banjoanjo

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

James Xiao

Name:
James Xiao
Also Known As:
Family call him Jam, a cheeky bastardisation of his English given name due to his parents’ strong Chinese accents.
In his prime the media dubbed him ‘Boomer’, a nickname he absolutely despises.
Birthdate:
March 26, 1981
Place of Origin:
Shanghai, China
Ethnicity:
Chinese. Australian nationality.
Gender:
Male
Height:
186.4 cm / 6'1.4"
Weight:
75.2 kg / 165.8 lbs
Laterality:
Ambidextrous. Plays with his left but eats with his right.
Occupation:
Retired professional tennis player
Marital Status:
"...It's complicated." (Single. He's very single.)

Appearance:
Upon first glance, James seems to have an air of regal and stoic confidence about him. A piercing glare, manly jaw and tall stance has the former athlete exuding power to those around him. His resting expression is a rather unimpressed look he tries not to direct at anyone, lest they think he's about to berate them or something along those lines. His hair is dark and thick, styled into a short cut that looks equal parts expensive and casual. His eyes are a dark brown, like most Asians (and unlike his faceclaim picture), and look rather sharp. James possesses a mildly tanned complexion and strong build, though he has been getting slightly flabby on his stomach. However, underneath all the aesthetic qualities his fitness has granted him, James is actually a pretty plain guy.
His casual attire consists of a dress or polo shirt, jeans and dark dress shoes.

Synopsis:
Winner of seven Grand Slam tournaments in his career, the former world No. 1's reputation has deteriorated over past few years. His prime was reached about ten years prior to Bonaparte's invitation. After becoming one of the few athletes in the world to achieve a Career Golden Slam, the fans and media began noticing aggravation and recklessness in his behaviour. Countless controversies both on and off the court dragged his image through the mud. A sudden back injury finally put his floundering career out of his misery almost three years ago and since then, the Boomer has been wallowing spending his days maxin' relaxin' by the sunny shores of Monaco. James now languishes in his wealth, coming off to others as a stern, antisocial and bitter man.

Notes:

• Fluent in English and Mandarin. His high school level French is barely passable but he can hold a conversation if he concentrates.
• Blood type is A-.
• Voice can become extremely loud when agitated, hence his nickname 'Boomer'.

Theme Music:
Solid as a Stone

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Here's a grumpy boyo.

James Xiao

Name:
James Xiao
Also Known As:
Family call him Jam, a cheeky bastardisation of his English given name due to his parents’ strong Chinese accents.
In his prime the media dubbed him ‘Boomer’, a nickname he absolutely despises.
Birthdate:
March 26, 1981
Place of Origin:
Shanghai, China
Ethnicity:
Chinese. Australian nationality.
Gender:
Male
Height:
186.4 cm / 6'1.4"
Weight:
75.2 kg / 165.8 lbs
Laterality:
Ambidextrous. Plays with his left but eats with his right.
Occupation:
Retired professional tennis player
Marital Status:
"...It's complicated." (Single. He's very single.)

Appearance:
Upon first glance, James seems to have an air of regal and stoic confidence about him. A piercing glare, manly jaw and tall stance has the former athlete exuding power to those around him. His resting expression is a rather unimpressed look he tries not to direct at anyone, lest they think he's about to berate them or something along those lines. His hair is dark and thick, styled into a short cut that looks equal parts expensive and casual. His eyes are a dark brown, like most Asians (and unlike his faceclaim picture), and look rather sharp. James possesses a mildly tanned complexion and strong build, though he has been getting slightly flabby on his stomach. However, underneath all the aesthetic qualities his fitness has granted him, James is actually a pretty plain guy.
His casual attire consists of a dress or polo shirt, jeans and dark dress shoes.

Synopsis:
Winner of seven Grand Slam tournaments in his career, the former world No. 1's reputation has deteriorated over past few years. His prime was reached about ten years prior to Bonaparte's invitation. After becoming one of the few athletes in the world to achieve a Career Golden Slam, the fans and media began noticing aggravation and recklessness in his behaviour. Countless controversies both on and off the court dragged his image through the mud. A sudden back injury finally put his floundering career out of his misery almost three years ago and since then, the Boomer has been wallowing spending his days maxin' relaxin' by the sunny shores of Monaco. James now languishes in his wealth, coming off to others as a stern, antisocial and bitter man.

