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S A R A H J E A N P A R K E R
L I G H T N I N G ◼ B I R T H D A T E ( 1 8 ) ◼ F E M A L E
"Character quote."
A P P E A R A N C E:
Ever since her primalist awakening, Sarah has undergone drastic changes to her appearance.
The blonde, blue-eyed girl has thrown away any idealization her parents had forced upon her. She has taken a pair of scissors to the hair her parents forced her to grow out, and has left a messy, boyish mop on top of her head. Her wardrobe has also gained personal freedom, and no longer consists of the opinions of rich, uptight fashionistas, instead opting for more casual, everyman wear. Sarah is done with people telling her how she should look; even if it means showcasing the now-permanent Lichtenberg figure that runs down most of her body to the world.
The blonde, blue-eyed girl has thrown away any idealization her parents had forced upon her. She has taken a pair of scissors to the hair her parents forced her to grow out, and has left a messy, boyish mop on top of her head. Her wardrobe has also gained personal freedom, and no longer consists of the opinions of rich, uptight fashionistas, instead opting for more casual, everyman wear. Sarah is done with people telling her how she should look; even if it means showcasing the now-permanent Lichtenberg figure that runs down most of her body to the world.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Sarah Jean, or as she prefers, "just Sarah", is the daughter of affluent politicians in the deep south of the United States. Her family had lived more lavish than those they represented, although Sarah had been unaware of it at the time.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
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A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
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C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
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J O H N S U M M E R S
W I N D ( A I R ) ◼ 2 1 S T J U N E ( 1 8 ) ◼ M A L E
"Sometimes you just have to hold on and ride it out."
A P P E A R A N C E:
Tall at an impressive 6'5", John Summers has often been accused of having his head in the clouds. With his broad shoulders and a life rooted in the farm country, he carries the rugged appeal of someone who’s spent his days covered in muck and sweat, and yet somehow manages to look good doing it. His sun-bleached, tousled blonde hair falls messily across his forehead, giving him a windswept look, as if he’s managed to dodge every hairbrush in sight.
His deep green eyes, softened by an easy expression, make him approachable despite his blunt manner. His tanned skin, slightly weathered from long hours working under the sun, carries faint freckles, and his calloused hands reflect years of hard, honest labour.
John’s movements are deliberate and purposeful, shaped by a lifetime of manual work in the fields.
His deep green eyes, softened by an easy expression, make him approachable despite his blunt manner. His tanned skin, slightly weathered from long hours working under the sun, carries faint freckles, and his calloused hands reflect years of hard, honest labour.
John’s movements are deliberate and purposeful, shaped by a lifetime of manual work in the fields.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Born into a family of farmers in the rural countryside, John grew up with dirt under his nails and hard work from the moment he could walk. His mother, a rancher with a fierce heart and stronger arms than most men, taught him the value of resilience. His father, a simple man, believed in the value of straightforward truths and honest labour. Summers were spent in golden fields, hay-scented afternoons, and evenings lying on bales while staring up at the starlit night. Life was good: it was simple, predictable, and hard work felt rewarding. As the oldest sibling, he often had to look after his younger brothers and sisters, showing them the ropes.
School was focused on the practicalities needed for farming. Maths centred on accounting, buying, and selling, while science was focused on agriculture and improving crop and product yields. Sport was mandatory, and several families competed actively in the local area. Rivals were made and broken on the playing fields, with general good competition and sportsmanship, though a few disputes were settled with a punch or two when things got rough. John’s sport had always been track, where he could give a solid sprint at a push, in moments when it felt like he was being carried by the wind.
Tornadoes were an infrequent occurrence in these parts, and when warnings came, everything had to be locked down, and the family retreated into the storm shelter. It was in these moments of almost solitude that the family bonded through fear and card games, looking out for and caring for one another.
This simple life came to a stop when a sudden and unexplainable gust knocked down a row of market stalls, scattering goods and people alike. These phenomena began to grow more frequent and stronger around John, as he started to feel what seemed like the raw power of a tornado surging within him, an untamed and wild force. It had started with dreams, vivid visions of being high above the world, the fury of the air around him, as if he were the storm itself: powerful and immovable, flying over the landscape. People began to talk, and when men in suits arrived in an expensive car to the local village and started asking questions, trouble followed. His family attempted to hide him, but someone had spoken, and he had to face the truth.
He was identified as a ‘Primalist’ and was invited to the Merryweather Institute. They strongly warned that, unless he was taught to control this unknown power, he would end up hurting everyone around him. Faced with the difficult decision, he chose to go with the men to enrol, encouraged by his mother’s steady hand and his father’s quiet support.
He would learn to harness this raging tornado inside of him, and one day, be able to return home.
School was focused on the practicalities needed for farming. Maths centred on accounting, buying, and selling, while science was focused on agriculture and improving crop and product yields. Sport was mandatory, and several families competed actively in the local area. Rivals were made and broken on the playing fields, with general good competition and sportsmanship, though a few disputes were settled with a punch or two when things got rough. John’s sport had always been track, where he could give a solid sprint at a push, in moments when it felt like he was being carried by the wind.
Tornadoes were an infrequent occurrence in these parts, and when warnings came, everything had to be locked down, and the family retreated into the storm shelter. It was in these moments of almost solitude that the family bonded through fear and card games, looking out for and caring for one another.
This simple life came to a stop when a sudden and unexplainable gust knocked down a row of market stalls, scattering goods and people alike. These phenomena began to grow more frequent and stronger around John, as he started to feel what seemed like the raw power of a tornado surging within him, an untamed and wild force. It had started with dreams, vivid visions of being high above the world, the fury of the air around him, as if he were the storm itself: powerful and immovable, flying over the landscape. People began to talk, and when men in suits arrived in an expensive car to the local village and started asking questions, trouble followed. His family attempted to hide him, but someone had spoken, and he had to face the truth.
He was identified as a ‘Primalist’ and was invited to the Merryweather Institute. They strongly warned that, unless he was taught to control this unknown power, he would end up hurting everyone around him. Faced with the difficult decision, he chose to go with the men to enrol, encouraged by his mother’s steady hand and his father’s quiet support.
He would learn to harness this raging tornado inside of him, and one day, be able to return home.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
John is simple and straightforward when it comes to his interactions. He can be blunt in his mannerisms, which stem from a background where people are simply honest with each other, with little duplicity involved, except when people attempt to save face. This bluntness is tempered by kindness rooted in empathy, as he grew up in a community where neighbours often helped each other out. He believes actions speak louder than words and often lets his deeds do the talking instead of relying on speech. He is practical and usually one of the first to roll up his sleeves and get things done, working well with his hands.
John doesn’t waste time on false politeness or pleasantries, and he pays little attention to what is being said, being more committed to his values to guide him on topics. He can be a loyal and dependable friend to those he deems worthy of considering as such.
He is not immune to the occasional reckless streak, and his horsing around in the fields has translated into him growing bolder and wilder with his newfound strength and primal powers. John can forget that others are not like him, overextending his natural endurance and strength in pursuit of his abilities, seeking greater heights. Though, he has learned quickly that even the strongest winds can’t hold you up forever.
Since coming to the academy, he has unofficially adopted a pet cat which is frequently seen around the grounds of the dorm area.
John doesn’t waste time on false politeness or pleasantries, and he pays little attention to what is being said, being more committed to his values to guide him on topics. He can be a loyal and dependable friend to those he deems worthy of considering as such.
He is not immune to the occasional reckless streak, and his horsing around in the fields has translated into him growing bolder and wilder with his newfound strength and primal powers. John can forget that others are not like him, overextending his natural endurance and strength in pursuit of his abilities, seeking greater heights. Though, he has learned quickly that even the strongest winds can’t hold you up forever.
Since coming to the academy, he has unofficially adopted a pet cat which is frequently seen around the grounds of the dorm area.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
John has hands-on practical experience as a farmhand, ranging from agriculture and animal husbandry to tasks such as riding horses. This also includes repair and maintenance of buildings and equipment. He is familiar with operating heavy machinery, such as tractors and forklifts. Years of physical labour have made him tough, with quick reflexes.
When it comes to his primal powers, he has started to understand wind manipulation, from gentle breezes to strong gusts. He hopes to harness these wind powers for short bursts of flight or gliding through the air.
When it comes to his primal powers, he has started to understand wind manipulation, from gentle breezes to strong gusts. He hopes to harness these wind powers for short bursts of flight or gliding through the air.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Open to friendships, rivalries, slow-burn relationships, or impromptu. He is most likely to connect with people who value honesty and loyalty. His bluntness could upset sensitive personalities and characters. His general, predictable routine can erupt spontaneously to liven up the atmosphere.
Crimson Flame *Insert something profound here*
Member
Seen
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Conner Waters
Water ◼ June 20 18 ◼ Male
"Surfs up dudes!"
A P P E A R A N C E:
Conner is tall and lean, standing at exactly six feet tall. He has slender well defined swimmers body that he is very happy to show off. He spends plenty of time out in the sun, and thus has a lightly tanned skin complexion. He has a boyish heart shaped face, with big brown eyes, and a small nose. He keeps his brunette hair spiked up in the front, a style he thinks is cool. He can most often be seen with a grin on his face.
Most of his wardrobe is just blue stuff… He likes wearing tight fitting tank tops to show off his physique. He prefers wearing sandals for footwear. He always wears his swim trunks underneath his clothes.
Most of his wardrobe is just blue stuff… He likes wearing tight fitting tank tops to show off his physique. He prefers wearing sandals for footwear. He always wears his swim trunks underneath his clothes.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Conner grew up in an upscale area. Conner was the youngest son of the wealthy and prominent Waters family. His parents were quite strict, and they had high standards for their kids. Conner had an older sister named Arianna, and she was the the apple of the family’s eye, at least it appeared that way to Conner. She was beautiful, talented, intelligent, and it felt like she could do no wrong. To him, it always seemed like anything he could do she could do better.
During his teen years, Conner gave up trying to live up to the high standards set by his sister. He only did just well enough in school to get by, and spent a lot of time slacking off. He would often act up in class, and get himself into trouble. There were days where he would cut class to go to the beach and surf. Surfing was one of his favorite activities. It was definitely something Arianna wouldn’t do. He enjoyed the thrill and adrenaline high of catching a big wave.
One day, after another argument with his parents about what his plans were for after high school, Conner went to the beach to cheer himself up. His emotions affected the water around him, and soon the waves rise higher than they should. The local beachgoers start to panic as the tides surge. Conner’s powers created a massive wave, and in a desperate attempt to stop it, he raises his hands—causing the wave to freeze mid-air. The entire beach stares in awe as he lowers the wave back down gently. He was excited when he started developing his Water based abilities. Finally he had something that made him special that his sister didn’t have. He did something cool! But why weren’t his parents proud?
After this incident, he was shipped off to Merrywether Institute. He was not happy about more school, but there was superpowers involved, so maybe this could be fun.
During his teen years, Conner gave up trying to live up to the high standards set by his sister. He only did just well enough in school to get by, and spent a lot of time slacking off. He would often act up in class, and get himself into trouble. There were days where he would cut class to go to the beach and surf. Surfing was one of his favorite activities. It was definitely something Arianna wouldn’t do. He enjoyed the thrill and adrenaline high of catching a big wave.
One day, after another argument with his parents about what his plans were for after high school, Conner went to the beach to cheer himself up. His emotions affected the water around him, and soon the waves rise higher than they should. The local beachgoers start to panic as the tides surge. Conner’s powers created a massive wave, and in a desperate attempt to stop it, he raises his hands—causing the wave to freeze mid-air. The entire beach stares in awe as he lowers the wave back down gently. He was excited when he started developing his Water based abilities. Finally he had something that made him special that his sister didn’t have. He did something cool! But why weren’t his parents proud?
