HalfOfLancelot

The Witching Hour

Herschel Rodrick Kohl

October 21^st, 1981

♃ Thirty-Five Years of Age

Reports show a healthy individual, in spite of a lack of regular check ups, with minor issues concerning past heart disease and a genetic history of late, on-set diabetes. Requires few medications; a recommendation for daily vitamins and fish oil tablets, as well as potentially something for anxiety. Subject requires regular check ups for cholesterol and blood pressure.

♃ Weighs 158 lbs; 5'4" height
♃ Physically fit; lithe, but toned musculature
♃ Of potentially Irish-Jewish decent; fair skinned, freckled
♃ Red/Orange and brown hair; gelled often, wavy
♃ Noticeable scar near his jugular; a large one from his collarbone down toward his sternum

Agent is up to regulations, in terms of mental state, for a position in ODDs. No sense of trauma, lack of will, and is not mentally compromised enough to deter any future work. A minor spike in anxiety is natural and is does not necessarily bar him from any action on the field, though medication is likely required as a measure of safety. Excels in decision making and works tolerably well with others; most comfortable working semi-solo. As in, having someone on a comm line with directions and assistance whilst he works the field. A few concerns, however, come to mind.

♃ Subject exhibits volatility; has anger issues (high blood pressure problems correlate)
♃ Pushes people over and out of their comfort zone; expects as much in people as he expects in himself; doesn't work well with 'newbies'
♃ Crass; his honesty is something to admire, however his crudeness is disrespectful and off-putting, hence slightly volatile
♃ No required motivation; there's a drive there, the cause is just lost to the past
♃ Learning curve is impeccable; one mistake, any more only further drives his motivation to improve
♃ Gumption; has a plan, he'll carry it out; wants something, he'll do his damnedest to get it
♃ However, despite his assertiveness, subject can get carried away; will often carry out his plan with little regards for chain of command; has really no sense of authority
♃ Often has a mentality of looking toward the past; is exceptional in work that requires investigation, though most of this mentality is very self-referential and introspective

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♃ A very high profile criminal record; not FBI's most wanted, but he's on the list of wanted individuals.
♃ A list of crimes associated with Herschel Kohl and any pseudonyms associated: forgery, arson, many first degrees of murder, vehicular manslaughter, robbery, assaulting a police officer, potential mass murder; is considered among the list of serial killers for his often grotesque and ritualistic crime scenes

Of all our agents, Kohl seems most suited to espionage and assassination. He's made a name for himself in the witch community around North America as someone specifically specialized in taking down and subduing cultists and witches that have gone astray from their perceived morals. Not only that, but Kohl's situation places him in a situation that allows him great knowledge against the entities that provide witches their powers; he's taken numerous covens down simply by cutting off their entire power source.

♃ Killing witches; knowledge of witchcraft, all kinds
♃ Dispatching, imprisoning, and even killing pagan gods and other witch-source entities
♃ Firearm training - mainly pistols
♃ Witchcraft; some Voodoo, but mostly generic witchcraft
♃ Deciphering symbols, Latin, and other languages and craft that witches use; various cultures with strong ties to witchcraft: Wiccan, Native American, Haitian Voodoo and Hoodoo, as well as various Celtic and Gaelic origins of witchcraft
♃ CQC; combat training
♃ Herbology and various studies of plants and other essences
♃ Historian; does various readings that delve into the past, especially things tied to the supernatural

Due to Kohl's unwilling bond to ████████████ a few precautions have been taken should Agent Kohl become compromised:

♃ In the event that ████████████ acquires Kohl's ████, Agent Kohl is to be quickly dispatched, ████████████, and ██████
♃ In the event that ████████████ becomes Kohl's ██████, then the Agent in question must be tracked down and imprisoned, questioned, and in the instance that ███████ █████ ██████ he must be ██████, ██████, and ██████████
♃ In the event that Agent Kohl exterminates his indefinite contract before ████████████ is ████████████, then it is to be assumed that Agent Kohl has been compromised. A specialized strike team is to be dispatched, Kohl is to be taken in, questioned, and potentially ██████████ if there is no way to ██████████.

