Name: Aliocha Villabaso-Arai
Appearance:

Age: 23
Major: Communication and Rhetoric Studies
Minor: Journalism

Part Time Job: Cocktail waitress at Frostina's, 8pm-2am $7.25/hr (Irregular schedule)
Money:

Wallet; $23.53 in cash, $40.00 on bus pass, $14.97 on prepaid gift-card
Checking; $80.96
Savings; $50.04

Residence: Lives with grandmother, step-grandfather, and great-grandmother in Blossom Heights apartment complex, often spends nights in various co-ed dorms.
Family:

• Father; Ernesto Villabaso, 41, Bouncer
• Mother (estranged); Arisu Arai, 50, Secretary
• Step-father (estranged); Dai Ito, 54, Mayor's aide
• Half-sister; Sayuri Ito, 17, Secondary school student
• Grandmother; Nishi Sammiya (née; Arai), 75, Seamstress
• Step-grandfather; Eiji Sammiya, 69, Retired
• Great-grandmother; Yui Tsurimi, 106, Retired

Hobbies:

Going out; Ali enjoys going out on the town-- be it shopping at a thrift store, or going to get a bite at some restaurant. She receives a certain thrill from just going out with other, and being around other people going about their lives-- it's not often she can make full days of this though, due to her very minimal funds.
Swimming; You can swim in catfish pond for free! She's enjoyed swimming ever since her father first taught her how wen she was a child.
Biking; Seeing as her bike and the unreliable city transit are her two main modes of transportation, she's certainly lucky she enjoys riding around on the thing.
Jogging; For whenever the bike is in need of repairs, and the bus is late.
Socializing; Odd to think of it as a hobby, but Ali likes meeting new people, and flexing her gift of gab.
Day drinking; Rather self-explanatory.
Exploring the human psyche; i.e. drugs
Appreciation of the human form, kinesthetic and the skill of a beat conductor; She enjoys going to raves and other parties with live DJs.

Aspirations: That's a good question. If one were to ask Ali this question, she'd probably give you some witty answer with a half-a-grain of truth in it. She realizes that she'll probably end up working for the Springdale Post, working her way up to her own column, exposing some drug ring out of the shade (Shady Alley). Parties would become wine in the evening and weed becomes aspirin before bed, she'd take care of her grandparents until they died, and then inherit their studio apartment... That's the most probable future, but it isn't what drives her, not entirely-- maybe not even partially. She isn't particularly sure of what it is that drives her, all she knows is that in the present, in her heart of hearts, she wants to feel good. In a balancing act with those base desires, she sees her journalism as a way to improve the world as a whole.

Fears: Ali's biggest fear is very conceptual, but horribly existential in nature, Ali is afraid that she might never be aware of feeling happy, or that she may have already reached some emotional peak in her life. The idea that she might never be a truly happy individual scares her, and often drives her to distractions. Otherwise, she mostly avoids the normal things-- snakes, enclosed spaces, absurd heights... while not quite a 'fear,' she does take issue with government workers-- she doesn't have any problem with spiders though.

4 Positive Trails and 1 Negative Trait:

+ Jazz Cats Pt. 1/ Open-minded: A result of a rather 'colorful' life, Aliocha is very receptive to experiences and perspectives other may find questionable. While not exactly objective, she is less prone to make snap judgments about people or situations.
+ Dark Comedy Late Show/ Gonzo Journalist: As far as modern journalism is concerned-- Ali doesn't have an ounce of journalistic integrity in her bones. Funnily enough, this makes her the perfect Gonzo journalist. She doesn't seek the objective truth in her stories, but one that is balanced between what she can live with, and what she feels her audience can handle. She does this by throwing herself head first into stories, interviewing with the aplomb of a drug addled, drunken, sex-crazed, college underachieving PI.
+ 都会/ Relaxed: Not always an advantage, but Ali knows how to keep relaxed under the stressful conditions in the life of a college student. This typically means neglecting responsibilities until later... but at least she's relaxed for the now!
+ Teach Me/ Libertine: Ali is a proponent of free love, and is very open with her sexuality. Combining this with her accepting nature, Ali stands as an affront to conservative thinkers, or at least, the people who would have other act how they want them to-- and she wouldn't have it any other way.

