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"Tiefer, tiefer... Irgendwo in der Tiefe, gibt es ein Licht..."

▼ A B O U T M E:

T Y L E R J U N E 2 0, 1 9 9 5 ( 2 1 ) M A L E S H E F F I E L D , U K
► Guild member since 2010.
► Previous usernames include Armani, Einhorn & Teen Idle. Yes, I'm an asshole.
► Also known as Raja over on Iwaku.

► Favourite genres:
► High fantasy
► Superschool
► Superhero

► I am most comfortable at the higher end of Casual. Advanced scares me.
► I consider myself to be an 'active roleplayer', and enjoy pushing for plot progression.
► My favourite GM is @Lord Wraith, and you can usually find me in any of his games.

▼ C U R R E N T R O L E P L A Y S:


▼ F R I E N D S:

I T R I C K E D T H E S E P E O P L E I N T O L I K I N G M E :
@Lord Wraith@Roman@Hillan@Stein@Wade Wilson
That's literally it.


Most Recent Posts

And the Lord said; "let there be posts!"

And then there were posts.

This pleases me.
Woah, sorry that took so long. If you guys take your characters over to the cafeteria, and reflect on the class so far, I'll have Kit establish something more interesting for you all in my next post. Again, sorry about the wait.
A I D E N M c K E N N A & W I N T E R C A R L Y L E

Monday 26th September, Mather Memorial High School [Collaboration with @FantasyChic]

Kit Renard seemed irritated for only the briefest of moments, before slinking back into Mr Lehrer's chair and grinning to himself. Even when Kit's eyes were fixed firmly upon his latest victim (in this instance, Aiden), they never seemed 'still'. They were like two shimmering emeralds, swimming constantly with some unreadable intent. It was easy to imagine the cogs behind them spinning wildly as he schemed.

"Well, as keen as Jonas was that I stuck to his curriculum," Kit mused, "Winter here seems like she knows how to have a good time. Someone give this girl a spoon." he jabbed, making a 'stir-the-pot' motion and smiling excitedly as he gestured towards Aiden. "Please, proceed."

"Woah, woah, woah," Aiden protested, rising to his feet and backing off a few paces. "This isn't cool. You can't just, like, read my mind and shit. No way," he said, visibly panicked but firm in his delivery. His stance only seemed to amuse Kit further.

"Oh, come now, Aiden," he cooed. "Don't be silly. Miss Carlyle wouldn't tell a soul - would you, Winter? Not unless she was... Convinced." He paused, then chuckled at his intentionally sinister tone. "Of course, that would be unnecessary. There's very little she could unearth in that skull of yours that I don't already know. Now please, Winter, will you do the honours." His tone seemed ever so slightly impatient; there was a definite sense of his request being more imperative than he let on.

Aiden felt defeated, but his reluctance was still more than obvious as he looked anxiously to Winter; begging for some sign that he could trust her. He scanned her face; hoping for the slightest glimmer of empathy in her eyes, desperate for her to speak out and assure him that he was safe in her hands. That his secrets were safe in her hands.

Winter was put on the spot and for once in her life...she hated it.

Kit seemed pleased about having both her and Aiden reluctant and confused, but she felt determined. Not only because it would help her understand her own powers, but it would allow Aiden to fully trust her. She silently nodded to herself before she turned to Aiden. She caught his gaze and could see the worry and fear in his eyes.

"I won't lie, Aiden. I don't fully know how these powers work, but I know enough that I should be able to pick and choose what I see. If I do see something I shouldn't, you have my word it will be a secret. No matter what he says, no amount of pressure will get me to break if you don't want me to tell. I promise." She hoped her words were enough to get him to let his guard down.

She reached her hand out, "I need to have physical contact, so if you are ready, I am too." She didn't dare look at Kit, who was probably laughing his ass off. She was determined to prove to herself and to the others she was someone they could trust. If these past few weeks have been any indication, her old self was gone.

It was time for the new Winter to come out.

Aiden nodded, his face full of apprehension though he fully acknowledged that there seemed to be no immediate alternative to the situation. Not with Kit Renard watching over them, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Aiden might not have spent much time with the supposed teacher, but he understood clearly that Mr. Renard was the type of person who always got what he wanted. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and hesitantly extended his hands towards Winter's own.