Notes:

• Fluent in English and Mandarin. His high school level French is barely passable but he can hold a conversation if he concentrates.
• Blood type is A-.
• Voice can become extremely loud when agitated, hence his nickname 'Boomer'.

Theme Music:
Solid as a Stone

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Ernest Mars

---

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕃𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝 ℤ / / 𝟙𝟚𝟘𝟘

---

Ernie had moved on from glaring out the window (like one of those emo kids he always laughed at) to glaring at the front board, specifically at the printed schedule on it. GLARING, like if he telepathically channelled enough hatred into the cursed thing he could escape the triple deathblows that were the pre-lunch subjects. Calculus AND Physics AND English, first thing in the morning? USARILN East truly was hell on Earth. More interesting was the phrase “Experimental Unit B” that was printed at the top. It seemed that was cherry-picked to be part of some special squad. Strange.

The arrival of other students drew his attention. Twenty or so teens, escorted by a beefy crew of security guards. An extra special squad then? Or maybe the security at East was always this heavy. Not enough information. It was time to put that detective cap on and suss out what the damn heck was going on here. A way to do that was to assess his assumed classmates, or just the people who stood out the most to him.

A peppy Aberration girl who introduced herself as Emma. Her upbeat little greeting to the teachers had pretty much grabbed Ernie’s attention by the ears, forcing him to acknowledge her existence. And what a weird existence this was.

Assessment time.

Woah, now this was a shiny person, a real “slow motion down the hall” kind of gal. In any other place, West especially, Ernie would have found her enthusiasm pretty adorable. But in here, coming from an Abe… Man, that was just strange. Hardcore denial, maybe? Sure, it wasn’t his first time seeing a cheery X but considering the environment they were in, considering how long it had taken Ernie to earn his own cheeriness, he wasn’t sure what was up with this girl. Maybe she got lucky with a weak stigma and happened to be a nice girl beforehand too. A lucky combo. There wasn’t enough information to work off for the moment and Ernie didn’t like thinking hard about things he couldn’t figure out. So he’d do that thinking later. Her presence didn’t offer many clues to his situation anyway.

An Arbiter with a ridiculous number of scars on him. Ernie was reminded of scored bread when he looked at the guy. The thought of bread reminded Ernie of the fact that his breakfast had only consisted of a small pack of biscuits handed out by the truck soldiers. And, oh god, there were still three hours until lunch break. Ernest Mars was going to starve to death long before he got eviscerated by Dreamcatcher monsters. He tried not to think about his neglected tummy too much, tossing himself back onto his earlier train of thought.

Scarface seemed to share some inside joke with the Daisy lady. How long had these guys been at East again? Not long enough to have gotten their arrival requisitions before today but enough to have established little gags with the staff? Then again, these pro mages here seemed zanier than any people West ever managed to pick up off the streets. It was probably best to not base any concrete judgement from the staff’s personalities. It looked like Chestnut Boy already had his own clique of friends too.

Other than them, no one else really caught his eye. A dozen or so nondescript faces other faces filed into the room, a mix-and-match of personalities and appearances with varying levels of morning crankiness. Nothing spectacular. The only other person maybe worth noticing was a shades wearing, goth punk chick who looked a lot like…

Ernie shook his head.

Naw, it couldn’t be. Probably just some random goth girl who also liked wearing sunglasses. A fellow fan, perhaps? His view of the girl was obscured so his interest was lost very quickly.

The following lessons and speeches were mind-blowingly boring. Something useless about other Experimental Units, algebra that even he could sorta understand, advanced arrow-drawing in Physics and whatever the heck was being taught by the fancy-pants English teacher. Seemed like a total waste of space to Ernie. And he wasn’t just referring to the sentence diagramming. He’d scoffed when Fred had returned to tell them to not eat the shrubbery. Hah, as if anything from East’s décor would look pretty enough to eat.

Classes had passed by without anyone approaching him. That was fair. If no effort is made on one end then why should the other reciprocate? He wasn't going to get anything done by sitting and moping around. It was time to put himself out there and flaunt that stunningly bright personality he'd worked so hard to cultivate. And if those high school romantic comedies were anything to go by, the epicenter of teen socialization was the cafeteria. Delicious foods and new friendships were awaiting him there.

Hold up a second.

Where was the cafeteria? More importantly, where was anything in this school?

