“This’ll make a most enthralling tale, don’t you think?”
Full Name: Amelie Laurier Gender: Female Age: 20 Height: 5’7” (170 cm) Weight: 112 lbs (51 kg)
History: Born the third child of a former high-ranking banker, in an eastern village not even worth naming, Amelie would have despised her circumstances if she was capable of such an alarming emotion. Life was about as exciting as a sleepy town of 300 could be and while she loved her family and neighbours, the distant horizons and prospects of adventure were always calling. But the duty to her family remained. She whiled away the days peacefully. As her siblings pursued magical studies, Amelie learnt to read from her father and worked the lands with her mother.
Then her socks were stolen.
The culprit was a vengeful forest spirit at worst, and a ratchety, old vagrant at best. The truth was neither. It didn't take long to catch the thief red-handed: a strange girl with a strong gaze and even stronger odor. Eager to investigate this extraordinary occurence, Amelie began a dialogue of sorts, leaving food and provisions on the windowsill to find them replaced with small animal carvings later. This trade system was the beginning of a friendship that would transform the village girl's humdrum life.
Amelie's bags were packed before the Emperor's messenger had even finished speaking. Though the decree that they were to become warriors was daunting, this was their destiny. Their horizons were going to expand more than they could possibly imagine.
Brief Personality: Frequently described by fellow villagers as an all-around pleasure to be with, Amelie's positive disposition is likely the most distinct aspect you'll find upon first meeting. Polite even when she doesn't need to be, helping wherever she can, it is clear that the girl was raised to be a model citizen.
She possesses a naturally curious mind, one that may sometimes be too inquisitive for her own good. Poor intelligence isn't her vice here, rather it is ignorance and the naivety borne from that. Due to sheer inexperience, Amelie has a habit of seeing things the way she wants to see them, often assuming the best of people even when past encounters suggest otherwise. The tales she's devoured in her books has led her to romanticise the regions outside of Balwyn whilst underestimating the extent of the threats that loom outside the borders.
Emotional Bond: Friendship and unending adoration. What had begun as a mere distraction, a source of fascination and amusement, became a genuine connection over a very short time on Amelie's end. Wren was an adventure in a backwater town, an escape from the monotony of village life. However, it became apparent that the forest-dweller was more than just a storybook legend. She was a girl just like any other, lonely and strange and human. Following a particular adventure in the Balwyn Forests, Amelie became determined to stay by her friend's side, no matter what.
Despite the development in the relationship and occasional misplacement of Wren's ego, Amelie's exuberant admiration for the girl is still very genuine. Even with the passing of many years, the village girl is still fascinated by Wren's crafts and lifestyle, always waiting to see what intriguing thing her friend will do next.
Partner: Wren
Fighting Style: Swing and hit. That's all there is to it, right?
Amelie may be the farthest thing from a soldier as a person can get. In the chaos of a warzone, the best way to cope is to keep things simple and set herself clear objectives and parameters. Hit this, move here, shield them. She moves with a sense of clarity, as if the magic is guiding her actions instead of the other way around. Her unfamiliarity with her new abilities will most likely make it difficult for her to gauge her own strength, resulting in rather destructive incidents.
Equipment: - The standard luggage and provisions. - Handmade bracelet from Wren. - A small sack of Wren’s animal carvings. She didn’t have the heart to leave them behind. - Her emergency coin purse. - A hunting knife she bought as an afterthought.
Weaknesses: Inexperience and the subsequent lack of situational awareness that comes with it. As a simple village girl, for now she lacks the physical strength to wield a war hammer to its full potential. Amelie is easily distracted and will most likely be more focused on Wren instead of other important factors in battle. Dirty tactics will incapacitate and outsmart her if she has not encountered them before. Extended use of her Celestial Gear will take a toll on her ability to defer to others.
When the time comes to take a human life, Amelie's human empathy may cause her to hesitate in potentially fatal situations. The limb, however, is a whole different matter...
Name: Daphne
Type: War Hammer
Function: Dendroo - Amelie's right arm mutates into a gargantuan, multi-jointed, oak tree-esque appendage. The wood is gnarled, writhing and roped with leafy vines. The reformed limb is about as wide as she and is triple her height though Amelie seems unaffected by its mass, being able to swing it around with ease. At its 'base', the growth's roots embed itself into its wielder's side, covering about a third of her chest and jaw. The transformation process takes 10 seconds as her arm undergoes a rather grisly mutation. She can maintain this form for a maximum of 30 minutes and requires an hour-long rest period between each use.
As it currently lacks fingers or digits of any kind, Amelie's primary use for it at the moment is to use the immense strength that comes with the limb and bash it into whatever needs to be bashed. Its size also provides defensive properties, being able to act as a makeshift shield for Amelie and others. However, the wood is about as sturdy as standard hardwood and can indeed be broken under duress. Mobility is also another factor granted by the new arm, though a slight fear of heights makes Amelie hesitant to try this ability.
The limb does have its drawbacks. Opponents with the advantage of speed or even close range will find that the sheer bulk of the limb will make it difficult for Amelie to defend herself. Furthermore, Amelie's main body will be all but paralysed. Extreme strength and mobility in her magical arm comes at the cost of being able to properly move what remains of her human body.
Another drawback that is unknown to even Amelie is that her mental perception of herself as a human fades steadily with use, though its effects seem to revert as soon as she dissipates her Celestial Gear.
Likes: Fresh fruit, Wren’s crafts, the unknown. Dislikes: Tight shoes, tight dresses, cured meat. Hobbies: Reading, drawing, wandering through the woods, looking through Wren’s belongings, subsequently getting scolded by Wren.
Other: - Can't whistle. - Very good with dogs for some reason. - Sings better than Wren but neither of them will admit it. - Has a barely noticeable Rochean accent.
Like the drenched clothes clinging to his skin, Ernie's thoughts only seemed to drag at him more and more as he trudged back to the lighthouse.
He was miserable and for good fucking reason.
West had never made him fight city-crushing giants. West had never forced him into a team of psychopaths that had long since fallen off the edge of sanity. Hell, West had never made him get his food from a convenience store in a shitty, small-minded town with a shitty, small-minded store owner.
And most importantly, West had no Amigos. The same could be said for Reno.
Monsters could be trusted to be bloodthirsty. Tear apart a town with no ulterior motive. But Amigos? Dastardly, cruel, selfish humans. They terrified him more than any ice giant could. He'd seen the trigger fingers arrive in stained envelopes. The careless execution videos. The articles on massacres by the border. Sadistic, borderline-suicidal nutjobs. But somehow the thought of getting eviscerated by a Heph-knockoff's weapons was merely one biggest of Ernie's concerns. The fact that this team was being sent against subnaturals for the third mission in a row raised a dreadful question.