After this incident, he was shipped off to Merrywether Institute. He was not happy about more school, but there was superpowers involved, so maybe this could be fun.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Conner is a spontaneous and outgoing young man. He likes to have fun. His favorite activities are surfing, swimming, playing video games, and reading comic books. He enjoys socializing with others and being the center of attention. He is an handshaking, touching kind of guy. He openly expresses affection through hugs, holding hands, as well as stroking and grabbing shoulders. He particularly likes flirting with attractive guys. He makes friends easily, and will happily chat up strangers if they interest him somehow. He enjoys social situations, and believes that everyone else would too. He's likely to convince people who he perceives as being lonely to come along with things like 'come on, you'll enjoy it!' or 'you don't know what you're missing!' While he does need to spend time alone once in a while, he gets bored if he does it too long. He values all his relationships, and will happily stick with anyone he considers a friend.
He can often be found with a smile on his face, even during stressful situations. He often makes jokes, when the situation is tense to lift people's spirits. He may tease others in a 'playful' way, and expect them not to 'take it so seriously.' He does feel bad if somebody does actually get their feelings hurt by what he says. Sometimes his attempts at humor are read as him not taking the situation seriously. While he does joke around a lot, he is capable of getting things done. He just doesn't feel the need to be so dour about it. He often suggests that others not be so serious.
Conner enjoys showing off his skills for others in order to get praise. He is prone to bragging about the things he is good at. He does it in a 'look at this awesome thing I can do!' way, rather than an 'I'm better than you.' way. He will often be the first one to jump into battle just to show off the cool stuff he can do with water.
He likes to live in the moment rather than dwelling on the past. This means Conner is not the best when it comes to organization, or planning. Due to his lack of planning ahead, it makes him impulsive, and he tends to jump into things without a second thought. He gets bored when he is not sufficiently stimulated, and will complain about being bored. He is also not the most tidy person. He does clean up his mess after the fact if it's pointed out to him, but he has trouble avoiding making a mess in the first place.
Growing up a member of a rich family that has high standards, and a seemingly perfect older sister has given him a number of insecurites. He’s always worried about not being good enough, and that he doesn’t belong anywhere. He feels like he has something to prove. He wants to have a purpose in life. He tries to hide his worries behind a mask of being a cool laid back surfer dude, but they’re always there. It manifests as envy towards people he thinks are better than him.
He can often be found with a smile on his face, even during stressful situations. He often makes jokes, when the situation is tense to lift people's spirits. He may tease others in a 'playful' way, and expect them not to 'take it so seriously.' He does feel bad if somebody does actually get their feelings hurt by what he says. Sometimes his attempts at humor are read as him not taking the situation seriously. While he does joke around a lot, he is capable of getting things done. He just doesn't feel the need to be so dour about it. He often suggests that others not be so serious.
Conner enjoys showing off his skills for others in order to get praise. He is prone to bragging about the things he is good at. He does it in a 'look at this awesome thing I can do!' way, rather than an 'I'm better than you.' way. He will often be the first one to jump into battle just to show off the cool stuff he can do with water.
He likes to live in the moment rather than dwelling on the past. This means Conner is not the best when it comes to organization, or planning. Due to his lack of planning ahead, it makes him impulsive, and he tends to jump into things without a second thought. He gets bored when he is not sufficiently stimulated, and will complain about being bored. He is also not the most tidy person. He does clean up his mess after the fact if it's pointed out to him, but he has trouble avoiding making a mess in the first place.
Growing up a member of a rich family that has high standards, and a seemingly perfect older sister has given him a number of insecurites. He’s always worried about not being good enough, and that he doesn’t belong anywhere. He feels like he has something to prove. He wants to have a purpose in life. He tries to hide his worries behind a mask of being a cool laid back surfer dude, but they’re always there. It manifests as envy towards people he thinks are better than him.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
Conner’s water magic grants him control over water. He can shape liquid water, manipulate water currents, create water projectiles, and even heal using water’s rejuvenating properties. He can also breathe under water.
Besides that, he’s a strong swimmer, and surfing is his passion!
Besides that, he’s a strong swimmer, and surfing is his passion!
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
He’s gay
Scribe of Thoth It's Pronounced "Thot"
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
AVERY LOWELL
EARTH ◼ MAY 6TH (17) ◼ MALE
"What's good, my P-words? Wait. I can say it now, right?"
A P P E A R A N C E:
Avery is, by all visual accounts, a pretty unremarkable teenager. Standing at only 5'9" with a slightly thin build that speaks to an unexceptional athleticism honed in gym class alone, he's certainly not possessed of an imposing stature. His hair is a sandy blond, his eyes are the kind of brown that look nice in direct sunlight but bland otherwise, his glasses are among the most generic black frames one could find, and he has just enough of a babyface that he's unlikely to be confused for a young-looking adult; nothing that would particularly draw the eye in a crowd. He wouldn't say it was something to complain about, but shouldn't an all-powerful wizard be a bit more grandiose?
B I O G R A P H Y:
Contrary to recent events in his life, Avery's tale is one of mediocrity. He grew up in a quaint Maryland suburb in a comfortably average middle-class family, complete with two kids, a dog, and even the white picket fence (okay, technically a white vinyl fence, but still). His grades were decent, if rarely exceptional, he never got into trouble, and his parents' biggest complaints were that he was lax on chores and stayed up too late playing video games. (He swore his mother was way too smug at the optometrist after years of the "you'll ruin your eyes that way" speech.) Avery could've been thrown in any given family sitcom in America and fit in swimmingly, and in his opinion there was nothing wrong with that.
Long nights of avid media consumption brought with them childish fantasies, and action-filled depictions of primalists or primalist-analogues left Avery daydreaming about shooting fire from his hands and saving entire cities from freak tsunamis and all the other comic book crap every teenager believes he'd totally do with superpowers. Of course, he'd never actually met a primalist and they may as well have been fictional as far as he was concerned, but he wasn't delusional; he knew deep down the real purpose was entertaining himself. Even if that meant making fire noises with his mouth while he danced around his room in a way that gave his younger brother secondhand embarrassment.
Maturity dimmed Avery's flights of fancy in favor of the everyday mediocrity he existed contentedly in. He had friends to hang out with, a family to cherish, and a nice community to enjoy; plenty to keep him entertained. It's why Avery stayed oblivious when the dreams started. Plenty of people probably dreamed about the Grand Canyon. Even if he'd never seen it. And he wasn't sure it was the Grand Canyon. And the rock warped into strange, alien shapes as he walked through it. And then there was the one where he was buried alive, but in his defense, that one wasn't scary - it was actually kinda comfy once he was sealed in. His waking hours likewise became haunted by a sense of unease soon after. Some kind of restlessness thrummed within him, which wasn't entirely out of character - he'd always been a little squirrelly - but Avery found himself increasingly antsy without really knowing why, like something was building that he wasn't sure how to release.
With such blatant disregard of the warning signs, it's a blessing that Avery's awakening was responsible only for some property damage rather than a tragedy. Avery found himself perched on a park bench on a sunny Saturday afternoon, waiting for his chronically-late friend to arrive. The antsiness hadn't subsided; in fact he pitched the idea to meet up with his friend at a park precisely because he felt like he had too much energy and he thought messing around outside might help. He was half right. While he sat, Avery bounced his knee as restless teenagers were wont to do, only to find the very ground beneath his feet vibrating along with the motion. His subsequent panicked steps as he shot from his seat shattered the sidewalk and dredged up the earth beneath, creating even more unstable footholds as roiling rivers of dirt replaced solid ground. When the tremors subsided, the other parkgoers found Avery knocked down on his ass in a rubble-strewn circle of what used to be a sidewalk, bruised and dirty but feeling more alive than ever before. Nobody even fell off the monkey bars!
The fallout was less exhilarating. Avery lived in a fairly progressive area, but a primalist was not something that could be easily written off. Word spread fast, and what followed were wary stares and subtle ostracization - and that was before the government suits showed up. The Lowells were told in no uncertain terms that their son would be enrolled at the Merryweather Institute in the interest of public safety, like he'd killed a man and not a slab of concrete. It should've been harrowing, leaving everything he'd ever known behind to be forced into something only a few steps above a prison, but Avery took it with a positive outlook. After all, every kid wants to be special. All he had to do was master this magic stuff and he'd be cleared to leave, then he'd be a superhero or something. He hadn't thought that far ahead, but he'd figure it out. Surely.
Long nights of avid media consumption brought with them childish fantasies, and action-filled depictions of primalists or primalist-analogues left Avery daydreaming about shooting fire from his hands and saving entire cities from freak tsunamis and all the other comic book crap every teenager believes he'd totally do with superpowers. Of course, he'd never actually met a primalist and they may as well have been fictional as far as he was concerned, but he wasn't delusional; he knew deep down the real purpose was entertaining himself. Even if that meant making fire noises with his mouth while he danced around his room in a way that gave his younger brother secondhand embarrassment.
Maturity dimmed Avery's flights of fancy in favor of the everyday mediocrity he existed contentedly in. He had friends to hang out with, a family to cherish, and a nice community to enjoy; plenty to keep him entertained. It's why Avery stayed oblivious when the dreams started. Plenty of people probably dreamed about the Grand Canyon. Even if he'd never seen it. And he wasn't sure it was the Grand Canyon. And the rock warped into strange, alien shapes as he walked through it. And then there was the one where he was buried alive, but in his defense, that one wasn't scary - it was actually kinda comfy once he was sealed in. His waking hours likewise became haunted by a sense of unease soon after. Some kind of restlessness thrummed within him, which wasn't entirely out of character - he'd always been a little squirrelly - but Avery found himself increasingly antsy without really knowing why, like something was building that he wasn't sure how to release.
With such blatant disregard of the warning signs, it's a blessing that Avery's awakening was responsible only for some property damage rather than a tragedy. Avery found himself perched on a park bench on a sunny Saturday afternoon, waiting for his chronically-late friend to arrive. The antsiness hadn't subsided; in fact he pitched the idea to meet up with his friend at a park precisely because he felt like he had too much energy and he thought messing around outside might help. He was half right. While he sat, Avery bounced his knee as restless teenagers were wont to do, only to find the very ground beneath his feet vibrating along with the motion. His subsequent panicked steps as he shot from his seat shattered the sidewalk and dredged up the earth beneath, creating even more unstable footholds as roiling rivers of dirt replaced solid ground. When the tremors subsided, the other parkgoers found Avery knocked down on his ass in a rubble-strewn circle of what used to be a sidewalk, bruised and dirty but feeling more alive than ever before. Nobody even fell off the monkey bars!
The fallout was less exhilarating. Avery lived in a fairly progressive area, but a primalist was not something that could be easily written off. Word spread fast, and what followed were wary stares and subtle ostracization - and that was before the government suits showed up. The Lowells were told in no uncertain terms that their son would be enrolled at the Merryweather Institute in the interest of public safety, like he'd killed a man and not a slab of concrete. It should've been harrowing, leaving everything he'd ever known behind to be forced into something only a few steps above a prison, but Avery took it with a positive outlook. After all, every kid wants to be special. All he had to do was master this magic stuff and he'd be cleared to leave, then he'd be a superhero or something. He hadn't thought that far ahead, but he'd figure it out. Surely.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Avery is all bright smiles and boyish enthusiasm, cheery in the thought that he's either about to become a powerful force of nature or can write this whole chosen by Gaea thing off in a few years and go back to being normal, at least superficially. He's good-natured and encouraging about it, wanting nothing more than to nerd out with his fellow students about the amazing feats they're all newly capable of and entertains no negativity in that regard. Such positive excitability can make him appear airheaded and oblivious at times, which are both definitely true, but he's an idealist at heart and stands by his glass half-full stance regardless.
