Barrett

Retrocausality

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Retrocausality

See now I feel the need to join in on this joke but the logical next step is "I live on Uranus" and that joke just isn't me...

Retrocausality

Obviously I'm interested, I only waited so long to post because I couldn't decide which gif to use to express my interest.

I settled for both.

Character Sheets, old and new!

Patrick Harrow

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| Patrick | 45 | Widowed | Demisexual Panromantic | Male |

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- A P P E A R A N C E -

A lifetime of dressing for business everyday has left Patrick fashion colour blind. He knows only two settings, two 'styles' for everyday wear; casual and formal. And within those two categories there is very little variation or experimentation. Formal means a shirt, a tie, a blazer, a jacket and a nice pair of shoes. Casual means a shirt, maybe a T-shirt, and some comfortable trousers. Not that many see him in this less composed state, Patrick rarely ventures from the safety of his house without donning his formal attire. In much the same way that a veteran might sleep with a weapon beneath their pillow, Patrick has become too accustomed to leaving his house clad for white-collar battle to ever be comfortable dressing another way.

Apart from his wardrobe, people tend to notice two things about Mr. Harrow first; one is his sombre, resigned expression, the other are his broad shoulders and solid physique. Even in a community of rich, affluent, gorgeous people with personal trainers, Patrick's sheer muscle mass stands out. Whether he's standing completely still or sitting in a comfortable chair, he projects an air of dual stoicism and restraint, like a man in a storm who knows he should run to safety but can't bring himself to stir. It's almost despairing, something which more than one person has suspected him of doing, but with a definite element of self loathing and another of apathy. Patrick looks like a man with the world on his shoulders and a great many things in his past, the shadows of which darken his every moment.

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- P E R S O N A L I T Y -

To put it simply, Patrick is a man who has lost the two things he held most dear, his wife and his work, and is still reeling from the aftershocks. Ever since he was a young boy, Patrick believed that all one had to do in life to succeed was to work hard, be courteous and to tell the truth wherever possible. And while his father owning a law firm and his mother being a judge couldn't have hurt, those principles saw him rise in his chosen field (accountancy and investing) and achieve what could be only described as matrimonial bliss. And while things went smoothly, Patrick was whole, hearty and happy. He played with his child, laughed with his wife and generally acted as you might suspect a rich man to. His life philosophy had served him well and he was yet to encounter an obstacle he couldn't overcome by following them.

But when tragedy came calling, it took everything, up to and including his sacrosanct rules. First his wife was diagnosed with cancerous growths in her pancreas, which ate away at first her looks, then her spirit and finally her life. No amount of hard work on Patrick's part could save her. Then he was accused of embezzling vast amounts of money from the prestigious bank he managed the books for, causing him to be hounded by the law, the press and even his erstwhile colleagues. And while he was eventually declared innocent, no amount of courtesy could restore his good name or get things back to normal. Finally, his daughter claimed he had become too emotionally distant to truly be called a father and severed all ties with him. The truth didn't heal the rift between them, because the only truth to tell was that he agreed with her.

The scars of the past are still deeply evident in Mr. Harrow's countenance and daily routine. He rises and makes two cups of coffee, drinks one in silence and pours the other away before dressing to face the world. Some days he ventures into the city to meet old colleagues and listen to their tales of work, some he spends socialising, or trying to, at Lakewood Country Club. Most days involves hours of what others might consider exercise or working out, though Patrick privately thinks of it as penance. The raw ache in his arms and sting in his legs after an extended session brings with it a bitter, visceral satisfaction that's hard to come by elsewhere. But by and large, he is not longer a man who connects with the world, merely one who moves through it.

Perhaps something, or someone, will come along to change that? Stranger things have happened, though I can't bring one to mind right now.

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- H I S T O R Y -

Born to two wealthy parents who had decided a child would be a wise investment of time and effort, Patrick was not drowned in affection as a child. For the most part, he was treated like the children of those people who put work above all else are; as another project to be efficiently brought towards its goal. Looking back, he wouldn't be surprised if his parents had drawn up annual evaluations for him, grading him like an underperforming employee. It could've been worse, he saw them regularly and there was little he wanted for that could be purchased. But as soon as Patrick was of schooling age, the lessons began.

His parents had seen too many of their contemporary's children fail to learn the lessons taught by success. Those were the ones who spent their days driving expensive cars, buying things they didn't need and generally wasting their parent's money. They were determined that any son of the Harrow household would do no such thing, and so they taught him to work hard, be polite and to tell the truth. The latter was largely for their own peace of mind, as they were too suspicious to take even a child's word at face value. They were sure that he'd soon grow out of it, just as most children soon learn the habit of lying. With this, as with so many things concerning Patrick, his parents were mistaken.

Thanks to their stringent education, the Harrows knew their son was perfectly placed to began a career in the practise of law. They expected that he'd start with a nice placement, study for his qualifications while picking up valuable experience and then simply ascend through having the right friends, right parents and right wealth until he would either be a partner in a prestigious firm or become a judge like his mother. They were both surprised and dismayed, therefore, when he instead became a glorified banker. What sort of profession was the handling of money for a child groomed for the delicate task of wielding the law?

And while Patrick's undeniable success and meteoric rise in his chosen occupation caused them to be grudgingly impressed, they never truly forgave him for his first and greatest act of rebellion. They faded out of his life and he out of theirs, each acknowledging the existence of the other only if prompted. They didn't appear at his wedding and he missed their divorce, each reading about the other years after the fact. There was no bang or even a whimper, just a mutual lack of interest and engagement. But we're getting ahead of ourselves, for before there can be a wedding, there must be a meeting.

While making fiscal predictions based on a frighteningly complicated set of algorithms, Patrick happened to look up from his computer screen to see a rather unusual woman. In a world of shirts, ties and power suits, she was a colourful splash of fresh air. And her flowery dresses, tinkling laugh and bawdy jokes weren't the only things that things that disrupted the meticulous world of banking. As the representative of a non-profit, this confusing woman brought a whole host of taboo ideals with her too, like generosity, selflessness and charity. The woman was Cassandra Abercrombie, who would later become Cassandra Harrow, a name she would often complain was far too morbid even for Patrick.

We will skim over their courtship, engagement and early married life, as it is all rather dull, in that way that other people's happiness can be. Suffice it to say that when he approached her with more than a little nervousness and an awful lot of stiffness, she found it just endearing enough to like. With time, Patrick learned some of her carefree nature while she in turn absorbed some of his calculating, reserved nature. They were wed and soon after had a child together, the beautiful bouncing babe that would grow to become their spirited daughter, Samantha Harrow. All was well for Patrick in that time, for he achieved both financial success and personal happiness. Of course, there's no happiness so great that fate can't shatter it with a single blow, and fate reserved a string of strikes just for him.

The first was mundane but terrible; Cassandra was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was untreatable and she wasted away before her husband and daughter's eyes, the latter of whom was now a fully grown woman of twenty. The worst was't seeing her muscles and flesh deteriorate but the moment when her colourful, chaotic spirit was broken by a choice tonic of chemotherapy and lack of sleep. When she passed, at least her family were free to mourn the person she had been, rather than the one the illness had made her. That would've been enough alone to change a person's outlook on life but things had only just begun for Patrick. Next came an unforeseen, unpreventable and wholly unacceptable scandal in his professional life.