They touched, and the world began to fade. The colour in the room washed away, leaving Aiden in a grey twilight, before the details of his surroundings began to warp and slip out of form; like a chalk drawing on the pavement, washed away by an unexpected rain. Only a muddy blackness remained.

And then, from within the blackness, there was a light. Small, flickering, orange; but bright enough to penetrate the darkness that engulfed it. The ember grew, developing into a fist full of flame that illuminated the face of the figure who held it: Aiden. Or rather, a vision of himself, a memory, watched back by Aiden the observer... And no doubt, by Winter Carlyle.

As the vision unfolded, the cloudy scene became more clear; Aiden was crouched in a storage closet, surrounded by mops and spray bottles and other everyday cleaning supplies. Though there was no indication of its whereabouts, Aiden knew exactly where the room was: through the door marked 'PRIVATE - MALL STAFF ONLY", just behind the Nike store at the shopping centre on the other side of Mather Memorial Park. It was the day that changed everything.

He remembered clearly what had driven him to take refuge away from the hustle and bustle, dabbing his bloody nose on his sleeve. He had been accused of giving a suggestive look to one of the school's star quarterbacks during gym class, and his teammates had banded together to make it clear to him that none of them swung that way. But the coast had to be clear by now, and Aiden cracked open the door.

"Hey there, faggot," said one of the brutes, smugly stood waiting for Aiden's emergence.

Aiden made a sudden dash, his fight-or-flight instincts leaning towards the latter. But as two of the boys grabbed his arms, laughing and jeering, a rage began to burn within Aiden's chest. It was a rage that he had been fighting for several months now to quell; a fiery anger that had repeatedly threatened to erupt since his powers had manifested. His father had warned him about it, urged him to commit himself to extinguishing even the slightest ember he felt... But none of this registered during the moment. He was sick of diminishing himself for the benefit of others. If these assholes wanted to try him, then let them. It was time to let go. A burst of orange, a wave of heat, and blackness.

The darkness faded slowly, swirling like smoke, before Aiden realised that it was smoke. And it filled the air, billowing through the trees as Aiden fled the blaze he'd caused at Mather Memorial Park. Tears streamed down his face as he reflected on his actions, furious at himself for giving in to the monster within. Tricked by the fiery tempter within him into releasing his hold on it, and instantly filled with guilt, shame and regret. Instantly, the scene swirled, melting away as hours passed and the moon rose.

Aiden was sat in his room, his hoodie still stinking of smoke from his earlier break. A wet note lay half-written on the desk, dotted with salty droplets that smudged the ink as Aiden buried his hands in his head. A gentle knock at the door broke the silence, as his mother's voice called through the wood.

"Aiden, are you OK, dear?"

Panicked, he grabbed the note as his mother pushed open the door and peaked her head around the frame. It burned away to ash in the heat of his fist; and so did the scene... The night of the dance.

The quickness of the vision alarmed her. She figured it had to be due to lack of practice, but soon she saw the fire. The small flame burning that soon engulfed the vision. She was watching through her own eyes, but she couldn't move. She tried, but it was a powerful force holding her back. She wondered if, with practice, she could move around.

She saw the closet. She saw the bullies. She saw Aiden, fearful and afraid, but also angry. The boys were harsh. It was obvious from the scene this wasn't Aiden's first encounter with them. She could see it on his face. The anger.

Then the fire.

She hated putting Aiden through all that again. She had to imagine it was a memory he didn't want to relive. However, it gave her a new perspective of the boy. An appreciation. She witnessed the rest of the events. Soon, she found herself where she wanted to be. The night of the dance.

She looked around and could see that it was the moment after the wolves attacked and the hooded man was coming for Elroy. She watched as kids ran and screams filled the air. Aiden was doing his best, trying to protect Elroy. Knowing where he was hiding. Soon, the hooden man approached.

Winter looked and she saw his face. Finally, it was there. Both her and Aiden got a good look at his face.

And it wasn't Kit.

Was that good or bad? She wasn't sure. Kit still rubbed her the wrong way, but at least he wasn't their enemy. Yet. She continued to watch the events as the man uttered some powerful words and soon, flames emerged. It happened so suddenly, but she knew what she saw. Aiden didn't start the fire. He was controlled. So not only did they get the man's face, but they knew he was able to control other powers, perhaps. Also, a small blessing to Aiden to know he wasn't the reason for the fire.

