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In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 4 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Location: Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean
Human #5.053: Nothing Lasts Forever
Interaction(s): ----
Previously: Third Contact

It was late. The dorms were quiet. As quiet as they ever got when the walls breathed around him. Some students had already left. Some had left weeks ago. Months ago. Years ago… But some lingered, holding onto hope, he thought, or just not sure what else to do, where else to go, if the world didn’t want them. And some were just waiting for a boat. He’d just been waiting. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to make a decision. It didn’t matter, anyway.

Well… It hadn’t, until he’d discovered something better than the only two he’d thought were on offer. He’d spent the rest of the evening smiling and agreeable and not altogether helpful in making any plans. He was just happy they weren’t leaving without him and there were places to go, people to see, things to do for distractions. Maybe that was all he’d wanted. Two constants when everything was changing. It wasn’t like they knew any more than he did, but knowing wasn’t the problem, was it? Spent the rest of the evening smiling and nodding and excited, until they went their separate ways to sleep. But he was too excited to sleep. Too ready to move on now they had even the semblance of a plan.

Eventually, when staring at the ceiling lost its charm and anticipation faded back to sombre quiet underlaid with creaks and cracks and creeping tip-toe whispers, he gave up. Got up. And slipped back down the hall, one hand sliding along the wall in the dark, dipping past doors and rising where the floor squeaked; he’d traced the line so often he didn’t really need to follow it with his fingers anymore, but the habit was hard to break. Ghosted past dark and open doors, some closed on quiet breaths and others still leaking the faint light of apprehension across the floor. He wasn’t the only one unable to sleep.

But he didn’t knock on any doors. Didn’t stop until he was back outside and caught out by the chill. Breathed in deep and kept going. Wandering. Like he had every day and night since they’d announced the school closing. Going nowhere in particular until he found himself in one or another place he hadn’t thought to miss. Empty classrooms with cold projectors and echoing lectures and heated debates. Locked labs where he sat with his back against the wall, feeling the gathered feet of students all watching a demonstration and listening to excited whispers, groans, and surprised shouts when things went wrong. Sat at different tables in the library and cafeteria, delving into layers of words and wishes and rumours, gossip, secrets, tutoring, weekend plans, and things no one would want to hear. Stood on the courts in the Recreational Center and listened to the echoes of fun and games and letting off steam. Looked into a pool so flat and still he couldn’t help reaching down to flick his fingers through the water. The faint splash came back louder as the ripples lapped at the edge, bouncing between nightly silence and daily activity, water dripping into a long-dried puddle behind him before they shouted, steps rushing under and past, leaping into the water. He felt the splash… But there was only a calm, widening ring across the surface.

He hadn’t taken half the classes he wandered through. Didn’t know most of the people he heard, only a few had names or faces, some had been there since he’d arrived, and others joined in after. He knew all their voices though. Knew all the corners where he could pause and hear a secret, knew which bench held the most saccharine moments and where the paths would make him sneeze come fall and all the leaves. He knew the roof pigeons liked best and the dares passed between friends on the docks. He’d spent the second night sitting against the brick of the Intake House and remembering all the speakeasy passwords he’d never used while counting the visitors. There’d been no one else in the building, though he’d found the newest voices full of hope and fear and wondering about their place. Wasn’t sure they’d had enough time to find the answers. Wasn’t sure any of them had…

There was one building he’d avoided, however. Whether or not its doors were locked or broken or barricaded. Whether or not it had mostly been set to rights. Whether or not he was allowed, though he was pretty sure he wasn’t. But he couldn’t keep stalling this time. He only had tonight.

Lucas wasn’t trying to find secrets or hoping to discover anything the investigation hadn’t, when he turned his steps towards the A.R.C., he just wanted to understand what had happened better. He wanted to see what Cleo had while he’d been hiding under the table with his eyes closed. Wanted to know what Manny had heard while he was covering his ears. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen the aftermath when he’d finally crawled out from beneath the table, but half of him had already fled back into the floor and the rest was in shock. Maybe it was guilt that he hadn’t done anything, pushing him to be a better witness, no matter how little he could have done. Maybe it was morbid curiosity. Maybe it was the way his ears kept ringing and how far away it still felt. But he wanted to know so he could help, or at least better understand the haunted look in so many eyes.

But when he finally worked up the nerve to set his hand against one of the doors, he found the ice blocked his view of most of the fight. As did the faces within it.

*****


He hadn’t slept at all. Thinking of all those last moments, last breaths, last steps, last cries, last surprise… Thinking about the screams swallowed by open air and heavy walls and fear-closed throats and red-black streaks of lightning. Thinking about the girl kneeling in a puddle too warm to be spilled drinks. He’d never asked Cleo why she’d been reaching for her. If he’d helped at all before she’d been dragged across the floor and vanished. Never asked why she was screaming. She hadn’t been the only one. But… She hadn’t even been looking at the thing that grabbed her, had she?

Hadn’t slept. Just sat at the table wrapped in the blanket off the bed, not sure if he was more afraid of what had changed or why it had changed, playing with the bits and pieces of discarded memories he’d gathered over the years. A backspace key. A scratched lens off sunglasses that made everything sepia toned. A bookmark made out of ribbon and Bristol board. A mechanical pencil used so long it couldn’t hold the lead anymore. The handle off a broken mug. Threads from a blanket wrapped around an empty bobbin. The clasp off an instrument case. Half a bloodied scarf. A broken key chain. An earpad that had lost its shape. A small pile of stones and glass and clear crystal. And all the polaroids he’d taken down from the wall.