Patrick was accused by one of his colleagues of embezzling vast amounts of money from the bank and its clients. Given the central nature of the bank and its importance to the local economy, tabloids and financial journals alike seized on this story. For several weeks, the Harrow home was surrounded by cameramen and Patrick was harassed by reporters wherever he went. Things got bad enough that for some weeks, he was forced to hire personal security for both himself and Samantha. When his name was finally and officially cleared, little changed. After all, the public reasoned, no perpetrator had been caught. Just because the law hadn't labelled him as a villain didn't mean he was innocent. The harassment stayed and therefore the bodyguards did too, something Samantha too issue with. And so things took almost a year to settle down and when they did, things were hardly the same.

Firstly, Patrick was unable to return to the bank after being so publicly accused of stealing from it. He tried for a few weeks to maintain his position and composure but it soon became clear that he was as unwanted as he was uncomfortable. Just before he chose to leave of his own accord, the board of directors made him an offer; leave quietly and immediately and they'd grant him a generous severance and pension settlement. Being no fool, he took the money and ignored the bitter taste it left in his mouth. The second change was that, somewhere along the way, Patrick had stopped treating Samantha like a daughter and started acting as though she was just another thing to be endured. Rather than rage against him or hate him, she simply acted as he had to his parents; she left. For a time, he tried to contact her and make amends but soon resolved to allow her the room she obviously wished for.

And so, after carefully being edged out his erstwhile position, stripped of his good name, torn from his wife's side and separated from his only child, Patrick has retreated to Lakewood Summit. Without work or a family, there is little to fill his time these days. Some days he socialises, some days he works on a various economic papers he intends to one day submit for publishing but most days he spends alone and quietly. His basement gym has become a temple to physical effort, a place to burn calories and desperately try to feel alive once more.

He wonders, some days, whether any of the inhabitants of Lakewood Summit know of his past. And if they do, he can't even tell whether he cares anymore.

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- O C C U P A T I O N -

In a previous existence, Patrick was a financial analyst and an extremely talented one. His job was to analyse patterns in the market and in history to make predictions on what would happen in the future, to trawl through vast seas of data for pearls of useful information and to manage the investment of eye-wateringly large sums of money.

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- H O B B I E S -

{{ Physical Exertion has become one of Patrick's most singular pursuits, one that helps him feel alive and has granted him an almost Herculean physique. He prefers to work alone in his basement gym but has begun to venture outside for jogging exhibitions. Similarly, he had begun a routine of regular swimming at the Sparkling Springs }}

{{ At the Country Club, Patrick has become accustomed to settling in for a few hands of poker (low stakes, no one likes a big winner at high stakes) or a game of pool. More rarely, he might venture into playing something more physical, like Squash or Tennis. }}

{{ Cassandra once taught him the basics of watercolour painting and with his near infinite supply of free-time, Patrick has been trying to recall her lessons. Currently, he doesn't allow his largely impressionistic works to leave his work room but should someone express an interest, he could likely be persuaded to share them. }}

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- R E L A T I O N S H I P S -

Samantha Harrow – Estranged Daughter – In the fallout from Patrick's professional disaster and their mutual loss, father and daughter lost something. Rather than try to repair the damaged connective tissue, both chose to ignore the rift until it finally cracked them apart fully. Samantha, having inherited much of her mother's forthright, self determined nature, simply left her father to his self pity and moved far, far away. But absence makes the heart grow stronger and each now misses the other more than they ever expected they would.

Michael Waterson – Ex-Colleague – One of Patrick's fellow bankers, Michael has taken an interest in how things have gone for his exiled compatriot, occasionally going as far as to visit him. The whole nasty business is just water under the bridge, he says, and he only wants to help his friend through the aftermath of such a difficult time. Which is a little odd, it must be said, as they were never even close to friends when they worked together.

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Aron Rostow

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| Aron | Fifty-eight | Married | Pansexual | Male |

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⇋ | A P P E A R A N C E | ⇌

Despite being below average height and possessing a soft, cultured voice, many grown men and women have cowered in Aron's presence. It's not just the air of imperious superiority that he projects with his every motion, it's something in the eyes. Every look measures you, weighs you against his estimation of what you could be or should be. Even when Aron seems relaxed, a fruity cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other, his vigilant eyes appraise those around him. It's pressure, applied indiscriminately but with experience and precision. You know, in a single look, whether you've lived up to his expectations or whether he's found you wanting.

And all this comes from a fairly short man with grey hair, an unremarkable physique and an... eccentric dress sense. Years of living on the cutting edge of fashion have made Aron immune to embarrassment over outfit choices or flamboyant colours. He wears whatever feels most in tune with the beating heart of the moment; this year, 70s jackets and red flared collars, next year, black wool and bow ties. Many of his more eccentric and striking outfits are of his own design, for who else could manage to create something so perfect, but sometimes he consents to wear designs by other artists, most commonly his wife.

⇋ | P E R S O N A L I T Y | ⇌

In some ways, Aron is still a little Polish boy, fresh off the boat and with the smell of New York fresh on his nose, staring into a shop window at a set of lazily arranged mannequins. In that moment, even though he was awash with new sensation and reeling for a thousand reasons, he was glaring at the billboard and thinking "is that the best you could do?". It was this ability to see through his own emotional investments and situation and assess work objectively that saw him rise like a comet in the world of fashion design, coupled with a talent for inspiring that same awe in others that had once almost overwhelmed him. He still takes great delight in anything truly original or brilliant, it's just that years of experience and study have made most concepts seems derivative or disappointing.

In most ways, of course, you would never be able to tell that Aron was every young and uncertain, as every aspect of his manner implies omniscience and experience. Much of this aspect of his person comes from what came directly after his arrival in the country, working his way from the ground up to become the fashion deity of the city. In that time, most of his contemporaries were of the middle class or trust fund children that would constantly complain about the work they were doing. If Aron could learn the languages of fashion and English at the same time while working a second job, he privately reasoned, everyone else should have no trouble keeping up. And yet in life, Aron has found that almost no one lives up to their potential, does all the work they could if they applied themselves. Those who work with him or have ever received his criticism can attest that he expects nothing but the best and, frequently, receives it.

Which is not to say Aron is mirthless or stoney. On the contrary, he once had a reputation for throwing the most lavish and exotic parties in living memory. And those people who count him as a acquaintance rather than a friend often express that he is witty, supportive and self deprecating. And those people who have worked hard enough to earn his approval know that it's true, he just doesn't reveal that side to those who have failed to reach their limits, only to those who have succeeded or those who he has no emotional attachment to. Indeed, he's close friends with many of his previous protégés, who still think of him fondly as a guide and mentor. Of course, that's only the ones that matched his standards, the others were long since discarded and forgotten. Some days, Aron wished his child was as pliable, efficient and grateful as his many earned students.