Despite the exuberance of his personality, Avery's a bit of a homebody. While he has no aversion to socializing, and he's certainly not shy in any sense of the word, he'd much rather be slumped down on his couch in front of a gaming console, doing nothing. It didn't help that his friends got all weird on him after word got out that he was a primalist, either. This results in him being a bit harder to coax out of his shell than one would expect, given his upfront friendliness and general tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Despite the exuberance of his personality, Avery's a bit of a homebody. While he has no aversion to socializing, and he's certainly not shy in any sense of the word, he'd much rather be slumped down on his couch in front of a gaming console, doing nothing. It didn't help that his friends got all weird on him after word got out that he was a primalist, either. This results in him being a bit harder to coax out of his shell than one would expect, given his upfront friendliness and general tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
Avery can shape and manipulate stone, from levitating a few pebbles to ripping chunks of rock straight from the ground. Though, the seismic byproducts of the latter have generally dissuaded him from practicing it.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Idk what to put here but this cast needs some sunshine to balance the edgelords.
BurningCold Magical Bastard
Member
Seen
29 min ago
M A R K O V A L D I
F I R E ◼ J U L Y 2 0 T H ( 1 8 ) ◼ M A L E
"Evidently I've made some poor choices."
A P P E A R A N C E:
There are two things someone will notice about Marko from the drop. His size, and his scar. Broad shouldered and big boned, the solitary titan that is Marko would stand out in a room even without the assistance of his injuries. He has a long, angular face and a hawkish nose, his expression often set somewhere between dour and tired. His hair is black as soot and rests short cropped and uncared for atop his head. On most days, a light, barely there stubble tickles his chin. Meanwhile, his attire is best described as being something that someone else cared a great deal to pack him off to school with, but that he cares very little for maintaining or making presentable. His good arm, the one not covered in burns and riddled with nerve damage, can most often be seen ending in a black gloved hand. That hand is usually holding a cigarette, when he can get away with it. Always he wears the thick, heavy coat gifted to him by his grandpa. He can’t stand being cold.
He doesn’t talk about the scar much, so neither will we, except to acknowledge that it is there and that it is not very pleasant to look at.
He doesn’t talk about the scar much, so neither will we, except to acknowledge that it is there and that it is not very pleasant to look at.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Marko was raised by his grandparents. His dad was never really in the picture and his mom… She really did try. Until he was five he remembers a blur of rotating couches and rotating men. That, and the winter nights spent shivering to sleep in the passenger seat of the car that was his home most of the time. He’s never forgotten that feeling, of the cold seeping into his bones so deep he would scream if not for the fact that his mother was right there, shivering alongside him. If she wouldn’t scream, then why should he? Those days ended when a traffic cop found Marko sitting alone inside that beat up old car, his mother nowhere to be found. He didn’t know where she went, and he never found out. Eventually the system put him in touch with the grandma and grandpa he didn’t know he had, and they took him in without a second thought.
That old couple did everything right. They weren’t millionaire socialites, but they were well off and they put that money to use with Marko. Despite his stunted education early in life, he was actually found to be quite intelligent, and quickly caught up with his peers. They provided access to a child therapist to help him sort through the complicated life he had and set him on a good path. They themselves visited regularly with a counselor to educate themselves on how best to care for this child. Grandma and Grandpa Valdi weren’t going to let Marko go the way of his mother. Perhaps most importantly, they loved him. Plainly and simply.
Yet, the challenges were numerous. He was scared and confused most of his life, but suddenly being safe enough to let those feelings out into the open was a difficult thing to manage. There was a lot of resentment and frustration as he grew up over the fact that his mother was still alive, but that he wasn’t allowed to see her. His dad was alive too, but he didn’t want to see Marko. It’s no surprise he was an angry child, and used petty acts of delinquency to blow off steam. He took up smoking as a freshman in high school and began to run with a group of older boys that got their jollies throwing bricks through car windows and storefronts. That part was fun. Watching his “friends” push around the smaller kids at school? An activity best enjoyed from the sidelines, simmering in discomfort at his own inability to do the right thing.
Things changed when the group began targeting people that Marko actually knew. For Marko, the one positive outlet he had was always writing. Private diary entries, collections of poems, and fantastical narratives covered the pages of his journals. Maybe he didn’t talk much in poetry club, and he certainly never shared any of his own writing, but he was there. Every meeting, for one hour a week, Marko was able to lose himself in the creative thrill of like-minded individuals that spoke their truths without shame. So when this group of nasty, discontent boys began to have run-ins with the people from poetry club, being a bystander wasn’t an option anymore.
He graduated from throwing bricks to throwing punches.
He won some fights, and due to numbers being against him, lost a hell of a lot more. Still. He didn’t mind if it got them off the poetry club’s back. Besides, breaking glass was starting to lose its edge. But these guys? He let his rage out on them. Every black eye he inflicted was deserved. Every split lip he got in return felt equally fair. After all the times he hung back and did nothing? He wore his bruises with a grim kind of pride. Thinking, like a stupid teenager might, that the hurt he endured now somehow made up for the hurt he failed to prevent in the past. It didn’t.
He never hit a point where he felt “atoned”. He just got less discriminate in who he fought and what he fought them over. His adoptive parents tried to reach him, and though he would nod and clench his fists and promise to do better, the anger had a hold of him now. Even his dreams didn’t seem safe. Every night his mind was embroiled in roiling heat so intense Marko swore he’d smell smoke upon waking. Sometimes he wandered through burning forests. Other times he was trapped in a house that had gone up in flames, and too often he would be shivering in a car in the middle of winter, freezing to death until the vehicle would burst into an inferno.
The event that disfigured Marko was less of a climax in a dramatic narrative and more of a full stop at the end of the entire novel. There would be no falling action, no resolution. Life doesn’t work that way. Although, there is a certain amount of ironic flare to the moment itself.
Marko, staring at his bruised reflection in the bathroom mirror, felt feelings bubbling up that had been simmering for months and years. He was sick of feeling guilty. Sick of feeling angry. He missed his mom. He wanted to know why his dad never called. And staring back at him was the face of a young man that apparently only knew how to solve his feelings with violence. Brave enough to fight four people at once but too cowardly to share his poetry. So he punched the mirror. He expected it to shatter. Not to explode.
That summer, spent almost entirely in the hospital, Marko broke down to his grandparents. He came clean to them. About it all. When he shared his strange dreams, that all but confirmed suspicions. His grandparents forgave him, they reassured him, but they were extremely firm with him. Attending the Merryweather Institute was not a matter for debate. Marko understood. He had a long time to sit with himself and think about what kind of person he wanted to be in his life. He was eighteen now. There wasn’t going to be another do-over. Full stop.
That old couple did everything right. They weren’t millionaire socialites, but they were well off and they put that money to use with Marko. Despite his stunted education early in life, he was actually found to be quite intelligent, and quickly caught up with his peers. They provided access to a child therapist to help him sort through the complicated life he had and set him on a good path. They themselves visited regularly with a counselor to educate themselves on how best to care for this child. Grandma and Grandpa Valdi weren’t going to let Marko go the way of his mother. Perhaps most importantly, they loved him. Plainly and simply.
Yet, the challenges were numerous. He was scared and confused most of his life, but suddenly being safe enough to let those feelings out into the open was a difficult thing to manage. There was a lot of resentment and frustration as he grew up over the fact that his mother was still alive, but that he wasn’t allowed to see her. His dad was alive too, but he didn’t want to see Marko. It’s no surprise he was an angry child, and used petty acts of delinquency to blow off steam. He took up smoking as a freshman in high school and began to run with a group of older boys that got their jollies throwing bricks through car windows and storefronts. That part was fun. Watching his “friends” push around the smaller kids at school? An activity best enjoyed from the sidelines, simmering in discomfort at his own inability to do the right thing.
Things changed when the group began targeting people that Marko actually knew. For Marko, the one positive outlet he had was always writing. Private diary entries, collections of poems, and fantastical narratives covered the pages of his journals. Maybe he didn’t talk much in poetry club, and he certainly never shared any of his own writing, but he was there. Every meeting, for one hour a week, Marko was able to lose himself in the creative thrill of like-minded individuals that spoke their truths without shame. So when this group of nasty, discontent boys began to have run-ins with the people from poetry club, being a bystander wasn’t an option anymore.
He graduated from throwing bricks to throwing punches.
He won some fights, and due to numbers being against him, lost a hell of a lot more. Still. He didn’t mind if it got them off the poetry club’s back. Besides, breaking glass was starting to lose its edge. But these guys? He let his rage out on them. Every black eye he inflicted was deserved. Every split lip he got in return felt equally fair. After all the times he hung back and did nothing? He wore his bruises with a grim kind of pride. Thinking, like a stupid teenager might, that the hurt he endured now somehow made up for the hurt he failed to prevent in the past. It didn’t.
He never hit a point where he felt “atoned”. He just got less discriminate in who he fought and what he fought them over. His adoptive parents tried to reach him, and though he would nod and clench his fists and promise to do better, the anger had a hold of him now. Even his dreams didn’t seem safe. Every night his mind was embroiled in roiling heat so intense Marko swore he’d smell smoke upon waking. Sometimes he wandered through burning forests. Other times he was trapped in a house that had gone up in flames, and too often he would be shivering in a car in the middle of winter, freezing to death until the vehicle would burst into an inferno.
The event that disfigured Marko was less of a climax in a dramatic narrative and more of a full stop at the end of the entire novel. There would be no falling action, no resolution. Life doesn’t work that way. Although, there is a certain amount of ironic flare to the moment itself.
Marko, staring at his bruised reflection in the bathroom mirror, felt feelings bubbling up that had been simmering for months and years. He was sick of feeling guilty. Sick of feeling angry. He missed his mom. He wanted to know why his dad never called. And staring back at him was the face of a young man that apparently only knew how to solve his feelings with violence. Brave enough to fight four people at once but too cowardly to share his poetry. So he punched the mirror. He expected it to shatter. Not to explode.
That summer, spent almost entirely in the hospital, Marko broke down to his grandparents. He came clean to them. About it all. When he shared his strange dreams, that all but confirmed suspicions. His grandparents forgave him, they reassured him, but they were extremely firm with him. Attending the Merryweather Institute was not a matter for debate. Marko understood. He had a long time to sit with himself and think about what kind of person he wanted to be in his life. He was eighteen now. There wasn’t going to be another do-over. Full stop.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Marko is fatigued. He takes on the burdens of life with a sort of weary acceptance, as though unable to consider that he ever deserves anything more or less than what he gets. This numbness towards the woes and joys of life does not necessarily mean he is a passive participant, however. His rational mind prevents him from slipping any further than he already has. Though he doesn't see how, this school, at its best, is a real opportunity for Marko to find some way through the miasma he wades through. He tries to keep that in mind whenever the school confiscates his cigarettes.
When interacting with others, it becomes apparent that the dry wit he wields in conversation is the remnant of some far more fiery personality that has long since burnt out of him. While still running the full range of human emotion, there is a restraint to his behavior he didn't used to have. Still, he's not a cold person. There is tenderness and kindness to be found within him. There is a creative young soul that loves poetry and misses his mom and loves his grandparents. That's still him.