- Out by 16, Dogs on the Scene/ Complete lack of discipline: It's a self-explanatory problem. It's less that she's a procrastinator, and more that she'd rather be doing something that she actually enjoys-- even if the thing she needs, but doesn't want to do is actually very important.

Mary heaved a broken sigh.

Errant security guards had warranted the execution by toilet water of joint-02. They were like smoke hounds, and Mary had been in enough trouble to know that weekends were no exception for 30+ year old men who liked exerting as much power as the could over young people absolutely helpless to defend themselves in a legal battle. So immediately after leaving Kanoa's kreepy n' kool kidz kroo, Mary had made her way to the nearest girl's room to dispose of the evidence. Jackson, while eager to pollute his lungs, wasn't looking to make roaches, and so he passed it back to her. It did serve as something of an excuse, though. She could just hide out here, calm down after that meeting, collect her thoughts, decompress a little.

She'd need to walk home, she always did. May as well get that trek underway after everyone else was long cleared out of the school. She could avoid any unnecessary... stares.



It still baffled her how easy it had been to open up about the... void... finally! To people who were complete strangers, no less!

No, those people were even worse than strangers. They were high school classmates-- there was the possibility of gossip, and potential judgements, and there was always the possibility of a snitch calling child services on her mother-- Yet Mary hadn't felt the stress associated with the taboo act of completely exposing oneself to a group of teens hungry for a game of telephone school wide.

It was entirely possible that she didn't enough about what anyone in there thought. Apathy did paint over each action she took. Mary leaned against a sink in the women's room, lazily regarding her reflection in the heavily tagged mirror.

She was shaking.

So it was more than a lack of concern... she was feeling an adrenaline inducing relief. Her mind turned to why she had felt so compelled in that moment to speak, and what it meant for the intense spiritual depression.



Brown eyes bounced off of each other into infinity as Mary tilted her head in the mirror. Her reflection looked sad, or perhaps, reserved? She couldn't quite say, it was obscured by lipstick hearts and expletives and the return of the other smoke. The world slowly began to darken again. A slightly silver filter to experience consciousness through. Honestly, she hadn't noticed it had even gone.

Her eyes widened.

Being close to other people who could perceive... whatever... had weakened it. The darkness felt weaker when she was with those losers... when Kanoa touched her... when she explained mary jane alternatives to Jackson. So it couldn't have just been contact with other people, it was those with the ability. That didn't make any...

Mary yawned. The restroom window exposed a lavender sky. Apparently her vision wasn't the only thing getting darker. She moved over to the door, it was probably safe to head home.



Mary poked her head out of the door, making sure her coast was clear. She couldn't stop thinking about the implications of her joining this club.

So people, like her but not her, weakened whatever it was eating away at her, simply through proximity? Why?

More importantly, it made her question the nature of that void that felt like controlled... everything. It hadn't wanted her to go to the meeting. Mary knew that from the note, the poorly doctored note, that it apparently hadn't even had the power to completely destroy.

Stepping out into the hallway, Mary felt a resolve building. She really needed to see this through, if it hurt that darkness inside of her, that inched her closer to death, even if only slightly. It was the closest thing to agency she'd ever possessed in her whole life.

That was kind of a drag though, 8 AM was really early to get up on a Saturday...









"Ad anima colat!"

"Cura animam, Janicot?"

"Nolite mirari apparere, Diana. Ego sum fortior nobis."

"Tu es? Non video tamen positus cornua..."



"Quin etiam singula; Tantum duo crura,"

"..."

