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The school counselor had managed to persuade Rayne's aunt to drive her to Istorncane, which wasn't a surprise seeing as how her aunt seemed all too ready to get rid of her niece. When their car pulled up to the gray, gloomy building, Rayne grabbed her green suitcase full of black clothes, art supplies, and a picture of her deceased mother, and stepped out of the car. Her aunt hadn't said a word to her the whole trip, and she didn't even mutter a "goodbye" now. Although Rayne was used her her aunt's continual hostility, Rayne felt a little worse knowing that her aunt was getting so much joy out of seeing her leave.

Rayne heard her aunt drive off with a roar of the engine, and dragged her luggage up the steps and into the foyer. She flinched at how brightly colored it was. The building was so dark and foreboding on the outside, but the interior made her want to vomit. She set her suitcase down on a multi-colored rug and began unconsciously picking at the scabs on her arms, making them bleed once again. She noticed a scrawny girl with choppy brown hair standing in front of her, also looking around. Rayne was nervous and still wasn't sure if she wanted to be here or not. Her counselor, Mrs. Dean, had made it sound like such an inviting place that would help her cope with her problems. Rayne had agreed to go only because she got away from her abusive aunt. She would have felt happy about leaving that vile woman, but she had forgotten what "happy" even felt like.

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"Singing is like the celebration of oxygen." --Bjork

Russel walked up to the front gate of the asylum, he was turning to look back at his legal guardian when screeching erupted from her car's wheels. "Ugh... great... what do we do now?" he said, then he immediately responded, "We go inside, nimrod..." he went on this rant until a guard helped gather his things and led him inside...

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Give me suffering, pain, anguish, sorrow, and death! For I shall make it my driving force, and from beyond the grave I shall paint the sky red...

Name: Judas Nett

Age: 18

Appearance: Judas is 5'9", and starvation-thin, with black hair and dark brown eyes.

Personality:
Normal: He is well-spoken, diplomatic, enjoys tutoring other students. He is a good student, to the point of being obsessive-compulsive. He is not known for being self-conscious, and likes to laugh at himself when he makes a mistake. He is distant with his father and the rest of his family, but never unfriendly.
Current changes: He is extremely quiet, speaking only when asked a direct question. He strongly dislikes being touched or looked at, and will do almost anything to avoid it.

Background: At age 9, Judas witnessed his father kill his mother (father was later found not guilty by reason of self-defense - mother had a history of paranoid delusions, the latest centering on Judas's name, and violent behavior). For three months, he refused to speak, and had panic attacks whenever his father was in the vicinity. He was treated at an in-patient facility, and eventually was able to return to school, though he started out a year behind students his age. He thrived in school and was well-liked by his classmates. He graduated high school at age 17, and attended a local college. Once there, he began to visit the counseling office frequently and reportedly had trouble adjusting to being around people his own age. After witnessing a fight at party in which one boy was injured, he stopped going to classes and refused to leave his dorm room. A recent suicide attempt (not serious enough for hospitilization) brought him here.

Medical Diagnoses: Post-traumatic stress disorder, depression.

Sponsor/Referrer: Dr. Ian Black, head of the psychology department at Judas's college.

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Judas stared uncertainly at the building the taxi had stopped in front of until the cabbie turned around in his seat. "We're here," he said, glaring at the sign above the doors distastefully. "You getting out?"

For a moment, Judas considered going back on the promise he had made to his father to come here. He was fine, after all. He checked his wallet, and counted the bills inside. Damn. His father was smarter than Judas gave him credit for. The money he'd given Judas was only enough for the fare, down the the dollar, and no tip. He couldn't ask to go somewhere else even if he wanted to. He cleared his throat and put his wallet back into his pocket. "Yes," he said finally.

The cabbie nodded, swung his legs and his gut out of the taxi and went to open the trunk. Judas forced himself to get out of the car. "I've never been up here before," he heard the cabbie say as he hefted a suitcase out of the trunk. "I knew a guy who did, though - some doctor person. This a hospital?"

Judas took the handle of the suitcase. "Sort of," he murmured. He gave the cabbie his fare and ignored the scowl he got when the man realized he wasn't getting a tip or a tidbit of gossip to share with the next fare. As the taxi pulled away, Judas stared at the closed doors, fidgeting with the end of his long-sleeved shirt. Even with the t-shirt underneath, he was still cold. He didn't think it was actually cold out there, but he always felt cold these days.

After a moment, the door swung open, and a man leaned out. He dressed in polyester pants and a jacket that said "Security". A guard, Judas thought, and took a step back. What do they need guards for? No one would even bother to break in if they knew what it was. He laughed weakly to himself, then wondered why and lost his smile.

"Do you want to come in?" the guard said, nodding his head toward...whatever there was inside the doors.

The next frontier. Judas almost smiled again, but caught himself. He realized that the guard had asked him a question. "Uh...not really," he said.

He saw the guard's mouth twitch and thought the man was holding back a smile. Judas wished he'd actually smiled. Still, when the guard beckoned him again, he let himself be ushered inside.

Russel sat down inside his own room, judging by the size and build it would have been meant for two people, and only his stuff was inside. "Hm... this won't be too bad... so long as more don't come... shut up you little incorporeal bastard... Jordan... you incorporeal little midget, I swear... if you don't be quiet..." he said, sliding into arguing with the 'incorporeal midget' named Jordan that had haunted him after his parents' deaths...

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Give me suffering, pain, anguish, sorrow, and death! For I shall make it my driving force, and from beyond the grave I shall paint the sky red...

