieged by not-animals and a dragon. He looked at Amma, the center of that very whirlwind. It was worth it.
“I can’t say it hasn’t been a hard journey, but I agree. Amongst all...this, sleep feels impossible. We can help, if there’s work to be done.” He looked back to Kylmie. “So...your grandmother, huh? It kind of makes sense.”

“Does it?” Amma nearly drawled, dismissive almost to understate the revelation that she had family, standing amidst an unknown place, sown into a realm of chaos that she could hardly understand. “My mother came from here, this Ünterland, she crossed over somehow.” None of it made sense. Amma herself was clearly Hyperhuman, but she could not help but contemplate the nature of her powers, if these sudden origins contributed to her domination. “She never came back, she…”

It was a subject they had never approached before, their pasts, simple nuances of another traded into the night when they’d first kissed in exchange for simplicity and the burden of implicated titles and nature. Of course, Gil had an idea of what she had endured across the sea, The Trials had broadcast it all as cryptically as her memories allowed. Did any of that matter, though, when he had risked everything to come and find her now?

“...I’m assuming when she met my father, it convinced her to stay. She spoke of him sometimes, from what little I remember. She gave me to The Foundation when I was ten, it’s all dark before and after that.” Amma pushed the words out, struggling to yield pieces of herself that none had ever known before. A flicker of doubt crossed over her features, speaking of her mother always leaving her out of sorts, her memory lingering through her listing thoughts, twinged with frustration over the secrets abound.

“I had someone... Help me find letters that were written to her—one from my father, one from Jonas. Right before the dance, they were given to me. Someone messed with them, scratched it all out, and didn’t want me to know. I’ve always wondered why,” She made a simple gesture with her opposite hand, attempting to summon a rational explanation in the face of the irrational and unknown. “Maybe this is why they never wanted me to know who he was, to know all of this and where she came from.”

"Isn't that always the way? Pieces of the puzzle, but nothing in full. You think you've broken a chain, just to find more shackles hidden beneath. Whatever was retracted from those letters is just one more link in the bonds they forged to control you. Something else to keep from you, because it didn't serve the purposes they wanted to use you for."

Gil paused, his own ties suddenly at the forefront of his mind, as well as his half-hearted efforts to shuck them before undertaking this journey. He thought of his last phone call with Artie, his final words to a longtime friend, shouted expletives. He thought of his goodbyes to his parents, accompanied by a hollow promise of his safe return, and he thought of the diary entry left behind in which he admitted there were no such plans to do so. He thought about never having given Elenora a proper farewell, unread messages that had still been looming over him from his phone when he'd given it up before coming here. He thought about how he never really knew what he wanted to do, but he had found mild success in acting early on, so he'd done that for lack of a clearer passion; and then about how he'd given it up, and found the same uncertainty lurking underneath as it always had been, and how he'd quickly covered that up with finding Amma.

And now, he had found her; the path to returning home still lay in front of them awaiting action, and yet the 'what next?' already loomed over the horizon, and Gil realized he didn't know. He'd never known - he'd just found the most obvious thing, the thing right in front of him, and pursued that with a bullheadedness that enabled him to ignore everything else. But 'everything else' had never gone away, just been sidelined, and with it any proper opportunity for introspection. Gil realized, in an instant, that he truly knew as little about himself as Amma did about herself - but he at least had the luxury of history, of family, of a net to fall backwards into when he finally collapsed; boons he'd taken for granted, but which Amma had none of. She'd only just begun to discover her roots, and they were, quite literally, unearthly, raising more questions than the answers they provided. Another nebulous, mysterious place, bearing its own secrets and teeth.

He took a deep breath, holding Amma's twisting fingers in his own, trying to anchor them both amidst this foreign, unnerving place.
"The Foundation sunk their fangs into you, warped you, changed whoever you were and could have been into an image they chose. I can't begin to fathom the damage you have to live with, the weight you have to bear...but those letters - this place - Kylmie's very existence; it's all proof of an Amma who lived before the Foundation, and it's a support network for the Amma who came out the other side. I don't know who you are. I don't know who I am. But there are centuries echoing behind both of us, and more ahead, and now the only person who has any claim to who or what you are or want to be is you. You get to figure it out. However long it takes. However much darkness you have to shine a light on."

