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STATUS: Some of y'all are either too old to act the way you act, or too young to be taken seriously. Hard to tell some days. 2 yrs ago
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2 yrs ago
Current Some of y'all are either too old to act the way you act, or too young to be taken seriously. Hard to tell some days.
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In Camp Athens - Closed → 8 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


#d18f75 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Party

Tess was more than happy to let Roxxy’s fingers slip between hers as the two made their way back towards the party. It felt reassuring to have a grounding sensation in that moment, as her mind spiraled and swirled with new sensations and feelings that were entirely new. The idea of making more conversation with strangers that evening was a daunting prospect, but it would be for the best. This was going to be her new home until the world ended or whatever calamity she was born and raised to deal with was averted. It wasn’t all bad… at least the grounds seemed far more spacious than her compound back home.

Roxxy’s questions on resolutions and a countdown were… confusing. She didn’t realize festivities involved making a plan for the new year. Losing weight wasn’t exactly an issue, and traveling felt far too leisurely and wasteful. Tess’ words were certain as she answered honestly. ”Resolutions for a new year seem impractical. I resolve to improve my skills every day, not every year.” Her tone was flat, her eyes drifting back in the direction of the festivities. ”What are your resolutions?” She didn’t know what to expect from a countdown to the New Year, but maybe it-

A bang reverberated through the camp. Tess’ eyes immediately locked on an exploding bloom of light in the sky. It had been years since she had seen fireworks, and was almost surprised by the sight of them. She was used to them around the Fourth of July, one of the few times her and her father would head in towards the nearest city for festivities. The surprise of the explosion rather quickly gave way to a new fear and concern.

”Butch.”

Tess was swift in disentangling her fingers from Roxxy’s grip. She was gone without any other words, sounds, or explanation. She was quick, exceptionally so, and sprinted through a small sprout of trees near the edge of the clearing. Tess was always great with directions, and knew precisely which direction to go as she circled around the Arena towards her own cabin. She only slowed once she accidentally crashed up against the siding of the front of her new home, feeling a sting from the force on her shoulder. She quickly threw open the door to an awful sound she had rarely heard: the whining of her elderly dog.

Tess closed the door, and quickly stepped through her dark cabin until she saw the familiar huddled mass of Butcher. She absent-mindedly grabbed a blanket from the couch and began unfolding it. She draped it over Butcher, providing a little bit of false shelter from the loud bangs that punctuated the night air. Tess wrapped her arms around the old dog rocking him slightly and humming softly. Her attempts to soothe were met with whimpering and shaking that elicited a tear from the corner of Tess’ eye. It took about an hour to get him to calm down enough that he could sleep. Only then did Tess trudge back to her bedroom and crawl into bed to get a good night’s rest.

She prayed to her mother that there would be no more fireworks, for Butcher’s sake.

Location: Tess' Cabin
Interactions: Roxxy
Mentions:
In Power Rangers: Secret Force → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


17 - #fa82a7 - Pink Ranger - Loyal Jock - 6 ' 2 " - FC: Mason Gooding



The arena is empty except for one man
Still driving and striving as fast as he can





Placeholder color pick. I don't really have a ranger color preference, pink is just pleasing to my eyes.
In Secret Force - A Power Rangers Concept → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Might have a few ideas circling the brain. Will definitely read along regardless.
In Web's Workshop → 8 mos ago Forum: Test Forum
It'll take a lot more than Swords and Funds
A whole lot more than Mages and Muscle
The Hands of the Many must join as One
And Together we'll cross the River
An Old Wartime Hymn


Guildmaster Atticus Hergoin is dead, rousing you from varied parts of the Federation of Bastion and the neighboring Stratocracy of Araren so you may converge on the independent city-state of Summerfall. You are a member of the Slayers Guild, a faction of monster slayers that has suffered heavy casualties in the Dragon Wars. You have been summoned by the Guildmaster's secretary, Alistair Willowsweep, to either assist in the investigation of the Guildmaster's disappearance or deal with a surprising influx of supernatural activity in the area: either pays enough or carries enough glory to bring you to Summerfall. Who knows… perhaps your name might be on the short list of candidates to fill Hergoin's shoes.

Will these be your last hunts, or will you help unravel the threads of Summerfall before the city tears itself apart?

Character Creation


The steps below used to build your Slayers are meant to provide guidance and prompts for how your specific character fights monsters and deals with hostile encounters. Each choice when picking your class, lineage, and gimmick are meant to drive how your character solves problems. Your class determines where you draw your strength: from your skill with weapons, your skill with magic, or from a combination of the two. Your lineage determines your species or blood relations, and your gimmick gives characters an extra tool in their kit to deal with monsters.

However, these class features are not all-inclusive of a Slayer’s abilities. There are

Step 1: Pick your Class


Warrior: Magic is unreliable, weapons are consistent. You focus on martial prowess to fight the monsters that make trained knights cower in fear. Warriors are Strong, Swift, and Hearty… or, more accurately, each warrior is two of the three. Their physical build determines what kind of combat styles they are particularly trained in. Some combat styles are only available to a particular build. Other combat styles simply require a build that has Strong, Swift, or Hearty listed as one of its core focuses.



Mage: Magic is hard to come by, but you've mastered it enough to put it to a good cause. While hedge mages or court wizards might be able to liven up a party with tricks and glamours, you have honed your skills for the most noble cause: fighting back the darkness. Mages have a Magical Tradition that they draw their magic from, which Manifest in particular ways unique to their Tradition. Mages also have specific Spellcasting Styles that are Tradition/Manifestation agnostic: the only limit to how these spells work in a given style is your imagination as a writer.

These manifestations are not final, and additional manifestations are open for approval.



Spellblade: A Jack of All Trades is a master of none, but better than being a master of one. A Spellblade's limited mastery of both magic and martial combat is made up for by their sheer versatility.



Step 2: Pick your Lineage


This list of Lineages are a starting point. Your character may be half-dwarf and half-orc, a goblin, a werewolf, or some unmentioned amphibious species. The listed lineages are the most common in the world of Slayers, but do not represent all the people who live in the world. Suggestions are welcome, just reach out for approval.