How long before they were sent against Senators?
It made his heart beat anxiously. Ernie didn't consider himself loyal. He'd never had the heart for it, or a cause worth fighting for. Maybe if Reno had gone differently he'd actually be capable of something. He doubted that. Seven years behind the counter had taught him well. They were scumbags through and through, often on a scale just as bad as the Amigos. If it were them against the Unit today, none of the students would have even gotten the chance to fight back.
Strangely enough, Ernie couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at that. He wasn't for the Senators but he definitely wasn't against them. If things had gone well, he would have been on the winning team. It was a cruel game he liked to put himself through, imagining what could have been. Lived a comfy life with Owen and his friends. Plan that webseries that his group at West had been pitching. Even here on the East Coast, if Ernie ever found the guts to actually do something...
He stopped himself there. Chuckled a bit.
What would he do? Follow Elvia's wishes and be an actor? What a fucking joke. He could do nothing, had done nothing the entire time he'd been stuck with East. He hadn't even realised that they'd lost three housestaff until halfway through the walk. Too busy watching his own back to even glance at their's. Elvia wasn't going to take that well and a shameful, selfish part of Ernie knew that if she truly was dead then it'd be better for him. He wouldn't have to see the look on her face when she eventually heard.
None of this mattered. He'd be dead, killed by mages far stronger than he and this team before he ever took the time to scrounge up some resolve. The only thing he could do now was deal with the situation at hand. Another try at the radio resulted in static. That only left the reason he walked back in the first place.
"Hey, we're heading to town," he called to no one in particular, "Probably a bad idea to stick around."
Taking into account that it's taken a whole year to have a single month's progression IC, it could be months (if not years) before slots get opened again, if we decide to open them at all. That being said, thanks for sticking around and thanks for the patience.
Christmas had huddled in the corner as long as he could bear while ominous rumbling and pattering debris collided with the lighthouse windows, hoping the next person to enter the door would be Sander, mission accomplished, and they could go. Anywhere but a battleground. Lily took and transferred distant wounds near him and he could still feel the low thrum of his power on Sander, but it was hard--impossibly so--to convince himself to move. To stand up and do something more than shake in a corner and hope not to die. Fear shifted to a petrified numbness that at least allowed him the presence of mind to notice Ernie ushering people back into the tunnels, their escape route compromised by god knows what. Peeking out the window only netted him a view of raging sand and rain and Christmas felt relieved that was all he could see. He had tried to look. At least he had looked.
The tunnel had offered a comparatively cozier place to resume his fearful vigil, waiting for the unmistakable frame of a lanky roommate to return. Then the water had come instead, raging into the tunnels and barely held back by the heavy stone and wood of the trapdoor, the current pouring in from every edge and sweeping his feet out from under him, soaking him to the bone as it pushed and shoved him further back in the tunnel until he lay in a coughing, sputtering heap where the water's flow finally ended in puddles and a muddy floor. Freezing. The morning air was cold and the water stole even more of his meager heat away, his thoughts still jumbled and lost in the tide.
It took too long, he felt, for his eyes to orient themselves again. For his vision to stop blurring from the saltwater and dizziness.
The tang of seawater coated his mouth and tongue, but he had already coughed up everything he could.
It was cold. And he just wanted to curl back up under the sheets in the soft bed of the mansion, beside Sander.
Sander. Who was still outside in whatever had caused the flooding.
The muck that had become much of the floor sucked at his arms and legs as he tried to stand, stumbling slightly as he righted himself and looked for the ladder again. By some miracle the dim lights strung along the tunnel's ceiling had remained mostly functional and he could see others recovering from the shock as well. He was shivering, but that didn't matter as much as getting to the ladder and getting to Sander.
He had lost a shoe, maybe further down the tunnel. He couldn't tell. His left ankle ached slightly when he put pressure on it. But he wasn't sure if that meant anything. Sander would know. Would let him sit somewhere soft and warm and find out with him.
He limped, sniffling, towards the ladder, because Sander was still out there and he could feel it--wanted to feel it even as the tingling of his power ebbed and finally disappeared, the prolonged effect dissipating at the worst time.
A wet cough as Ernie clung to the rope. Not that he needed to, as he'd secured it around both wrists about five times each.
He'd scrambled back as soon as the tower of water began blocking the dawn sky. Practically shoved any stragglers or late entries into the trapdoor, uncaring of how they landed in the subterranean sanctuary. He hadn't turned for the maidstaff remaining in the lighthouse, nor for the classmates outside.
The door had slammed shut with the weight of Ernie hanging from the rope that pulled it down. Even that wasn't enough to dam the torrent assaulting them from above, beating and drenching and drowning out everything. But they were alive. He was alive.
Ernie hung there for a moment, shuddering, though it wasn't from the freeze drenching his clothes. Alive, he was alive. The Amigos were possibly still lurking on the island but he was still living and breathing. Even if the weight of imminent death had only been lifted for a minute, he'd take it.
"Here...I--" he spat out another mouthful saltwater as he responded to Brent's role call, "Ernie's still kicking."
Not having noticed Christmas making his way to him, the buzzcut Aberration began making his way up the ladder.
There was someone else climbing up, so Christmas tottered forward, uncooperative ankle hampering his movements until he finally reached the base of the ladder. But it only dawned on him then that he couldn't climb it--not until he could rest his weight on both legs without issue. Yet the thought of Sander outside without the vague comfort that a healing effect persisted on the blood mage propelled the small boy forward and he whimpered as his left leg refused to support his weight without a burst of pain.
The noise prompted the X-mark to turn and regard the small boy with a vague disappointment. He was that desperate to get up, huh? Cringing at the lingering flooding that poured with the action, Ernie began pushing at the trapdoor.
"Give me a sec to check if the coast is clear," Ernie said.
He was shaking and his grip on the rungs was precarious at best, but Christmas waited, because he had to. Because he was sure he couldn't push past Ernie even if dared to.
Ernie finally got the trapdoor open, rope stiff and primed like a snake about to strike. Hazel eyes peeked up and scanned the ground floor. Nothing. Just two maids who were ungracefully flopped on broken furniture like a bunch of wet towels. There was also that blue light in the distance, a distasteful sight that brought back the anxiousness he'd failed to repress during the battle. Old rumors of glowing Amigos and a 'bootleg Heph' trickled into his consciousness but...
We're safe now. Don't count your blessings.