Soon the vision ended. She mustered as much strength as she could and soon the bond ceased. She still held on to Aiden's hand as she found herself back in the classroom. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did neither. Instead, she released the boy's hand and nodded "All right. It wasn't Kit at the night of the dance." She kept her promise. She hoped Aiden was all right.

As Aiden sat - wide-eyed, pale and silent - Kit walked smile contentedly.

"Well, I'm glad we're all on the same page," he said, though his tone would indicate that he wasn't particularly interested in what the students thought of him. "Now, I'm sure we'll all be the best of friends. But as much as I'm enjoying getting to know you all, I really must press on with the lesson. We've important work to do, after all, and it's paramount that I have a competent team." He paused, looking around the room. "Those of you who are incompetent, will find yourselves removed. I have little inclination to entertain timewasters."

He looked over the class as he moved over towards the door, holding it open and gesturing through. "Well, come on now, what are you waiting for?" he asked, expectantly. "Make your way to the cafeteria. And do it quickly, please."

As he watched the students file out of the classroom, he called out after them: "And, if anyone is considering playing the truant, they will find themselves removed from the class with immediate effect." His tone was one of business now, lacking much of his usual showmanship. "As I hope I've made clear: I am not here to play games."

But then, as he pulled the door shut, locking the classroom tight and beginning to make his own way to the empty canteen, Kit found himself smiling at the irony of it all. Because, of course, he was Kit Renard. And he loved to play games.
@Tyler Ready to collab when you are


I'm working til late tomorrow, and then I have company in the evening. Could be Sunday or Monday before I get chance to start something, but as soon as I do I'll push it your way. Excited!
A I D E N M c K E N N A

Monday 26th September, Mather Memorial High School

Aiden looked around the room, having so many questions for the mysterious man, yet something within him denying his will to ask them. It was as though on some instinctive level, he knew better than to leap right into this situation. There was just such an unplaceable quality to Kit Renard that unsettled Aiden, and so he shifted in his seat and scanned the room, hoping that one of his peers would speak. Despite Kit's warnings, Belle obliged.

"What do you know?" she asked. She was assertive in posture, but... Aiden knew her well enough to detect an ounce of trepidation in her tone. He didn't berate her efforts; she was braver than he, and he couldn't blame her for being weary of the stranger. He looked towards Kit for a response, but all the man did was smile. It was not a kind smile.

"Why, Abelle," he sneered. "Who knew you could be so naïve? It's rather endearing, actually," he laughed to himself, though the rest of the room was unamused. "My dear, I know all sorts of wonderful things. I take pride in my homework," he grinned. "Which, according to Jonas, is more than can be said for some of you."

It seemed to Aiden that it was the mention of Mr Lehrer's name that pushed Sebastian over the edge, because within seconds the boy was on his feet and throwing furniture around the room. It was becoming a fast tradition amongst this particular band of misfits for things to escalate decidedly quickly. Seb's body was practically vibrating with rage; and Aiden had faced this particular strain of Sebastian's anger on more than one occasion. The latter of which, he noted, wincing at the memory, had almost cost him dearly. Aiden knew what Seb was capable of in this state, and he wanted to call out to Mr. Renard; urge him to back off, less Sebastian let loose. They didn't want the classroom to become a murder scene, not with Jonas already incarcerated.

But he couldn't. Something - perhaps fear - had him frozen in place. And yet, it didn't seem like Kit needed all that much emotional support. As Sebastian unloaded accusations and threats in Kit's direction, all the substitute teacher could do was smile. It was the faintest of smiles; his lips curled ever so slightly that it might not even be noticed, were it not for the mischievous glee that twinkled in his eyes as he watched the boy explode.

Aiden couldn't decide whether Sebastian had valid points, or whether he was being paranoid. The latter was understandable, given the combined gravity of the events these last few weeks. But the conviction with which Seb spoke at least made it clear to Aiden that the boy believed what he was saying, even if nobody else did. It seemed that Sebastian was convinced Kit was a Draoi, or here to harm them at the very least. Aiden's attention was captured, as the wild boy ordered him to fry the teacher should the situation call for it. Aiden didn't respond to that at all... He didn't want to make any empty promises. Finally, the room fell silent, save for the heavy breath of Sebastian Scott, and Kit's smiled widened, becoming more pronounced.

