Cyberlad
Qia
Half Pint
Festive
mickilennial
AndyC
Sep
Roman
Rockette
Lord WraithJust thought I'd chime in and say everything's been fantastic so far, and I've thoroughly enjoyed everything that's come.
Hound55 Member
Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
STATUS: A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing 2 yrs ago
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2 yrs ago
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A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
Most Recent Posts
“So cool,” A mocking voice called out in retaliation to Banjo's comment making Cass' head spin as he tried to locate the nearby voice.
“Look everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before!”
Suddenly Cass wished he had been able to ignore the voice as his eyes located the source. While Trace wasn't the least human-appearing Hyperhuman that Cassander had come across on campus, they were the ones he saw most often and their inhuman eyes and borderline transparent hair still gave him pause. Cassander was often guilty of wondering what Trace had looked like before their Hype-Gene exploded. Most of them got off 'lucky', at least in a manner of speaking. Hyperhumans were often attractive, retaining their youth longer if the faculty were anything to go off of. But cases like Trace were what propaganda makers focused on, branding them all inhuman monsters.
Following suit with the rest of the student body, Cass stood from his seat. Taking a second to brush himself off, more out of habit than actual necessity. The campus grounds were kept nearly immaculate, though the older teen would be lying if he said he hadn't put together that the students themselves were the ones doing the bulk of the menial labour. His eyes wandered back towards the center of the stadium, starting towards the woman who had introduced Jonas and the man himself whom she was talking to.
Cass' eyes were suddenly pulled across the bleachers as he watched a blonde amazon make a beeline for a familiar face he knew to be Haleigh Crawford. The wheelchair-bound girl had been assigned with him to aid in the mess hall and the two had spent more hours familiarizing themselves with various produce than either had anticipated coming to a school for 'gifted' youngsters. That said, barely a word had been spoken between them, but as low of a bar as it was, Haleigh was still the closest thing Cassander had to a friend on campus.
All the more reason Cassander's protective instincts kicked in when he realized that the amazon wasn't simply moving towards Haleigh out of the same familiarity, but because something was wrong. Cass had already planned on offering Haleigh a hand with her wheelchair, though the girl now kneeling beside the other teen definitely had him 'outgunned'.
Jumping over several rows of seats in front of him, Cassander tried to close the gap to get to Haleigh before being suddenly halted in his tracks. The sight of the familiar spade emblem on the amazon's bicep made Cassander realize that the blonde bombshell was more of an ally than he originally realized and that perhaps, he didn't need to play hero today. Awkwardly stopping, he hoped no one had seen his saviour complex override his common sense. Taking one last look to ensure, Haleigh was in good hands, he felt his cheeks burn for a second as his gaze lingered too long on the teen knelt beside his kitchen buddy.
“Fuckin’ wanker.”
Cass's attention was quickly brought back to his surroundings as he heard Trace continue to complain about Banjo before being caught in the wave of students moving toward the exit. He briefly locked eyes with Banjo who looked like he was about to respond to Trace before Cass allowed himself a half smile and responded.
"Hey, they may have said it. But we were all thinking it." He raised his hands dismissively, cobalt-coloured energy accidentally crackling through his fingers betraying Cass' manufactured calm demeanour. He was a little on edge and not just because of the situation moments ago with Haleigh, or the slight confrontation just now with Banjo, but because he had no idea what 'Trials' they were about to experience.
He tilted his head at Cassander. Trying to end a fight, before it starts...
Not bloody likely.
A wide smirk spread across Banjo's face, directed at the blonde youth. As if to say 'Get a load of this.' He turned back to the British girl of pale complexion, and called out.
And with that he cupped his hands over his mouth as if miming a loudspeaker, then added a second set of hands over and beyond the invisible first pair. Then a third set. Before rotating his hands at the wrists and throwing Trace the double birds, with a big shit-eating grin across his face.
The crowd started to thin as they left the confines of the stadium. And with it he drifted slowly back into the group, if only to double down on the way he'd left the sheila from the armed forces if she attempted any other form of comeback.
But her ire was pre-occupied with a more egregious insult on her person. Namely Americans were referring to soccer as 'soccer'.
He was about to lean in and triple down with some of his own thoughts on soccer, when he picked up a complete absense of irony. They weren't doing it to get her goat at all.
And then the whole thing became dangerously close to starting some kind of social arrangement.
So Banjo backed up quietly and got the Hell out of there.
“Look everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before!”