"Floor's clear!" he announced to his classmates and lifted himself out.
But it took Christmas too long to get up the ladder and every other step the boy seemed to whimper pathetically. By the time he pulled himself out of the trapdoor he was crying, wiping streaks of mud onto his face with the dirty sleeve of his sweater as he tried to stymie the tears. Even that couldn't distract him from limping to the door, water splashing in his wake as he pushed it open to look for Sander.
"Whoa, whoa, you can't go out there!"
Christmas was pulled back roughly, held by both of Ernie's arms. There was still too much, too many people rushing around. Chris had bounded off. Sander was nowhere to be seen. Callan was running somewhere.
And Zoe.
He prayed that the situation would resolve itself. The battle still seemed so far from being over.
"You can't go," Ernie repeated.
”But...S-Sander,” he protested, the open door revealing a battlefield in flooded earth and some segment of a building that had fallen.
Still keeping Christmas in his arms, Ernie kicked the door close. "It's too dangerous."
The healer squirmed, struggling against Ernie’s grip until his bad ankle took the weight again and he cried out, falling forward.
All these strength-building exercises over the last few weeks and he still couldn't lift a freaking kid. Ernie felt gravity take the both of them and did his best to rotate and let his reinforced shoulder take the brunt of the fall. However, Christmas still suffered a knock on his side.
"Shit," Ernie hissed and sat up. His hand was still on the Arbiter's wrist. "Are you okay?"
Nothing but quiet sniffles answered him and it took a moment longer for the healer to finally ask, ”...Where’s Sander?”
Ernie felt that it was counterproductive to answer that. "Are you hurt?"
”Where’s Sander?” The question came faster. More panicked.
"Outside," A rapid-fire answer and a rapid-fire improvisation, "With Callan. Lily already healed him, he shouldn't be hurt at all."
This was pointless.
"Christmas, are you hurt?"
”B-But the water...” Already he was trying to get up, headed for the door again. ”I—I didn’t see him.”
The Aberration pushed him down by the shoulders, gentler this time. He looked to the phone. Thankfully, it was still functioning despite the indoor tsunami.
"Look." He zoomed on Callan and Sander's dots moving up the shore, handed it to Christmas who took the device with a trembling hand and stared at it fervently.
”Th-They’re r-right over there...?” He sat up, then tried to stand again, because if they were so close it should have been fine to go out—
His left ankle collapsed under him, finally unwilling to put up with anymore as the joint throbbed with pain and the blonde boy curled up on his side with his legs against his chest, trying not to sob.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The last times Christmas cried in his company?
Crimen Culpae 1. Wisford.
Red eyes. Red hands.
Not again.
Ernie squeezed his eyes shut. Panic and hurt easily burst past the feeble barrier he tried to erect. After a few deeps breaths, hazel eyes snapped open.
"Lily, get over here," he called out.
As he waited for the other healer to arrive, the buzzcut boy put a hand on Christmas' shoulder, only to be met with a sharp stiffening of the healer's entire body, the tension knotting up under his fingertips. He tried reassuring rubs and shushing noises, like what his mother always used to do.
"Sander asked me to keep an eye on you," he admitted quietly, "You weren't supposed to get hurt."
Something like 'I'm sorry' tried to leave his mouth. Selfish, perhaps even insincere. Hopefully not. Ernie didn't let that weak solace pass. Neither of them deserved it.
"It sucks."
Of all the people to ask, Sander had asked Ernie to watch him. Mixed feelings collided in his stomach and Christmas was already making excuses for Sander: Ernie was the only one available. Sander was in a rush. No one else was willing to, maybe. It was supposed to make sense, but of all people, why Ernie? It was hard to sift through what he felt about Ernie as well, because there was a dark, seeping something that he didn't want to face. Didn't want to see. He didn't want it to be a part of him--afraid of letting it be.
But of all people, why Ernie?
The question drummed itself against his thoughts, trying to pound out an answer that he didn't have.
Christmas curled up tighter on the waterlogged floor, waiting for that nauseating rush of emotions to pass and for the jabbing pain in his ankle to subside. Even when he could heal himself, it was so slow. And of all people, why Ernie? He squeezed his eyes shut.
Sander chose that exact moment to barge in, still red-eyed and trailing smoke. The sight of Christmas curled up on the floor came focus first, and red eyes immediately flickered to Ernie kneeling nearby. It only took him three strides to get across the room, fists tightened and jaws clenched. Dark rage boiled in his veins alongside the bloodhigh, and Sander had to focus on Christmas so he wouldn’t immediately take Ernie’s head off. With a light tap on Ernie’s shoulder, he signalled for the Aberration to leave.
He hoped the message got across.
It did. Ernie scrambled back immediately. Too late to fix it. Now all he could do was pray for mercy.
Despite the resignation, the rope lingered by Sander and Christmas.
Sander only spared Ernie a brief gaze before leaning down and pressing a warm hand against Christmas' cold cheek, clearly more interested in getting the healer back on his feet.
"Hey." -He called out, stroking carefully -"I'm here."
The scent told him that there was no bleeding wound, but those could have healed before he got here.
Christmas didn't know where to look first, his eyes busy tracing the lines of Sander's face before finally locking with the red gaze. He wanted to ask about Ernie. Why of all people Sander had to ask Ernie, but the words wouldn't come then. Instead he placed a hand on Sander's wrist, lips trembling in place of words until he finally coordinated the right sounds on his tongue. "You're--You're okay..." he murmured, the sound of the confirmation the second most calming thing in the room.
"I'm okay." -Sander confirmed, hands snaking down around Christmas' back to slowly lift the blond boy up from the soaked floor. He then pulled Christmas close, uncaring as the cold water made contact with his heated skin.
Callan slowed to a jog as they neared the lighthouse. Sander sped past her-- eager to get inside it seemed. She immediately saw why as the door flew open and a startled Ernie scrambled away from Christmas, who didn't seem to be doing too well. She lingered in the doorway and exhaled, a faint smile tugging at her expression as she averted her eyes to give the pair some privacy. They certainly seemed to be getting along.
Cal vaguely noticed the terrified expression on Ernie's face (as well as the presence of his rope) before her attention turned back to her previously self-assigned task. Zoe, Allison, and Kusari were going to need some healing more likely than not. She hadn't stuck around long enough to know how much, but figured coming to the lighthouse to fetch someone would be the best course of action. While Sander helped Christmas, Callan stepped back outside, eyes scanning the debris-riddled cliff top as the sun proceeded to bathe everything in a soft, golden light.
A sick feeling, nauseating and heavy, festered in her gut as she caught sight of Kusari.