With his stump, he gestured first out toward Kylmie and the coven, and then thumped his own chest.
"If you can't remember before, there are people here who can. If you can't figure out after, there are people who need to work that out for themselves too, side by side with you."

Ever-so-delicately, he plucked the flower - the impossible, remarkable flower - from Amma's hair and swiveled it in his fingertips, admiring the red light of the moon playing across the folded petals.
"At the dance - you told me I was free. I laughed then, but you were right, and it was frightening. It's frightening now. But I remember something else you said, at the foot of a hospital bed cloaked in darkness and the light of a very different moon to this one. The world is dark, and it is afraid. But it doesn't mean we have to be."

"Mend. Instead of sunder."

The words fell from her lips in a whisper, barely heard and uttered, but the magnitude of the phrase plummeted as a stone, one endowed with an amber and scarlet thread that glimmered as a jeweled cord of fated hearts. He twirled that flower, so simple a motion, as one would twist a key embedded into a lock, delicate tumbles clinking and falling with rusted hinges and frayed shadows whisking away at a thought whilst gargantuan barriers trembled. A prison, a shell, the obsidian walls of her heart barred and guarded with teeth and wire, her vicious words and malcontent, her denial of every soul that had sought to encroach her harsh and barbed thorns of cruel intent. Yawned bridges that connected Amma with others, yielding glimmering lights of yellow, gold, and blue, configured as a singular construct that finally worked through that obsidian wall she had forged around herself years ago. Revenge had soiled her life, made it barren of light and enveloped in eternal shadow, a mountainous darkness, a hellacious climb that sought to ruin her in laments of a broken soul. With a shredded spirit, Amma had been clawing along such a bloodied path with little abandon or care; she carved her way through the void as a gluttonous fiend stricken with wrath and hubris. Bridled in the machinations of her mortal sins because she had paid the price for power and devastation, for she had said yes all those years ago, and paid for it still under the light of a sanguine moon.

A mirror of mirrors, having splintered into two paths, then cleaving and fracturing more as prophecies of her would be self and many others. It fell as glistening, silver tears that spiked her lashes and welled, unchecked and unbidden. Carved through cheeks aflame and slid down a clenched and locked throat whilst she shook with the magnitude of Gil's soft, pleading words that called to a girl that had long since perished. It also called to a memory shaded in twilight and the twinkling voice of her mother, garbed in French whispers, loosely uttered as she soothed her fretful child, intertwined with scarlet wrath. For Charlotte Cahors had seen all, was burdened with the stars in her eyes and the world in her hands, as she spoke of a time, and a place, and the strongest self that Amma would become. All the power she would come to hold and bear, and all the pain of many others that had come before her that would be worn and stricken upon her body, but in the ditch of darkness she would also swear promises spoken in tears and agony, to swear that none else would befall a similar fate.

For the world has enough monsters.

Once upon a time, Amma Cahors did not care. It was okay. And she told herself this over and over again.

But it was no longer who she was. For Amma Cahors did care. She wanted more than revenge, now, and though she would have it one day and claim her name anew, it did not mean she had to play the part, the role she was meant for to achieve it. The reputation she held at The Foundation, The Force, the whisper of Tiamat at her back, the Amma of PRCU that carved wicked smiles into fragile hearts and perched upon their hopes and dreams as a deviled wraith. The Amma who saved people, who saved Haven, Aurora, Lorcán, who beheld Katja as friend, who silently watched over Harper at her sister's pleading quest, the Amma who stood before Rory, and the Amma who once stood in the gardens, the barn, the beach where sun and surf beheld her as the world moved on and on, lost to the whims of her chaotic regalia. The Amma who comforted Gil in his nightmares, the one who returned under the guise of moonlight to sleep beside him, and the one who came to him in his room to provide solace and comfort. All of these things, pieces of herself, that she could no longer deny, just as she could not deny the name unspoken and the word tattooed onto her neck in remembrance of a life she had once before. A vow to never forget.

Immortal. And the everlasting love that was her name. Ammaranthe.

Amma carefully took that flower back into her trembling hands as the symbol of their bond forged with forgotten pieces of themselves, now woven intricately and delicately together as one. Gil sought and answered her doubts about her forgotten past and her uncertain future; he stripped it down to the most raw and unfiltered part of her heart that swelled with an emotion she could not name.