Salem Witches' Institute {Harry Potter}

Don't even need to use hexcodes! Just change every ??? in the brackets to something like "blue" "green", you know. All that stuff.

If you do want to use a hex code Colorhexa is a wonderful site just for that! Literally copy pasta whatever number/letter combo is after the #.

Written: A Fairytale RP

Is totally not ready to get steam rolled by this tiny meet up. Ahaha. *cries softly*

SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

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^{Location: Home
Interactions: His Sister; Mother (through the phone)}



_{“I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!”}

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Warmth wrapped him in the dust specked glow of the morning sun. The stubble of his chin rubbed against a pale chest, shaking with the rumble of morning wakeness. A hefty arm tightened its grip around his ribs, poking the dips between them to rouse the bubbling laughter - his wheezing breathes trailed into a groan, hand coming down to swat away. A few more minutes. Another probing finger found their way along his jaw, rubbing the stubble, then gliding through dark, heavy waves of hair. Lightness lifted his chest and Errol smiled, burying his cheek into the warmth beneath him.

"We have eternity to sleep," the man beneath and above him all at once enveloped him in his arms and breathed, a deep rumbling from his chest that vibrated against each word. "There's only so much time to live."

"This is what I get for dating a hipster with a Ph.D in liberal arts," Errol groaned, and buried his face into the man's neck to hide the fondness in his smile.

A chuckle erupted, heavy in Errol's ears, and surrounding him in light. "Errol," he said, quiet with amusement lifting his tone.

"Errol," he repeated again, his tone dulling and distance, "Errol?"

"Wha...?" Errol griped the sheets beneath him, a sudden shift in temperature driving a cold shiver down his spine - digging in like hooks ripping across his flesh. He convulsed, cried out in a deafened whimper. "W-why?" he questioned, asked the room around him and the shivering in his bones that ache through muscle and sinew. It gnawed at him, griped at his mind and shredded his vision to pieces, replacing the thumping of his heart with a shrill, piercing tone. An ichor, black as night, pounded against his ribs, turning his veins coal and it shrieked and begged and demanded. Insurmountable pain leaves way to an insatiable thirst that ran his throat dry, replaced it with the blackness, a sticky tar that choked and pulled.

A scream jolted him awake, the sound so close to his ears that Errol immediately thrust himself into the headboard of his bed breathing heavy gasps of air. Touch awoke first to the sensation of wetness engulfing him, spreading against his sheets and Errol turned his head downward to see sweat slick against him, already freezing his skin as it evaporated to the intense wind of the fan. He breathed again, eyes darting around the room and upon finding nothing his brain almost shut down, lets him sink back into the dampness of his bed. It jolted with new information almost immediately, watering Errol's eyes as his hands reached his face and his hair to grip tight. He rolled over, tangling in the sheets to avoid the clammy, moist feeling seeping into his skin. The bed creaked against his heavy weight, heavier still with thoughts bearing down on him so early in the morning. Errol burrowed beneath his comforter, let out a sob and curled into a ball for the remainder of his morning, letting out hard gasps and squeezing his eyes shut harder each time. Numbness gripped him tight, letting go of his limbs one by one until the sensation of his arms and legs finally return - feeling, touch, every sense that quickly shut down, reemerged subsequently.

His sister sat numerous feet from his doorway once he stepped out, caught between wanting to barge in or making a break for it. Errol caught the minute shift of expressions in her face, the onset of fear that got quickly dragged away by shock and surprise. Cara practically broke a record in flitting between emotions, surprise making way to relief and then utter conflict that forced her into a flighty panic. A sigh broke watching her go, nearly spraining her ankle paddling down the steps. Too much at once before a shower and a cup of coffee.

The shower screamed cold water, seizing his muscles until they bunched into tight coils. After a moment, Errol dialed the temperature up, letting the heat raise in increments until the hot spray pounded against the taught muscles. The sensation ran through him, a deep, searing pain that dulled into an ache. Every thought released in a hum against Errol's throat. The day started, a slow acceleration after his damp feat hit the tile floor. Routine set in quickly after.

His phone beeped on the island table in the kitchen as he passes it, shirt still damp and his hair bouts of dripping tendrils smacking against his neck and cheeks. He answered after swiping it, pressing the phone against his ear with a curt, "Mother."