Ernie groaned into his hands as his classmates bustled out of the room, presumably to places they actually knew the way to.

Persona - Academic Akrasia (Being rebooted, see new int check)

Aki watched passively as the boy in front of him placed his head to the ground. Dogeza, an act of complete submission. This went beyond desperation. Seeing Yamamoto act so hopeless, so goddamn pathetic sent something through Aki.

Bliss.

He felt powerful by bringing a man to his knees with mere sentences. By being above someone, no, by being needed by someone. His choices mattered now. They had incredible repercussions. With Yamamoto’s pleas for help, Aki held actual lives in his hands. He held strength in his words. And he could use it however he liked.

He had felt strength that day too. When Metis had released a surge of wind at those Shadows, he felt almost unstoppable in his determination. But it had been stripped away in an instant, the excruciating burns being a reminder that he really was nothing. His life could be swept away with the flick of a monster’s hideous appendage. In that dark place, he was nothing.

But up here where the sun still shone, where there were people he could still twist with sugary facades and hidden agendas, that was the only place he had any sort of influence.

The Drama Club could, WOULD rot in that hell. And Aki wouldn’t care less.

He wished it were that simple.

"The last person you want at your back in a fight is a coward."

And all at once the heady rush he was feeling was washed away in a torrent of shame.

What was he even thinking? Being important? Strength? What the fuck was it worth if it was a product of cowardice?

Aki took a shaky step back as Takahashi tried to pull the beggar to his feet.

He was being just like before. He had learnt nothing from the dungeon. These lies, this falsely earned power…

Aki wanted to cackle out loud.

Earned? POWER? Those words had no meaning. He had no meaning. He was nothing. And being nothing was worse than death. Aki was lower than every sort of inadequacy Yamamoto would ever show in his lifetime.

“I…” Aki’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, like even his voice was conveying the weakness he truly held, “I’ll go. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Aki didn’t budge from his spot as he awaited Yamamoto’s response, his shrivelled posture a clear indication of his fear and self-loathing.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Ernest Mars

---

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕆𝕦𝕥𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤 / / 𝟘𝟡𝟘𝟘

---

"...so they had to keep throwing grass and stuff up there so the freakin' cow wouldn't die on them! In the end, it took like three days before the specialist came to get it down. Let's just say the steak that night was wayyy more satisfying than usual."

A pleasing chorus of laughter filled the truck. Ernie relaxed back into his seat, an elated expression lighting up his face. Another excellent story told. He wondered if he'd have time to tell the one about the lamb shank too. Or the one with the brick bat. The cow in the clock tower wasn't even one of his top twenty! Everyone in the convoy was chuckling along except for a notable few colleagues including Carlton, the freckled ginger kid cowering a few seats down from him. Man, why did stupid Carly always have to be such a bummer? Before Ernie could jab at the guy a voice rung from further down the row.

"Guys, we're here!"

Faces were pressed to the transparent sides of the truck; a rather unnecessary measure, Ernie thought, since every single wall was see-through. The excited chattering turned to disappointed mutters soon enough. It was plain to see why.

No outdoor vending machines, no chalked hopscotch courts, no funny hand-made posters advertising movie nights. Not a damn lick of color to be seen anywhere. All the buildings were 'modern' or in more accurate words, infuriatingly square and monochrome. It gave Ernie the impression of a robot village. God, did a colorblind funeral director design this place?

The dark-haired boy glanced around. There was another concern. Where were all the people?

That was actually one of the rumors flying around. East had tossed too many kids onto the chopping block and now they were desperately in need of cannon fodder, fodder that was to be supplied by USARILN West. A peruse of the establishment backed the claims up. Way more guards, way less kids here. The stats on DnT had spoken for themselves, with West outnumbering East's student population by the thousands. No wonder the campus was so small and bland. There were barely any kids to cater to.

Bad vibes all over.

The story getting thrown around was that East's resident overlord had ordered a bulk delivery of a few hundred of USARILN West's most combat ready subnaturals. Ernie bit back a giggle. Classic Kleinfelder. Instead of a small army, their ever-so-charming Director had sent...

He surveyed his transfer buddies.

Jess, who could breathe out a tiny plume of steam. Carlton, whose power was to change the colors of inanimate objects. Arpad, the idiot who nearly got himself shot a few months ago when he showed off his slightly better-than-average jumping skills and got stuck on the barbed wire fencing. And twenty or thirty other subnaturals as lame as these guys. Useless, useless, useless. A planned transfer of four hundred subnatural soldiers had been whittled down to a number of kids that was small enough to fit into just two military trucks.