  • Human: The most prolific lineage, humans can be found all around the world and in nearly all cultures. There is an inherent spirit of curiosity about them that has ingratiated them across cultures throughout history. Humans are incredibly interdisciplinary, often picking up a varied skillset when it comes to crafts and skills. It is unsurprising some would risk life and limb to brave the wilds of the world to hunt monsters.
  • Dwarves: Dwarves are stout folk who live up to three centuries, pride themselves on the particular craft they specialize in, and still retain the ability to see clearly in complete darkness. The Dwarves of old used to live in dormant volcanos and the valleys between them, but cataclysmic events and planar shifts sank their ancestral homes. Many modern Dwarves have taken up trades as sailors, so they can still be close to their ancestral home under the sea between Bastion and Lothwren. Though, many others take up complex trades on the mainland. Still others, however, seek to ensure no calamity befalls other's homes. These Dwarves become Slayers.
  • Gnomes: Inventors of the Arcane tradition, gnomes are small folk who typically stand
  • Orcs:
  • Giantborn: Giants are large, primally attuned sentient beings of great power. Some modern peoples are descendants of these giants, and carry with them a similar elemental attunement. Giantborn are typically named for their specific ancestor, bearing the following monikers: Flameborn (Fire), Frostborn (Ice), Stormborn (Lightning), Stoneborn (Stone). Giantborn are much larger than most other peoples, ranging from seven to eight feet tall. They live shorter lives than humans, typically only surviving into their 50s at most. Giantborn bear a resistance to the element associated with their ancestor.
  • Elverian: If not for those who still carry a fraction of Elven blood in them, most would assume Elves to be a myth in this realm. Those with the Elverian lineage often appear fairly human, save for a slighter frame and pointed ears. They live typically a century and a half, maturing at the age of 40. They have a deep connection to the natural world, with those more magically inclined studying the Primal Tradition. Elverians are often purported to suffer from wanderlust.
  • Dragonblooded: Similar to Elverians and Giantkin, Dragonblooded individuals have a draconic ancestor that presents itself differently. Some simply bear reptilian eyes, some have small patches of scales around the cheekbones or joints, others have tails or vestigial wings. Even others appear to be bipedal dragons entirely. Dragonbloods are most prominent in the Millian Territories (formerly the Draconian Empire). Many have had trouble finding favor in other nations due to their draconic heritage, but this attitude has cooled following the Dragon Wars. Whether for wealth, fame, respect, or power... a number of Dragonbloods have joined the Slayers Guild following the fall of the Draconic Dynasty.


Step 3: Pick your Gimmick


Gimmicks are a special way in which Slayers are capable of giving themselves an extra edge when hunting monsters.

  • Alchemist: You brew potions and mutagens to give you an extra edge in battle, providing varied muted magical benefits compared to true spellcasting. But, when fighting monsters, a bit of increased strength or a bit of emergency healing more than makes up for it.
  • Monstrous: You can fight monsters easier because, whether intentionally or not, you have become a monster yourself. You possess a fraction of a monster's true power and little of their weakness, but be careful not to indulge in your hunger lest you become the next contract.
  • Professional Kit: You have the exact tools in your bag to permanently destroy all sorts of monsters. Wooden stakes for vampires, Silver bolts for lycanthropes, nails and charms for spirits, dispelling salts for ghosts... any tool to put the finishing touch on keeping a monster gone.
  • Ritualist: While many Slayers focus on just hitting a monster until its dead, Ritualists opt for complexity to solving these problems. Ritualists focus on curing the disease instead of just the poison. Talented ones can reverse curses, turn monsters back into humans, or cleanse an area of disease. Performing a ritual is complex, requires significant preparation, leaves you vulnerable to threats, and requires an appropriate amount of resources. The benefit: ritualists are capable of doing what most Slayers could only dream of.
  • Relic: You possess a particularly potent, permanent magic item that is your pride and joy. This often comes in the form of a magic weapon, a magical focus, or an item of clothing that provides a particular ability. All Relics are subject to GM approval. Relics may also be purchased in game through the completion of contracts.
  • Trapper: Traditional hunters make use of traps in hunting their pray, and you are no exception. You employ various obstacles to assist in luring, harming, tracking, and ultimately disposing of various monsters.


FACTIONS:


The Slayers Guild

Once over a thousand strong, the Slayers Guild now consists of less than a hundred professional monster hunters. Slayers are nomadic by their own rules, but do have a remote keep in northern Lothwren called Castor’s Keep… or rather, they did. It was recently decimated in a coordinated assault of Rime Giants. While repairs are underway to rebuild the keep, Summerfall in Bastion has been kind enough to gift the Slayers a sizable manor outside the city walls.

The Cuith Di'aern

A loose coalition of primally attuned mages outside of the jurisdiction of the Cabal. It is the oldest known faction in Tyrenal. Their focus is to protect and fulfill the wishes of communal and personal gods in the wilds to keep balance between civilization and nature. Most villages have a resident representative of the Cuith Di'aern, while towns and cities have more. Summerfall is home to a half dozen or so trained representatives, along with a seat on the Council of Trades.

The Cabal

The Cabal are the dominant consortium governing the use of magic in Tyrenal. They have a stranglehold on the acquisition, creation, and selling of relics. The Cabal have capitalized on the training and managing of arcane and eldritch spellcasters. They bear a terrifying reputation for nefarious experiments and having connections to missing peoples around Tyrenal, which is often ignored by governments lest they lose access to the Cabal’s network of mages. It is not uncommon for members of the Cabal and Slayers Guild to come into conflict, but outright fights are rare. Most within the Cabal are Arcane or Eldritch spellcasters, though a few eccentric and powerful primal spellcasters have been among their ranks.

The Dex

Stemming from the old Draconic word for “ten,” the Dex are the premier fighting force of Araren. In times of relative peace, Dex serve as high-priced mercenaries for any warlord or king who can afford their steep sum. They often serve as personal guards or as officers in local militias and armies.

The Black Guard

A group of necromancers responsible for an attempted coup and eventual civil war in Lothwren. While most have been tried and executed, it is rumored many have since fled and dispersed through the rest of Tyrenal. Little is known of their motivations or leadership structure.

City Government

Council of Trades
The Council of Trades is an organized body of local and international guilds and companies. Merchants, blacksmiths, farmers, couriers, and even the Cabal and Cuith D’aern have representation within the Council of Trades. It is no secret that most representatives in the Council of Trades are tied to the oldest families of Summerfall or are themselves incredibly affluent, ensuring votes often favor the wealthier residents of Summerfall.
Princeps
The de facto leader of day to day operations in Summerfall, the Princeps acts as a mediator between the Court and the Council whilst also managing municipal workers and employees. They are appointed by elections from the Lord’s Court and the Council of Trades, and approved by the Confederation of Bastion. The Princeps is also considered the enforcer of Bastion and Summerfall laws, though the trying of these laws is often left to local Justiciars.
The Lord’s Court
The Lord’s Court is a vestige of days of yore, and is largely symbolic government body consisting of the five oldest families in Summerfall. Their direct power has long diminished in the form of the council, but most of the oldest families have ingrained themselves into various guilds and merchant companies to the point that the oldest family’s wishes are fulfilled by the Council of Trades. The Lord’s Court assists the governor in providing municipal workers for the city and overseeing the local library.