"A femina! Quam fortis est semen tuum! Ahahahaha!!"

"SILENCIO!"







Mary couldn't hide the look of wonder that spread across her face as she watched the weak halo of purple smoke slowly drift into the deep blue sky. The calm summer afternoon was windless, comfortably warm, quiet, and completely atmospherically still. It was ideal weather for the smoke rings that would go about polluting a bodily temple. Ideal weather for smoke rings that would contribute to the death of Mother Nature's pristine forest air and plant life. Ideal weather for smoke rings that would go about disturbing the spirits that resided in the Oakenheim cemetery. Ideal weather for the clearing of existential smoke imposed onto Mary's being. Ideal weather for lavender smoke rings and everything that followed with lavender smoke rings...



She didn't care about all that, though. She just enjoyed the feeling of freedom being here gave her, even if it was only a small respite from the darkness. The warmth that spread with each puff made the isolation worth it-- not that isolation was ever a bad thing. But she could feel that whatever spiritual vibrations of...

The 15 year old sat up, and turned to read the gravestone;





Mary sat cris-cross in the grass, illuminated by a slowly descending sun, taking in all that she would probably ever learn of Mr. Frank Newton in a single stone slab. She pursed her lips in thought, blunt in hand, as she considered his public legacy. Whatever spirit the man left behind was apparently malicious, as the lavender smoke was driving him away.

There were so many inconsistencies. He was a father, but not a husband? A brother, but not a son? A hero, apparently, but also Gone and Forgotten? That bit didn't even make any sense. If he was Gone and Forgotten-- HOW did he even have a gravestone?

With a harrumph, Mary turned in the grass and leaned her back against the cool stone. Taking a puff of the herbal remedy, the young girl considered alternatives. Perhaps 'Gone and Forgotten' was just a typo? But that seemed... too easy. Like, who would bury their loved one with an inscription like that unless they really meant it.

He died the same year she was born, which was interesting. And he was... some kind of donor? Mary took another puff of the purple haze as a sharp pain shot through her head. The thing really didn't want her thinking about this. For whatever reason. She shrugged; it was just dead end speculation either way, no point in wasting time thinking about it when she could listen to some Sufjan Stevens and look at the blossoming gardenias.

Mary heaved a broken sigh.







Mary heaved a broken sigh and crossed her arms in an unseen pout.

Great. Orion seemed alright, if not a little too eager at times, but Daniel was here? Uggghhhhh...

She was here, in the middle of the woods with a group of people she was willing to at least try to get to know, both to resolve her own isolation issues and to possibly help in figuring out the darkness that resided inside her and then this fucking narc has to show up? She doubted he knew who she was-- but if the pictures the sheriff had to go by were any indication, he was basically babby cop 2.0.

Mary wasn't entirely anti-police. But that was only because she recognized that the American Law Enforcement Swine did possess a distinguished palate-- she, like the pigs, found herself impartial to the optimistic pleasure of coffee and doughnuts.



Mary took a sip of her now lukewarm coffee. She was mostly finished with the cup.

Fuck...

Not only could she not smoke because the sheriff's stupid narc pig son was here! But she might have to just awkwardly carry this stupid cup around with her for the rest of this outing! It wasn't like she could pollute! The Otaku Kitsune might get mad!

Right. She needed to focus, on the others, and the matter at hand. The alleviation of that feeling of lack that being near the others provided her with was beginning to get to her, she needed to remember that someone's life might be on the line with this. Her attention turned back to reality.

“Really, that's what comes to mind?” Was Maxwell's response to her commentary about the possibility of Kanoa bullshitting about all of this to murder some kids in the woods, “And what, you really think that if anyone was going to be doing the killing of nubile young teens it would be Kanoa? I can think of much better better candidates,”

"Nah man, I'm too obvious." She noted August's gaze as it went to Jackson, she continued, "I'm the character everybody suspects because of how murderess-like I seem, but I'm too soft deep down to actually do it. No..." Mary chugged the rest of her cup, "It couldn't be me, you or Raven..." She paused at Raven's name, "Well, maybe..." She shrugged, "Everyone else here... maaaaybe... but Kanoa is the one that organized this, after all, under the pretense that a magical fox is pretending to be people..."