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⇋ | H I S T O R Y | ⇌

Born in rural Poland, Aron came to America at the age of twelve with his family. In America, his father swore, the Rostows would find the wealth and security that was so hard to come by in the old country. As an experienced farmer and general man of the world, of course he didn't believe that the streets were paved with gold or that there was a job on every street corner, but he came with some hope. Unfortunately, the Red Scare was still prevalent in American culture at the time and those with eastern European accents were less than popular. So the Rostow patriarch took up a job doing menial labour, the mother took on two waiting jobs and the children were told to shed their accents with all speed.

Aron saw the wisdom in this lesson but, at the same time, refused to pay it any heed. He learned English with a feverish intensity, devouring books and magazines as fast as he could find them. With wisdom beyond his years, Aron realised it would be best to conceal from friend and family alike that his favourite ones were those that showed clothes or models. Something about their splendour entranced him, the way they held themselves or the unreasonable wealth the clothes implied. For a boy who had grown up in clothes more akin to sacks than anything else, the allure was undeniable. Every copy of Vogue or its sibling magazines he could scrounge was studied with careful, deliberate focus. His parents weren't to know that articles bemoaning the current trends in denim were responsible for their son's excellent vocabulary.

Being small and unthreatening, Aron escaped the American schooling system with no more than a little emotional scarring. He went to work, as his father wished, studying to be a teacher, without telling any of his family, he also applied for and received an internship at a major fashion label. Balancing studying with his duties as the new dogsbody were difficult and when push came to shove, he skipped lectures and rushed assignments. Most of his duties at the label were menial, fetching coffee and ferrying designs from one office to another and so forth. But everyday, he felt immersed in the glossy, colourful, majestic world he'd been imagining since he first stepped off the boat. Of course, often the jobs were less than glamorous or down right humiliating. But Aron could and would endure.

Before long, his enthusiasm and steadiness was noticed by one of the more important names on the label, Jeremiah Martin, and Aron was made an assistant. It wasn't much of a promotion, really. It just meant that know he fetched coffee for only one person and was occasionally asked for an opinion on a controversial design. His big break came when Jeremiah was experimenting with aviator shades and tie dye, and remarked that something was off, that it just wasn't cool. Without a word, Aron ran and fetched a denim jacket to return and wrap it around his boss's shoulders. The effect was instantaneous, they both felt it. This look would work, this look would sell, this look would last. Being the senior designer, of course Jeremiah took most of the credit as he ascended to the board of directors on the label. But he made sure that Aron got his old position, giving him a definite leg up.

At this point, Aron was still making almost no money from his endeavours in the fashion world and had long since fallen far enough behind in his teacher training that he'd been asked to leave the program. The sensible thing would've been to settle down and find a steady job. And Aron did, in a fashion. In fact, he found two part time jobs that he could juggle alongside his work at the label. So while his contemporaries, largely from families with more than enough wealth to support them, went to parties and rubbed shoulders with the glamorous and the famous, Aron worked long shifts at chair factory or as the frier at a diner. Neither were enjoyable or engaging but they gave him space to think, to internally experiment and to meditate on the nature of design. So when his colleagues came in to work hung over, Aron was tired but full to the brim with ideas.

Hard work, luck and creativity served him well and, within a span of years, Aron was the head designer for the label, did freelance work for other labels and wrote a regular feature in his beloved Vogue. He was able to quit his side jobs and take part in some of the parties he'd been told so much about. They were not, on the whole, as exciting as he'd been promised. Even as his star rose and his reputation grew, people muttered about how aloof this Polish migrant was. There was little his detractors could do about his financial and critical success, however, and both were finally starting to pour down. Any design with his fingerprints on it, even those published under different names, sold like hotcakes and his column was the most popular by a long way. And he might've remained the first among equals if he hadn't met a very special someone.

During a glorified meet and greet, Aron happened to enter into a conversation between a neophyte model and a more experienced member of the industry. The two were arguing over the release of a recent line of dresses, the older woman calling them creative and the younger derivative and boring. Aron agreed with the latter, a woman he learned was named Estella McKinley, and went so far as to suggest that the current western fashion world was becoming more and more creatively stale due to a lack of diversity in the major labels. In a flash, Estella seemed to turn on him and said "Then why don't you make something better?", words that haunted Aron for weeks afterwards.

He couldn't deny it, he had no right to bemoan the world of fashion without doing something to improve it. In a move that would change his life and the lives of many others, he quit every one of his jobs and invested every cent of his savings into a new label, one under his direct creative control; Aronista. And his first move was to recruit the forthright, plainspoken woman who had put him onto the idea in the first place; Estella McKinely. At first they were employer and employee, then artist and muse and finally romantically paired. Aron was enamoured with her ambition, something he took inspiration from and admired. On his more introspective days, he would wonder whether he loved Estella or loved the being with a model, the very symbol of the world he sought to rule.

Aronista was a hit like nothing else on the market. Its financial success allowed Aron and Estella to pursue more personal, experimental projects, some of which were well received and some of which faded quickly into obscurity. One of Aron's projects was starting his own fashion magazine, Who runs the Runway?, which to this day duels with Vogue as the authority on all things fashion. One personal project the two were never able to complete was having a child together, nature stood in their way there. Although they adopted a wonderful child and Aron assured his beloved wife that it changed nothing between them, he still sometimes wonders whether a child of his blood would be more like him or would've responded better to the strict rules and high expectations Aron has placed upon his current heir.

Still, he had his empire to rule and a world to define, there was always something to do and Aron was never happier than when he was working. Only, in the last few years Aron has found it hard to concentrate on his work, no matter how innovative the hemline or creatively applied the colour. There's always been something bothering him and it took him a long while to work out exactly what it was; his family was disordered in a way he'd never allow his workplace to be. His child hides their secrets from both parents, his wife is unsatisfied with her work and the general mood of family dinners is of sullen resentment. For a man who always demanded excellence from everyone in his life, especially himself, Aron cannot stand this situation and moved to rectify it.

Handing control of his label and magazine to some shocked but very pleased protégés, Aron has moved his family to Lakewood and is attempting to mend the broken fences and seal the rifts. He's not entirely sure whether he's doing out of love or a desire for his family to be perfect but, in the end, does it matter?

⇋ | O C C U P A T I O N | ⇌

For most of his working lifetime, Aron has managed the Fashion Magazine Who runs the Runway? as well as running his own fashion label, Aronista. Both have been financially successful and incredibly influential over the larger fashion world. He has now retired from both, handing them on to some of his protégés.

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⇋ | H O B B I E S | ⇌

{{ With easy access to the Lakewood country club, Aron has taken up horseback riding or, as he insists people call it, Equestrianism. There's something very cultured and dignified about prancing around upon the back of a horse, or so he tells himself. }}

{{ Although he has officially retired from the world of fashion for personal reasons, much of Aron's time is still devoted to it. He gives advice to the men and women now heading up his brand and magazine, mediates troublesome disputes telephonically, calls in old favours in exchange for new ones and generally pulls strings from behind the scenes. }}

{{ A habit he picked up from a British colleague, Aron loves to hold tea parties. It sounds childish and mundane and, yes, well, it is, but it also provides an oppurtunity for those residents of Lakewood who do nothing but gossip to come and gossip together. }}

{{ To keep in shape, Aron likes to run with the family Poodle, Shutzy. Admittedly, she can't run very fast and is more interested in stopping every few metres to smell lampposts, trees, walls and passersby but then Aron isn't overly invested in fitness as a concept so that fits him just fine. }}

⇋ | R E L A T I O N S H I P S | ⇌

Estella Rostow, née McKinley – Wife – Married for many years, Aron and Estella have been celebrated as a celebrity 'power couple' for longer than Aron has known what the phrase meant. And while there is some genuine love between them, too often their respective ambitions and desires get the better of them.