Outside Parties
Justiciars
The judges, juries, and sometimes executioners of the realm of Tyrenal. Justiciars are travelling legal scholars who interpret the laws and often try cases on behalf of the powers that be. While local leaders are more than capable of enforcing their laws, Justiciars are well-respected individuals often tasked with providing an unbiased ruling on peculiar cases. The imprisoned and their families will often send out letters and plead for Justiciars to come offer judgement in cases in the hopes of a fair trial, when local leaders are so easily bought and paid for.

Confederation of Bastion
The Confederation of Bastion has no direct political power or sway, and is more of a holdover of the more recent wars against the Draconian Empire. All City-States within Bastion send representatives to the “capital” of Myristrant to advocate and attempt to make deals with other regional powers.

Religion:

Gods in the Slayers world are more a superstition than fonts of divine power, as they are more akin to legends and folk stories than an organized religion you might expect. They are also as plentiful as there are stars in the sky. It is best to think of Gods as representations of the natural world, and more akin to how we view spirits. Gods typically exist in three categories: personal, communal, and cultural. Personal gods might be faint spirits attached to small relics in your home, believed to offer protection to your family. These are the most likely to be real, as purported by Spiritualist mages. Communal Gods are embodiments of local geography. They may govern a river, lake, mountain, or forest. They are rarely heard from directly, and are believed to carry out their will through less powerful spirits. Cultural Gods are long dead legends whose names carry sway. Ancient Dragons, Founders of Nations, and Gargantuan Sea Beasts would all be considered Cultural Gods. Most are believed to have been so strong and connected to magic that their souls still govern and manipulate the world long after their passing.

Listed below are examples of Cultural Gods:

  • Aeswyn, the Last Elf: An Elf from folklore believed to have spirited the Elves of yore to another plane of existence to avoid their eradication. In old Araren mythology, Aeswyn was defeated by Garrun to free Orcs from their captivity. His symbol is a staff covered in thorns.
  • Garrun, the Liberator: An Orcish folk hero who was believed to have freed his people from the captivity of Dragons, Giants, and Elves. He has a dedicated shrine in most Araren cities. His symbol is a bleeding eye.
  • Terrin Stormhawk, the First Slayer: The most recent god, Terrin Stormhawk is the historical founder of the Slayers Guild. He was a Cabal mage who took up the sword to defend against the Ghoul Plague of 773. Stories of his accomplishments and exploits are often exaggerated, but was the only individual known to be able to create Slayer Tokens.
  • Flameveil, the Dawn Titan: The primordial origin of fire, and the eldest element in existence. Some believe Flameveil is the personification of the sun, while others hail Flameveil as the ever-burning incarnation of flame created by the first people of Tyrenal.


Death

Resurrection magic is nonexistent in the world of the Slayers... save for one trick unique to Slayers. All Slayers, upon initiation into the Guild, are granted a single white metal coin of unknown origin. If a Slayer dies while a token is in their possession, one side of the coin turns black and the Slayer is revived anywhere from minutes to hours after death. If a Slayer later dies a second time, the token turns completely black. Slayer Tokens are bound to the soul of the initiated Slayer, and are perhaps the most guarded treasure in the entire realm.
In Camp Athens - Closed → 9 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


#04ed42 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Party

When was the last time Nate had made someone smile the way Tapeesa smiled? He couldn’t quite recall. It wasn’t the dazed, afterglow fueled grin that his partners would be left with when he threw on clothes and left their apartments. It wasn’t the fake, calculated smiles of the gamblers he would play with. It wasn’t even the usual amused smirk he could sometimes elicit from what few friends he had left when they spoke. Tapeesa’s felt different. He felt a strange tightness in his chest as he saw the dimples form on her cheeks. His own face seemed to mirror hers in a way, he smiled, laughed, and let himself cut fully loose.

Nate only realized how lost in dancing he had become when Tapeesa spun around to face two other men. They were charming, about his height, and dressed a little nicer than he was. There was an unreadable atmosphere about the shorter of the two, the one who had drawn Tappi’s attention. Nate almost didn’t realize that her fingers still clung to his desperately. He wanted to unhook his from hers, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. She seemed pleased to see them, her voice filled with the same cheer that brushed aside any worry that these men were bothering her. Hell, one of them had even offered his own tribute to the pile of bad dance moves. She might have just wanted to keep him close, but his odds were on a more flattering answer. His smile, which had wavered at the arrival of the other two, deepened slightly when she looked back at him.

"This is Forest. He brings better drinks than whatever’s on tap if you change your mind on the whole not drinking thing." Nate gave the taller man a nod when he was introduced, making a note of his particular skillset. He was always down to try something new… hopefully the flirty bartender wouldn’t get too sore about having some competition. When Elias looked towards Nate with raised eyebrows, the latter’s smile wavered slightly. "And who’s your new partner in crime?" Nate didn’t quite know how to answer, his hand still linked to Tapeesa’s. He wasn’t usually this nervous about introductions. He could just say his name, it would be fine.

"Oh, this is Nate."

Well, that did answer Elias’ question. Tapeesa let go of Nate’s hand, and he did not understand why that upset him a fraction. He gave a slight nod towards Elias as he was introduced, listening to the rest of Tappi’s explanation. "This is Elias, we both got un-lost together trying to find camp while hiking up the mountain."

Nate widened his smile, observing Elias’ face carefully. He reached a hand out towards him for a handshake. "Good to meet you, Elias. Just got here today myself… glad I didn’t miss the party." His eyes briefly shifted in Tapeesa’s direction for a moment before he just shook his head, offering a hand towards Forest afterwards. His brows furrowed as he thought through Elias’ introduction to the tall man. Drinks.. Baxter had mentioned something about mead, and the bottle he used had a homemade label on it. "You wouldn’t happen to be the mead guy everyone’s talking about, are ya Forest?"

Nate had become more static, while Tapeesa continued to sway next to him. Each gentle brush was a small reassurance he didn’t realize he needed. "Sooooo… What’s up?" A brilliant question from Tappi as Nate wondered the same thing. "I don’t actually think you’re here to dance considering you didn’t take me up on my offer earlier, and I’ve been out here dancing alone for at least an hour." Nate winced slightly at the statement, more out of second-hand embarrassment than anything more concrete. He knew full well how awful it felt to be left stranded on a dancefloor. "Did you scrape your elbow or something and need me to heal it?" An eyebrow raised slightly at this. She had mentioned she was a healer, but he figured she meant like a doctor or even a camp nurse. Did this guy really need her to put a band-aid on his elbow and kiss it better? Nate brushed off the thought, trying to feel the beat of the music in his core to begin swaying to it again like he was before. Of course, he was still interested to see what these two gentlemen wanted. After all, if they weren’t here to dance, they must need something.