He’d already packed the rest. His clothes. His passport. Toothbrush. Brush. Jacket. Keys. The small box of mittens his grandmother had knitted and the stegosaurus toy… Couldn’t fit all his school stuff in the suitcase though. The inhibitor. Now all he had to do was tuck these memories into the cracks. Find a way to make sure the pictures wouldn’t bend. Close the zipper. Find his phone… Walk out the door and never come back.

Felt weird, thinking about it that way. He’d… honestly never really thought about what came next. Final year and he hadn’t known yet. But maybe, if he’d just kept going to classes, they wouldn’t tell him to stop. Hadn’t wanted to think about it. Still didn’t. But now he knew. At least for a little while. And he hummed along unevenly with Gladys and Ezra and Daisy as he finally switched from fiddling to properly relocating. It all had to go somewhere. All had to fit. Carefully though. Slipped between his clothes for cushioning.

The first alarms were ringing. Didn’t matter if he was too early. He could wait. Sleep on the plane.

In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 1 mo ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Location: The Beach - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean
Human #5.016: Not Your Peanut Gallery
Interaction(s): Everyone, I guess-
Previously: See No Evil

The sand shifted, pooled and slid between his fingers, scratchy and light, loose, like dust underfoot, like an itch beneath the skin, like a pencil’s shavings left behind on a page…. Lucas watched the grains raining from his hand to join the rest on a very long, very old strip of land and glanced sideways at the man beside him, glad he was using a pen. Glad, for a moment, that everything was crackling heat and susurrating waves and flickering falling light flashing shadows and shapes on the sand while everyone else seemed to curl into themselves. They were all quiet in their own worlds, but when he glanced around at sullen, despondent faces and eyes avoiding eyes, Lucas didn’t wonder what those worlds were. Even he was sure he knew, this time, what was weighing on everyone’s minds.

Too much, too fast, too final, too broken. Too many breaths stopped before the next one came. Too many pools warm and thick. Too many screams ringing in ears they couldn’t cover. He’d tried. It hadn’t worked. It never did.

And now the school was closed. Foreclosed, forsworn, foregone conclusions… Should have closed sooner. Shouldn’t have promised everything was fine or safe or going to get better. Should have known what was coming. He felt no particular way about any of what was happening, too distant in his own mind following all the livid whispers and new promises offered by rumours and recruiters both, too practised at letting memories flow in and out and past, too jumbled up to focus on working through any of it. There was only the vague, familiar disappointment of life changing all over again in ways he couldn’t fight or change or fully understand. So, he poked at the sand instead, knowing without really knowing that he had a choice to make and it hadn’t changed since he’d first understood that the school was closed and he couldn’t stay. No one could stay.

So, it surprised him when someone broke the silence. Surprised him even more that it was Immanuel’s voice suddenly filling in all the empty space of little words and small voices and shaky sobs he didn’t know who was making or holding onto. Didn’t know if it was a crack in the dam or a goad or a road towards relief or maybe it was the thought of home that wiped away the quiet. But slowly, then faster and faster the flood caught them all up and surged along.

He didn’t know the whole story. Didn’t really know anyone’s story, except for Manny and Cleo beside him, only knew the obvious. What he could see was loss. Wings had lost them, Haven, it took him a moment to remember. And Rory—Rora and Ro… he knew who that was now—he’d lost his legs. Another guy was missing an arm. He didn’t know if the other girl had always been blind or not though. What he could hear was confused. Divisive.

The fabric holding them together, already worn thin, stretched, strained… snapped. Violence begets violence. But now he knew who’d been sobbing so hard.

He was still staring at Rory, and the tall, red-eyed lady he knew nothing about, as another voice joined in, but it was Cleo’s shout that made him jump, turning to stare at her and the thin glow surrounding her. He hadn’t noticed the first red aura beside the fire, but this one was white light the way too many paint colours made brown. Overwhelmed… Yeah… “All right. Angry sad’s okay, but that sharing isn’t caring.” They didn’t need an audience. He stood up too, reaching for Manny’s arm to haul him up alongside. “Can I miss your home too? Mine are full of ghosts now.”

In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 1 mo ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Location: Formal Homecoming - A.R.C., Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.092: See No Evil
Interaction(s): Cleo Boyd @spicykvnt
Previously: Hawkward Memory

Hail? It started light, the way storms so often did, broken propellers and frozen drones eerily reminiscent of the little balls of ice bouncing, sharp and hard, off his skin when he looked up, frowning at a ceiling he couldn’t actually see. Hail was a rarer memory here than it had been back home, and not something you’d expect on a clear night without much wind.

But Lucas wasn’t the only one looking up when something heavier hit the roof. Wasn’t the only one dropping things and covering their ears when hail became thunder vibrating his bones. Wasn’t the only one struggling to breathe as that something forced its way inside, shoulders rounding into a hunched back bending under the weight tearing him wide into shapes he wasn’t meant to hold. Falling fast fragments of thought never finished with the roof pierced, punctured, and torn rending him out of every when into counting the seconds behind each impact of now now now. He staggered into a table and clung to its four-legged stability when the screams started before finding his breath and scrambling underneath it, pressing his face into his knees, curling up against the threat of scattering into pieces across the floor.

His ears were ringing. His head echoed, but fingers played across his back and smoothed fabric across flat wood. Plates slid between friends and glasses played Russian roulette between hands putting them down, picking them up, and coming back empty to lay warm weight into his shoulder as someone leaned in to look at the feathers.