"I had a nightmare, a dream, I think. Of you. About you. It was you in what I assumed was the many roles you've also had to play. All those lines whispered and fed to you, all those times you had to pretend. The way you were with others, with Blackjack. With fans. With her." Amma did not know her name, but implied it nonetheless, the pretty brunette who spoke to her and denied any sort of love Gil might have for her. "The fear, the pain, so many copies and bodies, lost in a sea of masks of this Gil and that. All of the many you's and yet alone, lost, just as I was in Limbo, and even before it all. The doubts of who you were and who you are, every piece of you laid bare and stripped down from every time you performed for them, that's what your Trials were about. I know. I saw. I felt it."

Whisper soft and delicate, Amma continued, a gentleness never known finding home in her words.

"And though there were many of you, all different and yet the same, I could see and feel and know which one was you. You didn't pretend, you were honest under those hours of moonlight, with me- just us. I once thought us similar: always in the shadows, while others stood out in the light. Simply just being as we were, uncertain of what and who we tried to be. Lost under the weight of masks, the performances and reputations that surpassed us."

She had allowed fear to hold her, had allowed hate to bridle her in chains turned inwards to maim and bleed her dry for all she was and could ever be as a wrathful being consumed of the void within. Amma had once thought she could never choose another way, a path, for all that she had done and had yet to do, she believed she had never deserved a choice to be anything other than the monster she felt crawling beneath her inked skin. So involved in her pain and denial of life, she had refused to look elsewhere but straight ahead onto her path of retribution. But, now she stood here, not alone, and leaned in close, eyes beholden to Gil's stare as Amma finally allowed a calm to envelop her, delicately and carefully, the girl once thought dead slowly rose to life as a soul that just wanted to love and be loved in return.

"I see you, I choose you, I want you, the real you, side by side in this dark and afraid world. I'll help you find it, find him. Whatever that part of you looks like, and whatever part of me that looks like, I know that I want to try and be free too." Amma confessed, breath heavy and low as she pressed her lips to his in a kiss, the most gentle display of affection, of acceptance, of Gil and his struggles.

A gossamer kiss, delicate and fragile but channeling a depth Gil hadn't yet known through it all the same, a pact between two stray souls lost down here amidst the gutters of reality. Gil lifted a gentle palm to Amma's cheek and held it there as mouths broke apart and they instead rested foreheads against each other, eyes closed and simply breathing in the moment, pausing in the vow. The breakthrough did not come lightly to either of them, and now they stood coupled at the precipice of unknown territory, electric and unstable, but together.

"I'm still defining the real me; but I at least know one thing above all else. I want to be with you." He smiled, eyes still closed, floating in her scent and the feeling of her arms wrapped around him. "Whatever we discover, we can build it around each other. There will always be roots here. Now we can grow out from new foundations, without being afraid the brick might crumble."

And there a smile forged, darling and delicate and blinding, one unburdened by the sorrows of a past undone or a future unknown, it glimmered behind the veil of a woman sown deep into the fluttering beat of her heart, emotions sweeping low and high, a purity of home flourishing under the confessions gleaming under crimson moonlight. Thunder roared and rolled, echoing through the brightening shimmer that smoothed over Amma’s usual severity of expression, and even as the rain returned and soaked them down to the bone, she had never felt so warm in her entire life.

The always desired, but never chosen.
Until now.

Amma Cahors allowed herself to want and choose for herself rather than the misery of her weighted darkness. His words nurtured that kernel sunk into her chest, and there it slowly bloomed, unraveling into tendrils of warmth that spread through her body as something new.

Commencement: A Farewell to P.R.C.U. [COMPLETE]

_{Location: Ünterland.}

Human #5.098: vertigo.

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Interaction(s):&}

Previously: Reunion.

He fucking smiled at her, and if that hadn’t sent her heart into a fluttering mess caught betwixt the rungs of her ribs, then his voice would’ve done just that: implanted so cruelly within her chest that she had almost forgotten what it sounded like. But there it ruptured and burst and fell through her body as she trembled, a slow smile shuddering across her face, a bite of something barely restrained as she clutched at the capes of the cloak and pulled them tautly closed, her knuckles gone pale. Hot, wet anger rushed through her as if magmatic wrath come to life; it pricked at her eyes and lashes where emotion welled and suddenly hollowed out the void of her soul into remnants of yearning as Amma heatedly answered.

“Hey there, Casanova.”