Nate wasn’t ready to give up his dance partner so soon.

Location: Dance Floor
Interactions: Tapeesa @Mjolnir, Elias @Qia, Forest @NoriWasHere
Mentions (in his thoughts): Baxter
In Descendants → 9 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay



#cdb6d6 ....|..... ronin ....|..... unclothed .....|..... descendants tower ......................... #00674f ....|..... sentinel ....|..... unclothed .....|..... descendants tower


The evening Zaria shared with Ronnie and Jules was senseless and passionate, by the time they were finished it was late into the night and her body was more exhausted than it ever had been before. Ronnie hadn’t been joking when she’d mentioned the idea of several positions she wanted to put Zaria in, and she was fairly certain the only thing stopping her from continuing was the fact that by her tenth peak she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She’d half curled in on herself, eyes drooping as the lack of sleep of several days caught up to her all at once.

She wouldn’t have changed her decision to allow the women into her room, though. It had been exactly what she needed to distract herself from the fight from the day before, from the fact that Logan hadn’t been here waiting for her. Zaria knew it wasn’t the kind of thing that would last, it had been senseless in every way conceivable, but knowing that didn’t stop her from catching a hold of Jules wrist and Ronnie's ankle when they both respectively went to remove themselves from the warmth of her bed.

"Stay?" The single word was horribly soft and shy, considering everything they’d just done together, but it was vulnerable in a way even sex wasn’t. Her eyes slipped shut, because she didn’t want to have to watch them pull away. "Just for tonight." The room was dark, and cool, and her bed was as soft as a cloud and pleasantly warm. It was big enough for all three of them, more than comfortable enough, and she found herself giving them both a small, desperate sort of tug closer to herself.

Jules was frozen stiff by the movement, her eyes shifting over Zaria’s form as her legs were slung over the side of the bed. There was clear confusion on her face, her eyes searching the woman’s expression for sincerity that was plainly visible. While the three of them had gotten rather acquainted, she wasn’t expecting intimacy of all things from the situation. Jules shot a quick look over towards Ronnie, eyebrows raised. She didn’t wait for an answer from the other woman, though. Jules turned her gaze back to Zaria, placing her free hand on her wrist to free herself. "Ok… it’s the least I can do." Jules slipped under the sheets, her hands gently rolling Zaria onto her side so she could press herself up against the woman’s back. She draped a leg over hers, locking her into a comfortable position.

Ronnie was half draped over the edge of the bed, hand sifting through the pile of clothing and blankets to find her undergarments when a delicate grasp seized her ankle. She rolled onto her back and propped herself up on her elbows to look over at Aria and Jules. Casual sex for her was nothing uncommon or out of the ordinary, but she never stayed the night. The last time she recalled actually sleeping with someone was… Her gaze averted to the wrinkle in the blankets draped over Aria’s legs. She met Jules’s gaze and while she showed no hesitation, there was a tightness that twisted in Ronnie’s chest. Her eyes drifted toward the exit and then the women before her who slipped effortlessly together like puzzle pieces. One night wasn’t going to change anything…

There was a part of Ronnie that wanted to slip free of Aria’s hold and leave before getting too familiar. But a guilty part of her wanted to remember what it felt like… Just once more. A reluctant sigh escaped her lips before she turned around in the bed and nestled herself opposite Jules on the other side of Aria. She didn’t really know what she was doing, not anymore. Did she face the woman? Make herself the little spoon? The subtle panic was making her overthink everything when she was usually calm and collected. She had taken too long. The heavy breaths of sleep were already filling the silence. Ronnie sighed, then slowly lowered herself to lie with her back to the women near the edge of the bed.

Zaria let out a soft sigh, the bed dipping beneath Ronnie enough to bring her back from the edges of sleep, and her arm slid out reflexively until it curled around the woman's waist, giving her a surprisingly strong tug until she slipped into the space between her arms perfectly. A small, sort of happy noise escaped her throat as she pressed her face into blonde hair, dropping off to unconsciousness while holding Ronnie like she was an oversized teddy bear. Her sleep was surprisingly peaceful, only vague dreams of killer cowboys making her restless a few times through the night, but each time she roused from one of the dreams she’d wake to the weight of Jules leg thrown over her own, to the warmth of Ronnie against her chest, and she’d drop back off easily enough.

It was when the first few rays of sunlight began to break over the horizon that she felt the shift on the bed, coldness spreading across her chest as one of the women slipped from the bed and out of the room. Zaria reached out blindly, searching for where Ronnie had rolled away to, but Jules arm was curled around her waist and it kept her in place like an iron bar.

Zaria’s movements stirred Jules, who was awoken to the soft smell of rain and cashmere. Her naked form clung on tightly to Zaria, her hands gently caressing soft skin. It took her a moment to come to her senses, her bleary eyes blinking away a rather relaxing night of sleep. She looked up past the woman before her, noticing the other blonde had slipped away. Jules just scooted even closer, craning her head up to rest in the crook of her companion’s shoulder. Her voice was low and a bit deeper, her throat a little hoarse from their nightly activities. Her tone was a little playful. "How did you sleep, sweetheart?"

She shivered as calloused hands, now familiar against her skin, slid across the smooth expanse of her side. She twisted so that she was pressing against the other woman, her own arms twisting around her waist as she relaxed in the embrace. It was surprisingly intimate, even the question felt a little out of place with how she recalled Jules had hesitated last night, but no one would catch Zaira complaining about being on the receiving end of any form of affection. "I dreamed about cowboys trying to kill me." She admitted, ghosting the tips of her fingers along Jules' side slowly. A slight smile tugged her lips upwards, but it was an earnest admission, Jules could feel how her pulse jumped at the mention of it. "How about you, beautiful?" Her lashes brushed along the ridge of her cheeks as she subtly observed the other woman's expression.

Jules froze at the compliment, but a weak smile had remained plastered on her face in a poor attempt to hide how one word had startled her. Jules shifted her arm up to brush a couple strands of golden hair from Zaria's face, trying to think through her words. She opted for honesty. "Sweaty and warm." She looked into Zaria's eyes, searching her expression as she tried to read her. She opted to cushion her confession with a bit of humor. "Dreaming about men while in bed with us… that's very rude of you, Aria."