He tried to stay there, holding his breath, terrified of everything just beyond the periphery where cloth curled over the edge obscuring a view he didn’t want to see, but someone jostled the table. Shaking that fragile security out of place in the moment and dropping him back to fast breaths and fear and he couldn’t look, couldn’t move, didn’t want to hear it, but broken glass sprayed light and dark reflections across the back of his eyelids, painting a hole in the sky and the shape that filled it, wings so wide they blocked the light.

It was inside.

There was no muffled quiet beyond his ears. Only shouts. Cracks. Cut-off screams. More thunder rolling through him. The floor shook as he slowly pulled his hands free from squishing his head back together, lowering them past his knees and down, hesitating, bracing before he set them, flat, fingers spread and fell past the dust and hair and seeping chill pressing into his palms, sinking into a thousand streams of instrumental chaos, chords and cacophony, strings and songs and sliding start and stop perfection dragging him deeper beneath the shouts and calls and shrieks and voices in sync in rambling in rivalry in play in panic in the solid shuddering support of bodies in action and inaction settling him between the cracks of every parcelled inch spread out under this disaster. And slowly, determinedly, he waded back up, through the slip and slide flatline rush of everything rearranged to perfection, flat floor raised one step, two step, three, then more, through the parade of industry setting down each weight four by four by four of chairs and tables on even ground and bursts of volume raised or lowered and splashes of light. The slow murmur of preparation building into the excited crescendo of lights on, music blasting, and feet on the floor until everything froze, a glass dropped, the illusion shattered.

He followed the outward ripple of surging, tumbling feet to a line of cold so deep it had to be ice. Found the weight of words as heavy as the one uttering them into a sudden still quiet that flickered in and out of reach with each explosive attempt to deny the demands. Lucas couldn’t see what was happening, but he felt it in every tense shift of steps forward or back, the low murmurs and the claws dragging across his skin, the movement of the crowd, the crumpling of warm bodies pooling blood over his fingers, the short shrieks and broken sobs and the knees digging into his spine. There were voices he knew and some he didn’t, words and names and sudden cracks in his head that made his breath hitch in and fall out on a whimper, but he didn’t stop chasing the next second as well as he could.

He knew these sensations. People were fighting.
People were dying. He knew those, too.

He couldn’t look. Didn’t want to watch, but he needed to know. Needed to listen through the disaster if he couldn’t do anything else. Until he found one pair of hands that didn’t whisk away as he reached for them, pressed flat on the edge of a scream where poison-bright worms of light writhed into the empty spaces of his mind, devouring the echoes of that long wail and his thoughts with them before he pulled back. The hands alone he might not have recognised, but the power, he did. A sparkling mist of light and feeling narrowed into focus. He’d felt that before. And he hummed as he finally found something he could do. His hands could not reach hers; he couldn’t pull her down to join him safe beneath the floor, but she was trying to do something, trying to reach something, and that Lucas could help with. So, he did. With an odd, incongruent glee that wrapped around her. Found.

He sank into older memories of quiet where it was easier to move. Where it was easier to focus. To reach inside and out. Where nothing pushed back when they moved forward until they were in the eye of the storm surrounding the figure she wanted to reach. He felt her grasp solidify as his own frayed under that renewed barrage of erasure, lights prickling in the back of his mind, broken screams still ringing in his ears as red and silver flashed behind his eyelids. It felt like forever before he pushed through and past and time moved on as the storm lifted and so did she, her feet whisked away with the same rush of wind that dragged at the giant and Lucas winced more at the claws gouging long furrows through him than he did at the final roar of a beast denied.

He waited then, holding his breath in the sudden quiet as the wind vanished, as the screaming faded, as cool air slowly wafted into the empty space, seeking the warmth of those hands, feeling the bodies pressed together, listening to the gasps and choked sobs and broken exclamations hoping to hear the voice that was missing. His fingers curling hard against the floor until he found them, small against the whole, still where he’d felt them last, and Manny’s voice, too.

“Lucas, yeah, okay. I’m here.” He breathed the words… Rocking into his relief, one hand and then the other lifting to muffle the world again. He was safe. She was safe. They were safe, right? It was finished? The screaming wouldn’t stop.

In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Location: Formal Homecoming - A.R.C., Pacific Royal Campus
Dance Monkey #4.060: With the Lights Down Low
Interaction(s): Cleo Boyd @spicykvnt, and Immanuel Blaylock @Festive
Previously: Don’t Stare Into the Sun

Rolled out red carpet faced like the true gauntlet it was—or wasn’t—via the simple expedience of not walking on it, Lucas led his friends past the first hurdle of an entryway crowded with excitement and nerves and hearts beating fast for so many reasons, whispers and whistles and the subtler sigh of cloth brushing cloth of their arms linked together, only to fall into the mirrored world of glass and doors, swaying with each weight swinging on its hinges, smiles and lights strobing together, too distracted by celebration to brace himself with any certainty of which way he was walking until the one gentleman in their little group held the side door open and steady and Cleo dragged him through.

Then, he followed dazedly behind. Thoughts all puzzle-pieced together and sliding past each point like the well-made machine he was standing in, on, under… Only vaguely keeping track of the rolling, repetitive motion on two wrists nearby as he took in the view. The change was tangible.The atmosphere drawing in each caught breath from the door to the dance floor. He wasn’t the only one appreciating the work put into making this night special. The music was cacophony, too many songs settled into the bones of the building to figure out which one was playing until he caught the same one from the silk and satin (and wool and velvet and lace and crepe) nearby. A muffled round between ears and fabric.