When interacting with others, it becomes apparent that the dry wit he wields in conversation is the remnant of some far more fiery personality that has long since burnt out of him. While still running the full range of human emotion, there is a restraint to his behavior he didn't used to have. Still, he's not a cold person. There is tenderness and kindness to be found within him. There is a creative young soul that loves poetry and misses his mom and loves his grandparents. That's still him.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
While Marko is strong and knows how to fight, these days he’s much more willing to take a punch than throw one. Intellectual pursuits got him through his time in the hospital. Reading and writing were a lifeline to a calmer and more centered version of himself, and while not necessarily practically applicable, to him re-doubling his interest in literature has been a lifesaver. As far as his fire powers go, the most he’s comfortable attempting so far is smoking up without a lighter.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Marko is at a major turning point in his life, which is important because I don't want to play as a violent/unstable bully. He still has a lot of growing to do and isn't doing the best but I think that comedy and light are just as important for a character as darkness and drama. I am looking forward to fleshing out Marko within the context of a game and how he bounces off of other characters. Romance is okay with me if it makes sense and develops naturally. Not sure if Marko is anyone's cup of tea though, haha
Crusader Lord A professional, anxiety-riddled, part-time worker
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Elena Charlotte Jäger
Fungi/Fungus◼ February 14th ( 16 ) ◼ Female
"Are they-...they're...of course they're racing on school lawnmowers. And of course one of them used their element to shape the 'racetrack'. It's creative, I'll give them that, but I'm not being goaded into placing bets."
A P P E A R A N C E:
By most accounts, Elena is a conventionally attractive teenage girl with soft, lighter skin that has been treated rather well in her overall high-class upbringing and life thus far. Her silky, and naturally very rare to possess, platinum blonde hair has likewise recieved the same good and high-class treatment her skin has recieved in her personal cleaning and self-care routine (and use of 'proper product for caring for one's self' as she'd say in her own words). Yet where once was a pair of soft blue eyes has become a pair of golden, stunning eyes since the day of her awakening as a primalist without so much as her parents or relatives having any explanation as to 'why' that happened to her. Or in her own words:
"Wait, my eyes changed color?! Why didn't anyone say-"
Beyond this she stands at the modest enough height of 5'6", though still taller than some other girls in her age group admittedly, without the use of shoes. Meanwhile, in terms of personal 'ornaments' or jewelry she often indulges in simple hair pins, small tie-offs to put in her hair (see her picture for an example), earrings (see picture for an example) of some sorts, and even 'cute' wristwatches as she puts it. Her clothes are sought on her part to be 'fashionable', and yet simpler, comfortable, and practical by design all the same without being 'too loud' as she says it. Indeed, one could say easily on looks alone that she is 'some rich kid born to rich parents' despite her circumstances in having to transfer to Merryweather and live on campus there.
B I O G R A P H Y:
A wealthy girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth to well-off American parents, ones on both sides steeped in generations of investments and involvement in companies that made them rather upper-class by nature in the long-term. On top of her mother being an American actress of French descent and a family involved in US politics, and her Swiss-descended father’s involvement higher up in one of the largest international pharmaceutical companies in the world, she has two older siblings and one younger sibling to boot. Family dinners, public events, luxurious vacations, fancy parties, servants and maids being dotted about, and the like colored her life from the ground up as well, with any sort of need she might have seemingly at arm’s reach to enough of an extent. On the other hand, her parents are also ardent philanthropists who donated to many charitable organizations and are at least generally moderate pro-primalist in their views despite being regular mundane humans.
For the most part, Elena wasn’t very focused on the matter of primalists. She went through her history classes like others did, lived life like many other kids around her seemed to, and in her own words: “Can’t think of too much outside of that.” For the most part she seemed just happy to chill out and do what she wanted, though it was when chafing with her parents over her grades at school and just ‘not wanting to put in the effort’ alongside struggles in ‘learning a work ethic’ that they threw her a notable curveball at the ripe age of 9. Elena would have to learn a proper work ethic the ‘hard way’ by learning a practical life skill, and improve her grades in school, or else she was being cut off from quite a bit of the things she had enjoyed thus far in life and forced into catch-up tutoring (which she was already on the path toward really needing at this point in time). To this end, she was given one day to look over potential options from a list her parents gave her, and then to choose one of those things. Then, thinking it would be a simple enough idea she could do minimal work with, she chose ‘cooking’ as a practical skill believing at the time it would be the easiest thing to do….
….And she was soon proven very, VERY, wrong in her youthful and naive initial assumptions.
Her parents went about hiring a strict and disciplined professional chef they knew personally, of all people, to drill her, in their own words to the man: “Like she’s a nobody learning to be a short-order cook at a restaurant for her life.” Withheld from servants, withheld from most luxuries, and withheld from anything but school and other ‘important things’ by her parents, Elena was put into what her younger self would feel was a ‘personal hell on steroids’. At first she tried to refuse to do anything, but found sooner than later that she’d be going hungry more often than not if she couldn’t even so much as prepare something basic to eat for herself. No fancy vacations. No getting what she wanted at arm’s reach anymore. No amount of not accepting ‘no’ would do anything. Her parents, who would self-admittedly confess later on about having ‘coddled her more than her siblings’, would even seek out medical advice for how to handle her in their distress. Elena tried to protest back along the way to be sure, and her teacher and parents gradually pushed back firmly but surprisingly patiently back as they tried to steer her in a better direction.
Yet it would take one day, in late September, that young Elena would hit her ‘breaking point’ only just over seven months after turning nine and six months after beginning her cooking training and new life regimen. Arguing with her parents after school, things had become heated and her father had eventually erupted in the heat of the moment with something horrible. Something ultimately which was enough to send the young girl running from the room in tears. She would then abruptly deem herself a ‘true failure’ and just outright drop things and run off later that day, all after trying to cook a sauce her cooking teacher was trying to get her to learn that week. It was enough to get her teacher to go talk to her (both still mortified and fearful after earlier) parents about things, concerned about her not very ok and odd behavior, where he learned what had occurred earlier. Then, later, he would approach a stomach-growing, hungry, and red-eyed Elena in her room, walking in with something on a plate and sitting down next to her as she tried to ignore him.
After gently rubbing her back and humming a soft tune, enough to get her to calm down somewhat more, her teacher would encourage her to take a bite of something to eat at least. Broken and tired enough, young Elena would take the offering silently after sitting back up and would take a few bites. He would ask her how the food tasted, only for her to respond that ‘she liked how it tasted, and that the sauce on it was good’. With a smile, he would reveal it was the same sauce she’d been making earlier during their lesson put on some chicken he’d made. Her sauce. Something she had made, successfully, herself. All that despite running off earlier and deeming her efforts and self a failure without even tasting her own creation. It was, ultimately, a humble spark that emerged within her mind that evening, even that night after she went to bed and tried to get sleep.
She had made something good. She…..she’d made something to eat that was actually ‘good’ for once. Successfully. Despite everything. With her own two hands.
The next day, she seemed to listen more to her cooking teacher than she had before. Even if just a little bit. The next day, one of her teachers at school noted that she seemed to listen a bit better than she had before, if nothing else, than she had before. The next week, after some days of practice, her teacher would invite her to her family home’s kitchen to help prepare a practiced dinner for her parents and siblings. It was something she felt unsteady about, even a bit scared of to be sure, and yet in the end she would accept the invitation to assist her cooking teacher. Her teacher would, after hearing how the meal was, bring her out, still in her little chef uniform made for her, after revealing to her family that she’d made their humble dinner herself that evening with him assisting on the side. Her father, for his part, would beckon her closer before pulling her into a hug….before beginning to cry. Then she began to cry too. Through half-sobbed apologies, through a bit more listening, and a warm, hot meal, parent(s) and child began to fix things. It was just one step, not some overnight sudden transformation that came at the drop of a hat, but it was one step of many that began to go in the right direction for once.
Paying more attention to cooking turned into paying more attention in classes. Listening more to her teachers led to a greater understanding of herself and what she was doing. Gaining more understanding of herself came alongside a greater sense of self-discipline, if nothing else, that seemed to be reflected in her growing and changing mindset about the world to some extent. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Year by year. A young, struggling child would turn into a blooming, beautiful flower in the eyes of her parents. An aspiring chef who found a passion in her former punishment. A young woman who began to branch out more than she might have done otherwise in life without some form of intervention.
The proud girl never truly went away, in the end, but something else began to bubble up near the end of high school. Odd dreams outside of the normal, even by her standards. Mushrooms growing on dead logs, as if footage was being fast-forwarded. Zooming in on the nectar in a flow, down to the microscopic level, and seeing myriad yeast wiggling about and growing on it. Bad food in a garbage can, zoomed in to see black and white fuzz of different sorts growing all over it. The wall of a dilapidated building’s inside, with black mold peeping from around the corner as it grew and spread. The way each dream came and went over those many nights was….surreal, as if she was watching nature documentaries or seeing it all for herself personally with her own two eyes. She began to look up some of these things she was seeing, looking into them with a peculiar and sudden curiosity, which for the most part was put off as just a harmless curiosity or a desire to learn of some sort by those about her at first.
The dreams became more and more frequent, then, and an odd sensation began to build within her. Like something was ready to….explode! Or…blossom? Bear fruit? It was hard to tell, but phrases such as those felt fitting about it all. Then, one day as she was leaving school, she felt a sudden urge to run to the bathroom as a lurch came up into her stomach. From here she would dip aside in a hurry, worried about if she ate something bad, and would zoom into the nearest bathroom and stall before-
*BWOOMF*
....Well, that was one bathroom the school was going to need to clean from head to toe for at least a few days.
Fortunately she’d been the only one inside of said bathroom at the time, but by the time firefighters and ambulances arrived the bathroom Elena had run into was overrun utterly with myriad forms of fungal growth….and the air was thick with spores to the point of needing gas masks. From here she was ultimately fished out, ironically enough, by a fire primalist firefighter who worked on the local force. She was then scrubbed from head to toe and disinfected at the hospital, as were several others who had been near to the bathroom, and then sent back into the arms of her frankly more than a bit worried parents at the hospital. Safe to say, from here it was apparent where she’d need to be going next. Arrangements were made, talks between her and her parents and teacher were held behind closed doors, money exchanged hands to help her now-former school clean up and such, a primalist relative on her mother’s side of the family came to talk to her, and she was prepared to go to her ‘new school’ in good enough time.
What would the future bring? Well, Elena had no clue. Sure she had an older first cousin on her father’s side she knew well enough who’d become a fire primalist, one Thomas William Jäger, who was two or three years ahead of her and already there at Merryweather at least. But….but….of all the things she could have had as an ‘element’, why was fungus hers, hmm?! It was so very inelegant! Really?! Someone of her upbringing, and after everything, getting stuck with that as her element as a primalist?! Even metall would have been preferable if nothing else! Wind! Lighting! Water! Fire! Something! It was absurd!!! She’d still read more about fungi, sure, she did want to try to get more of an idea of what she could maybe do or something….but it didn’t make her any more happy about the results though.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Someone whose sense of the world inclines her to boldly, proudly, and certianly "state what she thinks, without reservation, if she feels like it" without any sort of hesitation or holding back. It isn't that she can't hold her tongue or even hold back, but that she will simply speak her mind as she sees fit in various places and situations. This being said, she is also someone whose at least more self-disciplined than not nature leads to quite a tenacity when dedicating herself to a task or situation or course of action before her. Naturally this at times can lead to a bit of stubbornness though, especially if she's riled up or her hot head peeks out in earnest, and the more she's riled up or worked up over something the harder it becomes to bite her own tongue and stop. Yet, without a doubt, she is one who will without a word seek to earnestly learn from failures, both big and small, and will try more than a little bit to grit her teeth and 'get back up again' with is one getting up as many times as she feels nessecary to 'keep moving forward' or the like. Giving up something half-heartedly is not her peronsal 'mantra' as she'd describe it, though sometimes knowing when to quit can be a struggle.