Color filled Zaria’s cheeks, and she let out a small, startled laugh. She was rather warm too, it had been surprisingly comfortable though. She shifted one of her arms, hand gliding along Jules arm until her fingers very gently curled around her wrist. She guided the woman's hand across her stomach, muscles jumping some at the contact despite the fact that she was initiating it, until Jules could feel the raised and twisted patch of healing skin on her side. Sleeping had helped with her healing factor, it was no longer twisted and thrumming angrily, simply a pink mass of healing tissue that only tingled as her fingers grazed it.

"I would have rather been dreaming about you," she admitted, knowing the other woman had spotted the injury the night before and could tell that it had changed drastically in just a few short hours. "Getting stabbed in a truck stop isn’t going in my fondest memories folder, last night though…" Zaria’s smile twisted in a grimace for a moment as she tried to not think about how the weight of the man had nearly suffocated her, how the knife had felt twisting inside of her. She needed to check on James, maybe thank him again.

Jules gently rubbed where the wound had once been, quickly putting the puzzle pieces together. She knew a thing or two about healing quicker than most, but it definitely did not make the pain any easier. "You get used to it… getting stabbed, shot, burned." Jules made a note to pull her head back, admiring Zaria’s form for a moment. "At least you don’t have to worry about scars at the pool." She let out a small exhale that bore the faintest trace of a laugh.

Her smile faded a little, eyes unfocused as she seemed to look past the woman next to her. Jules unhooked her leg from Zaria and folded her arm in front of her. "Last night was nice." Her words were less than confident. "Maybe we can do it again sometime."

Zaira paused for a moment, not understanding why Jules pulled away so suddenly. She wasn’t easily dissuaded though, and she followed the other woman like a cat that was hungry for attention. She rolled easily onto Jules, arms barketing the other woman's body against the bed on either side of her. Their bodies slid together, the silk sheets twisting around them, but she slotted herself between Jules legs and pressed her lips to the woman's cheek.

"Promise?" It was little more than a whisper, just as vulnerable as when she’d asked the women to stay the night before, but there was nothing but honest hope in her tone. She’d been on the run for so long, for a while it had just been her and Logan and the older man had been like a reluctant father figure to her. This was the first time in quite a long time that she allowed herself to be this close to someone else, and it was the most selfish parts of Zaria that wanted to cling to it.

Jules stared up at Zaria, a wash of emotions passing through her eyes: bashfulness, excitement, happiness, and then finally sorrow. The sadness on her face lingered as she reached her hands up to cradle the woman’s cheeks, holding her gaze. "You trust far too easily, darling." Her tone was soft and nurturing, more a lesson or instruction than chastisement. "I wouldn't mind more of this… and you are much cozier to hold at night than a pillow."

Zaria’s brows furrowed, though she instinctively leaned into Jules' touch. She didn’t understand why the other woman looked so sad for a moment, but the urge to soothe away that sadness rose up in her unbidden and abrupt. They’d only known each other for a few short hours, but Aria was the sort of person to get attached and hold on with all her strength, she’d been too alone for too long not to learn to value the people she could be close to. "Should I not trust you?" Her lips curled up into a small smile, the idea amusing. They were all on the same team, fighting for the same thing, and she had no reason not to trust any of them. They were all fighting for the same thing now, even if this was little more than a one night stand it didn’t change the fact that they were teammates now, comrades in arms. Zaria wasn’t alone anymore, and that realization clouded out more important things like logic.

The sadness remained for a moment as Jules just shook her head. "It's your decision on who to trust… all I will say is that I want you to."

Memento Mori. It was her father’s favorite phrase. It was a rallying call for acting cautiously, for remembering that any moment could be your last if you let your guard down. Unfortunately, Jules had picked up on what the phrase was really used for in the years since her training: remember that you will die one day so that you can live today without regret. Jules’ smile grew a little as she noted just how desperate the woman was for a bit more affection. She slid her hands from Zaria’s cheeks to her jaw, and then the back of her neck to pull the woman’s face close to hers. "I can’t promise you’ll get both of us again. I can’t speak for Ronnie." Jules looked up through her lashes at Zaria, batting them slightly. "But you can invite me any time you get lonely."

"I’m surprised I even got this far," she admitted, lips brushing over Jules, blushing as she recounted the night's events. "I’m not going to complain about anything else, I’m lucky enough to have you right here." And then, because she was trying her luck, Zaria kissed her.

Jules accepted the kiss, keeping it short and sweet for the moment. She let their lips interlock, sliding her hands up to hold Zaria's face still when she broke the kiss off. Her eyes searched Zaria's. "You don't have to sweet talk me. I was already planning on having a little more fun before I made some coffee."

Zaria’s gaze was soft and warm, and Jules could see the exact second she decided to throw caution to the wind and simply trust the other woman. It was naive of her, they both knew it, and she had a funny feeling that if it were anyone else she’d stop to think about it more, to analyze their interactions before she gave her a more tangible piece of herself. But, Zaria was tired. She’d been lonely, and sad, and just scrapped by day by day to try and find Logan. She missed her home, she missed her brother, and she missed having someone she could put her trust in. The fact that Jules acknowledged she trusted too quickly likely played a part in it all, because if she was planning anything that would break her trust she wouldn’t be so blatant about it, and besides…she’d trusted James rather quickly too, and he was literally half demon or whatever.

"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them." Zaira grinned at Jules, biting her bottom lip. She’d heard the quote somewhere before, but it was true enough. Though, they could stick a pin in the whole trust topic if they were about to extend the night's fun. "Sweet talking you is fun, but maybe you should show me exactly what sort of fun you were thinking about."



interactions ....|.... ronnie ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani
In Camp Athens - Closed → 9 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


#d18f75 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Party


Tess ached.

She was toned, and she spent nearly every day of her life running and training to get into the best shape she could for the end of days. And yet, as she took in a few heavy breaths while lying sprawled out on the couch next to Roxxy. There were muscles in her back and core that she did not recall ever using before. Though, a long day of travel had also worn her out. Her calves strained, demanding proper rest. It took what little willpower and clarity Tess had to not fall back asleep… though the rush of endorphins and adrenaline certainly played their own part as well.

Of course, then there was the feeling in her chest.

She felt weightless in a way that drew some concern. She had not been aware there was a weight dragging her down in the first place. The warmth of the person next to her was the only thing keeping Tess tethered to the room they laid. And for once, the thoughts of cataclysm and destruction had receded into a far corner of his mind, a distant memory of something unimportant. To think, this is what she had been missing all this time. Years in a cabin deep in the wilderness had left her so isolated and alone and this is what connection felt like?

