[color=gray][CENTER][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][img]https://i.imgur.com/JPPcXdp.jpg[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=978184][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Southern Plateau[/I] - [I]Pacific Royal Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#978184][b]Welcome Home #1.090:[/b][/COLOR] [I]in-between.[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][INDENT][sub][color=#978184][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]gil. - [@Roman][/I] [i]lorcán. - [@Lord Wraith][/i][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#978184][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [color=gray][I]shameless.[/I][/color][/right][/SUP]
[indent][INDENT]Once more, Amma Cahors is confronted with the mundane: it is simplicity compounded by tradition and the methods of heritage she does not know, something bleak and foreign to her all the same. She has always been considered an outsider, the unknown, the [i]enemy[/i] - if she were to submit herself to the crude observations of her peers, they'd herald her as the devil and be done with it. The whispered speculations cloaked her in refinement, the tacking stares crowning her the sinner - [i]Amma would be that creature of infamy if they so wished it[/i] - the one who bedeviled the man who looked at her even now with those eyes. Oh, but he was hardly innocent, her gaze of intensity foretold such an acclaim: a christening of what she now knew lurked within the depths of those vermillion glares narrowed in her direction. [i]Potential[/i]. He was aware of her now, and she of him — the mouth of the wolf and the eyes of the lamb. 

She recalls once, many years ago, the tale of a lord's favored creation that plummeted from on high, suspended in woe and hate and misunderstood inclinations. The one that was illuminated as a paragon of blasphemy and a netherworld of darkness and hate and death. Amma was the champion of such a narrative, sympathetic to a forsaken subject that sought only to love and to be loved in return. Rejected by fate and the corruption of destiny that compiled rage and depravity, the dregs of longing spent on desires unknown and unsought. She knows she is selfish, she knows she is vain and stricken with sins of wrath and greed and lust.

She knows and does not care.
So, why did she care that Lorcán looked like a crushed dog?

Eyes averted, head downcast, lashes fanned over those molten depths; everything about him projected a shameful boy. The man who had spirited her away into the forest was traded for this guilt-laden character who hid behind the mortification of his actions. And what, she brooded over, did it matter that he had done what he wanted rather than what was expected? A year was maybe all Amma had to glean from his impression, but she was an intellectual creature, and beneath the exterior of charm and ignorance was something far more compelling yet completely contained.

She wonders if she can get him to break.

When Jim O'Neil makes his appearance, Amma is peculiarly quiet, and observant, hearing all that he isn't saying in securing the remnants of a future for those gathered. She can't help but think, what did he barter with The Foundation, what was the currency demanded and who would be forced to pay that ultimate price? She knows what happens to those who cannot fulfill the demands of Nakamura Yoshi and all those beneath him. The many faces she has seen and all the faces that still canter through her nightmares unbound and unchecked. Her gaze finds another in the distance, familiarity alighted there, but little else. Yes, she thinks, you see it too. 

Amma performs, as is often her want when the eyes of her peers and enemies fall upon her at the announcement. When they look and study and try to decipher her exploits all the while she ponders: I am the monster you all want, the answer to all the wrongs and all the things lost, I am the creature you fear and the one you envy - I am me. I am The Foundation. Amma knows, deep within, that freedom was an illusion when graced with power and the most powerful were the ones often wrapped in eternal chains lain thick and cumbersome. When one was bound by such restraint it created something of little qualms and reflection, yes, it bred and sired selfish indulgence and an insatiable want of life. Amma was such a being who wanted to live and did so unforgivingly. 

If there had been a line before, a fissure now embedded itself with jagged edges and pockets shadowed with mistrust. While loneliness did not paint her world in a monochromatic blight, Amma still felt the leagues of avoidance from the entirety of Blackjack. It was a profound chasm with such fragile constructs that threaded her to the unknown rejoinder of why she was here, and why them. Was such a placement randomized when compared to other teams, much like the group that joined their ranks for the evening. Oh, if only they knew, she thinks. But they'd never ask, Lorcán came close. But even his inquires had fallen short.

Amma's thoughts crest and fall as she mindlessly cycles through the motions: piling her plate with food and fetching herself a beverage. She hesitates, briefly, for the last time she had joined her [i]teammates[/i] around a fire she had spoken the truth and heralded their faults and fear carelessly. What's more, Lorcán refused to look at her again and within the pit of her belly previously toiling with warmth and need, something else began to fester. 

Was it misplaced anger? Was it something far seedier and more manipulative? Was it her tumultuous power turning traitor in her blood and causing her eyes to gleam like floes in a frozen sea?

Who knew a simple foray into the forest could sire such disdain? 

Amma reclines to her seat nearby, close yet far, refusing to flit to the edges, and dines with a sense of graceful detachment. Her eyes spear through the flame, watching the sparks and ribbons of scarlet through half-lidded measures as she considers the night to come. Sleep seems like a far-fetched concept, even with the use of her powers in such quantities, she does not feel fatigued in the slightest. She was tempted to retreat to the forest where everything had been far simpler, more primal and raw, but so distant and so far from the world, she knew she could destroy that clearing and feel more at peace for it. Chaos could take reign and swallow the world for all that it lacked.

Alas, Amma picks away at her meal, her appetite deserving of something far more filling.

With a scoff that eventually whispered into a sigh, she finished what she could before disposing of the remains where proper and downing the Hyper-Aid nearly in one go, her fingers grazing over the pout of her lip to wipe away any excess. Amma reaches into the pocket of her jacket next to pluck the clove smokes tucked away for such an occasion, wrapped in black and vaguely sweet, with an attractive incense that feathers away from her lips with every exhale. She balances one on her lower lip and finds her lighter easily enough, however -- 

She notices [i]him[/i] chatting away, seemingly mollified by the validation of his peers. Amma smooths black tresses behind her pierced ears, raking through the mass, and intercepts Lorcán at that moment. A small breadth of her shoulder against his and a fanning lash that shadows over the frigid glance she spares him. A delicate smirk curls over the fullness of her mouth, parting just so, and she said:

	[color=#978184]"Do you feel better now?"[/color]

She doesn't wait for an answer there, she tells herself she doesn't care. 
She tells herself that [i]over and over[/i] and walks away. 

While the Howling Cliffs serenade her name, and to them she will answer, Amma glances around and pauses, her head canted to one side, and hums thoughtfully away into her throat before approaching Gil next. She thinks they are similar: just flitting shadows in the gloom, there and then not and muttered as once-upon-a-times. He had joined Blackjack the year prior, just as she had, and rarely have they spoken but small exchanges in passing. However, as everyone else was engaged in their conversations, Amma offered little more than a dignified sigh and took the empty seat beside their reigning celebrity who was cloaked as an enigma just as she was. Everyone else could skirt the edges of her impression, sure, it was fine -- didn't mean she always had to either. 

	[color=#978184]"Hey there. Got a light?"[/color]

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