But the lights were dim, almost gentle compared to the black walls and their red drapes, practically glowing… Dance floor front and center, with twin staircases accentuating the mezzanine backdrop, the seating areas caught his eye for a moment, with the fountains of feathers on every table like sprays of light, but he didn’t have time to wonder where they might sit themselves or what food was on offer, having stalled entirely with his eyes on a large black box blending into the wall with a curtain of its own strung across a door and a very big sign with one very big word above it.

Photos.

Lips moving as he mouthed that word to himself, brain suddenly buzzing with one very clear thought, he turned back to Immanuel and Cleo with a grin and a squeak as he caught the words before they tumbled out too loud, one hand covering his mouth and the other pointing at the photo booth. They had to. If they’d come to the dance, they needed a record. He needed it. He wanted it, too. Clasping his hands together as pleadingly as he could.

Lucas’s excitement hit her immediately in the chest. It was pop rocks in your mouth, and the pool of squeezed lime that sits on top of the guacamole for the brightest bite of the dip. Cleo’s eyes widened with it, and she bit down on her lip as the music wrapped itself around her, a trance beat with happiness folded into every chord and note. The rhythm had her swaying immediately in time, her hips, shoulders and head moving as she smiled. It was still easy to note that she was keeping it contained, but that it wouldn’t take too much more to set her whirling into the centre of the room. “Another photo for the wall, aye?” she asked with her usual dreamy smile - eyes torn between looking at the booth itself, and at people arriving in their formal attire.

”Eyes on the prize, all right, yeah. It’s picture perfect, okay?”

Cleo twirled again, before drawing a finger to her lips, her attention dancing between Lucas and Manny. “Ye know, the queue’s a wee bit long. What say I go get the drinks for our table, hmm? By’t time I’m back, it’ll be our go.” She was already shimmying away. “Two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I promise.” She began in the direction of the bar, shoulders swaying, almost as if the music had a hold of her. She heard it, felt it, and had to move with it.

Through the tumultuous force of noises that pervaded every single facet of his ears, Immanuel caught the rising squeak of Lucas’ voice, a sharp piercing noise that stabbed his temporal lobe over the drowning music that he oh so tried to shut out and kill within his mind. His eardrums through background chatter picked up the sound wave vibrations of hearts picking up in rate with the advent of Lucas’s idea. Immanuel could not deny the infectiousness of the excitement in which his teammates held, if only he could hold a single coherent string of thought beneath the blanket of hell's greatest disturbance that marched upon his ears as if it was the day of reckoning and his mind stood as ground zero. He couldn’t much hear the utterances that spouted from the mouths of neither Cleo nor Lucas, as much his concentration stood stalwart even there were limits to what the man could do, while yes he could lower it all down a level manageable by his mind in this state, he could not overextend his focus to clearly pick up the words that were spoken into the air. His ears sat like an old radio whose antenna finagled in a manner perfectly to receive the signal of a station one desperately yearned to embrace within their ears but was curbed by static that could not be fixed without losing the connection to the channel. He could pick out bits and words here and there but in the overarching experience that was it; all static.

From his lips, Immanuel read what Lucas was saying. Photos? God, Immanuel could feel the growing migraine on the horizon threatening to run rampant behind his eyes, and those flashing light he caught out of the corner of his periphery wasn’t going to solve but any of the problems he held in this moment, but fuck it, he had to make sure this night was great. No. The best. And he wasn’t going to call it off after only a few minutes into the party simply because of the threat of a little bit of pain. ”Gotta make this shit last, right!?” Immanuel placed his hand upon the shoulder of Lucas giving both of the two a head shake in agreement as his eyes floated between them. ”That sounds good to me Cleo, make sure to get me the strongest thing they got over there would’ya?” The smile he wore upon his face stood bright even through the noise, while his tone was low he hoped Cleo could tell what he had said, while as a scream screeched straight into his ear drum to himself he knew to others that most times it sounded slightly above a whisper. And that drink? God knew he would need it.

Glancing over at the hand on his shoulder, Lucas gave his friend a small, crooked smile before trying to answer a question, if not the question. ”What? Strongest shit they got, yeah… no… uhhh… I like the bubbles?” He ended on a confusedly hopeful note and a shrug, leaving the choice up to Cleo since she knew what he liked anyway.

”We’ll go hold the line for ya.” Immanuel uttered, his tone increased slightly to make sure Cleo heard his voice clearly this time but at the cost wince as he turned back to face the line. It was long, that was certain, packed with the many chattering voices in uncertain to even sultry tones and the bumping hearts of those alongside their dates. As the two took their spots upon the tail end of the line, Immanuel looked to his side over at his friend. Immanuel’s hands moved like second nature from his side to his ears coming outward in a motion that then transitioned to a sign performed at his chest. Too much noise. After the brief pause he continued, his hands moving in a pattern, flowing the sentence through the signs he presented with his hands like an artist making a brush stroke across an easel. Still trying to get my bearings, this is a lot.

Lucas was already eyeing Immanuel sideways when his friend started signing and guiltily jerked his head just enough to continue eyeing him more directly while still being able to see the photo booth, though he was no less worried in his excitement by the careful way he was standing. And his attention quickly shifted more firmly to his friend’s face and, more particularly, his hands. Hands in motion had easily begun catching his attention when voices lost themselves between the walls in his head, gestures and charades and all the little details of the thoughts behind the faces that frowned or smiled or stared before moving lips loosed echoes and tangents like torrents dragged him far from easy conversation. But learning the words they could shape beside the rise of an eyebrow or the purse of lips had become a lifeline in and of itself when he’d first arrived and found himself thrust back into the world of the present and stuck with strangers he’d never met both in and out of the walls. He’d gotten better at standing against the current since then, but now he knew ASL, too, and he still liked watching hands.