Suddenly Cass wished he had been able to ignore the voice as his eyes located the source. While Trace wasn't the least human-appearing Hyperhuman that Cassander had come across on campus, they were the ones he saw most often and their inhuman eyes and borderline transparent hair still gave him pause. Cassander was often guilty of wondering what Trace had looked like before their Hype-Gene exploded. Most of them got off 'lucky', at least in a manner of speaking. Hyperhumans were often attractive, retaining their youth longer if the faculty were anything to go off of. But cases like Trace were what propaganda makers focused on, branding them all inhuman monsters.
Following suit with the rest of the student body, Cass stood from his seat. Taking a second to brush himself off, more out of habit than actual necessity. The campus grounds were kept nearly immaculate, though the older teen would be lying if he said he hadn't put together that the students themselves were the ones doing the bulk of the menial labour. His eyes wandered back towards the center of the stadium, starting towards the woman who had introduced Jonas and the man himself whom she was talking to.
Cass' eyes were suddenly pulled across the bleachers as he watched a blonde amazon make a beeline for a familiar face he knew to be Haleigh Crawford. The wheelchair-bound girl had been assigned with him to aid in the mess hall and the two had spent more hours familiarizing themselves with various produce than either had anticipated coming to a school for 'gifted' youngsters. That said, barely a word had been spoken between them, but as low of a bar as it was, Haleigh was still the closest thing Cassander had to a friend on campus.
All the more reason Cassander's protective instincts kicked in when he realized that the amazon wasn't simply moving towards Haleigh out of the same familiarity, but because something was wrong. Cass had already planned on offering Haleigh a hand with her wheelchair, though the girl now kneeling beside the other teen definitely had him 'outgunned'.
Jumping over several rows of seats in front of him, Cassander tried to close the gap to get to Haleigh before being suddenly halted in his tracks. The sight of the familiar spade emblem on the amazon's bicep made Cassander realize that the blonde bombshell was more of an ally than he originally realized and that perhaps, he didn't need to play hero today. Awkwardly stopping, he hoped no one had seen his saviour complex override his common sense. Taking one last look to ensure, Haleigh was in good hands, he felt his cheeks burn for a second as his gaze lingered too long on the teen knelt beside his kitchen buddy.
“Fuckin’ wanker.”
Cass's attention was quickly brought back to his surroundings as he heard Trace continue to complain about Banjo before being caught in the wave of students moving toward the exit. He briefly locked eyes with Banjo who looked like he was about to respond to Trace before Cass allowed himself a half smile and responded.
"Hey, they may have said it. But we were all thinking it." He raised his hands dismissively, cobalt-coloured energy accidentally crackling through his fingers betraying Cass' manufactured calm demeanour. He was a little on edge and not just because of the situation moments ago with Haleigh, or the slight confrontation just now with Banjo, but because he had no idea what 'Trials' they were about to experience.
He tilted his head at Cassander. Trying to end a fight, before it starts...
Not bloody likely.
A wide smirk spread across Banjo's face, directed at the blonde youth. As if to say 'Get a load of this.' He turned back to the British girl of pale complexion, and called out.
"What's that?! There's too many people! You have to speak up!"
And with that he cupped his hands over his mouth as if miming a loudspeaker, then added a second set of hands over and beyond the invisible first pair. Then a third set. Before rotating his hands at the wrists and throwing Trace the double birds, with a big shit-eating grin across his face.
The crowd started to thin as they left the confines of the stadium. And with it he drifted slowly back into the group, if only to double down on the way he'd left the sheila from the armed forces if she attempted any other form of comeback.
But her ire was pre-occupied with a more egregious insult on her person. Namely Americans were referring to soccer as 'soccer'.
He was about to lean in and triple down with some of his own thoughts on soccer, when he picked up a complete absense of irony. They weren't doing it to get her goat at all.
And then the whole thing became dangerously close to starting some kind of social arrangement.
So Banjo backed up quietly and got the Hell out of there.
Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
The Homecoming Trials: # 1.13 Dickheads, Defectives and the Dilettante Dernier cri
Interaction(s): @psych0pomp
Previously: You haven't done this before, right? To me, I mean?
Banjo ran down the back path to the Southern Plateau laughing his arse off. He didn't care if nobody else would find it funny. He was going to take the opportunity to take the piss out of their little ceremony, and was imagining the facade on that four-eyed Chancellor Lehrer cracking like a cheap mirror.
The laughter cut short as he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar face.
One of the few faces he knew which COULD count as familiar.
The man who'd brought him here, and had been the middle man between Banjo and every single boarding school and care facility he'd ever attended. The man he referred to as The Butler, since he'd never been provided with a name.