Despite these things, in a 'professional' situation or setting she can hold a rather 'profesional' expression and demeanor about her. This even if she was bickering with someone a mere few minutes ago! That 'mode' she can put herself in is something in part related to her ability to focus on things, and even focusing on multi-tasking several things at once for that matter, that she has both had ground into her in life so far and has seemingly sought to foster as a 'skill' both as one who has lived among the upper class and personally for herself as well. Things such as posture, having a 'stuff upper lip', and her shoulders up straight and back properly aligned are other aspects of how she seeks to carry herself on the average at the very least to boot.
In terms of passion, one might think that clothing and fashion are her 'things' in the sterotypical sense. Yet in truth her passion for cooking and learning have become rather fierce within her, and are matters she takes seriously enough mentally even if outwardly she might be mouthing off with a classmate she's chafing with at the time or isn't in the best of moods. She considers food a 'fine art' as much as 'something practical', and her former cooking teacher's way of teaching and drilling fine cooking and professional methods into her has certeainly come to shape her in the kitchen rather much so. She doesn't look down on 'simpler food' either, however, nor is she someone to call a nessecary meal 'peasant food' simply because it isn't gilded in gold or something absurdly high-class and fancy either. Indeed, she also isn't a stranger to the idea and concepts of 'hard work' and 'proper work ethic', nor in getting her hands dirty to get something done, something that might be found among the most surprising bits of her by those who make assumptions about her personally.
At the end of the day, however, she is also still a teenager just like the rest of her peers.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
- Cooking - Despite her youth, her dedication to cooking as a pasttime and personal hobby is something she has put more than a small amount of work into in the last seven years and some odd months before coming to Merryweather. She was drilled by a professional high-class chef of some renown and good repute, though usually refrains of using his name as a 'means to brag or anything' in her own words. However, from making the 'four mother sauces' to improvising recipies on the fly, she has a surprisingly high level of skill in this area for a mere teenager of all things. You ask her to replicate a general recipe by taste, she can generally do it right back. You ask her to cook a steak to a specific level of 'done-ness', and she can do it. You ask her to roll up her sleeves to go pick ingredients from a field to find good ones to use for a meal, and then to prep and cook them? She can frankly do just that.
It is also her main hobby for stress-relief when getting notably stressed, so if one sees her in the kitchen after a bad day....yeah. It can certianly be a sign of things. ((Note: She isn't sudenly the 'best chef on the planet' or something, though she can produce some form of five-star-quality food, but is just really good at this hobby and passion of hers.)) - Exersize/Fitness - From swimming to running, she has learned a 'healthy regimen' that takes up the early mornings for her or alternatively takes up the evenings after classes and such are done. A generally healthy regimen of fitness is something she believes in, and is something that has given her some solid stamina and a general advantage over othher potentially unathletic peers at the very least. Naturally in practice this isn't allowing her to sucdenly do parkour or such athletic feats she hasn't trained in, though, which is also something to take note of.
- Learning - Taking notes. Listening to instructions. Asking questions when they pop up into her mind. Etc. And given her acquisition of 'straight A's' in her prior schooling that started since around the ages of 10-11 years old, she's become tgenerally quite the dedicated student as well.
- Learner's Permit - Requires and adult in the car for her to do anything legally, sure, but she can at least do some basic driving correctly 'enough' to function in a basic manner. Just don't ever think to make her a getaway driver for...well, anyone. Ever. Please. The car's durability will not hold up to her lack of overall driving skills. Just see what happened before in her Driver's Ed class prior to coming to Merryweather.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
- Her mother’s maiden name is Merryweather, and her mother’s family is known to have been involved in US politics on and off for some time. ((Note: Will remove if the GM wishes, thought it’d be some fun flavor to toss into the mix if nothing else.))
- Her now-former cooking teacher is a father to three, and is better with handling kids than some might think despite his strictness and disciplined approach to cooking and such. He also told Elena that whenever she graduates from Merryweather, eventually, he promised to continue teaching her cooking if she so desired. His kids even wrote Elena a letter to read before heading off to her new school…..she now refuses to comment on what she did after she read it (aka: she cried, and will get angry if you ever try to prod her about it for sure).
- Starting partway into middle school and going into high school, at least as far as she got into middle school before all of 'this' happend, her cooking teacher took her a fair few times to work hands-on at a soup kitchen of all places. It was something he and her parents thought 'would help ground her in reality' a bit more,and something he'd done when he was younger and training to become a chef many years ago as well. Since then, Elena has donated part of her allotted 'personal allowance' money to those one or two local soup kitchens she was taken to help keep them running.
- A Secret Hobby Of Hers: Enjoys gaming with a headset on occasion on console, even using a voice changer to avoid being outed online. Would be the one to have a nickname like "HereticPurger69" in a WH40k type game and talking smack over the headset at times in general, though, which is a side she doesn't like to show to other real people. Also got into some games due to her older brother, Mark, and highly competitive in them due to him nor her other siblings just letting her win a game.
- Enjoys long, soaking, hot baths. She finds them relaxing at the end of the day/night.
P A I G E
W I N D ◼ J A N U A R Y 2 7 ( 1 7 ) ◼ F E M A L E
"Oh come on, it's just one little jump. One little jump and then total freedom."
A P P E A R A N C E:
She's been told she's a 'small little thing', and as much as she hates it, most people would not consider her to be any threat at all. She is 5 foot 3, and the most noticeable thing about her is her long mess of light purple hair and the undercut you can see if she puts her hair up in a ponytail. If questioned about it, she would point out the shaved hair on the back of her head is so she can feel the breeze better. The second thing of note would be her unnaturally coloured purple eyes that match her hair colour.
She can be seen often wearing a mix of either flowy white, blue and purple tops with leggings or shorts. She used to wear dresses and skirts before she was awakened but ever since the wind decided to take an interest in blowing her skirt up, she quickly changed her outfit choices.
She can be seen often wearing a mix of either flowy white, blue and purple tops with leggings or shorts. She used to wear dresses and skirts before she was awakened but ever since the wind decided to take an interest in blowing her skirt up, she quickly changed her outfit choices.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Paige was a loud and playful young woman who spent her youth just hanging with her friends, eating sweet snacks and going from arcade to arcade. Her family life is what she would consider 'normal and boring', she lived at home in a suburban neighborhood with her father, mother and older brother.
Maybe it was the teenager in her, or the fact that she hardly saw her older brother Anthony anymore since he was at college all the time now, but her little world only truly existed around high school and her best friends. To her they were her 'real family', chosen family that was going to last forever. Her best friends and her were a little pack of young women who seemed to have the world in their hands.
The dreams of flying were easily ignored to begin with. So were the little gusts of wind that used to play at her skirt, in fact all of it seemed to be easy enough to deny. After all she had so many other important things to focus on like homework, hanging out with her friends and crushes she couldn't even talk to without turning cherry red.
Well that was until a giant argument broke out between her and her best friend. Claire was in the middle of a date with the same man that she knew Paige had been daydreaming about for the last year and when Paige found them hand in hand at the mall, things got ... rough. Feeling broken hearted and betrayed, she let Claire know exactly what was up. First there was arguing, then yelling and then the building started to shake. Soon there were alarms blaring and people screaming as they had to evacuate the mall as a deadly cyclone came crashing into it.
It wasn't long after this she was seized by the police and shipped off to the academy. Having known what was coming she had meant to either run or fight back, but the mix between the rumours spreading about her and the horrified look on her parents faces had her give up on the idea. There was nothing left for her there anymore.
She has been at the academy for the last couple of months and has been avoiding people like the plague ever since she got there.
Maybe it was the teenager in her, or the fact that she hardly saw her older brother Anthony anymore since he was at college all the time now, but her little world only truly existed around high school and her best friends. To her they were her 'real family', chosen family that was going to last forever. Her best friends and her were a little pack of young women who seemed to have the world in their hands.
The dreams of flying were easily ignored to begin with. So were the little gusts of wind that used to play at her skirt, in fact all of it seemed to be easy enough to deny. After all she had so many other important things to focus on like homework, hanging out with her friends and crushes she couldn't even talk to without turning cherry red.
Well that was until a giant argument broke out between her and her best friend. Claire was in the middle of a date with the same man that she knew Paige had been daydreaming about for the last year and when Paige found them hand in hand at the mall, things got ... rough. Feeling broken hearted and betrayed, she let Claire know exactly what was up. First there was arguing, then yelling and then the building started to shake. Soon there were alarms blaring and people screaming as they had to evacuate the mall as a deadly cyclone came crashing into it.
It wasn't long after this she was seized by the police and shipped off to the academy. Having known what was coming she had meant to either run or fight back, but the mix between the rumours spreading about her and the horrified look on her parents faces had her give up on the idea. There was nothing left for her there anymore.
She has been at the academy for the last couple of months and has been avoiding people like the plague ever since she got there.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Usually standoffish, she will tend to keep away from most people since she first came to the academy. Being labeled as a 'freak' and 'monster' tends to quickly dampen someone's attitude to making friends.
She would much rather talk to who she really considers her only friend, the wind. It's as gusts of wind blow past by her will people see her rare cheeky smile as she smiles back at the invisible friend and chuckle as if she was just let in on a joke. The happiest one would find her is as she lets all her walls be shattered while she leaps from the highest point she can find in the school. To then coast on the air currents on her self made glider all while manically laughing and hooting out in exhilaration.
She would much rather talk to who she really considers her only friend, the wind. It's as gusts of wind blow past by her will people see her rare cheeky smile as she smiles back at the invisible friend and chuckle as if she was just let in on a joke. The happiest one would find her is as she lets all her walls be shattered while she leaps from the highest point she can find in the school. To then coast on the air currents on her self made glider all while manically laughing and hooting out in exhilaration.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
Paige is able to create gusts of winds from small little playful breezes to a whole damn cyclone if she is out of control. Though she would argue she isn't creating them but talking to the wind itself and they are the one causing it. She also has very little control over her abilities.
She has been playing with the ability of using wind to help her fly with her glider but also trying to see if she can find a way to change the direction and maybe even force of projectiles.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
I love a good romance shipping but only if it happens organically.
Emiliano Palminteri
Salt ◼ November 17th (17) ◼ Male
"Catchphrase?"
A P P E A R A N C E:
Emiliano stands at 185cm (6'1”), with a lean body build and a dark complexion that is common on his mother's side of the family. His hair is dark brown and long, which is neatly tied up into a pony tail. Small, but noticeable scars could be seen on his fingers, telling a history of his time using a knife in the kitchen.
Not exactly fashionable, but Emiliano prefers to keep a simple wardrobe of plain clothes or what he thinks that looks nice enough to wear. Often keeps a spare cloth in his pockets to sanitize his hands.