When Manny had finished, he stretched his arms wide as he nodded his agreement and grimaced through his own quick apology, signing back in sudden bursts and hanging stillness while he found his thoughts, a staccato rhythm at odds with his usual continuous rush or slow deliberation. A loooot, yes…. Sorry, I made it louder… Want to turn off your ears?

He pointed at the pocket which he knew without looking housed the limiter Immanuel carried on him, eyebrows raised. Can you even hear the music? Everyone on the team had learned at least a little ASL over the years, and Lucas thought perhaps a little too highly of Immanuel’s lip reading skills, so it wouldn’t hinder their conversation much if he did. Besides, if he couldn’t hear the music, then why bother giving himself a headache?

Most of what I am hearing is the music. Immanuel’s hands continued flowing before him with the same efficiency as before, a steady stream of symbols likely not understood by those surrounding the pair was exchanged in this stuffy air they stood within.

Noise isn’t music. But music was noise if it filled in all the empty spaces in your head you wanted to keep empty. Lucas frowned as he pointedly expressed his opinion. Of course, he couldn’t know what his friend was hearing, maybe all it was was loud, but loud hurt, too. And Manny didn’t look like he was enjoying any of it. He didn’t have to enjoy it, really, but he didn’t have to endure just so he and Cleo could.

I… His hands paused, his mind racking behind the cacophony that pervaded his ears to find the words to sign in a sea of words from others he could not quite decipher, a billion of voices all spoke at once yet he could not find his within this moment. It’s… more complicated. Last resort. I’ll be alright, you don’t have to worry. His smile stood unwavering to Lucas in the face of all in which dared utter a sound in the air, into his ears. In a swift motion, he patted the side of the pocket within which the tool sat, the was no motive behind the action, more a cruel reminder of a piece of technology that bound him at some points, a piece that he attempted to wane away from but was sucked back into its grasp like a toxic lover’s calling under the cover of the night.

...Ok.

As the line they stood within became shorter the two shuffled into the new position they now occupied, looking down the row of bodies that stood packed together as if they were bound to each other’s side he could not tell how much longer it would take to get to the front. Do you think the others even remember what today is? I know some had it marked on their calendar for quite a bit, but, do you think they remembered? At least we don’t have to deal with Whitney’s drunk bullshit… Once again his eyes could no longer stay still, as his hands signed the last symbol to Lucas his eyes tracked those beyond the line. He watched as all types of people engaged in the debauchery of the night. A night of but pleasure incarnate and what his eyes could not lay witness to his ears did, it was one to be remembered in the minds of all those who attended if not with the slight tint of somber his own mind would hold to the night. In a way though, sometimes I miss it.

Grinning maybe a little too widely as he settled a hand on Immanuel’s shoulder and patted it slowly, feeling warm fingers tweaking the fabric flat and squeezing beneath his own, a breathy, wordless satisfaction voiced somewhere in the back of a throat, Lucas leaned back and raised his eyebrows. You? You miss Whitney? She’d been loud and proud and fun. There was a lot of presence to miss. His grin faded into a crooked corner of his lips as he nodded, subdued. Me too… Her absence was more noticeable now, in the rush of new and old where he had to go digging to hear her laughingly ask if he’d ever wear a kilt the traditional way. They were all farther away here. Long gone…

Ok, wait. I can’t circle back to… circle circle circle circle circle circle back to remember what ... today is—ok! Lucas left his finger circling absently as he worked back through his own memories to the actual question and could only shrug rather helplessly once he had. No regrets if they forget… Well… Fewer regrets, anyway, probably. Steve and… Darla, no? She has her family for bigger worries. And Steve hadn’t seemed to care one way or the other about the dance. Though whether he’d remember or forget the date… he didn’t know.

I wouldn’t put too much faith in Steve, I love him but I don’t think he put too much thought into what day of the week it was most times… A weary smile cast across his face as the line picked up, in almost a blink the two stood firmly near the front of the colossal line in which they had first entered. Immanuel turned his head away from the flashing lights to his side lest he make his migraine feel any worse than it had. Almost our turn.

Perhaps it was closer to four shakes, but Cleo returned, a crease over her brows as she'd waded through the filling room, inadvertently brushing shoulders with partygoers, picking up their vibes as she did. In the thick of it, there was a sunny radiance, but partway back, a seed of rage planted into her as she watched a boy tear past, after the sound of physical confrontation. Rage and embarrassment, transferred and left sitting in her. A shallow red pool, rippling across the surface. “This is what I didnae want…” she muttered to herself, a “tsk” sound after she placed the drinks down. She had to get back to Manny and Lucas.

She made a beeline toward them, shimmying their way as they crossed to the front of the line at last - she was right on time. The silence between them meant they were speaking without words, and Cleo, in her own way, did the same. She took in a deep, grounding breath as she reappeared at their side; the feelings between them were nostalgic, slightly humoured, and there was a softness to the energy. Despite the blaring music and heat of emotions… Between Manny and Lucas, she felt a calm, warm morning with something sweet and light in hand. A dazzling teal colour. “Yeaaah…” she sighed out dreamily. “Steve would have loved this.”