"Hullo there, what's this joker up to?"
"Fancy seeing you here. In a chair which doesn't belong out here and you would've had to bring yourself. On the round-the-back way to the place I HAD to go..."
"Yeah. It's almost like I know you or something... So, what are you doing?"
"Going to Homecoming Trials." Slowly the smirk returned to his face.
"You know what I mean. Dressed like THAT?"
"Whatever do you mean..?" The older man sighed, dealing with this kid had long been like getting teeth pulled. "I'm dressed in PT clothing to the letter of the dress code requirements. No more, no less."
Banjo was standing before the man wearing nothing but a pair of black speedos with the P.R.C.U stripes down the side.
"You see, the phrasing of the dress code allows for the wearing of speedos, and whilst it specifies aquatic activities as a potential time for when these optional alternative items of PT uniform MAY be worn, it doesn't specify that they can't be worn during other PT activities, nor what those exclusionary PT activities may be. I was even considering just wearing the trunks and going with wearing the speedos on my head, but why not just cut out the middleman? Soooooooo..." He gestured at himself.
"What about the armband..? I know that's normally optional as well, but I'm pretty sure it's required to identify teams during the trials. Got you. You can't worm around that one. He pointed at Banjo's bare arm.
"You're right, it is usually optional with this being a clear exception. But I'm not worming around anything. I'm wearing it."
"What, no you're no--" Banjo reached for the waistband of the speedos, about to retrieve something or reveal something from within. "--OK, mate. I'll take your word for it." Raising up both palms and looking away.
Another deep sigh left the mouth of the older man.
"Why? Why are you doing this? The Hell is the matter with you?"
"Just... taking the piss out of their big day. Were you at that assembly thing in the stadium? Bunch of brainwashed tykes with the combined power to level a continent. What do I want to have anything to do with this place for? Hell, you and me, we'll probably up sticks in a couple-a months anyway. That's what usually happens."
"Yeeeeeah naaaaaaah, kid. Hate to break it to you, but I just bought a place up here. Makes a nice change from renting for all these years, just waiting for when we'd have to pick up and go at a moment's notice. We're in here for the long haul."
"Or at least until I get expelled..."
"HA!" The older man ejaculated a single laugh. "I'd like to see that." He dug into his wallet and pulled out the last of his Australian currency. Ten crisp blue ten dollar notes, with the image of A.B. Paterson on them. "Hundred bucks says you can't do it."
"Challenge accepted." Banjo replied with a wry grin.
The Butler shook his head. "It wasn't a challenge. Think of it more as me informing you of a universal law of physics that you were previously unaware of. It's not a thing that can be done. And before you think about making your little Uni library fire thing any bigger, understand that this school has had over two dozen students just to my knowledge who have had it within their power to burn a school, or even a city down without a single match, who all had tenuous little control over their powers at some point... and the school still stands."
"You heard about that, huh?"
"Yes, mate. I heard about it. And did you ever wonder why, when you started a fire in the library in your first week, the immediate consequences was to send you to a place with younger, more vulnerable students?"
"I figured it was a punishment."
"Pleeeease... this place has ways to punish you that you haven't even dreamed of yet. That wasn't a punishment. It was the absence of a punishment. It was a message."
"Well then I guess I'll just have to get creative."
"You don't get it, kiddo. You aren't dealing with pragmatic, mercenary schools who are taking you for the tuition fees, realising they've bitten off more than they can chew and decided that the hassle you bring isn't worth the money. You're dealing with idealists. You're not going anywhere. They might make your life a living Hell if you try and do it to them first... but they won't be kicking you out."
"You mean I'm stuck with these dickheads and defectives for four fucking years?!?"
The Butler rocked back in his chair. "Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight."
"Part of the whole hyperhuman thing. I can take the cold."
"I'll reiterate. 'Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight... surrounded by the only co-eds who he's just realised are going be the constants who he's going to have to interact with over the next four years.' You might not 'be bothered' by the cold, but does that mean your... ahh... body doesn't respond to it?"
"Whaddo I give a shit about them for regardless, four years or not?" He said out loud, before breaking it down and thinking about it. Sure, the handy white maiden would probably give him some shit about it, but that'd just give him the opportunity to return serve... and he'd left so much on the shelf last time, he was honestly kind of just itching for another shot. He was pretty sure half of the female contingent in the group he was stuck with were gay, other than the one who was older and wore a ring and Calliop--
"Oh. Oh shit."