Not exactly fashionable, but Emiliano prefers to keep a simple wardrobe of plain clothes or what he thinks that looks nice enough to wear. Often keeps a spare cloth in his pockets to sanitize his hands.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Raised in a family whose recorded lineage dates back to the 18th century, Emiliano discovered at a young age that he is destined to become a chef. Just like his mother, grandfather, their parents before them, and so on, generations of the Palminteri family sweated over the same stove. They weren't particularly poor or rich, but lived simple, modest lives. Establishing 'Famiglia Palminteri' in the early 1900s, the restaurant is revered as a local gem in northern Italy. This is where Emiliano believes he will spend most of his days.
Growing up, Emiliano dreamed about traveling outside the comfort of his small town. The possibilities and opportunities that lie beyond the horizon, he wanted to experience them all. But, as he grew older, those child-like wonders faded into the back of his mind. Emiliano became content with his familiar surroundings. All the tools to succeed in the culinary arts were readily available to him, and his grades at school were acceptable to his parents. To him, it didn't make sense to pursue in anything else. Not that he couldn't recognize any other skills he could build off from, but simply because he enjoys doing what he does.
One day his dream rekindled when talking to his schoolmates about their plans for the future and whatnot. While Emiliano's own answer was less than stellar to the group, he learned one of them is planning to move overseas for their career path. Their discussion remained in Emiliano's head for the entire day, distracting him from his duties on more than one occasion. When night rolled around, he resorted to reading some books he had lying around to clear his head. Many of them were old stories of primalists using their abilities for the sake of mankind.
The last primalist in his family dated back to his great-grandfather, the original founder of their little family-owned restaurant. Passed down stories retold of how the old man used his primal magic to benefit the surrounding villages, vastly reducing famine in the area. Finding admiration in these kinds of heroic deeds, Emiliano followed by example through food donations the next day, on his sixteenth birthday. Despite his best intentions, many of his hand delivered care packages were high in salt. He tried to remedy this as he usually would, but the end product somehow became worse. This is the day he discovered his primal awakening.
Ever since then, Emiliano spent a year attending a European primalist school. And when presented with the opportunity to participate in a foreign exchange program, he took it. While Emiliano still planned to dedicate his life to the family business, he didn't want to hold any regrets later down the road. Like his schoolmate, Emiliano wanted to go overseas, and was selected to spend his second year in America, at the Merryweather Institute.
Growing up, Emiliano dreamed about traveling outside the comfort of his small town. The possibilities and opportunities that lie beyond the horizon, he wanted to experience them all. But, as he grew older, those child-like wonders faded into the back of his mind. Emiliano became content with his familiar surroundings. All the tools to succeed in the culinary arts were readily available to him, and his grades at school were acceptable to his parents. To him, it didn't make sense to pursue in anything else. Not that he couldn't recognize any other skills he could build off from, but simply because he enjoys doing what he does.
One day his dream rekindled when talking to his schoolmates about their plans for the future and whatnot. While Emiliano's own answer was less than stellar to the group, he learned one of them is planning to move overseas for their career path. Their discussion remained in Emiliano's head for the entire day, distracting him from his duties on more than one occasion. When night rolled around, he resorted to reading some books he had lying around to clear his head. Many of them were old stories of primalists using their abilities for the sake of mankind.
The last primalist in his family dated back to his great-grandfather, the original founder of their little family-owned restaurant. Passed down stories retold of how the old man used his primal magic to benefit the surrounding villages, vastly reducing famine in the area. Finding admiration in these kinds of heroic deeds, Emiliano followed by example through food donations the next day, on his sixteenth birthday. Despite his best intentions, many of his hand delivered care packages were high in salt. He tried to remedy this as he usually would, but the end product somehow became worse. This is the day he discovered his primal awakening.
Ever since then, Emiliano spent a year attending a European primalist school. And when presented with the opportunity to participate in a foreign exchange program, he took it. While Emiliano still planned to dedicate his life to the family business, he didn't want to hold any regrets later down the road. Like his schoolmate, Emiliano wanted to go overseas, and was selected to spend his second year in America, at the Merryweather Institute.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Generally a laid-back individual with little interest for anything that isn't cooking. Emiliano's life revolves around food, and his deep rooted ties to his family only contributed to how he acts in the kitchen. Having firmly developed a belief that a chef's work must be treated as if it were sacred. This strong sense of respect also applies to the food itself. Wasted food, such as discarded leftovers is often seen as an insult to Emiliano, which could often lead to a hostile confrontation with him. The usage of traditional recipes that possess a long history, immediately gains his respect. As his family often use these practices in their own restaurant.
Outside of food, Emiliano cherishes the rare solitude moments whenever he's outside the busy kitchen. Probably the only piece of unfamiliarity he seems to accept in his life. His routine schedule, conversing with the regulars, his generous donations to the food bank, all of that he is content with. What he doesn't like is regrets, and up until recently, he never had any. But, when he does get that feeling, a sense of urgency to be rid of it takes priority above all else. One could say Emiliano struggles with pressure, because anything that pushes him out of his comfort zone, makes him commit to irrational decisions.
Outside of food, Emiliano cherishes the rare solitude moments whenever he's outside the busy kitchen. Probably the only piece of unfamiliarity he seems to accept in his life. His routine schedule, conversing with the regulars, his generous donations to the food bank, all of that he is content with. What he doesn't like is regrets, and up until recently, he never had any. But, when he does get that feeling, a sense of urgency to be rid of it takes priority above all else. One could say Emiliano struggles with pressure, because anything that pushes him out of his comfort zone, makes him commit to irrational decisions.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
A year at the European primalist school taught him how to avoid accidental incorporation of salt into his cooking. Which is more than he could ask for, really. But, he still requires a level of control that prevents him from passively drawing salt from his surroundings.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Will probably update.
sovlereign slowly-dying retail worker.
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K A I S E R H E R M A N N
W A T E R ◼ M A R C H 8 T H ( 17 ) ◼ M A L E
" Don't you know? This school is basically another bind that I'll get out of! "
A P P E A R A N C E:
Standing at about 5'7", Kaiser has lighter skin with some tattoos scattered around his arms; mostly silly ones like animals, objects, and symbols he finds cool. His hair reaches down midway towards his chest but usually keeps it tied using different hairstyles. (bun, pigtails, twin-buns, think about it.) His fashion style usually ranges between grunge to techwear, with accessories usually being the main way towards expressing it. If there's any uniforms involved, trust in him to make it pop a little more with said accessories.
B I O G R A P H Y:
When the current generation of the Hermann family, Amelia and Dirk Hermann, decided to have a child; they were hoping for someone gentle and wise, a real pacifist, to join their family as those who have came and gone within their generations. Someone who would share their interests in creativity with the arts as most grew up to become sculptors or architects. When they finally held the newly-born Kaiser Hermann in their hands, both parents were confident within those eyes that he would be that person.
Much to their dismay, however, Kaiser Hermann was nothing of the sort. Although Amelia would teach him of the kindness they must express to the world and everyone within it and Dirk would try to show him the wise ways of their artistry, he seemed to hold a general disinterest in all of it. It would become more apparent within his age once he began taking off in the night to see life outside for itself. Watching people express themselves with art using their body or the walls as a canvas or the sounds of pure music coming from either boomboxes or instruments themselves, Kaiser was convinced that he wanted that to be his future.
Enrolled within a private school, the family was hoping that it would try to change him for the better; but the life of a delinquent seemed much more compelling to the boy, as he easily obtained the class clown title amongst his peers and the delinquent amongst his teachers. While being a troublemaker was very much in his cards, he still made sure to carry passing scores just so he could avoid expulsion and not to disappoint his already concerned parents further. While they believed he was an amazing student at home, he would be having fun on his own terms during his own time. Obviously, this would garner a reputation for him... and with that, a little friend group of rascals alongside it.
"A group of four, striving to conquer their world as they know it!", in his own terms. Using pocket cash and allowances, they would buy the usual for clique delinquents and roam across the streets. Simple vandalism in the form of graffiti, but to Kaiser, it was the art that his parents so desired him to see. With every empty wall turned into some silly mural, it made him happier and happier. This would equally be the time where they all would get tattoos in parlors that would not give a damn what age you were, Kaiser seemingly finding out he had a decently high pain tolerance for the act. All while his dreams would be filled with rivers of flowing water, him and his buddies blazing through it almost as if they were surfing on it without even holding a surfboard.
Moving from primary to secondary school, his little group would continue to earn their reputations with pranks across the school and escaping the teachers from their repercussions. All the while he remained to be the only one who wasn't seen with them at all, making sure that the ringleader was a "pitch-perfect" student to keep the act up. It was perfect, in his mind. "Don't get caught while your buddies cause all the trouble, then get them off without a hitch with my own plans!"
On that fateful day though, a simple little colorbomb prank turned into slight disaster once the principal managed to catch one of the children in the act, gripping their arm and slamming them on the ground with extreme ruthlessness. He was in the classroom then, but the rapid buzzing of his phone managed to catch his attention fast enough to realize the situation. The teachers called out to him once he had bolted out of the door, but his mind was straight on his bud and his bud alone. It flared up something within that once he finally got there, a scream wasn't the only thing that came out.
The water fountains burst towards the walls as water surged forward and wrapped around the principals body and throat, hardening their hold on him without nary a thought. The last thing Kaiser even remembers from that moment was screaming to the top of his lungs before immediately collapsing to the ground, the water loosening it's hold before and allowing the principal to breathe.
Within the next moment, he woke up to see his parents, the police, and a person of formal clothing surrounding him. He truly had done it this time. No amount of lies or sidetracking could save him now, he believed. So, in an instant act, he raised his wrists out and was awaiting the shackles to bind him. However, the cop simply put his wrists down and just asked him to listen to the person beside him, with his parents nodding. His primalist powers had manifested, much to his parent's dismay yet again, and this was going to be the only way they could protect him without other consequences.
Of course, what would a child who was living a life of his own volition going to think when he heard he was forced to go to a school of "people of his kind"? It sounded outrageous. Outright bloody shitty, but once he saw the face in his parents eyes, he had deduced something and bit his tongue in anger.
The handcuffs would've probably been better than this.
Much to their dismay, however, Kaiser Hermann was nothing of the sort. Although Amelia would teach him of the kindness they must express to the world and everyone within it and Dirk would try to show him the wise ways of their artistry, he seemed to hold a general disinterest in all of it. It would become more apparent within his age once he began taking off in the night to see life outside for itself. Watching people express themselves with art using their body or the walls as a canvas or the sounds of pure music coming from either boomboxes or instruments themselves, Kaiser was convinced that he wanted that to be his future.
Enrolled within a private school, the family was hoping that it would try to change him for the better; but the life of a delinquent seemed much more compelling to the boy, as he easily obtained the class clown title amongst his peers and the delinquent amongst his teachers. While being a troublemaker was very much in his cards, he still made sure to carry passing scores just so he could avoid expulsion and not to disappoint his already concerned parents further. While they believed he was an amazing student at home, he would be having fun on his own terms during his own time. Obviously, this would garner a reputation for him... and with that, a little friend group of rascals alongside it.
"A group of four, striving to conquer their world as they know it!", in his own terms. Using pocket cash and allowances, they would buy the usual for clique delinquents and roam across the streets. Simple vandalism in the form of graffiti, but to Kaiser, it was the art that his parents so desired him to see. With every empty wall turned into some silly mural, it made him happier and happier. This would equally be the time where they all would get tattoos in parlors that would not give a damn what age you were, Kaiser seemingly finding out he had a decently high pain tolerance for the act. All while his dreams would be filled with rivers of flowing water, him and his buddies blazing through it almost as if they were surfing on it without even holding a surfboard.