She couldn’t place this sudden, unbidden rage, and she didn’t care who (not even with their current audience) witnessed her struggle to temper this wrath that slowly sluiced through her veins. Amma’s eyes devoured Gil entirely, leaving nothing to be unstudied or remembered, but when she noticed the stump that was his remaining arm, her rage intensified and stole away her breath as both shoulders rose and fell on her quickening pant. He may not have died, but he did not come out wholly unscathed. Gil was here; he had come for her, as no one had ever done before, but at what cost? Did such an inquiry of price truly matter when everything that had happened thus far had been so steeply lost by the revelations of a name?

He scrambled up out of the dirt, brushing Kylmie aside as he swallowed up her entirety in a fierce embrace. Kylmie simply let him, turning her attention to the salve she had requested and doing her best to treat Hornet. Gil clutched Amma to his chest for a long while, savouring the feel of her body in his arms, the scent of her hair swirling about his head, taking each and every sensory input as yes, yes, this is her, she is real and she is here and we have found her, triumphant and consoling simultaneously. There were only a few small shakes that wracked both figures as small tears were shed, and then he managed to pull himself back and plant his forehead to hers. His one hand took hers, lacing their fingers, woven through each other like such a long-ago night under such a less perturbing moon; gently, his stump rested just above her hip, as inconspicuous as he could make it.
"I'm here, Amma. I found you. I'm with you."

I’m here.

The void within her began to crack; fine-lined fissures suddenly burst and swelled, scoured and carved and glimmering amber-yellow through the darkness of her heart and the dregs of rage that churned bitterly still through her heaving chest.

I found you.

Had he? Here and now, and back then. The scent of him coiling through her head, the warmth of his embrace so stark and alarming against the chill of her body, that it wrecked a shudder through her entire frame. Her arms held him fiercely, possessively, her nails scraped against the quaking lines of his back and held there as if he were a phantom of her waking world.

I’m with you.

“What, how- Why?” Her voice broke, the usual assuredness of her accent bubbled and churned as her teeth clenched and her breath faltered. The whisper of her confusion suddenly wrought a keening sound that she immediately smothered against her palm, her other so graciously held within his own. Amma’s eyes honed and dug deep into the faded blue of his stare, the shimmering emotion encapsulated and usually restrained suddenly welled over and fell as tears she could not stop. Anger, pain, and desire made a muddled mess of her heart- her soul. Her hand fell away from her mouth and shook.

“I saw it tear you apart. I felt it. I thought you were dead.”

Gil pressed his lips to hers, passion mixing with tears in an intense, rapturous alchemy. He cradled her cheek with his hand, softly tracing delicate fingers down her jaw and throat, while his other arm matched her ferocity and held her fast against him. When they finally broke apart, Gil could only smile, his breath hot and his eyes glistening.
"I know. I know. I'm sorry. Another Gil died where I should have. I wish I could have been here sooner. I searched for you for months, for so long I stopped believing I'd find you at all."

He took some long moments to breathe, to settle, to just look at her, fierce eyes and gritted teeth and clenched fists; she looked even more ravenous than he remembered, a knife that had been honed beyond sharpness. How he wanted to soften her edges, fold comfort and respite around her, and take away the torment that was built into her bones.
"I came with others; Lorcán and Aurora. We were led by Ellara. I got separated; I don't know how long I've been walking. Hor-Abelle says time doesn't work how you expect it to here."

Months.

She knew it to be true, Kylmie had said as much, but to hear it confirmed and tumbled from his lips that had been passionately molded against hers still plunked a stone betwixt her ribs and left it there to plummet further into the lingering shadows of despair and anger. Her shoulders rose and fell, every quick, harsh pant of her breath pluming white between them, she felt heated and frigid all at once, fire and ice writhing through her veins, his touch damning and inspiring all at once in one fell swoop of an emotion she could not name.

“Aurora is here,” Amma breathed. She smudged the heel of her palm across her cheek, her tears unbound and unchecked, her voice watery and deep. “Kylmie said the same thing: time is different here. I fell.” She manacled her fingers around his arms, held him tightly in a vice, refused to let go as she lowered her eyes and continued: “I was trapped in the dark. Again.”

“I don’t know how much time passed, I almost didn’t make it, but I did. I got out this time.”