René Reno/Rostow – Adopted Son – Aron dearly wishes that René was a reflection of himself, a mirror image that could be taught the lessons that have seen Aron's dreams come true and his life go so well. Alas, it's clear to them both that René is his own man and that they don't always get on that well.

Shutzy – Family Dog – Bright eyed, bushy tailed and always ready to run (slowly), play, cuddle or devour a bowl of dog food.

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Character Sheets, old and new!

Loup

_{"Run, if you want to. You'll only die tired."}

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• N A M E S

Wolf, Loup, Lupo, Vargen, the thing that growls in the dark.

• S T O R Y

Various, primarily Little Red Riding Hood.

• B I R T H P L A C E

The deepest, darkest forest in Wonderland.

• M A G I C

Wonderland and its denizens are, in a sense, soaked constantly in magic. Most see it as a part of their nature, drawing on it not like a wizard does but like you would use your arms or your eyes. Loup's own nature is that of the predator that exists in the imagination and so his form was tied the popular fear of a predator. Since leaving Wonderland, he has ceased to have a transient form, now existing only as a man, but still retains an the ability to emanate fear.

• A G E

When humans first heard howls in the night, some part of him was there.

• R O M A N T I C I N T E R E S T S

Mating, rather than romance, is a more familiar concept to Loup but since leaving his home, he's allowed the softness and corrupting comfort of society to dull his hunter's edge. In other words, he's more human and civilised now than ever before, maybe even enough to comprehend love and even to reciprocate it.

• A T T I R E

As a man, Loup is a little above average height, a fair ways above average muscle mass and leagues above average in beard growth. And while he might not look as toned or chiselled as some athletes, every muscle in Loup's body is tensed and coiled for action at any given moment. As such, he projects an aura of controlled menace with each step, glance and snort, whether he means to or not.

Loup favours dark colours or muted palettes, though whether that's because he misses having fur or would rather blend easily into a dark room is anyone's guess. Regardless, his wardrobe on earth is full of warm, thick, practical clothes that have a certain rugged charm and style to them, but could equally be warm for a trek through the woods or day's hard work. He scorns hats, scarves, gloves and other protections against the cold, preferring to wear his jackets open and his shirts low cut.

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• H E R O ' S N A T U R E

Loup is a, in essence, the predator you imagine the first time you see a carcass in the woods or a sad little pile of feathers. He is exactly as ruthless and terrible as you can imagine, having been born out of human fear and into the primordial mess of early Wonderland. Overtime, he has gained the qualities of modern, anthropomorphised predators humans have projected; cunning, callousness and cruelty. But at his roots he's still a deeply pragmatic beast who has no confusions about the nature of life, which is to make sure it lasts as long as possible.

Where in the past, Loup's nature and identity was tied to the conception of fear and dread in the human mind, his defeat at the hands of Red Riding Hood and the Huntsman combined with his exodus to Earth have wrought profound change in his form and thoughts. His form has now settled in that of a man and his attitude has followed suit. Civilisation has seeped into his being so that he no longer even considers ripping out a barista's throat rather than paying for his coffee. Some days, he worries that he's not the being he was but other he feels almost... guilty about the old days of blood and fear.

The beast now wears a muzzle but it's made of gossamer and hope, who knows how long it will restrain him?

• R E N O W N E D S K I L L S

As a predator most ancient, Loup is unequaled at hunting like a beast. While he knows nothing of traps and tracks, there's little he doesn't know about scents and slaying. He can and has followed foes across entire kingdoms without losing their trails once. So too can he hold his own in a scrap, fighting with an animalistic fury that can't be matched. Finally, as the original thing that goes bump in the night, Loup owns the shadows and can move through them without detection should he choose to, though he has always preferred to allow a little detection. All the better to frighten you with...

• F A T A L F L A W

In his heart, Loup is still a beast. After all, you can take the wolf out of the deep dark woods but you can't take the deep dark woods out of the wolf. Merlin's conditions for bringing him to Earth were enforced by more than Loup's questionable understanding of honour, they are magical geas that bind Loup body and soul. And, like all wild things, these bindings chafe him horribly. Should Loup's original nature break through, it will cost him more than he knows, even before the heroes of Mystvale come for him.

• O N C E U P O N A T I M E

Do you remember the first time you walked alone in the dark? I'm sure you do, the heart-in-your-mouth terror and cold sweat is hard to forget. And when you heard a twig snap or something rustle, you were sure that is was a feral beast or terrifying monster, come to devour you whole, weren't you? You could feel its eyes on the back of your neck and hear its panting breath. And when you got back to the light, you dived into bed and told yourself it was nothing, that monsters don't exist and there are no more true wolves, that you were alone. Well, you were wrong.

Loup was there, in the dark, watching you.

Since long before you were around, humans have feared the dark, whether it's an analogue for the unknown or simply the space beyond the firelight. And as you know, every little noise in the darkness becomes the stalking of something hungry in the human mind. But what you may not know is that over time, ideas in the human mind can take form, shape and life in another place. So it was in Wonderland that something took form in the shade of the trees and the black of night; a beast of unimaginable fear, fright and terror. Or, rather, exactly as terrible as you can imagine.

For as long as there have been merchants, travellers and heroes venturing through the deep dark woods, there's been something in their to feast upon their bones. Alongside the Jabberwocky, the wolf of the woods was reputed to be the most dangerous beast in all the land, more evil than a host of Bandersnatches or a horde of Jub-Jub Birds. Many heroes came to test their might and many found their ends between his fearsome teeth.

But in time, the great powers of the land turned their attention upon this beast troubling their subjects. Unlike the Jabberwocky, Loup was not under the protection of a monarch of the realm and was chased from Wonderland through the combined efforts of several of the great powers. And while they called it a job well done, few in the realm they chased it into could agree. Indeed, the citizens and nobility of Bellegarde would have happily chased him back had things not changed somewhat.

On Earth, the middle ages were dragging on and the wolf was now the symbol of the wild in Europe. Tales told of packs dragging off children and devouring villages were all the rage in Germany, France and much of the rest of the continent. But with its anthropomorphising, the wolf gained certain qualities that the animal itself knew nothing of; everyone knows that wolves are cunning, cruel and vicious. But while a real wolf is no more cruel than a rabbit, Loup was now a wolf of the mind.

The beast that stalked Belllegarde, therefore, was more defined and wolfish than the one that dwelled in the deep, dark woods but had gained a rough, animal slyness and a distinctly human capacity for cruelty. The people of the land soon leanred to fear leaving the beaten path, for more and more of their countrymen disappeared, never to be heard from again. But soon even that wasn't enough to guarantee safety, for Loup was learning to take advantage of the nation's passion for romance and his own nature as a transient being of Wonderland, where form is much less settled. Beware the suitor with a glint in his eyes, people learned, especially if his teeth are a little too long...