”That man loved just everything.” The words uttered out of Immanuel's mouth as he made space for Cleo among the sea of people, his hands down away from his chest to curb the almost unconscious nature to sign the words he spoke forth. ”Now, where's that drink?” His hands slither over to Cleo's, bringing the glass into his own grasp and taking a sip of whatever the concoction was.

“Cle—oh…” Lucas started with a grinning glance her way as he heard them all in the quiet of her dress only a half hour earlier, before he remembered himself and let his greeting peter out to a calmer quiet, though his smile didn’t fade half as quickly. He nodded instead, satisfied to see her coming back right on time when Manny’s observation had started him worrying. Almost their turn didn’t sit well when he couldn’t see far in the low light and the crowd. Wasn’t used to looking for Cleo in cream, either. Maybe he’d missed her… But she was here now and he slung an arm around her shoulders with glad enthusiasm while giving Manny the next best one-armed hug he could manage, steering them both towards the booth as almost became their turn. “All right, okay, smile for the camera isn’t everything. Let’s put on a show for Steve’d love this smiles and funny faces, okay? Say cheese!”

”I don’t think I have any other kind of face.” Cleo said with a slight laugh, ducking first into the booth, remnants of secret attraction lingering in the small space like a perfume. Whoever the last two people were, one of them had feelings that the other did not. She almost frowned in response to it, until she saw the countdown timer on the screen practically playing them off before they had all squeezed in. Her first face, she decided with the urgency of the countdown, was going to be “chipmunk”.

Immanuel followed in turn after her, his hands clutched tightly around the glass in his hand. ”I'm as ready as I'll ever be!” A smile formed across his face as he settled into the booth. Maybe one of them should make a photo book one day.

It was a tight, harried squeeze of elbows and knees and fitting in together trying not to jostle. He’d said funny faces but all he managed was smiling so wide his face hurt as he caught sight of Cleo’s puffed up cheeks and tried to give Manny bunny ears just before the first flash. The world was bright and loud and blinding even in a little box, but surrounded by giggles and laughs and the warmth of two friends still around, Lucas didn’t care.

And at last, Team Eclipse had reached its totality, the last petering moment of their time in the sky.



In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
L U C A S B R A Y
L U C A S B R A Y
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"What? I dunno, it’s all just back to being here, isn’t it?"
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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
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C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
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Lucas Emery Bray
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May 5th,2004 | 24 | Caucasian
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Single | Male | Asexual
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Toronto | Ontario | Canada
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Ursus | Team 21 - Blackjack
C H A R A C T E R S T A T S
C H A R A C T E R S T A T S
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◼ B U I L D || Skinny
◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Brown and messy
◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Brown
◼ H E I G H T || 5’ 9”
◼ W E I G H T || 140 lbs.
◼ S C A R S || Nothing worth notice
◼ T A T T O O S || No
◼ P I E R C I N G S || No
◼ O T H E R || Often looks lost
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
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Lucas grew up in the Summerhill district of Old Toronto under the care of his single father after a succinct divorce. Despite the rocky circumstances of his entry into fatherhood, the man persevered and put in the work and his parents were always willing to lend a hand when he needed it. So, Lucas grew up feeling loved and looking forward to the future. It can’t be said that his life was the most exciting or always idyllic, but with winters set aside for school, summers were for swimming and sailing and eating ice cream at the cottage they shared with a friend of his dad’s. And plenty of camping in the nearby national parks.

It was a normal, pleasant life, for the most part, broken only by the few rough spots of occasional arguments and sports-induced injuries and the odd worse than average grade.

Then, a few months after his 14th birthday, Lucas caught a football and suddenly couldn’t stand straight. The dizzy sensation of spinning uncontrollably unnerved him completely, but he didn’t know where it came from. He shrugged it off at first; maybe he just needed a drink more than he thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Gradually, he started hearing and seeing things too, sometimes clearly and other times too faintly to make out. But he found himself answering questions he hadn’t been asked or feeling people nearby when there weren’t any. He managed to keep it… mostly under wraps until he failed that year with no real excuse save the truth. When he finally came clean, his dad was alarmed and took him to a psychiatrist.

The eventual diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia. Unfortunately, the prescribed treatment didn’t work out as planned. Instead of helping, it interfered with the natural process of his emerging powers and the sudden influx of information made his brain shut down. He spent the next several years cycling through periods of being overstimulated and barely functioning to being mentally exhausted but coherent. Slowly, his father made the connection between location and coherency and heard enough repeated conversations from Lucas to realise what the actual trouble might be. So, after a hard mental struggle, he set aside his prejudices and called his ex-wife to ask for her help.

Although an inhibitor was only a temporary solution, it certainly helped. And at least they discovered the reason behind his difficulties. Unfortunately, Lucas wasn’t the only one having problems during this time, and within a month, he both celebrated gaining some control over his life and saw his dad collapse due to lung cancer. The man succumbed quickly, leaving him and his mother to navigate the ins and outs of life turned upside down.

While his mother was willing to make things work if he wanted to take it slow and stay with her or with his grandparents, it was fairly obvious that she wasn’t used to being a mother and his grandparents were dealing with their own grief nor were they equipped to help him. So, they decided together that the best place for him was probably PRCU. Since he was too old for their collegiate program, he studied his ass off for a year and managed to pass his GED so he could enroll in their university program without issue only to be met with Hyperion’s terrorism and a first year he’d rather not remember.