Indeed, Kleinfelder's extensive rosters weren't filled with the 'combat ready' sort. Usually the hard hitters got poached before they could set foot in the vibrant corridors of West. Zhang must have been seriously desperate to have asked their star-spangled overlord for help and Ernie could only hope that her wrath wasn't going to be taken out on them.

The news had been quite surprising when it arrived. Not just the transfer itself, but the fact that his name was included on that list on the jumbotron. Ernie's powers were far from being as pathetic as his fellows. In fact he was one of the more capable mages on campus, not that it was a particularly stunning achievement when you lived at West. Guess his rather stingy habits in battle were what had tipped the odds against his favor. That was hardly fair. He was just a guy who had his priorities straight when it mattered. And if some poor sap got inconvenienced or even killed because of the order of that list of priorities then, well...

They wouldn't have lasted long anyways. They wouldn't have deserved to.

Although, if he'd known that he'd end up here he would have definitely switched around the order on that list. Now look at where that had gotten him. He could and would have given up a limb or two to avoid being sent to gallows like this.

He was scared.

No, that was a bit extreme.

He was jittery.

Apprehensive.

Huh, those vocab quizzes came in handy after all.

He was apprehensive because if East's reputation was anything to go by, it meant that he and the handful of other West transfers had just received an all-expenses-paid trip to the average mage's death row. Complementary free meals and accomodation to go with a spectacular death at the hands of Dreamcatcher's monsters. At least they had the decency to include in-flight movies.

So yeah, he was kinda bummed out. He was allowed to be. He'd had simple plans, a neat little vision for the future. And the only real requirement for these plans was staying alive. The barest minimum. Unfortunately the transfer had really shoved a steak knife into the garbage disposal. The forums had described USARILN East as the nightmare that held "the record for most casualties on campus as of this year." And that was from 2015. How much worse could the institution have gotten since then? Things were not looking pretty here, literally and figuratively.

Then there was that other matter to add to his irritation. A scowl began tearing its way through Ernie's pleasant-faced expression. It had only been a few days since he'd topped off but he was already beginning to feel the familiar scratching in his chest, the aching sensation of stolen warmth. Dammit, he should have taken care of it before the flight. His Stigma tolerance was getting crappier by the day. With a somewhat irritated huff, he leaned forward to get a view of his favorite freckled punching bag. Even with the smallness of the convoy he had a few helpers to choose from. Guess the transfer wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Hey Carly!" Ernie called out, the standard pep flavoring his voice.

Carlton flinched in his seat and slowly turned to face Ernie's cheery grin.

"Wh-what?" the freckled teen whispered. The others had either gone quiet or started their own conversations, leaving Ernie to his own devices. Ah, these guys had learnt well. At least some people here knew how to act.

"I'm feeling kinda down," Ernie's smile didn't falter for a second, causing Carlton to shake even more, "Meet up with me after orientation?"

The hapless boy eyed the soldiers, garnering a tick of annoyance from Ernie. Like guard dogs had ever been a problem for him. And Carlton should have been the most well-versed with Ernie's stealthiness. Dummies like him were so irritating.

"You know I'll just find you later," Ernie pushed, "If you make this more annoying than it has to be, it's gonna..."

Dang. Threats, fancy talk in general, had never been his strong point. His actions had always spoken louder than his words ever could.

"It's gonna seriously suck," he finished rather lamely, "for you."

Luckily Carlton was spooked enough to catch Ernie's drift. Past actions louder than current words. Perfect.

The truck came to a stop as their conversation ended and the transfers were herded off. Carlton and Ernie were promptly pulled along with their row, once again separated. A soldier with a clipboard was waiting by the truck's door.

"Ernest Mars?"

The boy in question jerked his head to the call of his name. "Huh? Yep, that's me."

"Special arrangements. You'll be coming with us."

Ernie let out a nervous chuckle, eyeing his fellows. His buddies looked as befuddled as he was.

"I...I haven't even gone to orientation yet," he tried to keep his confused smile intact, "Am I going to a special dorm room or something?"

The guard with the clipboard ignored the student and nodded to his subordinates. Ernie was released from the chain. With a barrel to his back, he was escorted forward.