Banjo spun on his heels and beat tracks to get back to the Intake House for a quick-change with however little time he had left. Thankfully most had probably already left.
The Butler leaned back in his chair and basked in the warming B.C sun, a wide grin crossing his face. "Ahhhhh. It is good to lay down some roots and have a home again..."
The laughter cut short as he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar face.
One of the few faces he knew which COULD count as familiar.
The man who'd brought him here, and had been the middle man between Banjo and every single boarding school and care facility he'd ever attended. The man he referred to as The Butler, since he'd never been provided with a name.
"Hullo there, what's this joker up to?"
"Fancy seeing you here. In a chair which doesn't belong out here and you would've had to bring yourself. On the round-the-back way to the place I HAD to go..."
"Yeah. It's almost like I know you or something... So, what are you doing?"
"Going to Homecoming Trials." Slowly the smirk returned to his face.
"You know what I mean. Dressed like THAT?"
"Whatever do you mean..?" The older man sighed, dealing with this kid had long been like getting teeth pulled. "I'm dressed in PT clothing to the letter of the dress code requirements. No more, no less."
Banjo was standing before the man wearing nothing but a pair of black speedos with the P.R.C.U stripes down the side.
"You see, the phrasing of the dress code allows for the wearing of speedos, and whilst it specifies aquatic activities as a potential time for when these optional alternative items of PT uniform MAY be worn, it doesn't specify that they can't be worn during other PT activities, nor what those exclusionary PT activities may be. I was even considering just wearing the trunks and going with wearing the speedos on my head, but why not just cut out the middleman? Soooooooo..." He gestured at himself.
"What about the armband..? I know that's normally optional as well, but I'm pretty sure it's required to identify teams during the trials. Got you. You can't worm around that one. He pointed at Banjo's bare arm.
"You're right, it is usually optional with this being a clear exception. But I'm not worming around anything. I'm wearing it."
"What, no you're no--" Banjo reached for the waistband of the speedos, about to retrieve something or reveal something from within. "--OK, mate. I'll take your word for it." Raising up both palms and looking away.
Another deep sigh left the mouth of the older man.
"Why? Why are you doing this? The Hell is the matter with you?"
"Just... taking the piss out of their big day. Were you at that assembly thing in the stadium? Bunch of brainwashed tykes with the combined power to level a continent. What do I want to have anything to do with this place for? Hell, you and me, we'll probably up sticks in a couple-a months anyway. That's what usually happens."
"Yeeeeeah naaaaaaah, kid. Hate to break it to you, but I just bought a place up here. Makes a nice change from renting for all these years, just waiting for when we'd have to pick up and go at a moment's notice. We're in here for the long haul."
"Or at least until I get expelled..."
"HA!" The older man ejaculated a single laugh. "I'd like to see that." He dug into his wallet and pulled out the last of his Australian currency. Ten crisp blue ten dollar notes, with the image of A.B. Paterson on them. "Hundred bucks says you can't do it."
"Challenge accepted." Banjo replied with a wry grin.
The Butler shook his head. "It wasn't a challenge. Think of it more as me informing you of a universal law of physics that you were previously unaware of. It's not a thing that can be done. And before you think about making your little Uni library fire thing any bigger, understand that this school has had over two dozen students just to my knowledge who have had it within their power to burn a school, or even a city down without a single match, who all had tenuous little control over their powers at some point... and the school still stands."
"You heard about that, huh?"
"Yes, mate. I heard about it. And did you ever wonder why, when you started a fire in the library in your first week, the immediate consequences was to send you to a place with younger, more vulnerable students?"
"I figured it was a punishment."
"Pleeeease... this place has ways to punish you that you haven't even dreamed of yet. That wasn't a punishment. It was the absence of a punishment. It was a message."
"Well then I guess I'll just have to get creative."
"You don't get it, kiddo. You aren't dealing with pragmatic, mercenary schools who are taking you for the tuition fees, realising they've bitten off more than they can chew and decided that the hassle you bring isn't worth the money. You're dealing with idealists. You're not going anywhere. They might make your life a living Hell if you try and do it to them first... but they won't be kicking you out."
"You mean I'm stuck with these dickheads and defectives for four fucking years?!?"
The Butler rocked back in his chair. "Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight."
"Part of the whole hyperhuman thing. I can take the cold."
"I'll reiterate. 'Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight... surrounded by the only co-eds who he's just realised are going be the constants who he's going to have to interact with over the next four years.' You might not 'be bothered' by the cold, but does that mean your... ahh... body doesn't respond to it?"