Dr. Feisher walks out of her office to do some rounds, mainly to take another look at the faculty and streach out her legs. There were only five people in a facility that best supports sixteen on the second floor alone. When she stepped into the hall, a guard stops me.

"Miss, I think two of the inmates are fighting. Maybe you could intervene before it got violent?" the guard asked. "Ok," Dr. Feisher replied as the guard lead her to room 2-3. She peered into the room, seeing a man argue with... himself?

"The room assignments stated that this guy had a room to himself," she whispered to herself as she knocked twice, announcing her presents before opening the door. She then looked at the man in the room. "Hello, Russel is it?"

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Silivalne
Cromine

Those two need your clicks

Click here too! Ithatyne needs you!

Name: Aleric Fay
Age: 25
Appearance:
Personality: Aleric is in a constant state of...Well He hates everyone and every thing...Unless the right person respects him, other than that he's generally violent and sneaky...quite the deviant.
Background: Long history of spontaneous violent outbreaks, generaly either by severely wounding a school teacher with an unsharpened pencil and killing his barber with a belt.Aleric has never gotten along with anyone and refuses to...his hands will most likely become cuffed upon arrival... He has no bag and no extra clothing, he generally only washes the one set of clothes if blood gets on it. With every person he hurts he becomes more and more impacted, on his own will he feels as if he shoul stop himself but he refuses to do it
Medical Diagnoses: Frequent Violent behavior and Self enduced tramua.
Sponsor/Referrer: Himself

Name: Morgan
Age: 18
Personality: Not known. Mostly keeps to himself.
Appearance: 5'5, long black hair, pale in complection. Wears black baggy jeans and a white t-shirt. Bags underneath his eyes. thin build, 150 Lbs.
Background: Well liked highschool student as of 6 months ago. His twin was murdered and Morgan witnessed it all. He went into a state of shock. now being unable to speak or sleep properly, he has no real emotion that any psychiatrist can determine. being deemed unfit to continue his normal life, he was recommended to the Istorncane Institution. Dr. Feisher has yet to review his case, and has yet to be paired up with anyone else.
Medical Diagnosis : No real diagnostic can be determined. Possible Depression, schizophrenia, and sociopathicness. Subject does not sleep well either.
Referrer/supporter: His Doctor/psychiatrist.

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Fate does not decide your next move, the decisions you make will affect your next and the rest of the moves you make. Oh, and luck, can't forget that

Russel made a movement as if to make a gesture of sarcastic greeting with his left hand then stopped when nothing moved. He put his hand to the stump that remained, "If I am?" he said, his voice dark and cold.

The guard leaned over to Dr. Feisher, "He's got severe anti-social disorder, schizophrenia, and bipolar disorder. It was a challenge just to keep from giving him a good whallop with what he was saying when I tried to make a conversation. Also, he's hemophobic and agoraphobic..."

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Give me suffering, pain, anguish, sorrow, and death! For I shall make it my driving force, and from beyond the grave I shall paint the sky red...

((ooc-forgot to add he's a bit sadistic and self destructive))

Aleric stumbled slowly into Istorncane, smiling in an odd way, as if he were ready to enter a self-destructive state, hoping to fix himself before he killed himself and everyone else around him...almost a blood lusting fury that would probably not end until he died...most likely bullet wounds..."This hell hole better fix me...Or I don't know what will. But it doesn't matter...As long as I kill everyone else before my body gives out...Maybe I could get a hold of a chair...or maybe one of those shiny guns the gaurds have." He said as he meandered over to the checking station."I have no bags sir...But I suggest you cuff me...for my safety and yours...Wouldn't want me hurt would you?" Aleric said almost as if he had lost all grip on that which bred sanity.

The gaurd looked at him odd then took out the cuffs, slapping them on his wrists and then ushering him into the common area. "Ah yes... the sound of loathsome human scum...Oh how I dispise it...They'll all be dead soon...These handcuffs could prove dangerous..." He said as he examined the steel chain between the clasps on his wrists." They may restrict hand movement for now...but soon enough...I'll be out...Later tonight maybe..."

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Name:James Tasler
Age:17
Appearance: 6' with broad shoulders, brown eyes, brown crazy curly hair, husky.

Personality:Very quiet with everyone he doesn't know. When he talks its more grunts and growls than any real language. Loves to draw scenes of much suffering and darkness. Has little or no care for people other than close friends, which has been noted he has very few of.

Background:He was a happy child till the age of five when he was molested by his older brother. This was about the time he started to talk more and more in his grunt/growl language. Was later found to have again been molested at the age of seven by a babysitters daughter. In school he was almost always on the honor role, for school seemed to come naturally for him. He always carries around a sketch book and many different kinds of pens, markers, pencils, etc... After he turned 14 he was moved to an orphanage. He has had three attempted suicides through out his life. Still has the scars from the last two attempts one on both wrists.

Medical Diagnoses:Mute, Schizotypal personality disorder, Schizoid personality disorder, manic-depressive, and Avoidant personality disorder

sponsor/Referrer:School Counselor, and adopted Parents.

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Being walked up to the door by my adopted parents. They quickly bide me good bye, and tolled me they loved me. I didn't believe them I never have. I had always felt he didn't need help, but then again...what a better place to be alone with no one to bother me. I don't have to go to school while I'm here. Carrying his trash bag full of all his cloths and his sketch book and new pack of pens, markers, and some charcoal pencils. He quietly as possible walked through the doors into the Istorncane Institution..

OCC:Hope this is ok.

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The God of Chaos will find you.
You make your own path, join us here in the Darkness to forever lay in despair. If this doesn't sound appealing, well all I can say is....We have cookies.