Moving from primary to secondary school, his little group would continue to earn their reputations with pranks across the school and escaping the teachers from their repercussions. All the while he remained to be the only one who wasn't seen with them at all, making sure that the ringleader was a "pitch-perfect" student to keep the act up. It was perfect, in his mind. "Don't get caught while your buddies cause all the trouble, then get them off without a hitch with my own plans!"
On that fateful day though, a simple little colorbomb prank turned into slight disaster once the principal managed to catch one of the children in the act, gripping their arm and slamming them on the ground with extreme ruthlessness. He was in the classroom then, but the rapid buzzing of his phone managed to catch his attention fast enough to realize the situation. The teachers called out to him once he had bolted out of the door, but his mind was straight on his bud and his bud alone. It flared up something within that once he finally got there, a scream wasn't the only thing that came out.
The water fountains burst towards the walls as water surged forward and wrapped around the principals body and throat, hardening their hold on him without nary a thought. The last thing Kaiser even remembers from that moment was screaming to the top of his lungs before immediately collapsing to the ground, the water loosening it's hold before and allowing the principal to breathe.
Within the next moment, he woke up to see his parents, the police, and a person of formal clothing surrounding him. He truly had done it this time. No amount of lies or sidetracking could save him now, he believed. So, in an instant act, he raised his wrists out and was awaiting the shackles to bind him. However, the cop simply put his wrists down and just asked him to listen to the person beside him, with his parents nodding. His primalist powers had manifested, much to his parent's dismay yet again, and this was going to be the only way they could protect him without other consequences.
Of course, what would a child who was living a life of his own volition going to think when he heard he was forced to go to a school of "people of his kind"? It sounded outrageous. Outright bloody shitty, but once he saw the face in his parents eyes, he had deduced something and bit his tongue in anger.
The handcuffs would've probably been better than this.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Kaiser is a boy described to basically be a burst of a fireball. Outright, boisterous, and passionate. He lives his life by a code of power and liberty, letting nothing hold him back or at least, attempting to do so in the process. In between those values, though, comes a bright flame of loyalty. Those he cares about hold second to none as he would give himself up for them, even when it looks like they're being used.
Equally akin to a fireball comes the idea of that flame in a spark, as Kaiser's boisterousness can convert into pure recklessness and stupidity by the ends of his thought process. He can get anyone in danger just as good as he can get them out of it, not thinking about the consequences at the end of them. He believes that his ideas are absolute and will most absolutely work to the prime, following them within every step of the way. Even if he'll eventually agree that the idea itself was stupid, he won't back down from it.
Equally akin to a fireball comes the idea of that flame in a spark, as Kaiser's boisterousness can convert into pure recklessness and stupidity by the ends of his thought process. He can get anyone in danger just as good as he can get them out of it, not thinking about the consequences at the end of them. He believes that his ideas are absolute and will most absolutely work to the prime, following them within every step of the way. Even if he'll eventually agree that the idea itself was stupid, he won't back down from it.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
- The growing powers of water, allowing Kaiser to control the state of liquid water. The idea of it being like waterbending without the ice parts of it is exactly the idea to convey for him.
- For a teenager like him, he has natural flow and flexibility when running, able to make sharp turns and twists without taking too much of a breath. Basic parkour is also involved.
- He has good artistic skills with his life being involved with graffiti.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
While I'm definitely looking for relationships, I'm not looking for much of anything involving romance (yet). It's been a while since I've made a sheet so do tell if there's anything to fix here!
Aeolian Someone's Bookish Flower Bride 🐸
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H U G O D A R L I N G
S N O W ◼ J A N U R A R Y 1 S T ( 17 ) ◼ M A L E
"Love isn’t grand gestures; it’s the little things, like remembering who takes their tea with sugar and who doesn’t."
A P P E A R A N C E:
Standing at a balanced 5'10", the boyish-faced, slim-bodied Hugo is the kind of handsome, or pretty, that turns heads and lingers in memory, a face carved from some elusive dream. His skin is a rich, warm brown that seems to glow, smooth and unmarred, as if he’s been spared the wear of time. Hugo's short, curly hair falls effortlessly into place, the kind that looks styled even when it isn’t, while thick eyebrows arch over a pair of mystical eyes that appear otherworldly—eyes that shimmer with a kaleidoscope of shifting hues, like the aurora borealis caught in a perpetual dance. Full lips, a button nose, and long, thick lashes curl around those mesmerizing eyes full of witchlight, softening his striking features just enough to make him seem approachable, though always tinged with a hint of melancholy and wistfulness.
B I O G R A P H Y:
The Darling house was always immaculate, but it rarely felt like a home. Lavish furnishings filled the rooms, polished and pristine, but the air was cold, weighed down by the absence of warmth and connection. His parents, consumed by their careers and social obligations, treated their children more like trophies than individuals. The staff managed the household’s needs, but not the emotional ones, leaving the eldest child to shoulder responsibilities far beyond his years. With two younger siblings and an ailing grandmother to look after, he quickly became the glue holding the family together.
Late at night, while his siblings slept, he would sit by his grandmother’s bedside, learning to interpret her faint gestures and murmured requests. She spoke in fragmented memories, her mind drifting between the present and the past, and he listened with quiet patience, filling the gaps with stories to soothe her. His siblings depended on him for the affection and guidance their parents withheld, and he tried to be everything for them—nurturing yet firm, playful yet dependable. Every meal prepared, every scraped knee tended, and every bedtime story told was an act of love, even as it eroded his own sense of childhood.
Grief came slowly, as though it was creeping toward him in the shadows before finally settling in the wake of his grandmother’s death. Her passing left an empty chair at the dining table and a void in his chest, one he didn’t dare show to his siblings. He buried his feelings beneath his calm demeanor, refusing to let them see his pain. Instead, he became even more protective, his care for them intensifying as the weight of their shared loss brought them closer. But the strain began to show in moments of solitude, where his wistful gazes lingered longer, and his quiet sighs spoke of exhaustion too heavy for words.
The discovery of his magic was as unexpected as it was unsettling. One frigid evening, during an argument with his parents over their continued absence, the air in the room grew unnaturally cold, frost forming on the windows and his breath curling visibly before him. It was the first time he had allowed his emotions to surface so forcefully, and the manifestation of his powers startled everyone, including himself. Within days, his parents—more concerned with appearances than understanding—arranged for his departure to the Merryweather Institute, a decision made with alarming efficiency and little regard for his feelings.
At Merryweather, Hugo found himself in an unfamiliar world of others like him. For the first time, he wasn’t solely responsible for anyone but himself, yet he carried the habits of a caretaker like a second skin. His longing for home was complicated—he missed his siblings but not the house that had never felt like his own. As he adjusted to life at the institute he began to wonder if this was his chance to explore who he could be beyond the roles he had always been forced to play.
Late at night, while his siblings slept, he would sit by his grandmother’s bedside, learning to interpret her faint gestures and murmured requests. She spoke in fragmented memories, her mind drifting between the present and the past, and he listened with quiet patience, filling the gaps with stories to soothe her. His siblings depended on him for the affection and guidance their parents withheld, and he tried to be everything for them—nurturing yet firm, playful yet dependable. Every meal prepared, every scraped knee tended, and every bedtime story told was an act of love, even as it eroded his own sense of childhood.
Grief came slowly, as though it was creeping toward him in the shadows before finally settling in the wake of his grandmother’s death. Her passing left an empty chair at the dining table and a void in his chest, one he didn’t dare show to his siblings. He buried his feelings beneath his calm demeanor, refusing to let them see his pain. Instead, he became even more protective, his care for them intensifying as the weight of their shared loss brought them closer. But the strain began to show in moments of solitude, where his wistful gazes lingered longer, and his quiet sighs spoke of exhaustion too heavy for words.
The discovery of his magic was as unexpected as it was unsettling. One frigid evening, during an argument with his parents over their continued absence, the air in the room grew unnaturally cold, frost forming on the windows and his breath curling visibly before him. It was the first time he had allowed his emotions to surface so forcefully, and the manifestation of his powers startled everyone, including himself. Within days, his parents—more concerned with appearances than understanding—arranged for his departure to the Merryweather Institute, a decision made with alarming efficiency and little regard for his feelings.
At Merryweather, Hugo found himself in an unfamiliar world of others like him. For the first time, he wasn’t solely responsible for anyone but himself, yet he carried the habits of a caretaker like a second skin. His longing for home was complicated—he missed his siblings but not the house that had never felt like his own. As he adjusted to life at the institute he began to wonder if this was his chance to explore who he could be beyond the roles he had always been forced to play.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Hugo has always had a quiet, nurturing, almost motherly presence that draws people to him, though he would never call himself particularly kind. There’s a natural ease in the way he cares for others, often stepping into a caretaker role without being asked, like straightening a friend’s collar or offering a soothing word to someone overwhelmed. He’s the one who notices when someone is too quiet, offers a blanket without being asked, or leaves a cup of tea at your elbow before you even realize you need it. He exudes a steady, grounded energy, the kind that makes people feel safe, even if he carries his own burdens with demure resignation.
Though he rarely speaks of his own struggles, Hugo often looks at the world with a distant, almost mournful gaze, as if he’s lived a hundred lives and carries their collective wisdom in his heart. It’s not uncommon for him to gently insist on what he knows is best for others, even if they don’t agree, and he’ll persist with a soft-spoken resolve that few can argue against.
Beneath Hugo’s serene exterior lies a mind that’s sharp and observant, one that sees the hidden angles in conversations and relationships. While manipulation isn’t in his nature to wield maliciously, he does know how to nudge people toward the outcomes he believes are best for them. His methods are subtle—a well-timed comment, a slight shift in tone—but always delivered with an air of care and consideration that keeps others from feeling coerced. His maturity makes him feel older than his years, and his stubbornness, while occasionally frustrating, is born from a deep conviction to protect and nurture those he holds close. Hugo’s warmth is real, his concern genuine, but there’s a delicate strength in him that doesn’t bend easily, a trait that’s earned him both admiration and exasperation in equal measure.
Though he rarely speaks of his own struggles, Hugo often looks at the world with a distant, almost mournful gaze, as if he’s lived a hundred lives and carries their collective wisdom in his heart. It’s not uncommon for him to gently insist on what he knows is best for others, even if they don’t agree, and he’ll persist with a soft-spoken resolve that few can argue against.
Beneath Hugo’s serene exterior lies a mind that’s sharp and observant, one that sees the hidden angles in conversations and relationships. While manipulation isn’t in his nature to wield maliciously, he does know how to nudge people toward the outcomes he believes are best for them. His methods are subtle—a well-timed comment, a slight shift in tone—but always delivered with an air of care and consideration that keeps others from feeling coerced. His maturity makes him feel older than his years, and his stubbornness, while occasionally frustrating, is born from a deep conviction to protect and nurture those he holds close. Hugo’s warmth is real, his concern genuine, but there’s a delicate strength in him that doesn’t bend easily, a trait that’s earned him both admiration and exasperation in equal measure.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
Hugo can play the piano and enjoys reading classic literature and transcribing old sheet music. He seemingly reads non-stop, for what was once a form of cathartic escapism, became a tool—for knowledge is power. And so, he knows a little bit about everything. Though he is lacking on the physical fitness spectrum, he makes up for it with his photographic memory, intelligence, environmental awareness, and observational skills.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
I'm totally open to romance with this character, so long as it makes sense and occurs relatively organically. Instalove is a pet peeve of mine, unless its just really cute, then like, whatever, we can hand wave it away lol
AWildSquirtle
Member
Seen
2 days ago
Mary Tarbell
Plant ◼ September 17th ( 18 ) ◼ Female
"Life ain't fair. But you can MAKE it fair!"