"Whaddo I give a shit about them for regardless, four years or not?" He said out loud, before breaking it down and thinking about it. Sure, the handy white maiden would probably give him some shit about it, but that'd just give him the opportunity to return serve... and he'd left so much on the shelf last time, he was honestly kind of just itching for another shot. He was pretty sure half of the female contingent in the group he was stuck with were gay, other than the one who was older and wore a ring and Calliop--
"Oh. Oh shit."
Banjo spun on his heels and beat tracks to get back to the Intake House for a quick-change with however little time he had left. Thankfully most had probably already left.
The Butler leaned back in his chair and basked in the warming B.C sun, a wide grin crossing his face. "Ahhhhh. It is good to lay down some roots and have a home again..."
- - -
So, life's been kicking my ass. I want to stick around here but I'm finding that I don't have the time or energy to devote to this without losing balance in other aspects of my life. And I've been sitting on a 99% completed post for a month now, so if I can't find the time or energy to finish 1% of a post and proofread, that tells me I need to just accept it and move on.
Unfortunately, I'll have to drop out of this. Maybe next time one of these springs up a couple years down the road, I'll try my hand at Static again, but for now I need to make sure I'm finding the right balance between things.
Best of luck.
<Snipped quote by ThatDeercat>
Sorry I've been really busy as of late. I'll get around to reading this tomorrow. Assuming we still have a game here 😂
Yup, this one's next up... Gotta figure out my next post at the moment.
A ring of condensation after he lifted the beer to his lips. Light rust in the same place on the dulled steel gave proof to it's present use as a coaster not being an infrequent one.
Maddicks flicked between the sports networks. He'd laid a twenty on the Gators in basketball, as a casual side bet to the five hundred he had on Michigan, and those bums were down two scores going into the half.
He used ta be somebody. Well he used ta almost be somebody. He hung around people who had "somebody" potential, and would still send a shiver up the spine of the man on the street.
That was before the sentencing. Before the isolation in a cell. Before when he still gave a shit about his appearance enough to work out. Before the parole board saw him as a broken down has been who wouldn't have started have any more trouble if he could. The spark of life having left him years ago. Before he had the P.O. officer check ins. Before he really started to hurt in the colder months.
He barely had it in him to be mad at any of these kids for getting scrubbed. Hell, it was probably his fault for betting on them.
The five hundred was chasing already bad money. He was collecting cheques from a slip-n-fall in a Whole Foods, to keep the heat which went out last month going, and those cheques were fast running out. Nobody hires ex-cons. The classiest decision he'd made this year was choosing to take his dive in Whole Foods over Dollar General.
He couldn't pay. He knew he couldn't pay. Knew it when he laid the bet. In part it was the reason why he did it.
Maddicks got up and trudged to the can, he dropped his boxers (which a long with a wifebeater, was all he was wearing) and closed his eyes, letting the stream go where it may, in the vaguest direction of the toilet.
His past in the Air Force, as a merc, working off-book for Roxxon, going toe-to-toe with those in tights, it all played back before him.
"Kyle Lofton bricks the three!" Simon barely opened his eyes. "And time expires!"
Sounded like his low-bet wasn't going to pay off either.
There were years apparent on his face, years of weariness and no surprise.
There was a loud knock on the door. No crispness. Just loud.
Simon trudged to the front door and opened it without looking through the peephole.
He was met by his bookie. An undersized man, fast talker. Full of life. Chasing life.
Feeding on life.
"If I'm not mistaken, Vandy just got up."
"Were you waiting right outside of my door?" Simon asked, incredulous at how quickly the bookie got to his home to collect on a twenty dollar bet.
"I was, and do you know who else was..?"
And knowing their cue in walked two large men who didn't look like they'd be able to mentally handle much more than that cue.
"They know their choreography..."
"They do. But they only dance when I say so." The confident man of smaller stature said. "And when I say so, tends to be when people don't answer this next question properly."
"Where's my money, Maddicks?"
Maddicks wasn't going to beg. However today went down, THAT was not on the cards. Simon walked back across the room, and turned up the volume on the television.
"I don't have it."
This caught the smaller man by surprise, as evident by his gaping mouth. One of the larger two men nudged him and mouthed something, dragging him back down to Earth. Something was different. He wasn't openly agressive, Hell, he still gave off the basic impression that he was dead inside. But he wasn't yielding. He wasn't arguing his own cause for an extension. If only for a few hours.
"We--well that's too bad. You owe."
"I do." Maddicks said plainly. His eyes still barely open with general disinterest.