It took the efforts of the land's greatest Huntsman and a girl with a famously red hood, along with a healthy portion of luck, to finally put an end to Loup's glory days in Bellegarde, though they didn't manage to end him for good. Rather, they disemboweled him and dropped him into a lake. Needless to say, he's still a little sore about that and spent most of the long crawl back to Wonderland and the deep dark forest plotting their deaths. And perhaps he would've returned to wreak a terrible vengeance on them both has not something taken his mind off of revenge; the Cataclysm.

That rending, twisting chaotic event shook Bellegarde to its core and shattered the Wonderland that Loup understood, leaving him a beast among monsters in an unfamiliar land. Rather than fall to the void or see himself warp into something alien, he followed the route predators have since the dawn of time; adapt or die. He fled Wonderland with all speed, intending to take up residence in Bellegarde again, only to find the intrusions of the Void there as well. As he beheld the terrible majesty of the shattered world, a dozen of the void's creatures fell upon him.

Their fight was legend. Great tracts of earth were raised in their wake as the group wrestled for the upper hand and scrambled for more advantageous positions. These invaders were strong, quick and had their own unique form of magic (though more learned souls have since referred to it as unmagic) but Loup was old, cunning and very, very angry. Still, he could tell he'd soon succumb to their attacks and had simply resolved to take as many of them with him as he could when a new force entered the fight, one of singular power; Merlin.

As he had prepared to rescue heroes from the land of Bellegarde, the ancient wizard's ceremony had been interrupted by the battling creatures and realised that one among them was of his world, not the void. With a muttered incantation and a wave of his hand, Merlin banished the voidlings and approached the wounded Loup. He offered him a choice; die here in the dirt of Bellegarde or survive and go to a new world. There were of course, the old mage smiled, a few conditions.

What exactly they were stayed between Merlin and Loup, but when the Kings and Queens of Bellegarde arrived at the site to dispatch their greatest heroes to this new realm, they were told Merlin had found them a warrior of mythical skill to act as bodyguard for them in the new world. Some bridled and complained, though not so loud as for Merlin to hear them, but none amongst them recognised Loup for what he was and he arrived on Earth along with a cadre of legendary heroes.

• A N E W C H A P T E R

Since then, Loup has kept himself to himself and not gotten involved with any of his new neighbours. The dual constraints of society and Merlin's conditions chaffed him terribly for the first year or two, as did maintaing a human shape at all times. When he felt ready, he started to look for work and found more than a few opening for a man prepared to inflict pain on other men. Currently, he's working as a bouncer at a high class Nightclub but he never stays in one job too long.

Loup has greeted the news of a second cataclysm with mixed emotions. He is thrilled at the news something will break through the monotony of his everyday life here on Earth, that perhaps he will once again feel the joy of the hunt and the taste of fear on the air. But he remembers the strength of the void beasts and does not much wish to face them again, not to mention that Merlin is nowhere to be found and his magical geas still burns in Loup's mind.

Robin Hood

_{"Steal from the rich, give to the poor, look gorgeous while doing it."}

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• N A M E

Formerly Robin of Locksley, now Robin Hood.

• S T O R Y

Robin Hood, British historical and folklore figure

• B I R T H P L A C E

Albion, in the Kingdom of Anglia.

• M A G I C

Much to Robin's annoyance, no.

• A G E

Five-and-thirty years of age.

• R O M A N T I C I N T E R E S T S

Although they're not married and rarely admit it, Robin and Marian are deeply in love. Really. All that mocking is just how they show affection.

• A T T I R E

In his life time, Robin has dressed in the finery of a lord, the garb of a warrior, the rags of an outlaw and the clothes of a modern man. Of all of them, he much prefers the soft, warm fleeces of a citizen of Washington, with their incredibly useful zips and many pockets. In the first years of his residence on Earth, he wore increasingly eccentric and unusual outfits, determined to plumb the depths of this new world's supply of clothes until he found the most comfortable he possibly could.

Since then, he's come to understand the version of comely (or handsome or cool) that the people of this world subscribe to and how much one's clothes play into it. He has toned down his choices to something a bit more traditional so while his clothes are still quite practical and warm (Robin has spent many a night crouched in the bracken and doesn't want to be cold like that again) they now reflect a man who carefully selects his outfits in the morning with measured consideration.

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• H E R O ' S N A T U R E

When you meet Robin, two things are immediately apparent. The first is that he thinks a great deal of himself. The second is that he thinks you should to. And what's more, it's rather hard not to. Quite apart from his dashing good looks and immense charisma, Robin is the nicest and most generous fellow you'll ever meet. Say you're cold and he'll steal you a jacket, say you're hungry and he'll slay a deer for you. And if you say you're poor... well, he's spent years of his life in a forest, fighting the lawful authority of his own home due to a similar plea.

But within Robin there is now a great doubt. He is, or at least, was a great hero who was famed throughout the world for his selfless deeds. However, he cannot escape the feeling that the causality most people would assume is false; people think that good deeds bring fame, but Robin has began to wonder whether it was not fame that made him do good deeds. When he had a country of adoring peasants singing his praises and a group of merry men looking up to him, it was easy to tweak the nose of the Sheriff and damn the consequences. But without them, without that legend to surround him and sustain him, Robin constantly worries that one day, he'll simply not have the motivation to be a hero.

He needn't worry, of course. Maid Marian would kick him into shape before letting that happen.

• R E N O W N E D S K I L L S

As everyone knows, Robin is a master of the bow and arrows. Despite not being a traditional noble's weapon, he has spent most of his life firing arrows at targets near and far can therefore perform feats of near mythical skill. Splitting arrows that have already struck a target, he says, is child's play. A more interesting exercise is splitting them in mid air... Apart from that Robin is a skilled woodsman, able to live off the land, track, evade pursuit and scout. As a noble, he has also bee trained with the more traditional weapons of sword, hammer, spear and lance but lack of practise has eroded his ability with them somewhat. And, though he says so himself, he's rather charming.

• F A T A L F L A W

Robin's flaws are twofold; he thrives on and requires the adulation of others to function and he is aware of this. His need for fame and admiration is bad enough but his new found self awareness leaves him constantly crippled by second guessing himself. Did he make that donation because it was the right thing to do, or because he knew that the charity worker would look at him with grateful eyes? It's only with the reaffirmation of those that know him will he be able to be sure that you can be good and famous.

• O N C E U P O N A T I M E

Born into nobility in the Ablion kingdom of Anglia, Robin of Locksley was all that a noble should be. He was strong, a natural swordsman, a clever study, a cunning tactician ad a devoted son to his father. The only problem was that for all his potential, he showed little interest in anything other than having fun. He would slip from his rooms in the castle, down into the courtyard and play with the dogs or creep out to run through the woods. And all the harsh words from his father did nothing to change his mind. They had never gotten on particularly well, and the old Earl's contemptuous dismissal of the peasantry had further soured relations.

It wasn't until Robin laid hands on a bow for the first time that he ever showed interest in anything. But that moment was, even in a world with a single light bulb, was electric, a perfect connection of man and tool. From that day on, rarely was he sen without a bow and arrows, whether he was at home or touring the countryside. Everyday he rose early and hammered shot after shot into the central ring of far off targets, with more and more ease. His father told him that it was a peasant's weapon, for the common man who couldn't afford sword, shield and armour. But Robin still had no interest in listening to his elders.