Amma lifted her eyes, the lingering touches of a forgotten hope glimmering through the cape of her lashes as she admired the lines of his face, his jaw, his lips. He was aged, just as she was. Back and forth, she studied him in sluggish increments, down and up, ticking away at every piece of him- even the remainder of his arm. Amma didn’t hesitate to coil her palm down, edging close to where his arm should’ve been, her gesture splayed and curled, more spindling heat firing away through the pads of her fingers. She wouldn’t ask what happened, a part of her already knew. She didn’t recognize the name Abelle, but everything and everyone fell away into a fogged backdrop. A memory resurfaced, glimmering in hues of gold and yellow, merged seamlessly and fervidly with whispers of a scarlet promise.

“You said my name.”

Gil leaned forward, gently tucking her hair behind her ear with a delicate finger and brushing his lips against her lobe as he hovered in her periphery and whispered:
^{"Ammaranthe.",} and placed a soft kiss on the nape of her neck just behind her ear as if to emphasise it.

"I did," he continued, leaning back to look her in the eyes. "I think you told me, in one way or another. Something connecting us, uninvited but undeniable. Look-"
He raised his hand, showing the modest ring nestled around his finger. "This...brought me to you. It's how I found you. How I knew where to find you. Another connection."

“How did you…” Her breath fell into a whisper and gradually faded by the immediate shock she felt at seeing the ring worn on his finger. Her nape burned where his kiss marked her skin, and slid through her body in a shudder. More connections, more delicate threads that inadvertently bound them together, all fused under the revelations discovered in a kiss. A wedding of two souls, riddled with unspoken vows, the glimpse of self presented unwillingly but laid bare. He found the forbidden name once stolen from her, unknowingly gave it back, and before her stood a man unlike all the Gils she had seen in her nightmares. This was him, as he was, as she knew he could be. It all seared and marked and branded her heart, the fissure of her despair and malcontent riddled in the touches of intimacy and kindness.

“That’s my mother’s ring.” Amma informed him, touching her fingers carefully to the worn bronzes and golds, the red gem flickering under her gesture. A spark of energy arced through her palm and glittered in familiar hues of red where the faintest touches of amber wore into the shade delicately. She had felt a similar signature before.

“The flower. The one you made at the dance. I still have it. It felt like this, too, as if waiting for something.” Amma pulled through her braided hair and mussed the strands around her shoulders, the length and mass settled down back as she pulled out the familiar arrangement, still intact and whole, pristine as it had been when first copied, now nestled within her scarred palm.

Gil plucked the flower from Amma's palm, twisting it in his fingers as he marveled at its existence.
"This...shouldn't be here. This should have disintegrated a long time ago. Even if it was fresh, this place disrupts hazies; it should have been torn apart at the atomic level as soon as it crossed over..."
He broke into a smile, then a chuckle, and then couldn't help but guffaw, a loud and joyous sound that echoed out. He neatly tucked the flower back into Amma's braid and pulled her in once more.
"I'm so glad you're safe." He said, his voice muffled amidst her hair. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't...if I couldn't find you."
He chuckled again, letting out a breath he felt he'd been holding for the last three months.
"I was only half-convinced any of it was even real. Part of me was expecting to wake up one day and discover I'd just been dreaming. But seeing you here - holding you. Touching you; it's all real. This place is real. Abelle's real. You're real."

Their combined and shared sorrows and tension slowly bled out into one another, and Amma marveled at the comfort found in the bracket of his arms, the way her frame immediately loosened, all bunched muscles and intensity melding into sweet coils that shuddered through her. Gil’s laughter trickled down her body, a sound she thought she’d never hear again, his voice a welcoming timbre that balanced against her eternal rage and sought to tame it.

“You’re real,” Amma muttered and ran scarred palms up the lines of his back, tracked over the links in his spine with her fingers, and held onto him as if she had all the time in the world to just be as she was: a girl in the arms of a boy. “You’re alive.” A sensation fluttered and dove through her belly, which inspired her arms to tighten around him in reflex; a part of her wanted to hear her name whispered to her over and over again, to perhaps lay claim to pieces of her heart and soul denied to her for years and lost to the dark.

However, circumstances would not allow them moments of reprieve, despite all passionate emotion, as Kylmie entered Amma’s peripheral vision.