"Should we head back to the party?"

Tess shifted in her spot, turning her body to face Roxxy. Golden hair seemed to frame her beautiful face. Her question was sincere, probing. Deep down, Tess didn’t want to leave. She wanted to wrap Roxxy in her arms, pull her close, and drift off into a deep slumber she hadn’t had in years. At the same time… there was a deep discomfort in her gut as Tess felt utterly bare before the woman. She was certainly nude, but more than that was a vulnerability she was entirely unfamiliar with. She had shown her entire form to a complete stranger, scars and all. Despite this, all Tess could think of was how unprepared she was to be attacked. She had felt the tight muscles under Roxxy’s warm skin. She knew how easily the woman could hold her down. While it had been exhilarating moments before, there was a new dread that arose from her deep-seeded paranoia.

What if this was a trap? What if this was a ruse? What if…

Tess shook her head slightly, more to brush off the thoughts. If this was a trap, there were very opportune moments to be struck while in the throes of passion. If this was a trap, Roxxy wouldn’t be asking to go back to the party. Tess’ thoughts drifted to their conversation, towards the woman’s desire to meet people like her. It would be selfish to hold her here. And maybe, just maybe, not everyone was out to get her. Worst case, if they were, Tess might get to see Roxxy fight. Or better yet, get to fight side by side with her.

Tess reached out a hand, placing it onto Roxxy’s side to give a gentle squeeze. ”We should… make more introductions… meet more like us. I’m… I’ll be ok. That was… I didn’t know that… You felt so…” Tess seemed unable to form a coherent sentence. This was the best she had ever felt. All of this felt right. She wanted to see her again. She wanted to do this again, and more, or even just to hold her close and feel her soothing presence. She wanted to know what Roxxy liked, what she hated, how she fights, what she fights for, and a million other small things. Putting any of it to words was a hard task when Tess’ breath was catching in her throat.

But… they had a party to get back to. Tess slowly pulled herself to her feet, fumbling for her discarded clothes. She hadn’t the faintest idea of what happened to her bra, giving up on the search in favor of quickly shimmying into her underwear and pants. She slipped on her shirt, shivering slightly at the sensation of feeling the fabric over her warm chest as she began to work the buttons. All the while, a nagging sensation burned in her. She was forgetting something. In all the questions and the flirting, had she…?

”I… forgot to say… My name is Tess. Theresa Arlest.”

Location: Roxxy's Cabin
Interactions: Roxxy @PatientBean
Mentions:
In Descendants → 10 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


#00aeef ....|..... outfit .....|..... Descendant's Tower

Magni's eyes axanned those gathered, making a clear note of names and abilities. Most he was able to recognize and parse by their parentage or association. Daredevil was a hero in Asgard as well as Earth, and he had heard many a tale of his father's arachnid ally from Midgard. Of course, his mind also shifted again to Imogen's alrernate ability... one that impressed him even further. She was more than a mind reader, she was also a warrior. Of course, he was also pleased to be among old friends again.

"Think I’ll get a drink… and go for a swim."

Magni's ears perked up at her suggestion, for he was not one to ignore revelry. She sauntered off, and he turned back towards his old friends. He shifted his gaze between Tobias and Luke. He settled on the sturdier of the two first. Magni charged forward with a few bounding steps and scooped Luke up in his arms with a tight hug, squeezing with more force than he would any normal mortal. He let loose a thunderous laugh before saying, "Lucian! 'Tis good to see thee again." He set the man back down quickly, and turned his gaze towards Tobias. He bellowed, "Tobias! Great portents are these, to find friends in times of despair... I had hoped to find the both of thee. Please... thou must accompany me to partake in libations and to wade in friendly waters." His invitation was warm and sincere, as his words often were. "Settle thyselves first, but do not tarry."

He left them to check out their rooms at their leisure, but he had no need for that. He had not brought anything with him that he needed to stow, and he needed not to change. He desired another drink and some fine company. He had marked Imogen's instructions: first a right, then a... hmm, no, that was not it. Left then right? That seemed to do the trick, for Magni knew the bar well. Its magic was legendary. "Ghost of the bar... I demand a pitcher of thy finest beer!" He approached the nearest spot at the bar, and watched in anticipation. The countertop split apart, and on a pedestal worthy of a god rose his beverage. He lifted the pitcher with ease, and proceeded to continue parsing his way through the labyrinth to find his way towards the outdoors.

It took him longer than he would have liked to find the pool. He opened the doors to the patio with a single, restrained shove. As he did, his eyes had immediately captured the beautiful siren he had been chasing. She was resting at the edge of the pool, partaking in her drink whilst gazing at the sea. Magni approached slowly, noticing she had disrobed partially near a set of lounge chairs. He set the pitcher down, admiring the view for a moment before he spoke, "Thou should see the glistening coast of Alfheim. The waters reflect a prismatic hue that mesmerizes any soul who dares to gaze upon its beauty." His tone was wistful, his eyes seeming to stare at something beyond the horizon. His mind drifted to a a particular castle, and then a chamber in its halls. He cut the memory there, wishing not to dwell on such things.

Midgard looked just as breathtaking.

He removed his shirt with some effort and struggle, the sound of tearing fibers making clear that some of the stitching had ripped. He tossed the shirt onto a nearby chair, and quickly began unbuttoning his jeans. He kicked off his boots and slid them down, revealing a set of black tights that left very little to the imagination. He did not look to see if she was watching, but his thoughts made clear that he hoped she was. He plucked his pitcher of beer from its place, and stepped up to the edge of the pool where Imogen rested. "May I join thee?" He sipped from the pitcher directly, gulping down a couple mouthfuls before pulling it away for a breath of air. His thoughts were of their conversation before the meeting, and also burned with curiosity on what other skills and talents this woman had at her disposal.

Location: Descendant's Tower - Pool
Interactions: Imogen Frost, Lucian Rogers, Tobias Lensherrer
Mentions: Myla, Theo
In Descendants → 10 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


#CDB6D6 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Descendant's Tower


"Where are you flying in from?"

"Frankfurt. Germany. "

"What is your occupation?"

"Security."

This elicited a raised eyebrow from the middle aged worker, who looked over the young woman with an analytical gaze. Jules' pantsuit did little to explain her claimed profession. "Right... Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"I'm afraid that is classified."

A confused expression replaced the bored tone of the customs agent. Jules noted the woman's change in body language, and the shift of her hand towards the bottom of her desk. "Do you have anything to declare?"

Jules lifted a small card, with a clear three letter logo emblazoned on it. "Yes, I do. But I would appreciate some... discretion."