In time, of course, things changed. Robin's father died and he became the Earl of Locksley, intending to be a more open handed and generous liege lord that his father. And had he been given time, he would likely have followed through on such lofty ambitions but fate played a different hand. The monarch of Anglia, King Richard the Lionheart, was raising his banners to march upon his old enemies in Bellegarde. All loyal nobles were called on to raise the levies and join him to sail across the narrow sea for gold and glory. Robin wanted to resist the call but another part of him longed for such heroism, longed to stand beside the Lionheart and slay foes by the score.

War, of course, is never that easy.

The campaign was long and bloody and, for many, pointless. Land was taken, held, defended, lost, retaken. Men and women died with roars of defiance or shrieks of despair, more and more each day for an entire decade. Robin had many illusions stripped away in those years and everyday he longed to return to Sherwood forest, to see the people of Locksley and to never touch a sword again in his life. But he had sworn to stand by his King and stand by him he would, for Robin was no oathbreaker. Luckily for him, he did not need to be. During an ambush, he saved the King's life with a few well placed arrows and the Lionheart asked what reward he could give such a loyal follower. All Robin asked for was the freedom to return to his home and the King granted his request, albeit grudgingly.

But in Richard's absence, Anglia had changed. His cowardly younger brother, prince John, had seized power and given land to his cronies and those prepared to forsake Richard. Locksley, for example, was now the province of one of Robin's previous underlings, the former Sherif of Nottingham. A cruel and greedy man, he had taxed the province terribly with more and more ridiculous demands on the people. He was not best pleased to learn of Robin's return, knowing that there wasn't a man, woman or child in the county who would support him over Robin. So he sent a dozen rough men to end Robin's life and ensure his own rule.

Needless to say, it didn't work. Robin dispatched the mercenaries and was put on his guard by the attempt on his life. Rather than ride back to Locksley beating a drum and telling everyone to rejoice, he disguised himself and crept back into town, gently gathering information on the situation and the times as he did. What he learned was dire; his land taken, his castle occupied, his people oppressed and his name slandered. For a moment he considered retreating to Bellegarde to warn Richard of John's treachery and perhaps petition him for aid. But the thought of returning to the battlefield was abhorrent to him and he could not face it.

Instead, he decided to stay but not in the castle. One piece of gossip that had reached his ears was that the Sheriff's tax revenues would be transported by two dozen armed guards through Sherwood forest in the next few days. After years of tracking cunning Bellegardian scouts, Robin was easily able to locate a cart guarded by thugs and managed to liberate the coins. Most men would have fled and happily retired on such a fortune but Robin could no more leave Locksley than he could put down his bow. So he gave the wealth of the people back to the people, promising the peasantry that he would not rest until the Sheriff was disposed. So the name Robin of Locksley was lost and so began the adventures of Robin Hood.

And what adventures they were. He fought the good fight with such staunch allies as Little John, Friar Tuck and Will Scarlet and against such fiendish villains as Guy of Gisbon, the Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John himself. He met the love of his life, Marian, and bickered with her ceaselessly. More gold poured through the county than ever before but no sooner had Robin stolen and redistributed it than the Sheriff's men would arrive to take whatever they pleased again. Robin would doubtless have one day defeated his foes entirely (probably in some way that was poetically just) and would likely even have gotten around to marrying Maid Marian (if she would have him) but something happened to put all bets off; the cataclysm.

• A N E W C H A P T E R

Despite being some of the lucky few to escape the collapse of their world, Robin and Marian were unable to bring their Merry Men with them to Earth. They arrived and immediately began to beg, threaten and cajole Merlin to go back for their band but the wizard refused. He told them to make do with each other and a whole new world, that it aught to be enough.

Since then Robin has tried to be a proper man, tried to hold down a job and even tried to keep helping people as best he could. But every job he's tried, from security to management, has felt to him like painfully, mind numbingly boring suffering. For the moment, he works at a charity for disenfranchised youths and goes out on bi-monthly excursions with Marian to rob from the rich and donate to the less well off.

It's a life.

Salem Witches' Institute {Harry Potter}

Character up, finally. Swear I used to be much faster at writing these things...

_{Thanks again to our amazing GM for letting me steal appropriate experiment with that neat way of formatting header gifs they came up with.}

Salem Witches' Institute {Harry Potter}

Wilfred Webb

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"Pride erects a little kingdom of its own,
And acts as sovereign in it."

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STUDENT IDENTIFICATION

N A M E:

Wilfred Andrew Webb.

N I C K N A M E:

Will, which he likes or Wilf/Fred, which he takes as an insult.

G E N D E R:

Male.

A G E:

Eighteen years of age, born 10/10/1998.

B L O O D S T A T U S:

Pure-Blood

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PRESENCE

Wilfred Holds himself in a very particular way, something that you might notice and react to without ever actually seeing. It's a straight backed dignity, a reserved aloofness and an eyebrow raising, lip curling, sardonically smiled demeanour that says "you aren't important enough to waste my time on". While he dresses in bright colours, styles his immaculate hair in an almost bouffant way, adds lighthearted affectations (an archaic broach here, a decorative dragon-tail spine there) to his uniform, his natural manner is that of dismissal or impatience. And while he smiles often, they are rarely ones of innocent mirth.

While striding the corridors of Salem's Witches institute, he will more than likely been seen with books held under one arm and possibly with one open in his hands. While walking from class to class, his time is more precious than ever, as it should be interruption free study time, and his aura of "don't you even dare talk to me" is intensified. Often Black Bart, his familiar, stalks ahead of its master and clears a path by staring down any student foolish enough to be an obstacle. Many a first year has backed down from the cat's bottomless green eyes staring into their very soul.

Wilfred's voice is a little high pitched and is apt to become a shrill shriek when he's furious, which is a rare event. A part of his icy composure is that most all annoyances are met with a scathing barb or acidic response rather than high pitched fury. When excited or happy, he's more likely to act without thinking and tends to gesticulate with his hands far more than usual, occasionally waving his wand around for effect. In extreme circumstances, this causes loose spells to shoot out and bewitch nearby objects. Notable examples include his pirouetting tea pot and colour changing mugs, as a result of his thirteenth birthday.

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ACADEMICS

H O U S E:

Good.

Y E A R:

7th year (Headboy).

E L E C T I V E S:

Study of Ancient Runes
Alchemy
Arithmancy

B E S T C L A S S:

Transfiguration.

W O R S T C L A S S:

Herbology.

C L U B S:

Duelling Club (President)
Potions Club
Charms Club

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WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

W A N D:

Ash, 10 Inches, Firm, Unicorn Tail Hair.

P A T R O N U S:

Golden Eagle ^{Eagle patronuses are found in those with soaring ambition, lofty goals or individuals of particular majesty.}

B O G G A R T:

A cracked, dirty, broken mirror. While it reflects Wilfred accurately, the fractured view through the broken glass still the most daunting image Wilfred's subconscious can conjure. It reminds him of the many dusty heirlooms that littered the Webb house during his youth and seeing himself as a part of it is painful. To overcome this visage, Wilfred wills the mirror to shatter into a thousand pieces.