It wasn’t a great start, but though the school itself took a hit to its reputation and the ripples mean he rarely hears from his mum and couldn’t visit his grandparents as often as he wanted and now the world’s out to get them, it wasn’t all bad either. At the very least, he still had something to work towards and didn’t lose more time, or friends, or family, just his peace of mind… He spent the next few years struggling between using an inhibitor, then a limiter, and learning how to focus on his own and trying not to fail any classes or worry about the future.

D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E & A E S T H E T I C
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E & A E S T H E T I C
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With mousey brown hair and eyes, Lucas is fairly plain. His hair does lighten with a few highlights if he stays out in the sun long enough, and if it’s longer than an inch (and it’s been consistently over his eyes, these last few years) it flips and curls at the ends and is generally disheveled. He’s got thick, mobile eyebrows and wide but slightly close-set eyes, a somewhat round nose, full lips, and a weak chin. His face has rounded out as he grew up and is very expressive, whether he wants it to be or not.

With a relatively slender frame, Lucas doesn’t make for much of a presence. There is very little muscle on him, giving his arms a lanky reach and making his hands seem a bit big, as though he’s still growing into them. He seems younger than he actually is and wearing mostly cast-offs and secondhand clothing doesn’t help much. He prefers loose clothes, with subdued tones. Baggy pants with big pockets, and sweatshirts over top of casual t-shirts. Looking put together has never been a great concern of his, nor does he manage it often. He usually just wears whatever’s comfortable or whatever he’s been told to.

M A N N E R I S M S & P E R S O N A L I T Y
M A N N E R I S M S & P E R S O N A L I T Y
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His natural expression is a relaxed frown and quiet air of inattention, contentment or concern, but it can shift just as easily into a bright smile, confused disbelief or an angry glare as most, though they tend to be slower to shift through the motions that rearrange the meaning. His hands are often fidgeting, usually with each other as that is the safest for him to touch, but sometimes they skitter over surfaces rather nervously before settling. Lucas has a ragged, rough voice, often as full of emotion as his expression, though he has a hard time modulating his volume indoors. It is a light tenor, with a slight nasal quality if he raises it too loud. When distracted by his power, it can get a bit distant, but never lifeless or monotone.

Although he’s hardly a reserved individual, perfectly capable of saying whatever’s on his mind with very little filter and always happy to recognise people he knows—or has seen once before—he does tend to be more subdued the more people there are around him or the more used the space around him. He has his ups and downs just like anyone, but overall, he’s a friendly individual who tries to always manage at least a smile no matter how distracted or tired he is. He’s always willing to help and has gotten better at asking for help himself instead of just leaving his own problems alone, even if he still finds it easier just to pretend they don’t exist.

He’ll never be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he doesn’t mind. He has a brain, and he can use it, but if he doesn’t have to, he’d really rather not.
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A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
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H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || Psychometry
__PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC
__SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || PSIONIC
__POWER SCALE || 2
__THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Σ

Lucas can perceive the history of an object through proximity with it. This history can be anything from where it’s been and who or what interacted with it, to how it moved and what its purpose was. In Lucas’ case, object means any inanimate thing that has been shaped or made by humans. In general, foods don’t count, but some highly processed foods might.

Also, while Lucas would call them memories, as they feel like active processes in his brain, the glimpses he gets of the past are more like recordings layered over each other. Similar acts make similar recordings meld together and become stronger, while the less repeated, less insistent activities get lost in the shuffle. They’re still there, every minute of every day since the object first became whole is caught up in its shape, they just aren’t as easy to tease out. Or, as Lucas reacts to each recording running through his mind, he might drag free the more unusual moments that something has to offer simply by unconsciously focusing on them. In a similar vein, external stimulus can prompt a shift in the sort of recordings being broadcasted. Climbing up stairs might bring up the memory of all the other feet that have weighed them down. And greetings are often echoed by a multitude of voices.

L I M I T A T I O N S || Distance, Knowledge, Record Clarity

He has a range of about 10’ with nearby objects; the smaller they are, the closer he has to be to them, usually. But memories can bleed together through walls or connected objects, and sometimes buildings, particularly large ones that see lots of activity, broadcast memories from up to 100’ away. For an object to transmit a recording to him, Lucas doesn’t need to be touching it, and he doesn’t choose whether or not it does, but the transmissions aren’t the most coherent until he does touch the object. It is far easier for him to control the information he receives while maintaining contact with the item(s) in question, but it’s mostly just a method of making things clearer and easier to understand or focus on (like tuning into a radio station). He’s gotten better at navigating that stream of consciousness and relegating it to a back seat or narrowing in on one particular record, but it’s likely never going to be an exact science.

Every object tends to have something that it retains better than others. For instance, reflective materials can record images, not always clearly, but usually enough to at least create some play of light and shadow. Windows and mirrors are the best. Almost all objects collect sound, though walls do it especially well, and more porous materials can best retain scent. And cloth, clothing in particular for obvious reasons, absorbs a lot of emotional tells. None of them record taste, however. And the sense of touch is often relegated to recording the temperature and varying amounts of pressure, though some of the finer details of object interaction are preserved.

It also does not come with any miraculous translating abilities, so while he can hear someone talking, if he doesn’t know the language, he’s not going to know what they’re saying. And while he can use more complex screens, the only reading he gets off them is a light aura around them rather than what they previously displayed. Touch screens are just a mess of taps and swipes and though he has managed to track someone’s specific activity on newer and less-used equipment, it’s pretty much just luck that everything still lined up.