"Now, now, children," he chimed, seeming completely carefree in his delivery, as he eyed the students that had been ordered to attack him. "That won't be necessary." he said firmly, taking a graceful step towards the makeshift barrier in defiance of Sebastian's warning. He seemed content enough in his assumption that the students would not follow through on Seb's plan, and for now he seemed to be correct. Locking eyes with Sebastian, Kit walked closer still to the barrier, gently picking up one of the tables with ease, and setting it upright. He made a display of dusting off its surface with his hand. All the while, his eye contact with Seb was unwavering.

"It's a pity you can't focus that wild imagination into a more productive outlet, Mr. Scott," he chastised, staring Seb down as he approached the boy, who for now seemed pacified in the moment. Eventually, the two were almost nose-to-nose, as the taller man looked down at Sebastian. There was a fierce energy between them, despite Kit's pleasant demeanour, as though static electricity were bouncing between their bodies. Aiden noticed that Sebastian was practically growling in his rage, whilst Kit bore an air of bemusement. And then, in a decidedly puzzling move, Kit inhaled deeply, as though he were sniffing the boy. He chuckled to himself. "Very interesting. Very interesting indeed."

He brazenly turned his back to Sebastian and returned to the front of the room, leaving the boy seething. "Unfortunately, Mr. Scott, the truth is so often far less interesting than whatever we dream up in our heads," he said, sighing as he once again slouched back in Mr. Lehrer's seat. "Alas, I am no Draoi. Though, that would be an awful lot of fun, wouldn't it? Marching around, burning down whatever took one's fancy," he paused, looking obviously at Aiden. "Though, I'm sure Mr. McKenna over there can tell us all about that." he grinned, meanly. Aiden went white.

It was at this point that Sebastian spoke up once more, though this time it was to Winter, whom he seemed to be guarding. "Does this guy look anything like the one that attacked us?" he asked her, and once again Aiden found himself the unwilling centre of attention. According to Winter, Aiden had gotten close enough to the Draoi to get the best look beneath his hood, and now the girl wanted to tinker around in his thoughts; an effort to unlock his memory of that night, he assumed. But of course, there was absolutely no way Aiden was letting anyone in his head.

Or so, that's what he thought...

@Tyler I eagerly await Aiden's post


I had something but ended up scrapping it. Will get something up when I can. It will mainly be a Kit post, I think, and will end with an opening for the two of us to collab Aiden and Winter. If that sounds good to you? I just think a collab would be best for the memory thingy.
Mwahaha I finally finished

._. sorry abt the lateness... did I earn back some points with length/detail at least?


Awesome stuff. My favourite Brynn post yet, and well worth the wait. I feel like she's really beginning to come into her own. Great job Dusk.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaa @Lord Wraith and @FantasyChic your posts were both so good I could die~

I'll post tomorrow. I have the day off work unexpectedly.


FREDERICK BLACKWELL
Tiger Works, Milk Street, Pointe Bordeaux | 11:00PM



"Hey there."

Freddie looked up from the empty glass into which he had been ruminating, and found himself before a man who looked to be around his age, if not a little older. He was dressed in the style typical of this part of town; his brown brogues were brazenly battered, and Freddie was certain that the thick-framed glasses which sat on the tip of his nose had to be non-prescription. His hair was fairly short, and yet still pulled up into a small tuft of a bun at the man's crown; a smattering of well-kept hair framing his jaw and his upper lip waxed into place. The man was decidedly 'hipster', and Freddie would have bemoaned him were his features not so attractive... Through his beer-goggles, that was. Freddie was two or three pints into one of Tiger Works' famous craft ales, having been sat in the rustic establishment (all raw brickwork and exposed beams) for the past hour and a half.

"Sorry, hey," Frederick apologised, snapping himself back to reality.

The man smiled. "No worries," he said. "You're looking awful glum. Penny for your thoughts?"

Freddie smiled meekly. "I guess I have a lot on my mind," he confessed, blushing a little. "It's a long story."

It was true. Freddie did have a lot on his mind. In fact, he'd had a lot on his mind for almost a week now, ever since he first touched down in this dreaded city. He had been absolutely certain that his self-assigned mission would be a walk in the park; that, by now, he would be basking in the glory of being Crescent City's saviour, and enjoying all those particular benefits that came with such a role. But alas, here he was, for the fourth night in a row now. Alone at a bar, drinking and thinking. And whilst the former was ordinarily a favourite leisure of his, he found the latter was decidedly good at ruining his fun.