“She’s healed, for now.” She informed Gil quietly, mindful of her granddaughter in his arms. She, being who Amma had to assume was this Abelle person he had mentioned twice now, her gaze tracked and flicked to where she spotted her chitinous body and iridescent wings, one of which was utterly shredded. Part of her should’ve been surprised, but Ünterland had shown her all manner of beasts and creatures, and whilst there was a story here to be named and told, Amma found herself dis-entangling from Gil’s embrace to allow him to talk to Kylmie.

"Thank you," Gil said as he uncoiled his arms from about Amma's waist, but let his hand linger to hold hers, standing by her side and proffering a gentle squeeze to reassure her he wasn't going anywhere, this time.

“I do apologize for the way you were brought to us. Had we known…” Kylmie carefully regarded Amma, who met her inquiring gaze briefly before she glanced away into the distance, neither confirming nor denying their familial connection. “Well, either way. We’ve managed to stave off some of the damage, but she will need rest. She can do so under...observation."

"Still? She's not Hornet, anymore. She's not dangerous. Abelle can be trusted."

His defense fell on deaf ears.
"Trust is earned, and despite your...ties, you are still a stranger, and your companion owes much reparation to my people. Hornet, 'Abelle' - whoever she may be, well-intentioned or not; she will always be dangerous."

Gil's face hardened, and he was about to respond in kind, but Kylmie saw it coming and halted him before he began with a stern look and solemn hand.
"We are under siege, and we are being asked to harbour strangers and enemies alike. My coven is tense, and they have good reason to be; let me allow them this one comfort. If she is as you claim, I am sure she will be understanding."

Gil scrunched his nose; it was only Amma returning a squeeze in kind that cracked his shell.
"Fine. But I'm not happy about it. I want to know as soon as she wakes up."

"Noted." Kylmie answered, silently relieved. "I think it best you rest yourself; we can rouse you both as needed. The dragon could return in the next few hours, or maybe another day from now, depending on how fast it can regather strength; we need to ensure we are ready to match it in kind.”

At the mention of the dragon, Gil felt goosebumps erupt across Amma, the slightest shudder crossing her body. She spoke, her voice strong, belying the fear underneath.
“If I’m not here by the time it comes back, it’ll have no reason to attack, maybe. I can look for Ellara,” Amma offered, determination brightening her eyes. Sleep was far away from her mind.

“No.” Gil and Kylmie answered swiftly, simultaneously. They looked to each other, Gil allowing Kylmie the space to continue.
“I won’t allow you to put yourself in danger like that. This risk is too great.”
"I've come all this way to find you and bring you home, Amma; if that beast found you, and I wasn't there..." he trailed off, unwilling to put more words to the terrible potentials. He had yet to forgive himself for the events of the dance; he couldn't fathom losing her again. "You don't have to confront your monsters alone anymore."

Amma flinched but said nothing to that, a defiance nestled there in her stance before Kylmie rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, matching her gaze and recognizing three generations of fire pooled therein.
“If you lure it away, it will devour you, and come back for the coven all the same. Ellara will find us, and hopefully she can help you all go home before the dragon returns. We will be fine.”

She stepped back again, now gesturing toward the hut Amma had emerged from.
"Now, I suggest you return to your rest; our homes are open to you, Gil, as they have been to my granddaughter. The repairs are near-complete; we must take these quiet moments to remember why we weather the storms. I'm sure you have much to catch up on," she said, a jovial edge entering her tone and a warm smile creeping across her face, "and I'm sure we can afford you both your privacy for one night, at least."

Gil returned the smile, and as Kylmie drifted away to return to the coven's work, he was sure he saw her wink.

mus.lings

_{Lorem Ipsum ◆ L O R E M I P S U M | ♫}

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"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?" "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?""But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

^{"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"}

_{Lorem Ipsum ◆ L O R E M I P S U M | ♫}
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"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?" "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?""But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

........................................

"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

mus.lings

_{Lorem Ipsum ◆ L O R E M I P S U M | ♫}

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"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?" "But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"

The Wyvern Crown

𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 █ 𝕬 𝖑 𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 █ 𝖔 𝖋 █ 𝕿 𝖔 𝖑 𝖑 𝖊 𝖓 𝖈 𝖎 𝖆
𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 █ 𝕬 𝖑 𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 █ 𝖔 𝖋 █ 𝕿 𝖔 𝖑 𝖑 𝖊 𝖓 𝖈 𝖎 𝖆

^♫

_{█ C A R L O S █ D E █ A L B A}

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