"You sound like shit-"

"Thank you, so much,"

"-have you been doping up?"

"Good morning to you too."

"That was a serious question."

"It always is," Errol sighed, feeling his haunches relax and any will to defend seeping out of him. Routine. "I've been sober for years; I'm fine, how are you?"

"There's an art gallery," his mother, as usual, doesn't miss a beat and before he could ask, she answered, "Your sister told me while you were busy beating it off in the shower."

"I don't-"

"You're gay, it's okay, I understand."

"That's not-"

"I'm heading down right now to spend quality time with my kids. Clean the house I paid for, act presentable for once in your life, and keep your sister's panic attacks down to one, today, I can only take so much," she prattled off and Errol listened, knowing how to read between each caustic, sour word she spat - Don't forget to eat, take care of yourself, take care of your sister - I'm sorry, "I love you."

Errol blinked, tapping his fingers against the marble counter. "Drive safe?"

"Driving," she guffawed, her voice crackling against the phone, "Priceless." The phone clicked and the line dropped dead to Errol's rolling eyes.

He moved from kitchen to sun room with an ache in his stomach not attributed to hunger - or, at least, hunger couldn't fix this. His sweats rustled against the wood of his grand, white piano and his fingers slid against the pearl of each key. A figure caught against his peripheral the moment he sat, though Errol paid her no mind. Mornings often went like this and he enjoyed Cara's company the best when she felt comfortable; thinking he didn't know of her presence often gave her the most comfort.

Soft, lazy notes crooned, a vibrato with every keystroke Errol's thumb made. An almost lullaby, a song that glided through the air, smooth and gentle. A cloud note of words parting from Errol's lips, eyes closed in memory - muscles knowing the sluggish tempo in ever beat of his finger. The vibrato melds into Errol's own, whispering in a heavy-lidded tenor from. On his perch, Errol could see the listless expression of his sister rocking to the melody. He sang, like a blanket over her shoulders, somber against the piano, barely moving but in inches to the near satin of the music. The interlude fell into the ending bars until the words slipped away into a quiet echo.

"Who was that?" Cara piped, fed up with the ringing silence hanging between them. Errol didn't turn, merely let his fingers hover against the keys as he stared down.

He gave his answer a beat of a pause before turning toward her. "Frank Sinatra."

Laughter bubbled up at the mixed expression of anguish wrinkling her nose and cheeks. "What's wrong with Sinatra?" Errol asked, mock shock twisting his features.

"Old, fedora, and overrated," she listed off as she stood, "either you're a hipster or a neckbeard; no inbetween."

"Mobsters wore fedoras back then, too," Errol retorted.

"Yes, and they've learned from their past mistakes."

Finally turning, Errol watched his sister's retreating form quickly scuttling into the living room. He gave into a sigh before standing, letting his toes curl against the wooden planks and the blood rush back into his legs. "That's life," he whispered, hard and course to the stale air around him; his foot kicked out, stomping against the floor, heavy, "That's what all the people say." He watched the back of Cara's head slide into the cushions of the sofa while he spread his arms to his own words, the TV droning the news as she, once again, cut off communication completely. His eyes turned toward the kitchen, his feet taking him to the fridge, while his hands began the meticulous task of breakfast.

"Riding high in April," he hummed, a deep frown creasing the jowls of his face, "shot down in May."

*POSITIVE* LGBT++ hangout, anybody? *CIS/STRAIGHT WELCOME TOO* :D

@HalfOfLancelot Unfortunately I'm not a fan but I do love that Tina aesthetic you got going on right now

@Rica

Oh, thanks. I'll be sure to give you a cameo in my next friendfiction.

This one's rife full of zombies and mermaids. It's going to be butt-tacular.



(ever since this semester started, i've been feeling the full force of tina belcher and what it's like to live her life full swing. *cries*)

*POSITIVE* LGBT++ hangout, anybody? *CIS/STRAIGHT WELCOME TOO* :D

Hey.

Hey.

Hey.

I need someone to scream about Drag Race Allstars with me.

Hey.

Hey.

Who here's Team Katya? I die. Every. Time.

Let's Gush!