"I like long stories," he said. "Can I buy you a drink?"

***


The man had revealed himself as Oscar; in his own words an 'events-planner-cum-photographer-cum-graphic-designer', who had moved to the city to study at Grimm University and never left. Two rounds later, the pair were still chatting; though admittedly, it seemed that Oscar's favourite point of conversation was... Well, Oscar. Freddie was silently thankful, since it allowed him to remain vague about his reasons for being here. He had a feeling that 'Oh, actually, I'm a Hyperhuman and I wanted to get rid of this storm, but I can't and it's driving me insane' was perhaps not the answer Oscar was looking for; and so it was a relief that the hipster didn't press further when being told something vague about Freddie 'having a project lined up that fell through'.

"I gotta say, that's a cute accent you got there," Oscar blurted, seemingly finding a spare breath between his life story to talk about something pertaining to Freddie. "Where's it from?"

Perhaps it was the booze, or perhaps that it was that, beneath all his insincerities and cliche, Oscar was a reasonably attractive man, but Freddie instantly perked up upon receiving the complement. The truth was, he had had very little luck in Crescent City at all; he'd chatted to people in various bars, but the people he met were different than those back home. He ordinarily found it so easy to impress Americans, but for some reason he'd found that his usual schtick just didn't wash here.

"Thanks," he replied. "It's from England. And no, I haven't met The Queen. But I have met Prince Charles, and Princess Eugene," he said. "My dad actually met Princess Di, when she was al--"

"Ugh," Oscar interrupted, seeming to recoil at Freddie's words. "I hate the Royal family. They're like, a symbol of everything that's wrong with the world. Haven't you heard of Karl Marx? He's a sociologist who said that--"

"Yeah, I know Marx, thanks," Freddie cut back, even sharper than Oscar had. For a moment, the tension between the two lingered; palpable in their locked gaze. But Oscar clearly wanted something (and truthfully, so did Freddie), and so the American seemed to skim over the tiff.

"Hey, it's getting late," he said, pretending to check the time. "You wanna move on some place else?" he asked, his eyebrow raised and words loaded with implication.

"Yeah, definitely," Freddie agreed. "I'm staying in this apartment down in South Beach. We could head back there, if you wanted. Great views of the city..." he said, trailing off as he noticed the smirk that was now plastered across Oscar's face. "...What?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"South Beach?" Oscar giggled.

"Yeah. Why?" Freddie asked.

Oscar laughed again. "I dunno, man. I guess I thought you had taste."

"Well, I mean, I know the flooding's pretty bad, but it seems like a nice area to me..." Freddie argued, not entirely sure what Oscar was hoping to gain from this particular exchange.

"Sure it is, if you like Starbucks and white people," Oscar laughed. "Plus, it's too far out. I don't know why anyone would live out in Los Paraíso when it's so... Boring... All the action's right here."

"Well, where do you live?" Freddie asked, getting irritated with the judgement being passed over him. Heck, he didn't even live in this city, but he still found himself getting defensive of his temporary South Beach pad, if only as a response to Oscar's snobbery.

Oscar smiled. "Me and a couple friends rent this awesome pad in a converted factory, just a couple blocks from here," he said, smugly. "It's super similar to here, too, got a real cool vibe to it," he gushed. "But we can't go there. The guys get weird about me bringing dudes back."

The two shared their second awkward silence of the night, as it became clear that neither of them were getting what they wanted from each other that night. Freddie looked around sheepishly, hoping to fix his gaze upon anything but Oscar's eyes.

"Well, gotta dash," Oscar broke the silence, getting to his feet and yawning obnoxiously. "It's getting real late. But it was great meeting you, Philip," he added. And with that, he was gone. Freddie sighed, slumping forward onto the bar and waving for another drink.

"Freddie," he muttered to himself. "It's Freddie."

@Tyler it may be best to carry on with Kit rather than waiting for some more responses; this bit feels very exposition-y and the sooner our erstwhile substitute moves the class along his own agenda the better. Plus, I'm sure I'm not the only one who wouldn't mind seeing a bit more of Kit Renard in action ;)


I can do that. But I don't know whether any posts have been started, and wouldn't want to waste anything that anyone might have already written. I'll hold off until tonight, and if I haven't heard from the others I'll move along.
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