What was left of her anyway.
Speech and logic felt like foreign concepts in the moment. Unraveling her tongue just before her feet finally budged from the shock, all she managed to shout was, "OH, GOD!" before she started running again.
"W-WE NEED A HEALER!" she screamed, terrified panic clear in her voice, "NOW!"
"Like I told you, nothing you can do will kill me." The memory of Kusari's casual tone and pose as she'd reassured her that day seemed like so long ago.
Meanwhile, Zoe's previous statement rang in her memory as clear as a bell.
"I almost killed Kusari a day after we got here"
Amethyst eyes fell on Zoe as she muttered absurdly to herself. She noted that the telltale veins of death weren't anywhere to be seen, but what had happened here was obvious enough. She lost control. And she'd picked the one person she thought could take it. Rage bubbled up inside her, but was vastly outmatched by the fear. Callan ignored the blabbering redhead and dropped to her knees beside her fellow arbiter's body. Were these just remains or was she still in there? Reaching tentatively for Kusari's shoulder, she felt even more foolish than she had with the dead maid.
But Kusari was invincible, wasn't she? She'd be alright. She was... yes, she'd be fine. The scent of rotting flesh was almost too overpowering for the sick feeling that was still twisting her stomach into knots. One hand over her mouth, Callan grasped her shoulder and gave her a small shake. There was, of course, no response. And to make matters worse, Kusari's head jostled in place with all the weight to be expected of a human husk.
"Kusari?" she whimpered pleadingly, the hope draining from her face.
Realizing the one healer who had any hope of fixing this was still nowhere in sight, Callan screamed again, her voice breaking, "CHRISTMAS!"
He had heard the call for a healer the first time, but Sander was so warm and it felt safer to hope that Lily would answer instead, selfish as it was. When Callan called him by name, though, he blanched and shifted in Sander's arms, trying to stand only to realize his left ankle refused to support him. "Sander, C-Callan's calling..." he tried to explain, "M-My leg..." His eyes tracked the bruising on his legs from the watery tumble earlier, the sock on his left foot loose where the lost shoe had tugged on it before disappearing into the tunnels.
Sander followed the boy's gaze to the wounded feet, and his expression only darkened. He let Christmas lean fully on him, supporting both of their weight with an arm around the healer's waist as he rose to his feet. He didn't really like it when Christmas was using his power, for obvious reason. But Christmas could heal now, and Callan was the one who called, so Sander didn't want to ignore her.
"Okay?" -He asked, looking at the boy's leg now that they were both standing -"We should go help Callan."
Christmas nodded, the only answer he could manage as he wondered how and where he could cut. A reddened scrape on his right knee seemed a good place to start and he limped outside on Sander's support, unable to help the sharp cry that came from seeing the bloodied, rotting mess near Callan. He hid his face against Sander's arm, the image already seared into his mind. A quick scratch of the skin on his knee and a small whimper later, white mist poured out from the wound, spreading slowly as Sander nudged him closer so the mist would eventually reach Kusari. It sparkled to life around their torsos first, before drifting soundlessly towards Callan and Allison, then finally Zoe and Kusari. Skin and muscles knit together on the unconscious immortal and her natural regeneration pushed progress even faster. Minutes later she was mostly whole once more and the last layers of flesh were growing back over her body, looking to all the world like she was sleeping.
Callan followed the mist with her eyes as soon as it appeared, holding her breath and withdrawing her hand from Kusari's shoulder as it surrounded her. The skin reappearing was a good sign. That wouldn't be happening if she was dead, right? Her doubt didn't entirely vanish until the girl's chest, once more containing lungs, began to rise and fall. Callan finally exhaled, relieved tears pooling at the edges of her sight.
Her heart, however, was still pounding in her ears. Rocking back into a sitting position, Callan pressed her fingers to her forehead and tried to calm herself. With the panic dying down, the single remaining emotion was one she knew couldn't be handled recklessly. She'd addressed the issue poorly in the past. Not again. Still, she found it difficult to keep her head level knowing that Kusari had nearly died and felt every second of it. She reached forward and gave Kusari's hand a short squeeze before looking towards the culprit.
"Zoe!" Callan said sharply though she tried not to include any of the animosity building up just at the mere sight of her. It was clear that Zoe wasn't well, but pity was a luxury the abe couldn't afford. Amethyst eyes were cold as ice as they stared, unflinching. As outmatched against Zoe as she knew she was, this wasn't an issue she could ignore. Taking her arm off was one thing. But this....
Recalling the information about stigmas she'd gathered from Emma and Ernie those several weeks ago, it was hard not to relapse into her prior state of thinking. Ernie, Emma, Sander-- they were all her friends. She had to believe that Zoe was more than just her stigma-- but that didn't exactly help her case.
"You wanna explain what the fuck just happened?" she asked. Optimism for an adequate answer was in extremely short supply, but she wanted to be fair. Wanted to be completely justified in what might happen. Especially if this confrontation was about to turn ugly.
Sander simply kept Christmas upright, shifting slightly to keep most of his body between the healer and everything else. He didn't really know exactly what happened, but apparently, it was Zoe who attacked Kusari. There was love lost between him and their former roommate, still, he didn't really wish harm upon the Arbiter. Whatever happened to her, it seemed painful, healing factor or no. And yet, Callan was challenging the very same person who caused that much damage to an immortal. Sander didn't stop her, but he was ready step in, red eyes focused on Zoe.
For a moment, Kusari didn't know where she was. She was cold and dark. Someone was holding her hand, it seemed warm, like a guide out of a murky freezing ditch. It seemed her limbs had grown back normal as well. She blinked as her mind caught up to the fact that she was seeing this from above. She had a slight panic attack. Looking around she saw the others around her and it dawned on her what was happening. No... This isn't happening. I-I can't die, I can't! She tried to reach for her own body, but she had no hands in the first place. A sense of dread pierced into her like a spear, she wanted to scream, to cry out for salvation, but all she could do was watch............
She opened her eyes and saw Callan by her side. It was a nice face to wake up to. Kusari looked up at the aqua haired girl for a moment, and then she remembered why she was on the ground next to a pile of her own rotten innards. The memory of the pain came back to her, the feeling of her body melting into nothing. What was after she couldn't remember. A shiver went down her spine, the feeling of being outside of her body, of having one foot in the door to Hades. She had died. Her breathing quickened, and her eyes became glossy. "Callan..." Her voice was shaky as she tried and failed to hold back tears. She wrapped her arms around the girl, pressing her face into her stomach.