@Lady Amalthea

*whispers conspiratorially*

how do you do it? _{h o w}

teach me your ways senpai

The Witching Hour

I feel this is premature...

@Roosan

I feel like you say that quite often.

_{( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)}

The Witching Hour

_{hahahaha first}

@Undine

screams

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

I get really peeved by any argument that prefaces, "Why are you bringing [RL Instance; i.e. culture, law, society] into this?" and usually it's using modern knowledge within a fantasy setting. Things like, possibly physics or a culture. Yes, I understand we're writing fiction here, but that doesn't immediately discount all the laws of physics just because magic is suddenly a factor. Or that any inspiration drawn from the real world suddenly has no meaning anymore because we're in a fantasy world.

The one that ticks me off the most, though, is things concerning Earth culture used and compared to anything fictional that's not set on Earth, specifically. A fantasy world, just for clarity's sake. It's this idea that we have to suddenly separate the two, when in fact, that's impossible to do without completely rewriting physics, words, language, society, laws, etc. It's contradictory. But, also, it disregards the fact that all works of fiction have drawn heavily upon what's in the real world (themes, organizations, entire cultures, past empires, etc.). You'll play a video game set in a fantasy world, and you'll have distinct reminders of the real one because the artists, the writers, the entire team drew inspiration from real world instances. You'll watch a fantasy show/movie like Game of Thrones and connect the dots between fantasy nations and real ones, laws, customs, etc. All of which give the material a relatability and make things quite a lot easier to understand. Makes it digestible to your audience without having to constantly go on a long soliloquy or make monologues about certain aspects of your story.

An instance I've had with a particular roleplayer had been one where they took the time to create these fantasy countries for their RP and I'd pointed something out concerning a certain character's race (the country he was from in question was the equivalent of Africa [you know: desert, Savannah, Serengeti, equatorial, lots of sun], yet the character was white as fallen snow while still being a native, which struck me as mega odd). Long story short, I respectfully made mention of this and used a lovely gif to diffuse any possible aggressiveness from the post, if there was any - there likely was, I can be problematic sometimes, I admit that. Shortly after, my intelligence had been put into question because I used a real world culture and compared it to their fantasy world. It boggled my mind because the inspiration is there, clear as day, it's drawn from a real world source, the guy even detailed which cultures it was based upon and inspired by. Yet, it makes no sense to compare the two?

So you're just gonna completely cut ties with realism because it doesn't take place on Earth? I don't see how that disqualifies someone from drawing comparisons. Without that inspiration there, it would cease to exist. You can make a vast sci-fi, alien empire, completely original to you, and there's still going to be some inkling of inspiration in there that makes it relatable to your audience - why is every alien humanoid in so much shit? So the general/common audience can relate to them better and the product is more profitable, whether by money or by views/hits or by likes. And people are still going to relate that to real world countries and empires because they're similar, because that's where you likely drew your source of inspiration from. So discrediting that entire process by saying, "Why are you bringing the real world into this," is one big heaping pile of horseshit.

It's just such a big pet peeve of mine because I adore using cultures, countries, people as inspiration for various parts of my characters and my roleplays. I love researching and learning more about something through my writing process and discrediting that entire thing makes it all seem almost worthless. It's a fantasy world, but there's always that specific thing that grounds the audience and makes the material believable, compelling, and more digestible. Writing is very akin to escapism, especially here, but there's a lot of beauty you can draw from the real world if you take the time to look at it. And if you take the time to recognize it.

If there's ever an instance where someone argues against the material that I'm writing. Specifically background information, I will never preface my argument with, "Why are we bringing the real world into this?" because that means, to me, I've already lost the argument and lose any credibility from therein. Anything I say after that might as well be garbage.

/rant

(it's just something i wanted to make clear because i've been seeing a lot of this lately. the most recent one was in a demigod roleplay and suddenly realism has no place in the RP if we're talking about children of Gods; i understand there has to be some kind of suspension of belief, but... come on, it's still set on earth. you still have to adhere to logic when you're playing a character that's powerful, but not all powerful. in fact you still have to adhere to logic, no matter what, because if not, we're just writing nonsense - there's a place for that and it's usually in a specific, small niche genre (i.e. the only thing that comes to mind is Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or Futurama))