F A M I L I A R:

Bartholomew

The classic witch's cat, Black Bart has an uncanny knack of turning up when others would prefer to be alone and watching with eyes that imply an intelligence far beyond what your average house cat should have. Much like his owner, he stalks with regal dignity and ignores pieces of string, balls of wool and all but the most tempting of flashing lights.

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ESSENCE

P E R S O N A L I T Y:

One thing matters above everything else to Wilfred, an ideal baked into him from an early age that has become so ingrained into his personality that it's hard to say where it begins and he ends; whatever happens, whatever you feel, you must never show anything but icy calm. His father had always lived by these words, as had his father before him and so on. The Webbs of Watley Place were an old family and no son of their dynasty would do anything so common as publicly display emotions. Contempt, of course, is not an emotion but rather a default state of mind.

As a boy, Wilfred had some trouble with this viewpoint for any number of reasons. The first was that he simply didn't understand why he shouldn't let people know when he was happy, sad or angry. The second was that while his father constantly told him that he must be proud of his heritage, Will could see little to be proud of. Privately, he has since concluded that his father is most proud of his pride as the man had accomplished aught else. But youths are as impressionable as clay and by the time the young Webb was old enough to question his father's teachings, the scaffolding of his pride was hard to separate from the rocky core of his being, so closely had they been constructed.

However, Wilfred parted from his father in one significant respect. Where William Webb measures his self worth in relation to the age of his name and the purity of his blood, Wilfred is determined to have something tangible and indisputable to be proud of. And so he strives for unparalleled academic success and has big plans for life after the Institute. He studies hard and constantly, breaking only to perform his Headboy duties and attend his clubs. It's a lonely path, the one to the top, but Wilfred can comfort himself with the honest, warm glow of pride in one's own accomplishments and ferocious heat of parental resent. As it is, he's hardly ever lonely. Really, he isn't. I swear.

R O M A N T I C I N T E R E S T S:

Wilfred would like to be in a relationship, really he would, he just isn't prepared to put himself int the vulnerable position of admitting he likes someone else. It, like so many things, is all about pride, all about image. So unless a Prince Charming comes along who's prepared to do all the work and suffer many a back handed comment, Wilfred will need to grow up a bit to be ready for romance.

L I K E S:

• Excellence.
• Doing a job well.
• Outfits and the selection there of.
• Study sessions.
• Hot Chocolate.
• Romance novels, a guilty secret.
• Beating others.

D I S L I K E S:

• Alcohol.
• Spicy food.
• Getting dirty.
• Being disturbed.
• Slackers.
• First years that try to pet Black Bart.
• Failure and mediocrity.

H O B B I E S:

• The study and (tentative) practise of Spellcrafting.
• Creating or modifying clothes, mostly magically.
• Duelling, he's the current president of the Duelling Club.
• Collecting Chocolate-Frog Trading^TM cards.

F E A R S:

• Becoming his father.
• Failing his own standards.
• Looking a fool.

B A C K G R O U N D:

Born to William and Rachel Webb in an ornate room and on a grand fourposter bed, right from the start Wilfred surrounded by faded symbols of the illustrious history his father talked of so often. He grew up with moth eaten tapestries, dirty paintings and crackling volumes recording the histories of the family Webb as his constant companions. He was told so often that family, history and blood were important by his father (Rachel Webb left them both a few years after Will's birth and has not been heard from since) that it was simply unavoidable that he absorb the dogma on some level. But William Webb had failed at so many things in life, from politics to business (it was half the reason that the Webb family fortunes were so much diminished) to his marriage and raising his son to be like him was no exception.

From his very first day at Salem Witches Institute, Wilfred made it clear that no one would get in the way of his progress upward and onward. The teachers generally regarded him as a severe young man of enormous talent and potential but sadly lacking in humility. Those who were of a sterner, rules focused disposition took to him more than others, as Wilfred would snap almost as ferociously as them if he saw another student slacking, skiving or cheating. And while this behaviour didn't endear him much to any student with a less rigid perspective on regulation, his uncommon skill at Wizard Duelling saved him from a constant barrage of retributory jinxes, hexes and curses. And so he progressed through the school with many critics, few friends, no enemies and a truly exemplary academic record.

While his star rose, however, his relationship with his father soured. Wilfred no longer treated the old man with the respect, reverence and unquestioning deference William had come to expect. And he found, much to his surprise and wroth, that his son had outstripped him magically and could certainly not be bullied or coerced with force. During the holidays, the two Webb men stay in opposite wings of their decrepit family home and exchange as few words as possible. So when Wilfred found out he had achieved no result lower than Exceeds Expectations and more Outstandings than not in his O.W.L.s, he had no one to tell but his cat, Bartholomew.

Wilfred was gratified but not particularly surprised to receive the Headboy's badge in the weeks before his return for his 7th and final year at the Institute. He intends to keep his head down, study harder than ever and leave school with spectacular N.E.W.T. results, glowing references and a thirst for success. He'll head for the political sector and see which party is most likely to reward his considerable talents with exposure. That is, of course, assuming that nothing blindsides him before then, like love, friendship, adventure or something else inconvenient. That would be simply the worst.

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Inside The Beltway

@Dutchbag
No, decided this RP is not for me so so quietly stepped down.

The Witching Hour

"I'd far rather be happy than right any day."
- Douglas Adams

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◄ Name ►

Abigail Riddell

◄ Alias ►

Abbi

◄ Codename ►

Agent Washington

◄ Gender ►

Female

◄ Age ►

Unknown

◄ Ethnicity ►

Caucasian

◄ Place of Origin ►

Unknown, estimated to be somewhere in western Europe

◄ Sexuality ►

Pansexual

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◄ Super-Human Abilities ►

The Subject's post-mortem condition affords certain abilities, discussed in the report on 'Vampires' below, but the subject seems to have certain attributes not located in most of her subset, listed here as skills. The report theorises that Vampires gain power as they age and while this is consistent with what the subject has described, there is as of yet no evidence to back it up.

◄ Skills of Note ►

Agent Ford's condition means that many of her skills are unknown to her, and therefore to us, but she is rapidly rediscovering them in an almost instinctual way. For example, when given an ink pen, she began to write with a steady, elegant cursive hand and, without thinking it strange, easily slipped into decorating part of the page with calligraphy.

► Cartography
The subject has shown the ability to locate themselves on a map with unerring accuracy, even after only being shown the merest glimpse of the outside world. This would be attributed to her condition but others with the same condition display no such unnatural sense of their own location. Along with that, when asked to draw a map of location seen only once or in partial detail, the subject's results are near perfect and have distant estimates that are correct almost to the centimetre. A researcher has theorised this may be linked to the Vampiric enhanced senses but this reviewer believes it is more likely to be a skill picked up earlier in her existence.

► Covert Entering and Exiting
Agent Ford has thus far not shown the slightest interest in trying to leave our custody but during the ███████ incident, she left her room without alerting the security team or triggering the alarms and was only discovered when she knocked on the door to the security team's room. As you may recall, it was this incident that caused her threat rating and usefulness to The Project to be reassessed. When asked later how she knew to avoid the motion sensors and cameras, she replied she simply did what she felt was the right way to do things.