"You can receive your orientation in class."

"Class?!"

"Move it."

It was probably best not to annoy them any further. Without another protest, Ernie began walking. The unfamiliar hallways were just as bland as their exteriors. At least he couldn't fault East for consistency. Why the hell was he the only one forced into these 'special arrangements'? Was he finally gonna get that ass-kicking he deserved after all the shit he pulled at West? He'd heard East was borderline fascist with its discipline but going after him as soon as he stepped off the truck seemed a bit too hardcore.

Ernie was unceremoniously shoved into an empty classroom, a clicking sound from the door signalling that it would be a dumb idea to try to leave. Well, this sucked.

With nowhere left to go, he tentatively walked about the room. A quick inspection told him that it was just a normal classroom after all. Were they planning to interrogate or punish him in here? Or was he waiting for others with the same arrangements?

Argh, this was too much thinking for nine in the morning. Dejection clear in his posture, Ernie slumped into a seat by the window. He stared glumly out the window, watching the new world in front of him. Things weren't looking good.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@banjoanjoOH WOW BANJO. See this is why you don't have any oysters.

@RedDusk

Don't want any of your oysters, mate.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@banjoanjo Guess I am homo now I guess. Wanna get frisky?

@RedDusk

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@RedDusk

You forgot to say no homo

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

---

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟛, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕟 ℂ𝕦𝕝𝕡𝕒𝕖 𝟙 / / ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝕆𝕦𝕥𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕤 / / 𝟚𝟙𝟛𝟘

---

✖

With the proximity of the beetle man, it was impossible to miss. The first bullet entered the 'head' of the humanoid, rupturing its cognitive vitals. The second bullet did the same. The third shot was just plain overkill. With a pathetic final wheeze the beetle man perished, broken and covered in its subordinates' gizzards. The trench team had won.

On the other hand, Cal was having significantly less success than her teammates. Accompanied by Devotion and Determination, she rushed towards the scorpion. Her opponent was ready, eager to face off with the aquamarine blur once more. The tulpas bounded behind the girl, as per their master's instructions. Unfortunately, those instructions had not been specific enough. Cal's tactics fell on deaf ears. When it finally came to the coordinated attack the shadow creatures stuck by their original orders, to "follow Callan's lead" or more specifically, to mimic Cal's actions. They decided against following Cal's strategy, instead leaping at the scorpion from the same direction as their temporary leader. With a single whip of its stinger, the scorpion bat all three of them aside. Too easy. Cal was knocked back once again, with greater force this time. Devotion was dissipated upon impact. Being the sturdier of the pair, Determination managed to survive the blow, though it struggled to get back on its feet.

OOC Interaction Tags/Notes:

@Baklava: Cal's taking them hits like an absolute champ. Determination's barely alive and on its side a few metres from Cal.
@Deathmyster, @Chasers115, @Kyrisse and @Diggerton: Nothing engaging you at the moment.

Notes:

• Fog has been swept away by heavy winds from a crystilline structure by pink team. Nausea remains for a short while.
• Enemies remaining:
  
  • 1x eye scorpion (Fookin fite me, bruh.)

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

---

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟛𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟙𝟜 / / ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕠𝕣𝕜 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪, ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕠𝕣𝕜 / / ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕋𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝔼 / / 𝟙𝟜𝟜𝟞

---

"Hobbies! You got any hobbies?"

Vanessa crossed the street, careful to avoid the deep roadside streams that appeared more frequently the more they made their way to the edge of the city. On normal days the inconsistency of the water patterns made her usual commute more interesting. Today however, they were only prolonging the time she had to spend with this imbecile.

"How about music? You listen to any nice songs? Ah, I guess it'd be kinda hard to get your hands on good electronics. Hobo life, amirite?"

Only one block left. Would she be able to lock the guy outside while she sorted through her things? Perhaps if she just punched him in the throat she'd be able to enjoy some silence.

"Come on, favourite snacks?"

Vanessa whirled around, glaring at the awfully talkative ginger. Her exasperation was met with a quizzical smile, displaying the guy's surprise and delight at the long awaited reaction.

"I knew snacks would getcha," he beamed, "Everybody loooves snacks."

"Do you do this with everyone?" she snapped, eager to shut him up. They'd reached her building by now, a water-logged, rundown mess that was somehow still standing after years of environmental abuse and failed gentrification. If she'd known how long the walk with the chatterbox was going to be she would have chosen a spot closer downtown. Mold smothered the walls of the staircase she nimbly tiptoed up. Some finesse was required to avoid all the rotting planks.