Callan jolted slightly at the sudden contact, but made no effort to move away. Her expression softened for a moment as she looked down at Kusari. Callan had been attacked by Zoe before, but she couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to have her guts melted out in the same way and still be alive through it all. She wrapped her arms around Kusari's shivering shoulders and stroked her hair gently. Because that was what she'd probably want after such an experience. Plus she didn't like seeing Kusari like this. In her mind she was always something of a pillar of confidence. She only wished her sweatshirt hadn't been so sopping wet and cold from the water.
Tears of empathy and frustration spilled over her own cheeks-- goddamn hugs always did this to her. She did her best to blink then away as she turned her attention back to Zoe, expression immediately hardening again as she awaited an answer.
It took a few seconds for the words to get through to Zoe, her breathing still unsteady as she raised a tear-stained face towards Callan. For better or worse, the attack on Kusari had at least erased most of her panic, but it was hard to register her classmate's question. She seemed angry. "I did something." Zoe blinked slowly, trying to regain her usual confidence. What happened? There had been the water, and the fear, and then--
The redhead's expression twisted in horror upon seeing Kusari and the gory mess that surrounded her. Not at the gore itself, but at the sudden understanding. "That was me?" A statement, not a question, even if she seemed uncertain. It wasn't the first time she'd completely given herself over, and the scene was all too familiar. Trying to figure things out for herself as much as for the others. "Water is-- I panicked. Wanted it to stop, and something felt good, so I chased it. Didn't realise what I was doing." She shook her head, frowning. "No excuse."
"You're kidding," Ernie muttered a bit too loudly, clearly not taking whatever Zoe was trying to dish out. He was standing further away as to avoid not just Sander, but also the gory pool staining the scene. His rope was poised at his feet, ready to react to whatever the situation was leading up to.
"She lost control." -Sander stated the obvious. He was no stranger to the devastating effect of the Stigma, and what Zoe did just gave him another reason to look out for her. Regardless of her friendly demeanor the other night.
Callan's grimace went slack at Zoe's response, her rage temporarily diffused. She didn't know what she was doing? She'd expected belligerence like before. A snap back to shut up and back off maybe. The thought that she might be bluffing never even occurred to her until Ernie spoke up.
"Zoe, you, like... killed her," Callan stated, for lack of better phrasing, "What-- what are we supposed to do with you?" The collar Hazel wore came to mind, but she immediately felt dirty for considering it. Something about whatever Hazel had gone through had made her... not right. For all her frustration, she didn't want to see Zoe become just like that. But she didn't want people turning into zombified husks either.
"If I knew, I'd do it myself." The retort was more tired than aggressive. "Tried everything I could think of, but..." She trailed off, frustrated. Trying to fight it head-on wasn't working, and she'd never known how to do anything else.
"Well clearly the school doesn't care if you keep this up-- but you do, right? What are you gonna do when somebody dies for good?" Callan replied, frustration mounting. She had no solutions. Only emotions that were suddenly crashing together like a pile up of cars. And Zoe was the semi-driver in back with the lead foot. They'd just been run out of another temporary home. People were dead, some were missing, and the state of the washed up cliff side was a sight so desolate and pitiful that she didn't want to accept it as her reality. But it was. And she wasn't just fighting against mages who wanted to do harm.
She was fighting with them. Hazel, Zoe... even SIena now.
"What are you gonna do when it's not Kusari?! Or when it's too late for Christmas to heal her?! Is this getting worse or better, Zoe?! Because it's kinda fucking important that we all know!"
"Are you done?" Zoe glared at the floor, pushing away what was left of the staff member she'd collided with. There was plenty of reason for the others to be pissed at her, but this wasn't exactly helpful. She was giving herself enough crap without this adding to the pile. "Yeah, it's worse than it was when I got here. Happened after one of those dreams. And it keeps getting more material to throw at me, too. Caring about stopping it doesn't mean I know how." And caring what happened to the others just made the whole thing worse.
She stood up, still not looking at them, but visibly on edge about the whole conversation. "You're not asking me anything I haven't asked myself. If I had to guess, they'll shoot me, but as for what I'll do about it, I don't know." And part of her felt like Callan wasn't looking for an answer.
Kusari's shaking calmed as she felt Callan's hand on her head. It was a nostalgic feeling, but she couldn't tell why. She wasn't paying attention to what the others were saying, she could take a good guess anyhow. Someone berating Zoe, Zoe saying she can't help it. As predictable as the phases of the moon. She didn't want to argue about this, she just wanted to get away. Kusari let out a sniffle as she let go of Callan and stood to her feet. "Don't waste your breath. She's beyond help." Kusari said to Callan, not even looking towards Zoe.
Ernie was tired too. It was bad enough having to deal with Amigos. Stupid Stigma problems from their own teammates just wasn't worth standing around in drenched clothing in the freezing morning air.
Stepping away from the scene for a moment, he spoke into the phone, eager to have something to take him away from all this. "Amigos have escaped on the ferry we were ordered to board. What do we do now?"
Nothing but a garbled, crackly, incomprehensible voice. Ernie had to resist the urge to throw the phone into the ocean. Not that it would have even scratched the stupid thing. He turned back to the group, a resigned look in his haggard face.
"Guys, can we just...go? The town's right there and I don't think we should stick around."
Oh, right. Always a spanner in the works.
"Zoe, can you walk with us? Or should we, like, choke you out or something?"
Callan wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. Definitely not that things were getting worse, but she'd already assumed as much. She chose to ignore Zoe's mentioning of dreams. It wasn't really a conversation she was interested in having right now, but it was certainly something to note. She stood up quickly after Kusari, glancing at her fellow arbiter with a good deal of skeptisicm. Beyond help? For all their sakes, she hoped not. But then... this was supposedly the second time for Kusari. It bothered her to think something like this might've already happened while she was holing herself up in her room.
No way she's walking with us! she desperately wanted to say. But that was the solution she'd offered last time. It wasn't realistic anyway. They were gonna end up here again. The cycle would continue until somebody finally died and she was powerless to stop it. She couldn't save anybody. Again.
She was definitely all for heading into town if it was safe, but she was done talking. She didn't have anything helpful to say and she knew it. Instead Callan simply lingered by Kusari, one foot protectively shifting between the immortal and Zoe as she waited.
"Knock me out if it makes you feel better, but I can walk." Zoe took a step back, deliberately keeping her distance from the others. There was plenty she could try to say, a thousand reasons for why this wasn't so easy to deal with, but at the end of the day it was her problem. Her problem for being weak and unhinged and too dumb to think of a solution. For being stupid enough to believe it was getting better. "Range is two metres, if you wanna stay out of it."