► Culinary Preparation
When given access to the kitchens, the subject displayed a truly incredible degree of skill in preparing meals, not to mention a surprising degree of enthusiasm for someone who would never eat them. Despite not knowing how or where she learned them, the subject has several dozen recipes (largely of Germanic or French origin) memorised. She has also proved to be skilled at, if reluctant to, follow preset recipes or improvise new ones.

► Ink-Based Artistry
The subject shows extreme familiarity and fondness for the use of ink pens and has, as mentioned, a very distinctive and elegant writing hand. When given access to the proper materials, she seems to enjoy drawing and doodling, filling pages with decorative illustrations or eerily accurate sketches of the rooms of ████████ Facility.

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◄ Mental Evaluation ►

Given that subject's amnesia and condition, she is incredibly healthy, mentally speaking. She displays the ability to empathise and bond with others, to

◄ Physical Evaluation ►

◄ Biography ►

Little is know of the subject's early life, due to several factors. The most obvious is that the subject claims to have no memory of their life and has been unable to share any of the detail with the interviewers tasked with discovering her past, other than her name. It is possible that the subject is faking amnesia but after extensive cross examination, multiple interviews have concluded that the more likely scenario is that she is being wholly honest. The second factor is that there are no records of the subject's birth in any known database accessible by our researchers. It is possible that the subject has either misled us or is mistaken about their name, but it is more likely that they are simply older than the records we are referencing.

The last thing the subject remembers with any clarity is being retrieved from a █████ by Agents ██████ and ██████. It is unknown whether the trauma of the situation or a previous incident caused her to lose her memories but she has been unable to recall more than snatches since coming under the view of the institute. She has been extremely cooperative with us, seeming to regard her imprisonment and study at █████████ █████████ as a stay at a hotel and those researching or interviewing her as hosts.

What follows cannot be taken as fact, as it is entirely supposition and guess work made by this reviewer based on the subject's skills and the few fragmented memories she has shared. Based on her appearance, manner of speech and known recipes, it is guessed that she was born in Western Europe at some point between ████ and ████, an admittedly wide range. Based off her level of physical maturity and features, her physical age when she contracted Vampirism was likely between 19 and 24. As there is no real evidence as to what caused Agent Ford to lose her memories, this reviewer will hazard no guess as to what caused it.

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This section has been written to allow for new handlers, interviewers and operatives to establish a rapport with the subject without too much difficulty.

◄ Likes ►

▲ Conversation, the subject enjoys listening and talking to others.
▲ Art, she has frequently expressed and demonstrated an interest in creating art.
▲ Cooking, the subject seems to take genuine pleasure in preparing food for others.
▲ 'Reality TV', Agent Ford follows several dozen game and competition shows.
▲ Loud music, along with the dance/violent motion known as moshing.

◄ Dislikes ►

▼ Silence, Agent Ford clearly feels uncomfortable when things go quiet.
▼ Travelling, the subject has made it abundantly clear that she dislikes journeys.
▼ Reading, she has rejected every single book offered to her as a distraction.
▼ Films, the subject does not seem to take to fictional characters as she does to people.
▼ Uncleanness, Agent Ford's normally polite demeanour breaks when she encounters the unwashed.

Vampires

The post-mortem condition commonly referred to as Vampirism manifests itself in several ways, most of which are widely referenced in mythology, folklore, literature and pop culture. The first is that those infected are no longer, medically speaking, alive. Their lungs do not inhale or exhale, their flesh is cold and their cells do not repair from damage in the conventional sense. The second is equally well known; vampires need no sustenance other than human blood^[1], which they extract via retractable fangs. Finally, they are extremely sensitive to sunlight and suffer extreme damage, ranging from a disfigurement of the skin to cellular collapse, depending on how long they are exposed to natural sunlight^[2]. Most other popular 'facts' about Vampires (they cannot be seen in mirrors, cannot cross running water and are repelled by garlic or the Christian cross) are false and seem to originate from historical bias or overblown misunderstanding.

While the cost of not being able to freely travel under the sun might seem high, Vampires receive a number of benefits from their condition. Most obviously, the incisors of the vampire at least double in length, sharpen and manifest the ability to react across the roof of the mouth. When puncturing a human throat or other, they are also capable of siphoning blood like a syringe. When fresh from a feeding^[3], Vampires exhibit speed, strength, durability, reaction time and sensory sensitivity roughly triple the human optimum^[4]. Over time, these improvements fade back to normal until they are renewed by a new feeding. And while their cells do not heal in a conventional sense, fresh blood restores them to whatever state they were in when the victim was infected. This means, for example that a Vampire infected at age 21 with severe facial burning would retain that state of body for the next fifty years, youthful state and disfigurements in tact^[5].

Wounding a Vampire appears to be no more difficult than wounding a human, with the notable exception of the sun. However, Vampires can regain their previous states by retiring to a catatonic state similar to death, though the use of coffins as resting places seems to be a matter of preference. This healing coma is similar to sleep (closing ones eyes seems to be a prerequisite) except that the body is utterly indistinguishable from death during the period of time, and the Vampires appear aware of everything around them via senses other than sight. The most effective way to kill a Vampire, other than shackling them to a roof at dawn, seems to be the use of fire of beheading. Guns are largely ineffectual unless they are of a high enough caliber to sever limbs or cave in the skull. Stakes to the heart seem to have no unusual effect whatsoever, nor does garlic or signs of faith. Poison, asphyxiation, electrocution and bludgeoning can all also be discounted.

Footnotes

<sup>[1]: There is some debate in the community responsible for categorising these 'para-humans' on why exactly only human blood is acceptable and only from a living host. Two groups of thought have emerged and most of our researchers are on one side of the other. The first proposes that a byproduct of higher cognitive thought is the creation of an as of yet undetectable compound that is present in the blood and which can provide an alternative to nutrients and oxygen, though this doesn't explain why harvested blood is not effective. The other group suggests that the act of feeding is tied to the spirit or soul of a human, hence why animals and other substances cannot act as substitutes, though this is an extremely theoretical proposition. Personally, this reviewer believes that both parties are saying the same thing different ways.

[2]: Tests indicate that although there is little physical difference between the light produced by man made contraptions and that transmitted by the sun, only the latter causes a violent reaction in the bodies of Vampires. No tests have indicated why this should be so and few of the researchers have noteworthy hypotheses.

[3]: With so few test subjects, researchers have been unable to determine any links between the nature of prey or predator and how long a feeding will sustain a Vampire. For Agent Ford, one feeding lasts two weeks, give or take a day. Tied to the debates over the importance of human blood, there is an ongoing discussion about why some humans seem to offer more effective blood than others for a Vampiric feeding.

[4]: By this, researchers refer to the apex of human physical capabilities for subjects of the same age, size, sex and approximate lifestyle. It is extremely difficult to be precise as this is a case of incomparables and is in any case difficult to study, but superior by a factor of three is a figure widely agreed upon by our researchers.

[5]: Please see Case File ████████</sup>

Salem Witches' Institute {Harry Potter}

Laying a claim to Chris Colfer, I will get down to making the character eventually but at least I've got a faceclaim for now...