"I try," the ginger, 'Donovan' if she remembered correctly, shrugged and hurried to keep up with her. He found some difficulty in climbing the staircase, something the petty side of Vanessa found satisfaction in. "Didn't work so well with Seiji though. He's the cranky little one. Don't tell him I called him that."

"Right," Vanessa retorted unenthusiastically, "You need to get to know the newbies."

The door to her apartment was unlocked, like always. Nobody had the nerve to come anywhere near this street, so there was never any reason for home security. The resulting quiet was greatly welcomed but she had to admit that she missed the familiar sounds of the bustling city sometimes.

"Yes, exactly! I knew you were a clever one."

Donovan bounded into the apartment before she had the chance to shut the door on him. The girl stared in dismay as her self-invited companion indulged his urge to touch and examine every possible thing she kept in the studio. The room at the back was where she kept a large stockpile of the essentials. Non-perishables, sanitary products, wads upon wads of bills. As she entered she caught the Australian leering at the pile with a hungry glint in his eye.

"Don't even think about it," she scowled. He raised his hands in mock surrender, proclaiming his innocence.

"We can use that cash," he said defensively, "I don't know if Nico told you, but we're gonna be on the road a lot."

Nico had indeed told her. He'd told her many things that morning, including what he hoped to eventually accomplish with their ragtag band of Animi. Normally she'd turn down all invitations to join the magical factions, but getting cornered by eight Animi had forced her to keep an open mind. The group's lofty goals had won her over in the end. Somehow. It took a lot of tentative discussion to convince Vanessa to pack her things and galavant across the globe with the scrawny kid and his friends, but Nico had managed it. There was something about the guy, a sincerity and drive that ultimately swung Vanessa's final decision. A chance to do some real good with her abilities.

Which was why she wanted to tie up all loose ends on the same day she received the invitation. Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today, and such. However she wasn't counting on being accompanied by Nico's right hand man, someone who upon first glance appeared to be a frat boy doing a poor and permanent impression of the Cheshire Cat. People rarely made good first impressions for Vanessa. At first she assumed that it was a matter of suspicion. Couldn't let someone run off with the group's secret plans, right? But as the minutes torturously crawled by it became clear that Donovan was tagging along not because he wanted to keep an eye on her, but because he was an idiot hellbent on annoying the shit out of everyone he met.

"I don't care," she growled lowly, "It's not for you."

He raised an eyebrow and gestured at a conspicuous nameplate on one of the duffel bags.

"Apparently not for you either," he smirked, admiring the 'Property of Hubert Hill' scrawled on the bag's underside.

Vanessa heatedly snatched the container and began stuffing it with her stockpile.

"Not. For. You. That's going to the community."

"You mean right back into looter hands when they take it from them?"

She paused and side-eyed Donovan with a strange smile.

"Looters aren't something we need to worry about here."

The stockpile was emptied into numerous rucksacks within minutes. Then it was out to the cul-de-sacs. It was a slow and tiring process, making sure that her resources were distributed evenly throughout the neighbourhood. David, the Sakers, Christopher and Rebecca, the Youngs; countless others she couldn't list in a single sitting recieved small packages filled with whatever she had in the rucksacks. The tentative 'thank yous' and awkward hugs did little to reward her efforts. It was simply a matter of efficiency, making the most of the limited resources in the flushed-out city they resided in. Nothing more and nothing less. Donovan observed the proceedings from a respectful distance, noting the lack of visible reactions at the sight of Vanessa's exposed throat. Surprisingly, he was silent for the majority of the proceedings.

"Quite the Samaritan, huh," Donovan remarked as they neared the end of their trip.

She replied without looking up, checking the last few names on the yellowed notepad. "This stuff needs to be used somewhere."

"Hm. You like helping others?"

The notepad snapped shut and was tucked into the pocket of her cargo pants.

"It's just something I feel like I should be doing. I didn't think I'd ever leave this city, especially when my powers emerged. Wanted to try and make this craphole a little more bearable to live in."

"Liar~"

Vanessa's glare conveyed her irritated confusion aptly. The smug boy gladly elaborated.

"You can't lie to me," Donovan lightly tapped his temple and laughed, "You're happy when you do this, I can tell. It's pretty cute actually!"