The customs agent gave a curt nod, stamping the passport before producing a paper from under her desk. She folded it, slid it into the folds of the passport, and nodded again. "Stay safe out there, ma'am."
The taxi dropped her off at a run-down apartment building in West Harlem with her heavy plastic suitcase. She unhooked the metal gate, letting it swing open with a clang. The brick post it was connected to had seen better days. Jules ran her hand along the back of it, feeling for the singular loose brick. It took some wiggling to pull it out. On the other end was a small glass pannel, coated in dust. She wiped it off with a small cloth in her pocket, and set her thumb on the scanner. It glew green, and the end of the brick clicked open. She dumped the contents into her palm: a ring of keys, the key fob to a car, and a faded slip of paper with two addresses and a 4-digit code. Jules closed up the brick, slid it back into place, and approached the front door.

Old dogs never do learn new tricks.

The apartment was just as cramped as she remembered. It was a criminally small 2-bedroom. The kitchen was clean, a habit her father had developed and insisted on: an infestation always brought questions and unneeded attention. She flicked the light switch, sighing as the apartment remained dark. No electricity, certainly no water. This was a glorified storage unit at this point, and not the one she needed. Jules stopped in front of a small corkboard on the wall. Tickets and polaroid pictures filled it, each with little brightly colored pins securing them in place. Jules reached up and quickly tore down each picture of her and her father, stuffing them into her pockets. There was no use leaving memories behind, neither of them would be back here again for some time. Jules pulled out the small scrap of paper from the cache outside, glancing at the first address again. She smiled. It was within walking distance.
With a satisfying click, the old padlock was opened. Moments later, the familiar rolling screech of the storage unit's door filled the air. Jules looked to her left and right, ensuring no one else was around. She stepped inside, pulling on an old cord hooked up to a solitary bulb. It hummed to life, a soft yellow glow illuminating the space. Bolted to the walls were racks upon racks of firearms. Plastic work cases with foam linings were set up on old wooden crates with german and russian script stamped on the sides. Jules rolled the door to the storage room down behind her, and slowly rolled up the sleeves of her shirt.

She had a lot of packing to do.
"Huh."

A black SUV had pulled off the road about half a mile from the tower proper. Sitting with her legs crossed on the roof, Jules lowered her binoculars and clicked her tongue. She was well aware that she was being watched, the camera placements and sensors dotting the landscape were not subtle. But it never hurt to be too cautious. The light crashing of waves against the nearby shore were comforting, in their own way. Every breath tasted faintly of salt.

Her heart was unsettled by what she had seen. To call the individuals assembling a crew of amateurs would be an overestimation. With a shattered front door, Jules had plenty of time to set up for a few fatal shots. She doubted a bullet would be particularly effective against the oaf, but the odd couple would be cold before those gathered could scramble for a counter-attack. That wasn't to mention the absolute trainwreck that was the awkward couple and their fight with someone inside. The girl at least had the sense to stow a weapon outside, until she recalled it to her hands. It was a neat trick, but hardly effective from this angle.

Jules couldn't hear what had exactly transpired, but it was becoming abundantly clear that there was trouble in paradise. This wasn't the ambush she had partially expected, but it definitely wasn't the gathering of trained professionals to solve the hero problem. She imagined this was like one of those teenage dramas she was never really allowed to watch... or, more accurately, never had an interest in. She had wasted the money on the flight, cashed in favors to get off the grid for a few weeks, and now she was stuck here. Jules bent down, picking up the radioactive-colored slushie she had picked up on the drive up and taking a sip. Her eyes shifted to the horizons, monitoring the area for any other interlopers. It seemed safe enough. Some of those inside seemed competent enough, and Jules did not want to make the drive to New York. Jules slid off the roof of the car, her flats providing little cushion as she landed on her feet. She got back into the SUV, put it back in drive, and closed the distance to the old academy building.

She pulled off to the side, the tinted windows obscuring the stacked cases in the back with all her gear. For personal comfort, Jules retrieved a Beretta from the glove box and slid it into a shoulder holster beneath her suit jacket. She took a deep breath, centering herself before popping open the driver's side door. She confidently sauntered up through the busted door, a friendly smile plastered on her lips. Her voice rang with a nonchalant cheer that was out of place in the tense atmosphere, but her careful stare made it clear that she was just as on edge as the others. "Hope I didn't miss all the fun." Levity was always a good opener, in her experience. It beat brooding in the corner, even if that would be much preferred. Her eyes flitted over towards a small machine in the side of the room. She began striding towards it before she even asked the question. "Mind if I grab a cup?"

She slotted a cup under the machine after changing out the pods. She tapped her toes as she waited for the coffee, facing the entrance as her eyes scanned the horizon for the familiar twinkle of any kind of lens in the sunlight. To her relief, she saw nothing. But she stood near the table, just to have a place to get cover if things did go to hell.

Location: Descendant's Tower - Lobby
Interactions: none, open, vague
Mentions: The folks in the lobby
In Descendants → 10 mos ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay


#ed1c24 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Descendant's Tower


"Anthony James Stark."

Imogen used his full name. It was never a good sign. Hell, Jim knew, in some small way, that he had fucked up before the storm rolled in. He had picked up the habit young. When he was six, he had ended up getting socked for mocking a classmate who believed in Santa. Pepper had tried to scold Jim, but Tony found the situation hilarious. As he got older, it kept happening. If Jim knew something, he had to share it. And as more and more people resented him for it, a part of him resented them too. People wanted to live in ignorance. They didn't want reality, they wanted their bubble. They wanted to hide behind privacy, anonymity, feelings, beliefs, anything other than come to terms with the reality of the world they lived in. He never quite got around to realizing that he, too, lived in a bubble. A bubble composed of jaded privilege and a need to prove he was the smartest person around. To the world's benefit, Jim had largely pushed everyone away already.

Jim had zoned out when Myla clapped back. He stared blankly at the floor, his brows knit furrowed. June had backed away from him, Imogen was in damage control, strangers had entered, Myla was storming off... and he somehow still couldn't comprehend why. Did they think their flimsy identities would remain a secret? That the same masterminds who kidnapped their family, stripped bare their identities, would suddenly develop amnesia? That so long as Myla kept her name a secret she could just walk away and everything would be fine? It was idiotic. It was like his father, still deciding to wear that damn suit after everyone went missing. Even a genius like him still lived with this stupid illusion that he was invincible as long as he wore his armor. It's no surprise he went missing. He deser-

Pain. Jim's empty hand was clenched in a fist at his side, a shot of pain rocketing up his nerves as fingernails dug into his palm. He didn't bother looking down at it. A small beeping emitted from his ear, warning him of his elevated heart rate and high blood pressure. He could faintly hear the usual cold, collected voice in his ear giving him yet another warning that he blocked out. He knew the breathing exercises to balance his system, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He deserved the distress, the spiral, that much was clear.