Mary could hardly move.

A few moments ago, she had been walking through the dark woods, the same dark woods she had been walking in her dreams for years now, her only companion was an intense, powerful wind. As hot as the raspy breath of man and localized only to swirl around her figure. That wasn't painful-- but then, amidst trees as sleek as smoke and a sky as dark as molasses there stood a familiar man. This man stood gaunt, he seemed a mile away, yet he came closer without moving with each blink. He was hairy, messy unorganized hairy-- although he had a neatly styled, eerily perfect crew cut. He was dressed in a suit that, at one point in time, may have been fine, but now, appeared as though it may fall into loose thread if he flexed the wrong muscle.

Perhaps that was the point.

What was most notable about the man, as always, were his dark, hollow eyes, the impossibly wide smile that grew as he approached, and the horns that grew from atop his head. They were like a deer's, and they almost seemed to stretch like a second pair of hands towards her as the man approached. His visage was entirely still as it effortlessly moved through the trees, despite the tumultuous wind that surrounded Mary. The edges of her vision became as dark as the coal trees of this corrupted Oakenheim wood, with each blink the man became closer. She could feel her lavender smoke in the wind.

Mary could hardly move.

Hardly.

She began to walk towards the horned man, even though terror began to fill her heart. Running never seemed to work here.



He said, "Quoniam fumus annulos bellum," and ran off into the woods like a broken, gray pencil tip rolling across a piece of black paper.

Mary heaved a broken sigh in relief--

Mary turned, the cracking of sticks signaled someone's approach.

--too soon, apparently.

Two voices filled the swirling, smokey air around Mary, each singing a different tune, in different painful pitches about how much of an impure whore she was. She tried yelling out, but couldn't even force a whisper from her throat. She could dry cough silently, though! She fell to her knees in the purple swirl, pressing her hands to her ears in a futile attempt to rid herself of their disparate screams.

Then she could see them. Both of them. The horned man and the pregnant woman. His horns curved and lifted up in the air very, very high, like, taller than the trees high, like higher than she'd need to get to forget this dream, high. He wasn't growing bigger with them, but he hand perfect control of where they went. His hands went up, like some conductor, and Mary felt the wind around her stop as everything went silent. The smoke didn't go-- but that made sense, the lavender vapor was coming from inside her own body-- her own lungs. Vision grew darker still as she stood. Mary focused her attention on the heavily pregnant woman in the dim light in the already melancholia shaded grove. She gave a similar raise of her hands, and the trees seemed to almost move away, revealing a sky darkened entirely by horns.
They maintained that pose, paying no mind to Mary. Were they letting her go?



No.

Mary's eyes shot downward, where this heat made itself known between her legs, it wasn't pleasurable, but hot, like the fire you'd place an iron in. Mary tried screaming out in pain, but all that came was smoke, and through the haze she realized what was happening. The fire spread from her loins to other regions of her body-- contrasted by an impossible freezing sensation where her heart should have been. She was burning from the inside out. The pair walked closer to Mary, the woman began singing and the man manipulated his horns to close in on her, so that she couldn't run even if she could summon the will. They were swirling around her and growing like the wind had.

And then the woman looked at her and smiled this awful, cheshire smile, and in her Mom's voice she sang, "Even in my best condition, counting all the superstition, I am hiding all alone, I am running all alone..."

She tried to yell out again, but couldn't. Mary fell back to the ground as the pain shot through her, she tried moving and that proved futile as well. The man looked down at the weakly squirming girl and he said, "Mary, you are impure! Mary, you are home..."

And then she woke up.