A P P E A R A N C E:
Mary stands just shy of 5'5 which irks her to no end, though her grandma swears she still had plenty of growth left in her "Judging by yer great-aunts." Her hair is a messy blend of brown and red, barely kept in check when she braids it. Her hands have seen more than their share of farming accidents with small scars from finding her way around farm equipment running up and down her forearms. When not forced into a school uniform, she prefers to wear baggy cotton shirts, jeans, or overalls. While Mary often draws henna on her arms, she was finally able to get her first tattoo of a lavender plant in Albany with her savings- something her grandma still smacks her upside the head for doing.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Mary Tarbell was born to Joseph and Alice Tarbell at 12:58 AM on September 17th, the day the family apple crop was due to be picked. Her mother often said she got right up 8 hours later and went to join her husband and the other farmhands to bring the crop in, with newborn Mary wrapped around her waist the whole time and she barely felt an ache in her body the whole time.
Mary called bullshit on this story by the time she turned 12, but her mom still tells it every chance she gets if anyone hasn't heard it.
Raised on a rural farm in upstate New York, Mary wasn't particularly well off, but she did have a family that cared about her, a roof over her head, and a grandma who was whip fast with a spoon to her knuckles if Mary ever came back from school with anything less than a B in any subject. Granny Tarbell was also the one to make sure that Mary kept her head just high enough to dream, but low enough not to get lost in the clouds. The Tarbell farm had been in the family hands for generations, since the founding of the nation, and it was expected that she'd carry on its tradition if her parents didn't or couldn't give her a sibling. Granny Tarbell's idea of dreaming bigger for Mary meant buying a few more fields and settling down with one of those nice boys from school.
Of course, tell any teenager that their life path has been chosen for them since their birth and you should expect a rebellion to ensue. Mary didn't (and still doesn't fully) know what she wanted to do with her life, but becoming another Tarbell farmer bringing in Apples from the orchard one season, cabbages from the fields another, and a few dozen eggs a week wasn't her idea of a storybook future. She did feel something stir within her every time she picked up a pencil and drew lines on paper, though. Her art teachers regularly pointed out that she showed more talent than most of her classmates, and there were summer programs that could be arranged for her- but the farm always had need of her. Mary started to protest and ask to attend any of these summer retreats when she made it through her freshman year. The shouting match went on for almost ten minutes before granny laid down the law and broke it up. For a while, her parents decided to let things lie and her mother even made a small peace offering by setting up a new flower garden for her on the front lawn when she noticed Mary was taking to drawing some of the wildflowers near the school bus stop in the margins of her notebooks.
Mary wasn't thrilled- her mother seemed to get the wrong message from snooping in her school books, but she let it slide and decided if she couldn't work with her parents to figure out this strange and exciting feeling, she would pursue her passion with the help of her school's guidance counselor. When a letter of acceptance to Corning Community College's early enrollment art program came in the mail, that was when the simmering conflict boiled over. What started as a calm chat about changing her major to agriculture, or even double majoring and selling "her arts" at the farmers market as a peace offering quickly exploded from the kitchen to the front lawn. The normally go-along-to-get-along Mary had had enough of her parents' dictates and stood her ground. She would graduate from High School. She would attend early enrollment classes over the summer. And she would go to a college- any college- to learn how to draw, paint, sculpt- to harness this feeling and create.
The neighbors were the ones to call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance to the property. Mary had two-dozen 1.5 inch rose thorns removed from her legs, her powers having manifested in the flower garden her mother had planted. Per state regulations, and with a little payback for providing fresh produce to the school at a reduced rate as recurring suppliers for close to two-hundred years, Mary Tarbell was enrolled in the Merryweather Institute after being discharged from the hospital.
Mary called bullshit on this story by the time she turned 12, but her mom still tells it every chance she gets if anyone hasn't heard it.
Raised on a rural farm in upstate New York, Mary wasn't particularly well off, but she did have a family that cared about her, a roof over her head, and a grandma who was whip fast with a spoon to her knuckles if Mary ever came back from school with anything less than a B in any subject. Granny Tarbell was also the one to make sure that Mary kept her head just high enough to dream, but low enough not to get lost in the clouds. The Tarbell farm had been in the family hands for generations, since the founding of the nation, and it was expected that she'd carry on its tradition if her parents didn't or couldn't give her a sibling. Granny Tarbell's idea of dreaming bigger for Mary meant buying a few more fields and settling down with one of those nice boys from school.
Of course, tell any teenager that their life path has been chosen for them since their birth and you should expect a rebellion to ensue. Mary didn't (and still doesn't fully) know what she wanted to do with her life, but becoming another Tarbell farmer bringing in Apples from the orchard one season, cabbages from the fields another, and a few dozen eggs a week wasn't her idea of a storybook future. She did feel something stir within her every time she picked up a pencil and drew lines on paper, though. Her art teachers regularly pointed out that she showed more talent than most of her classmates, and there were summer programs that could be arranged for her- but the farm always had need of her. Mary started to protest and ask to attend any of these summer retreats when she made it through her freshman year. The shouting match went on for almost ten minutes before granny laid down the law and broke it up. For a while, her parents decided to let things lie and her mother even made a small peace offering by setting up a new flower garden for her on the front lawn when she noticed Mary was taking to drawing some of the wildflowers near the school bus stop in the margins of her notebooks.
Mary wasn't thrilled- her mother seemed to get the wrong message from snooping in her school books, but she let it slide and decided if she couldn't work with her parents to figure out this strange and exciting feeling, she would pursue her passion with the help of her school's guidance counselor. When a letter of acceptance to Corning Community College's early enrollment art program came in the mail, that was when the simmering conflict boiled over. What started as a calm chat about changing her major to agriculture, or even double majoring and selling "her arts" at the farmers market as a peace offering quickly exploded from the kitchen to the front lawn. The normally go-along-to-get-along Mary had had enough of her parents' dictates and stood her ground. She would graduate from High School. She would attend early enrollment classes over the summer. And she would go to a college- any college- to learn how to draw, paint, sculpt- to harness this feeling and create.
The neighbors were the ones to call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance to the property. Mary had two-dozen 1.5 inch rose thorns removed from her legs, her powers having manifested in the flower garden her mother had planted. Per state regulations, and with a little payback for providing fresh produce to the school at a reduced rate as recurring suppliers for close to two-hundred years, Mary Tarbell was enrolled in the Merryweather Institute after being discharged from the hospital.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Mary holds a can-do attitude forefront in her mind. Farming is not easy or profitable (as her dad was always quick to remind her), which meant she would have to at least work through her problems with other farm hands when they weren't handling heavy machinery. Mary developed the skill to look for unorthodox, cheap, but effective solutions to problems in front of her.
But do not, under any circumstances, make decisions for her. Mary doesn't trust anyone- adults or other teenagers- to alter the course of her life in any way.
But do not, under any circumstances, make decisions for her. Mary doesn't trust anyone- adults or other teenagers- to alter the course of her life in any way.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
Driver's license ("So what if it's for a tractor, I can still drive us all downtown for a night of fun and the cops can't do shit!") Animal ken ("You ever teach a barn cat how to hunt rats and not the escaped chicken?"). Uncontrolled plant growth ability ("I don't want to talk about it right now.")
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Mary is a bit of a writing experiment for me in the world of YA. I don't normally write teenage characters, so feel free to make suggestions for posts that might make her seem more realistic a character. I would also be interested in romantic sub-plots.
Little Bird I Am the Island
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
Robin Grace Lee (“Wren”)
Air ◼ June 15th (17) ◼ Female
"Is this where I put something clever?"
A P P E A R A N C E:
Wren is a confident 5’9” in height with a thin, slender, if perhaps a slightly lanky physique. The length of her legs in particular have historically been exaggerated for comedic effect. She’s rather meticulous about how she keeps her hair, maintaining a neatly trimmed do, and maintaining its naturally black color. She is rumored to have a tattoo of a hummingbird on her lower back.
B I O G R A P H Y:
Robin was born as the sun rose on a warm, sunny, June 15th. She was born and raised a Cali girl to a loving, supportive, but loosely structured family unit. As a result, she was frequently left to her own devices, and was free to explore her interests with minimal interference. Her parents, both having grown up in strict households that kept them on track to predestined careers and lifestyles, were resolved to afford her the latitude to be her own person and determine her own future. Little did they know of her gift for Primal magic that would rear up, making their parenting style all but a moot point.
For the time that she had before her abilities manifested openly, she had gravitated to an active lifestyle rather than an academic one, preferring activities that kept her physically engaged. Dance and martial arts were go-to hobbies, with an interest in music that mostly manifested as dabbling into woodwind instruments, though she never committed.
She was around 15 years old when her Primality began to emerge in meaningful ways. She remembers the first time well: she was performing with her ensemble at a dance recital. Her efforts had earned her something of a solo within the program, incidentally performing to a piece of music themed around wind and air. Her solo culminated in a series of pirouettes. As she spun, a noticeable gale formed around her body, creating a light, but noticeable cyclone with her as its epicenter. The wind generated from this was enough to throw her ensemble members off of their balance. The incident drew curious speculation. However when the recital ended without issue otherwise, the matter was quickly either forgotten or brushed off as a fluke or an intentional bit of choreography by her peers as part of the show.
Intermittent isolated incidents proceeded, all of which came to a head when the Merryweather Institute pursued her.
She has been a student of the Institute for just under a year now.
For the time that she had before her abilities manifested openly, she had gravitated to an active lifestyle rather than an academic one, preferring activities that kept her physically engaged. Dance and martial arts were go-to hobbies, with an interest in music that mostly manifested as dabbling into woodwind instruments, though she never committed.
She was around 15 years old when her Primality began to emerge in meaningful ways. She remembers the first time well: she was performing with her ensemble at a dance recital. Her efforts had earned her something of a solo within the program, incidentally performing to a piece of music themed around wind and air. Her solo culminated in a series of pirouettes. As she spun, a noticeable gale formed around her body, creating a light, but noticeable cyclone with her as its epicenter. The wind generated from this was enough to throw her ensemble members off of their balance. The incident drew curious speculation. However when the recital ended without issue otherwise, the matter was quickly either forgotten or brushed off as a fluke or an intentional bit of choreography by her peers as part of the show.
Intermittent isolated incidents proceeded, all of which came to a head when the Merryweather Institute pursued her.
She has been a student of the Institute for just under a year now.
P E R S O N A L I T Y:
Robin is a bit of a wildcard, with a temperament prone to fluctuation that can flow in gentle sways or sudden shifts. Her extremes are as different as night and day. She can be as still as a stone, or darting about like a bee; she can be calm and gentle, or overwhelmingly passionate and lively. She might be the kindest person in the room, but can quickly move to anger if pushed the right way. The middle range of her demeanor is seldom seen or heard from. The only given constant is that whichever way she is flowing in a given moment, she is being authentic about it, and rarely acts on ulterior motives. She has a known tendency for outward aloofness, though can surprise otherwise with how much she's actually paying attention to what's going on.
A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
Within her Element, Wren has shown most aptitude in the discrete shifting of air to reduce resistance against the movement of her body. On the flip side she likes to use it to gently and subtly redirect the movements of others.
Outside of Primality, she is particularly assured in her movements, earning her middle name with smooth, balanced motion.
Outside of Primality, she is particularly assured in her movements, earning her middle name with smooth, balanced motion.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Though she’s of Asian descent, it is a distant relation. She and her immediate family are divorced from much of the culture and language.
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