Ernie nodded. "I'll, uh, go tell the others," he said, clearly eager to take off. After informing the cuff operator of the group's next move, back into the lighthouse he went.
"I'll...walk with Zoe, if you want." -Sander volunteered, though he mainly looked at Christmas, still hiding from the grisly sight in front of them with his face pressed against Sander's arm, seemingly asking the blond boy for permission. The healer didn't seem to notice, shoulders shaking visibly from the stress of the situation. This only prompted the blood mage to pat his wet hair gently, trying to get his attention. Instead Christmas hugged Sander's arm tighter, waiting for further instructions or a cue to go, the white mist dispersing around them when nearby talk seemed to indicate everyone was fine.
"Christmas? Maybe you should...walk with Callan?" -Sander suggested, glancing hesitantly between her and the healer.
He knew it had to be done, because for all that he closed his eyes he couldn't avoid hearing the conversation. But of all times, he wanted to be near Sander, and no one else. Still, the question wasn't an option. A strong suggestion--the more appropriate category. And he didn't want to disappoint Sander, so he let go and stood back with his weight on his good leg, hands grasping now at the soaked hem of his muddied sweater and mouth trembling. They all looked miserable, but his was a sort of misery that dropped his shoulders and head as he nodded to Sander's request.
Callan exchanged glances with the blood mage with no small amount of uncertainty. "Sander, you don't have to walk with her," she said, stepping forward anyway as her eyes drifted down towards Christmas's ankle. She recognized the injury almost immediately as one she'd often seen on the basketball court. Of course she had no problem walking with him in Sander's place, but she got the distinct feeling that Christmas didn't like that idea very much.
"But...you don't want me to?"
"I'm just saying..." her eyes narrowed, flickering towards Zoe, "I think she already got her fix."
"Uh..." -Sander fumbled, clearly picking up on Callan's disagreeable mood. Quietly, he gave Zoe one last glance before walking back to Christmas' side, looping an arm around the boy's waist and resuming his walk. Despite the return of Sander's presence, Christmas's expression remained downcast, left ankle raised to keep the pressure off while he limped along beside the taller boy.
Kusari walked along silently, only just barely paying attention to her surroundings. Her eyes were on the ground, not focusing on anything in particular. She didn't feel... right. She put her right hand over her heart, it was pounding hard, but not fast. A tinge of pain? No, it felt more like a ball of anxiety swelling up inside of her. She wanted to lay down under warm covers and sleep in the dark. She scratched at her chest as if it were a slow healing wound. Her skin was devoid of any blemishes, but she could feel that a scar had been etched inside of her from her near death. She lowered her hand and continued walking, forcing her mind clear as she watched her bare feet.
With nothing more to say, Callan made her way over to where Allison was passed out on the ground. She gingerly rolled the girl over and pulled her into her arms, carrying her bridal style. It was a little awkward since they were both the same size, but she figured it would be more comfortable if Allison didn't manage to wake up soon. Weight certainly wasn't an issue. Callan waited that way for Ernie to return with the others, not keen on wandering too far when there still might be Amigos lurking about.
Aaron walked. A lot. It was something even an toddler could do comfortably, but he liked to believe that he was better at it than most. Blindfold him and he'd still be able to navigate the walk from the school gate to his house, no sweat.
He reveled in this almost-night silence. The sounds of leaves crunching underfoot, distanced cars and chatter. The dim orange of sunset added a nuance to the peaceful scene. Aaron loved autumn a lot more than he should have.
Then the car pulled up.
"You're out late," Henry called out, poking his head out of the green Ford. He'd paid for it himself.
Resisting an instinctual frown, Aaron climbed into the passenger seat, dumping his backpack in the seats behind. "Yeah."
...
Crap, he was supposed to say more. "Elaborate". He always forgot.
"There was a field trip today. With the Book Club."
Henry overlooked the lull with deliberate pep, flashing teeth and crinkled eyes doing nothing but stirring a familiar discomfort in Aaron's gut. Effort lavished on a lost cause. Blurs of orange were prettier than Henry's forced smile so the boy turned to the window instead. Camberton Street. Just five more blocks. Good.
"Oh, I think I remember that one! State Library, right?" Henry pressed on.
"Mmyeah."
"Did you get to see the workbook from that kid in 1830? The one with a drawing that looks like Jimmy Carter."
"Uh, I think we missed that one."
"Your tour guide didn't know what he was doing then, skipping past the best exhibit. We laughed for a three minutes straight when we saw that thing."
"Oh. Uh, maybe we'll get to see it another time?"
"I think I took a picture of it. I'll show you when we get home. Speaking of, did you take any?"
"I didn't bring a camera."
"Ah, you should've told me about your trip! I would've lent you mine."
Aaron didn't feel like pointing out that the reminder for the Book Club excursion had been scrawled on the fridge calendar for weeks now, though he couldn't blame him for overlooking the highlighter yellow print that always seemed to disappear into the white page. Yellow for Aaron. Blue for family events. Green for Dad's assignments. Bright, bright red for Henry's commitments, a shade that demanded your attention even if you were merely giving the fridge a passing glance. There seemed to be a red reminder every two or three days while the yellow text dimpled a square once a week, politely squeezing itself in the Saturday boxes, the meager space underneath Henry's tutoring sessions.
"Yeah...sorry."
"Don't apologise, kiddo. It's just a camera. Hell, I probably took enough for the both of us when I went."
"...Yeah. Sorry."
A sigh escaped Henry's lips, one he'd incorrectly assumed would go unnoticed by Aaron. Guilt and weariness hit the younger boy with equal force.
"Did you have fun at least?"
"Mmhmm."
Elaborate, dammit.
"It was nice."
Pitiful silence filled the car for only a few seconds before the driveway mercifully made itself seen. Past the impeccably painted fence. Past the lawn that Aaron had trimmed himself. Aaron and Henry stepped into the house, a humble, single-floor property. It seemed far more spacious, more modern than it actually was, thanks to the careful eye of their mother.
"You're out late," David Schofield looked up from the television, looking pointedly at his youngest son.
"Field trip," Henry explained before Aaron could open his mouth, "They went to the State Library."
Aaron nodded in affirmation, the usual disappointment and relief colouring his senses as the patriarch turned back to the evening news.
"Mm. Did you learn much?"
"Yeah, it was nice." Aaron managed a reply and began moving to his room before he could overthink his vague response. While he walked, he could hear his mother in the living room with Henry, asking something about Jared Gleeson's son and tips on college essays. Last week it had been Barbara Diaz.