An outraged punch to the shoulder provoked a small yelp from Donovan.

"I'm just saying!" He raised his hands in preparation for another blow. "It's nice to finally recruit someone who isn't a complete psycho."

Her stare turned to one of disbelief. This guy really was a brazen idiot.

"You're getting your hopes too high," she muttered.

"Huh, is that so..." Donovan stroked his chin. Was he trying to seem profound? Vanessa rolled her eyes.

"That mysterious vibe you're trying to pull doesn't suit you. You look dumb as hell."

Before Donovan could make an indignant complaint a young boy came running up to the pair. Javi, the youngest of the Rosarios. One of the families she visited the most.

"Vanessa! Gina told me to tell you. The store got trashed by the Hammers again..." the kid reported, flinching slightly as Vanessa's posture suddenly straightened, "Sonny says we can't replace the window this time."

Her brow furrowed at the news. "I thought I took care of those guys in July,"

Javi shook his head.

"They're still hanging around 181st. They've been quiet because of you but they're still acting out."

Donovan watched curiously as Vanessa's expression darkened.

"I see."

Even without an emotion reading power, the newly emerged Animus' intentions were plain as day.

The smalltime gang's new hideout was easy to track down, thanks to the booming music and raucous laughter could be heard blaring from a block away. Vanessa's location across the street provided more than enough proximity for her abilities, as well as a front seat view to the hedonism of the looter scumbags. It was time to try out that new upgrade.

"What are you doing?" Donovan popped his head in front of her, blocking her line of sight. Vanessa glowered, lowering her charged hands.

"Get out of my way."

Donovan tilted his head, indicating back at the repurposed office block. His face turned blank, uninterested even, in an unnatural amount of time.

"There are thirty two people in there. A lotta kids who are your age."

What? That had to be wrong. There was no way in hell a petty theft gang would be able that many people within a month. Vanessa narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Thirty two? That many?"

"You gonna try and off all those kids?" he quirked an eyebrow, undeterred by her reaction. There was something off about the guy now, an unreadable pokerface that somehow still conveyed an air of cockiness and pride. Sudden and complete emotional detachment that perfectly contrasted Vanessa's conviction. It was unnerving to see this sudden change in character. Nevertherless, she continued pushing. Donovan's revelation had done nothing to sway her actions.

"They're all Hammers, aren't they?"

The loaded silence was more than enough confirmation. Vanessa tried to shove him aside, not quite succeeding as she consciously kept her palms facing away from the young man. After a full minute of failing to budge the ginger, she huffed and took a step back.

"If you don't get out of my way, I'm not going with your group."

He stiffened at her sudden ultimatum but continued to refuse to move. Vanessa glared back at the taller boy, having to angle her chin up a lot more than what she felt was comfortable. This was her one last job to do. A necessary chore that would keep the borough safe during her absence. More than anything else, it was about sending a message that would forever ring in the ears of anyone who would ever have the ignorance needed to start trouble in Vanessa's neighborhood. One last job.

"Looters always come back," Donovan's accent became obvious whenever he overacted that casualness, "You think this is gonna get rid of them forever?"

"Are you trying to stop me?" This conversation was getting tedious. Subtlety and snakish talk had never been her style. Donovan seemed to thrive in it though.

"Who knows. Maybe I just want to see if you're actually going through with casual mass murder."

"I'm helpi--"

"Helping who?" he cut her off brusquely, "Your 'community'? The ones who practically shit their pants as soon as you turn the corner? They're terrified of you. I know what they think and trust me, they couldn't give less shits about your little goodwill parades. That kid especially. Honestly it's fucking hilar--"

Vanessa's foot shot into the fork of his legs before he could complete his sentence. That choked groan he wheezed out was the most satisyfying thing she'd heard the whole day. The bastard was sent to the ground with a quick jab to the throat, collapsing and curling into himself to feebly defend against any further blows. She leveled a glowing hand at the coughing teen. All at once tendrils of fear and panic began seizing her mind, gluing her feet to the spot. Before she fell into the trap of thinking too hard Vanessa activated her power, the air between them heating to an unbearable degree within milliseconds. Her mind returned to normal immediately and she allowed herself a small breath of relief. The two remained in a stalemate, Vanessa's hand still aimed at Donovan on the ground while they glared daggers at the other.