'Hêlêl,'

'Nmitôgwesna spempik aiian,
sôgmowal negwadji eliwisian,
K'tabaldamwôgan paiômwiji,
kolaldamwôgan likitôgwadji tali kik taôlawi,
tali spemkik.'



'Wôkwses,'

'Mômilina nikwôbi pamkisgak nedattaskiskwai abônmena,
ta anhaldamawina n'palalokawôgannawal taôlawi,
niuna ali anhaldamawôak,
ta akwi losalina wnemihodwôganek,
wiji kadniwadaki tôni majigek.
Nialach.'



'Wôkwses Wôkwses,
Hêlêl Wôkwses,'

'Alnôbak ta Wôbanakiak aiian,
Wôkwses wiji ali Miguen n'palal,
Nsôzek tali kik Sanôba aiian,
Nsôzek nikwôbi Pehanem mawôak,
Adah adamah.'

'Wôkwses Wôkwses,
Wôkwses Hêlêl,'







After Jackson's outburst, Mary waited a bit before she sought admission into the natural cabiny outcrop. Both out of personal fear, the constant idea in her mind that Kanoa had no idea what she was doing, and that she was seeing something absolutely incredible. Her mouth hung agape at the sight of botanical perfection. Others had decided to hang outside for a bit as well, although, based on their more serious expressions, they had other reasons besides the appreciation of magic and nature in conjunction.

"Well that's almost disappointing." August declared silently to no one in particular.

"What is?" Mary murmured in idle response to August's own idle statement. She caught something akin to resignation in August's voice-- but couldn't put aside the absolute wonder in her own.

THIS THING IS AMAZING!

She wandered into the cabin/tree hybrid with wide eyes, it appeared to be the direct result of that unseen supernatural stuff Kanoa had been talking about. Besides the graveyard, Mary had never interacted so directly with stuff like this-- while her experiences had left her open to it all, such things as shape-shifting Japanese faxes and magical house trees were still new to her eyes. She couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly everything was formed... The minute detail, the botanical correctness of the flowers in the room...

Mary couldn't help but let some of that internalized wonder escape onto her face. A wonder that tippled when she saw a table that seemed to grow out the ground. Running over like an excited child, she gently placed the cardboardesque empty Starbucks cup discreetly. Finally relieving her hands of the burden.



The instruments on the table were of secondary concern to her. The table itself was amazing! How had it come about! How did those burning emerald vine curtains work? They seemed to grow out of the Redwood itself, meaning this plant was actually chimeric! Mary wondered if there were other plantae mixed into the genes of this magnificent modeled tree chimera!

She noted her expression was rapidly becoming sanguine and toned her internal enthusiasm down a bit. Tasks were at hand! There was an innocent life here, not one being slowly eaten away at, but a boy who may have already been killed. She did need to retain some focus...

“So what do we do now?” Maxwell asked, trying to keep the group on task.

"I say we--"

OhmyGOOOOODDD! The vines aren't just burning, they're converting their own photosynthetic energy back into light!

Like a giddy student, Mary ran over to the orange, glowing ends of the vines that seemed to serve as nothing more than a groovy-esque thing that didn't conform to the normal standards of doors. Kneeling down to the point that her eyes were inches away from the mystic burning light, Mary let out an audible 'sqeee' in excitement.

Then she remembered that she wasn't alone here.

"Uh..." Mary stood and turned, attempting to wipe all the excitement and giddiness off her face before continuing her own sentence, "Sorry... I was saying that, like, we should search for clues or something. It looks like Mr. Fox keeps a lot of stolen shit here, if this is even his magical amazing tree play house at all... So I guess we should, like, look around to see if it is, and if it is, maybe he keeps the kid here... or like, somewhere nearby? I don't know..." Shrugging, she pointed to Jackson, "Someone should probably stand guard in case whoever owns this place... you know, comes back? I nominate freaking Knives Chow over here."