As for Aaron, he walked a little faster. He wasn't stopped for further questioning.
“…Sorry, were you expecting more? I’m not the kind of person that looks for name meanings or family trees and stuff. Aaron’s just Aaron. It's from some Bible story if I remember correctly but...we don't even go to church that much? I don’t think there’s anything fancy to find about a name that three guys in my grade have.”
How old are you?
“12. Technically not a teenager yet, like everyone keeps telling at me. My birthday’s in June if you’re wondering.”
What do you look like?
“But aren’t you right in front of—oh okay…”
“Um, I’m tall. That’s a big thing. 5 foot 3, last time I checked. Skinny. Brown hair, dark eyes. Not really anything that stands out. Henry got the flashy blond hair from my dad and auntie so I guess there wasn’t much left for me. What else, uh…I look sporty. That comes with the ‘tall’ thing. Usually you don’t even have to play anything to look fit if your body is basically a flag pole but I do so it…works. Dad and Henry said girls like tall guys a lot but they don't talk to me and I don't talk to them so it's sorta...”
“I walk a lot. One look at my legs can tell you where I’ve been. I swear my knees are rock magnets cos they’re always scraping against something. Might be safer to keep the bandaids permanently glued on. There are a lot of other scratches on my legs too, cos trees are annoying and I always get too hot to bother wearing long pants when I go out. They’re really tiny scratches so they don’t even matter that much.”
Do you have any hobbies?
“It used to be basketball but now...I walk. A lot. By the lake, around the forest. The summerhouses, the rocks. There’s a lot to look at out there. Have you ever tried just looking? Staring and examining something until you want to pass out, learning all the cracks and holes, the insides and outs. Boring, right? Yeah, I might sound like one of those loony art types but concentrating on one thing is really interesting. Anything can be interesting if you want to look further.”
“It’s nice to be out there, like I’m on a one-man trek into the unknown. Not to say I don’t like being in the house but…yeah, I don’t. I like the quiet and the alone-ness out there. I can read and draw without anyone around to complain about college tuition when they think Henry can’t hear or try to find me so they can apologize for forgetting to take me to my game. It makes me feel better that way.”
“Heh, no, I don’t get scared. Safest town in Colorado, right? So I don’t get worried. My parents don’t get worried either. I…don’t know if they know where I go, actually. Don’t tell them, please, just in case. Maybe…sometimes…this might sound crazy but…I don’t think I’d be scared even if something was out there. Like, after all these years of walking around, I found something like E.T.! Wouldn’t that be so cool? It’s a bit much to hope for, I know.”
“Maybe…I’m waiting for something to take me away.”
What are some things that you especially dislike?
“Stuffy rooms. The thermostat is always too high. Yelling voices. And peas. They’re mushy and gross. There’s a lot of things in the world, I can’t just check my opinion like that on the spot. Come back tomorrow?”
“No. No, I don’t dislike my family. Can you not ask me something like that so suddenly? Where did that even come from?”
What are your goals for the future? Both immediate and long-term.
“There’s this hill out west I want to look around. There’s always something interesting if you look far enough. Also a whole pile of books I need to finish. I’m really behind on my reading for Book Club.”
“Long term? That’s a big question. I’m only in middle school. Even my brother said he doesn’t know. He made me promise not to tell mom and dad, all serious-like. I don’t know what he’s worried about. He can get into whatever university he wants. Maybe I should try for that too. Not sure which one, or what major I’d even take but, eh, I dunno.”
“I don’t think it matters where I go. As long as I get out there, I think I’ll be happy. Or, well…anywhere where they aren’t.”
What's your home life like? Specifically, what is your relationship like with your parents?
“Fine. It’s fine. Kind of a strange question to ask, really. Not everyone has a tragic backstory. Nothing to complain about when there’s…nothing, y’know?”
“If you’re dying to know, leave me alone and ask my brother, Henry. I bet he has a lot more to say about our parents than I ever would. N-not that that’s bad or anything. It’s just the truth. No really, it’s fine. I know it could be a lot worse. I could get beaten or starved or poor or in a split household like Jessica Baker’s parents. I can’t complain.”
“Huh? Neglected? No, no, they talk to me. They try to, at least? I dunno, it’s weird. I know they’re itching to get back to Henry so what’s the point of sticking around? They’ll probably forget about what I said the next day. Not that I say much.”
“Henry is…he’s nice. Maybe he feels bad for me. He shouldn’t. He earned all of this fair and square.”
“…C-can we talk about something else now?”
What's your favorite animal, and why?
“Agh, I’m bad at these questions. Uhhhhh…otters. Mom bought me this really cute plush one when I was a baby, before I can even remember. I’ve had it ever since. I know it's kinda girly but...”
“Is that a good reason for it being a favorite? I’ll think up a better answer if you need.”
How about your favorite color?
“I don't think boys my age are supposed to have that sort of answer ready. Mine's is green. Or orange. Or blue. Urgh, I’m really bad at these. It’s whatever I see in when I walk so it’s never really one color.”
“I’ll try to cut it down to one if it’s that important but…well, I don’t want to be rude but does it matter that much? All the pretty stuff is made up of crazy mixes of colors. And that’s not even considering the way light changes everything after you wait a while. Does it make sense to pick just one?”
What are your grades like?
“They’re fine too. B’s and sometimes A’s. The English teacher is always saying I need to write more though. Apparently, I don’t explain enough, write out the feelings. It all sounds a bit dumb to me, but please don’t tell him I said that. Always A’s in Gym. I’ve never had problems with running for long games or ‘hand-eye coordination’ or whatever. Overall they’re passable. Nothing like Henry’s but…”
“I need to keep my expectations reasonable. I’m never gonna be like him.”
“…Uh, yeah. My parents would try to do that serious talk thing if I let my grades drop. Or not. It doesn’t really matter. All I need to do is put the work in and everything will stay the same.”
Do you believe in magic?
“No offense, of course, but…why would I do that? I’m not a five-year-old.”
Henry Schofield ▮ 17 ▮ High School Student ▮ Aaron's older brother ▮Hard-working, Empathetic, Well-liked TBA
David Schofield ▮ 43 ▮ Newspaper Editor ▮ Aaron's father ▮Logical, Goal-oriented, Focused TBA
“…Sorry, were you expecting more? I’m not the kind of person that looks for name meanings or family trees and stuff. Aaron’s just Aaron. It's from some Bible story if I remember correctly but...we don't even go to church that much? I don’t think there’s anything fancy to find about a name that three guys in my grade have.”
How old are you?