June's voice, as always, cut through his mental static. "Having a secret identity isn’t just about anonymity, Jim. It’s about keeping the people you love safe from the people who would use our identities to hurt them." A reasonable point, surely... but they were beyond that point now. Their loved ones were already in danger, what use was an identity now? If he could piece together the dots, so could the enemy.

"Will you be sharing my secret identity with everyone too? Would you take away something as intimately personal, something I’d only give in trust, from me, too? We’ve all only just met each other, you didn’t even give them a chance. This is our only hope, why are you trying to—" Sabotage it. Push everyone away. He could fill in the blanks, even if June wouldn't finish the thought. Her questions lingered in the air as she left him with his suit. Would he? Her hypothetical was flawed: she had revealed her identity to anyone who was paying attention in this lobby. Myla did too, and Theo. Walking around without a mask in the information age-

That wasn't the point. Would he reveal her identity, just to prove he knew it? No. Which then begged the question of why he wouldn't. Or would he, if she had annoyed him? Still no. But why? She was a friend, they had mutual respect. It was unlikely that would remain, for how could it after this stunt? Jim had reached out, this was their plan, their hope and lifeline to finding their families, and he couldn't shut the fuck up for 10 minutes? They didn't even-

Jim's mind halted abruptly. They didn't know. The distress signal had no instructions, no clarifications. A location, a time. That was all they could give away in hopes of avoiding detection. He wouldn't have trusted the message, who would? So it would stand to reason, then, that these people had every expectation they were meeting enemies instead of allies, to some extent.

Jim felt a hand touch his shoulder, rousing him from his reflection. He looked up to see Coulson standing before him, his annoyed expression registering even to Jim. "Let's take a walk." It wasn't a question or suggestion, but a demand. One that Jim knew he could not refuse. The two men began heading out of the lobby and down the hall a short distance. Phil's hand remained firmly held on Jim's shoulder to guide him, and a tight squeeze signaled their pause just out of the eyesight of everyone else in the lobby. Phil somehow looked just as tired as Jim was, and his voice matched the exhaustion. "What the hell was that?"

"I was running a background check on-"

"No, that was humiliation." Jim winced, Phil's tone was sharper than he had ever heard it before. "Why even go through all this if you're just going to piss off everyone you need for this mission?"

"I wasn't trying to-"

"Bullshit. That wasn't about safety, you wanted a fight. Why?"

"I... I don't know what-"

"Anthony."

Jim paused, his lip quivering slightly. Tears began to well up in his eyes, the overwhelming surge of emotions finally breaking through. But he did not sob, he just let a few tears fall as he closed his eyes. "They're all so... stupid, Phil. Bruce, Tony... all of them." Phil watched silently, his hand still firmly squeezing Jim's shoulder. "They knew people were going missing. Heroes. And they just couldn't stop and think for one minute that maybe... just maybe..."

Phil's tone and expression softened. "They knew, Jim, but they weren't going to sit back and let people suffer and die just to save themselves. It's the job."

Jim was silent for a moment, taking in Phil’s words. Of course, he was right. It was hard to admit, from a former SHIELD agent who took on adult babysitting as his retirement plan. It was the job that everyone has signed up for. Everyone but him. Jim didn’t want to be a hero. He loathed the thought of it. He was here as an advisor, a strategist… he wasn’t like June, the Asgardian, or even Myla. They were out doing the work. And now, they were all here. A single question creeped into Jim’s throat. "Are we doing the right thing? Bringing them all here, in one place?"

Phil paused for only a moment, churning the question over in his head. "Your father went missing because he was working alone. He didn't have someone watching his back. They have a better chance if you can stop pushing them away and start watching their six."

Jim nodded weakly, lifting a sleeve to wipe away the tears. "You're not bad at this, Phil."

Phil gave a short, dry laugh. "Well, you're not the first Stark I've dealt with. You might not want to hear it, but you and your dad aren't so different. The main difference is... he knew how to make it up to people when he royally pissed them off." He lifted his left hand and slid back the sleeve revealing a rather expensive watch. It bore a Stark logo on the clock face, a custom job from Tony himself. He took a deep breath, while Jim stared at the watch. "Now, why don't you take 5. You can join us when you pull yourself together." Phil patted Jim's shoulder, and turned to leave him to his thoughts.

Jim pressed his back against the wall, and slid down into a sitting position. He tucked his knees under his chin wrapping his arms around them as he stared at the opposite wall. The large logo for the Descendants Academy was hard to miss, and Jim felt his vision scan over it. He had never formally attended, his only times in this tower spawning from brief visits with his father. And even then, those days were mostly spent up in his penthouse designing gadgets based on random requests.

A small flash of recognition crossed Jim's face. He slid his hand into his pants pocket, and produced a small flat circular device. He tossed it onto the ground in front of him, the impact sparking it to life. A large holographic projection hung in the air in front of him of the Stark Enterprises logo. The display faded into a neatly organized desktop display that encompassed Jim's field of vision. His voice was quiet, but his tone had evened out. "H.E.L.E.N., start up a new project catalogue."

"Establishing an encrypted database. What is the catalogue classification?"

"Special Projects, child directory of Legacy Protocol."

"Confirmed. What is the category code?"

"Mark it as Category D. Import B-009 and B-011."

"Confirmed. D-001 and D-002 established."

"Create new file from template B-007."

"Processing. What is the desired codename?"

"Devilspawn." Even in his emotional state, Jim still had time for his little jokes. A 3D display of a cowl appeared, with a full teardown. Jim stared at it for a moment, swiping his hands in the air. The image changed into a teardown, with layers of materials and electronics spinning in place. Jim tore away a number of the internal sensors, altered a few protrusions on the helmet, and nodded. He would work on it more later, now that he had the basics.

"Send it to my lab." Jim watched as the holographic display began to fizzle, and he picked up the puck from the ground. He slid it back into his pocket, and stood up. His quick pace brought him back into the lobby, moving towards an isolated chair in the corner farthest from the entrance. Catching a glimpse of the reception desk, a new thought emerged. He tapped his earpiece. "Let's also go ahead and set up an onboarding package, while we’re at it."

Location: Descendant's Tower - Lobby
Interactions: Myla, June, Imogen, Phil Coulson
Mentions: Magni, new arrivals
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