"You'll be dead within seconds," she seethed, "Don't try that again."

No response from Donovan, just a pointed glare she had to fight the urge to cackle at. Finally, she'd managed to shut him up. While she still had the chance, she aimed her free hand at the building. After one minute, loud creaking noises emerged from the base of the structure. Thirty seconds after that the building collapsed in on itself, billowing smoke and debris. Vanessa watched on with a blank satisfaction. Only Donovan's groans distracted her from her handiwork.

"How many were really in there?" she asked, finally lowering her hands.

"...Eight."

Now that was a more sensible number. Vanessa allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

"Looters around these parts don't ever get to thirty two. I'd would have already gotten rid of them before they got that big," she offered a hand up, "That was a careless mistake."

He eyed the hand with a slight huff.

"I'll make sure I remember that," he drawled, tentatively taking her firm grip.

The sounds of rumbling and splintering wood still emanated from the destroyed building. It somewhat helped to fill the strange silence that had settled between them.

"You were testing me," Vanessa raised an eyebrow. Her blank resting expression had resettled.

Donovan shrugged, brushing himself off. His attempts at nonchalance were always such sloppy displays of overacting, Vanessa noticed.

"Something like that. I can't say that I expected this outcome."

He paused.

"Didn't think you'd actually go through with it either. You seemed like such a lovely kid," he remarked and chuckled when Vanessa rolled her eyes.

"That thing about Javi was overkill. Gave the whole thing away."

"Damn," he pouted and turned his gaze towards her, "About that. I--"

"It doesn't really matter."

She didn't want to hear it. She was leaving it all behind anyway. Who cared? It was easier to say that it was nothing than to let herself think about it.

"I upset you. That was a dick move on my part."

Brooding about it wasn't going to get her anywhere. As much as the disappointment still stung, she couldn't do anything but move on. It was her own fault for thinking someone like her would be welcomed in the first place.

She waved him off. "Just warn me before you do this trial crap next time. I'm assuming I passed?"

Something in Donovan's eyes shifted, revealing a brief flicker of dejection before he picked himself back up.

"Flying colours," his smile was somehow warmer than the vast majority of what he'd shown her before despite his hesitance, "Not a smidge of hesitation. That's exactly what the crew needs..."

His casual veneer cracked with a false chuckle.

"Another veritable psychopath."

"How flattering," Vanessa responded evenly. This was obviously affecting him more than it should have. But she couldn't care any less about this asshole's feelings to inquire further. "Are you still trying to make me mad or..."

"Oh, no no. I was just hoping you'd be different, was all."

There was a melancholy in his admission, something distant she couldn't quite pick up yet.

He grinned sheepishly and scratched his nose. "Definitely seemed like it at the start."

Stupid. Pinning such high expectations on a stranger. A guy who practically read minds should have known better. But he clung to that intangible wish anyways. He dared to dream for human decency in this craphole of a world. Vanessa could do nothing but shake her head at that.

"You got your hopes too high," she muttered, echoing her earlier sentiment.

It was something she'd be repeating to him many times. Whenever Donovan's peppy yet cocky optimism clashed with her dry realism, whenever she became enraged at his antics. At some point, her derisive scorn would mellow out to nothing more than light banter when it came to the Aussie. She'd get used to his constant jabbering, start enjoying it even. She'd start wondering how someone like him ended up being an Animus on the run with nine other cold-blooded killers. How someone like him, an arrogant bastard who turned out to be a bighearted loser, could smother his remorse so easily after the biggest disaster their group had ever created. How no one but her seemed to notice or care about the increasing burdens he'd place on himself after that night. Vanessa had moved on in her own time. The destruction was nothing she wasn't used to, so it was easier for her. But for the others, not just Donovan, an undeniable heaviness had set in.

She saw the cracks begin to appear as Seiji argued with Nico. Lines being drawn in the sand, everyone determining who was to blame for the situation they were now in. She enjoyed the security of the group, the idea that they would slowly save the world. She'd even grown to think of them as friends. But after watching the seeds of division being sown by their mess, Vanessa began to know better. Someday, she wasn't sure how distant this day would be, their group would be torn to shreds, ripped apart by infighting and surmounting stress. And when that day arrived, she'd stay clear of all the emotional lashings. Like she had always done before. Before she had the strange fortune of meeting Donovan. Would she be ready by then?

She could only hope so.