W E A K N E S S E S || Overstimulation and Understimulation

As every sensation is from the object’s point of reference, this excludes them from recording such things as pain, pleasure, fatigue, and some movement, but this doesn’t guarantee that Lucas won’t find the feedback uncomfortable. Each transmitted sensation is almost always intrusive and can be confusing, even if it isn’t unpleasant. So, even if he’s prepared, big events and busy buildings can be remarkably overwhelming. As he cannot turn it off without either depleting his supply of HZEs or wearing an inhibitor, he’s almost always at least a little distracted or tired, even at his best, and often has a hard time focusing on the here and now. Any sudden influx of recorded memories leaves him relatively unresponsive and unaware of his surroundings for a time while he works through them. Though he has learned several coping mechanisms throughout the years and can get by as long as he’s prepared.

He also has a tendency of losing himself in the walls when he has nothing else to do or when he’s feeling overwhelmed in general, and without interruption, this can lead to a sense of disassociation where he forgets himself and ignores his body’s needs.

On the opposite side, because his brain has adapted to working through that extra noise, he can struggle just as much with a sudden loss of stimuli leading to overcompensation and extra, unneeded effort and he doesn’t really like it when there’s only his own thoughts in his head.
S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
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S K I L L S
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◼ Bilingual || Although he’s certainly more comfortable with English, he is fluent in both French and English.

◼ Outdoorsy || Though a bit rusty, he has plenty of camping and outdoor survival experience, as well as being able to sail and paddle small craft.

◼ Deduction || Over the years, he’s learned how to find the details that fit together and the ones that don’t belong.

◼ Juggling || He’s no professional and he’s definitely not going to be juggling knives or lit torches, but he’s actually better at not dropping stuff than he expected.

T A L E N T S
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◼ Focus || Though it rarely shows up these days, Lucas does have a remarkable ability to narrow in and focus on a singular goal with great intensity when he wants to. More often, he’s also good at detaching himself and drifting in the moment without being affected by things like boredom or worry.

◼ Emotional Intelligence || A good listener and empathiser, Lucas has a mature understanding of the weight and influence of emotions and feelings and, helped along by his power, he’s generally very aware of what’s influencing the people around him at any given time even if he doesn’t always know the full context.
C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L
C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L
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A T T I R E
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◼ Glittens || A pair of hand-knitted, fingerless glove-mittens his grandmother made for him and which he will always wear whenever he can, even if the weather might be a little too warm or too cold for their particular use.

I T E M ( S )
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◼ Dinosaur plushie || A small, very simple stegosaurus plush toy gifted to him by his father. He no longer carries it around everywhere with him as he did during his first two years, but it does still show up occasionally when he’s looking for some additional moral support.

◼ Pill bottle || Your average brown prescription bottle. It’s empty, and has been for some time, but he uses it like a fidget spinner when he’s having trouble paying attention in class.

T O O L ( S )
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◼ Limiter || Although he doesn’t use it often, having it to hand for when he’s feeling particularly overwhelmed or tired or really doesn’t want to pick up on something is important enough to him that he keeps it in his backpack whenever he’s out and about.

A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S
A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S
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P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
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E N T E R I N G I N T O Y O U R F I N A L Y E A R, W H A T A D V I C E D O Y O U H A V E T O A N E W S T U D E N T?

I dunno... It’s not perfect, but they’re walking where lots of people do and you can follow the road or make your own and it’s not like life’s a big exam. Failing’s fine as long as you’re picking up the pieces of what went wrong. Everyone cries in the bathroom and it’s not like no one cares, they just don’t know, so ask for help if you need it, kay? And pick your chair up when you’re pushing and pulling. That shit makes my head hurt.

W H A T W E R E Y O U R A S P I R A T I O N S W H E N Y O U S T A R T E D H E R E? W H A T C H A N G E D, W H A T S T A Y E D T H E S A M E?

I just needed somewhere to be so I could pick up my own pieces. Dunno… Dunno if I found them all, but it’s not the same anymore outside or in. So… I don’t know how to fix it but there’s still screaming and crying and no one listening so I want to help find them. You know? The voices…

I F Y O U C O U L D M A K E O N E C H A N G E T O Y O U R T I M E A T P . R . C . U ., W H A T W O U L D I T B E?

What? Oh, ha! Right. More outdoor classes, please. That’s fun. Sun’s nice. Roof’s not heavy. I like it.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T
R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T
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☯ NEUTRAL ☯ || ☮ FRIENDS ☮ || ♫ BEST FRIENDS ♫ || § TENSE § || ♥ CRUSH ♥ || ☠ ENEMIES ☠
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☮ Blaylock, Immanuel ♫
"He talks like you’re there."

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☮ Boyd, Cleo ♫
"She's like a teacup."

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In Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Looking for New Players - Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University Roleplay → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks
<Snipped quote by Nemaisare>

I found this plush dinosaur on campus, is it yours?


>.> You know me too well. Or just wanted to make a reference... but either way... how did I miss this?!

*flails out of the woodwork*
In Looking for New Players - Commencement: A Pacific Royal Collegiate & University Roleplay → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks
*whimpers*
In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
I'm still in the same mood as when I first gave my two cents. If this continues, I'll stick it out to the end, if it doesn't, I... well, obviously I won't.

*Nem just sitting in a corner with a little stegosaurus stuffy and a Hyperion sock puppet. "Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"*
In Post-P.R.C.U. Pitch Platter → 1 yr ago Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
I mean... Lucas would fit there, and he's about as dangerous as a potato...
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