“12. Technically not a teenager yet, like everyone keeps telling at me. My birthday’s in June if you’re wondering.”
What do you look like?
“But aren’t you right in front of—oh okay…”
“Um, I’m tall. That’s a big thing. 5 foot 3, last time I checked. Skinny. Brown hair, dark eyes. Not really anything that stands out. Henry got the flashy blond hair from my dad and auntie so I guess there wasn’t much left for me. What else, uh…I look sporty. That comes with the ‘tall’ thing. Usually you don’t even have to play anything to look fit if your body is basically a flag pole but I do so it…works. Dad and Henry said girls like tall guys a lot but they don't talk to me and I don't talk to them so it's sorta...”
“I walk a lot. One look at my legs can tell you where I’ve been. I swear my knees are rock magnets cos they’re always scraping against something. Might be safer to keep the bandaids permanently glued on. There are a lot of other scratches on my legs too, cos trees are annoying and I always get too hot to bother wearing long pants when I go out. They’re really tiny scratches so they don’t even matter that much.”
Do you have any hobbies?
“It used to be basketball but now...I walk. A lot. By the lake, around the forest. The summerhouses, the rocks. There’s a lot to look at out there. Have you ever tried just looking? Staring and examining something until you want to pass out, learning all the cracks and holes, the insides and outs. Boring, right? Yeah, I might sound like one of those loony art types but concentrating on one thing is really interesting. Anything can be interesting if you want to look further.”
“It’s nice to be out there, like I’m on a one-man trek into the unknown. Not to say I don’t like being in the house but…yeah, I don’t. I like the quiet and the alone-ness out there. I can read and draw without anyone around to complain about college tuition when they think Henry can’t hear or try to find me so they can apologize for forgetting to take me to my game. It makes me feel better that way.”
“Heh, no, I don’t get scared. Safest town in Colorado, right? So I don’t get worried. My parents don’t get worried either. I…don’t know if they know where I go, actually. Don’t tell them, please, just in case. Maybe…sometimes…this might sound crazy but…I don’t think I’d be scared even if something was out there. Like, after all these years of walking around, I found something like E.T.! Wouldn’t that be so cool? It’s a bit much to hope for, I know.”
“Maybe…I’m waiting for something to take me away.”
What are some things that you especially dislike?
“Stuffy rooms. The thermostat is always too high. Yelling voices. And peas. They’re mushy and gross. There’s a lot of things in the world, I can’t just check my opinion like that on the spot. Come back tomorrow?”
“No. No, I don’t dislike my family. Can you not ask me something like that so suddenly? Where did that even come from?”
What are your goals for the future? Both immediate and long-term.
“There’s this hill out west I want to look around. There’s always something interesting if you look far enough. Also a whole pile of books I need to finish. I’m really behind on my reading for Book Club.”
“Long term? That’s a big question. I’m only in middle school. Even my brother said he doesn’t know. He made me promise not to tell mom and dad, all serious-like. I don’t know what he’s worried about. He can get into whatever university he wants. Maybe I should try for that too. Not sure which one, or what major I’d even take but, eh, I dunno.”
“I don’t think it matters where I go. As long as I get out there, I think I’ll be happy. Or, well…anywhere where they aren’t.”
What's your home life like? Specifically, what is your relationship like with your parents?
“Fine. It’s fine. Kind of a strange question to ask, really. Not everyone has a tragic backstory. Nothing to complain about when there’s…nothing, y’know?”
“If you’re dying to know, leave me alone and ask my brother, Henry. I bet he has a lot more to say about our parents than I ever would. N-not that that’s bad or anything. It’s just the truth. No really, it’s fine. I know it could be a lot worse. I could get beaten or starved or poor or in a split household like Jessica Baker’s parents. I can’t complain.”
“Huh? Neglected? No, no, they talk to me. They try to, at least? I dunno, it’s weird. I know they’re itching to get back to Henry so what’s the point of sticking around? They’ll probably forget about what I said the next day. Not that I say much.”
“Henry is…he’s nice. Maybe he feels bad for me. He shouldn’t. He earned all of this fair and square.”
“…C-can we talk about something else now?”
What's your favorite animal, and why?
“Agh, I’m bad at these questions. Uhhhhh…otters. Mom bought me this really cute plush one when I was a baby, before I can even remember. I’ve had it ever since. I know it's kinda girly but...”
“Is that a good reason for it being a favorite? I’ll think up a better answer if you need.”
How about your favorite color?
“I don't think boys my age are supposed to have that sort of answer ready. Mine's is green. Or orange. Or blue. Urgh, I’m really bad at these. It’s whatever I see in when I walk so it’s never really one color.”
“I’ll try to cut it down to one if it’s that important but…well, I don’t want to be rude but does it matter that much? All the pretty stuff is made up of crazy mixes of colors. And that’s not even considering the way light changes everything after you wait a while. Does it make sense to pick just one?”
What are your grades like?
“They’re fine too. B’s and sometimes A’s. The English teacher is always saying I need to write more though. Apparently, I don’t explain enough, write out the feelings. It all sounds a bit dumb to me, but please don’t tell him I said that. Always A’s in Gym. I’ve never had problems with running for long games or ‘hand-eye coordination’ or whatever. Overall they’re passable. Nothing like Henry’s but…”
“I need to keep my expectations reasonable. I’m never gonna be like him.”
“…Uh, yeah. My parents would try to do that serious talk thing if I let my grades drop. Or not. It doesn’t really matter. All I need to do is put the work in and everything will stay the same.”
Do you believe in magic?
“No offense, of course, but…why would I do that? I’m not a five-year-old.”
Heyo players. To celebrate Wisheater’s 1st birthday, we’re gonna be emptying slug wallets and buying noises for your ears. Characters will be voiced by freelance actors, posts will be read, but most importantly, Jan will be paying for all of it (within reason).
Of course, all of this is completely optional since you will have to do your own modifications and writing if you want something to be read out.
Here’s what you need to do to:
Provide 1-3 lines of dialogue you believe convey your character’s personality best.
A brief description of the kind of voice/personality you would prefer for your character. (e.g. Are they peppy/angsty? Deep man voice or nah? General atmosphere and mood? Hometown accent?)
The post you want to get voiced. It can be an ‘events so far’ piece, a modified solo post/collab, etc. The biggest condition is that it MUST be in first-person. The work to edit all them collabs into a first-person perspective falls on you and you only.
If you’ve got any further questions, spam January. Happy anniversary, folks!
Snagglepuss89
Dezuel
Izurich
AlteredTundra
stone
Little Bill
Full Name: Amelie Laurier
Character Theme: Secret Garden