"Then I guess these two guys are going to take have to take it out of your ass."
The first one punched him in the gut, just below the solar plexus, and folded him in half like he was made of cardboard.
Simon was sucking up air, when he was straightened up, and his jaw met with a heavy right hand that knocked a tooth loose. Maddicks raised a finger, and struggled to catch his breath. The bookie put a pause to proceedings with a smile, expecting Simon to beg and plead for the extra few hours to see how it would play out.
"What's our balance so far?"
Another heavy right. Another shot to the gut. A left hook that sent things spinning briefly.
"You're a punching bag. I mean, I knew you were for those tights and capes guys, but Good Lord, Maddicks. You're going to die over what? Five hundred bucks? Twenty bucks? I mean, you know I'm gonna kill you, right? You realise how much faster those two-bit, no-money dickheads will pay up after they hear I iced a gen-u-wine supervillain, right? Or at least, whatever the Hell you were... Don't worry, I'll make you sound far more impressive than you are. Or ever were."
Simon kept taking repeated punches.
"I mean, I don't get it. I heard you've got no income anymore, but surely you could have sold this old suit to some kind of capes and cowls collecter for a couple grand."
"Two hundred." He grunted out in exhalation, through his teeth.
"What?" Came the bookie's surprised reply, not the least because the man could still talk.
"I got it valuated. Two hundred bucks. Market's flooded."
"Well, shit Maddicks. I don't even value your life and I still overvalued you." He chuckled, as the beating continued.
"I mean, I guess I can see, why it's only two hundred. Even if you weren't a big name, suit made of steel. Really, steel? In THIS world... and you've only got one gauntl-- Oh shit!"
The bookie was interrupted by the larger of the two men flying backwards across the wall, whilst seizing from electric shock.
Sparks flew from Simon Maddicks as he looked up with a brutal grin, blood drooling out from between baked bean shaped teeth. Lit by the flickering blue electricity from the one remaining gauntlet on his wrist.
The bookie shoved the remaining big body towards Maddicks, who grabbed him by the throat and made him convulse with the power surging through the gauntlet, befor dropping him in the corner.
"Empty your pockets." Maddicks said, now that the pair was alone.
"Wh--What?"
"Empty your pockets." His eyes were still half open, but now that was mostly because his right eye was closing over from the battering he'd allowed himself to take.
He dropped a roll with three hundreds four twenties and a bunch of quarters and brass.
"You really thought I give a shit over twenty bucks? Even now?" The bookie shook his head. Terrified. A wet patch spreading across the front of his pants.
Simon pocketed the notes and juggled the change in the palm of his hand.
"You're here for one reason. I made those bets for one reason." The supervillain sighed, adrenaline starting to leave him.
He shoved the change in the bookie's mouth. "You can't. Buy. Hungry." The gauntlet sparked. His mouth flashed blue, he didn't stop until he could smell the foul scent of the man's hair burning.
He dropped him on the floor and donned the Killer Shrike costume once more, leaving his apartment forever with all of his belongings on his back.
Maddicks flicked between the sports networks. He'd laid a twenty on the Gators in basketball, as a casual side bet to the five hundred he had on Michigan, and those bums were down two scores going into the half.
He used ta be somebody. Well he used ta almost be somebody. He hung around people who had "somebody" potential, and would still send a shiver up the spine of the man on the street.
That was before the sentencing. Before the isolation in a cell. Before when he still gave a shit about his appearance enough to work out. Before the parole board saw him as a broken down has been who wouldn't have started have any more trouble if he could. The spark of life having left him years ago. Before he had the P.O. officer check ins. Before he really started to hurt in the colder months.
He barely had it in him to be mad at any of these kids for getting scrubbed. Hell, it was probably his fault for betting on them.
The five hundred was chasing already bad money. He was collecting cheques from a slip-n-fall in a Whole Foods, to keep the heat which went out last month going, and those cheques were fast running out. Nobody hires ex-cons. The classiest decision he'd made this year was choosing to take his dive in Whole Foods over Dollar General.
He couldn't pay. He knew he couldn't pay. Knew it when he laid the bet. In part it was the reason why he did it.
T H E R E A S O N
Maddicks got up and trudged to the can, he dropped his boxers (which a long with a wifebeater, was all he was wearing) and closed his eyes, letting the stream go where it may, in the vaguest direction of the toilet.
His past in the Air Force, as a merc, working off-book for Roxxon, going toe-to-toe with those in tights, it all played back before him.
"Kyle Lofton bricks the three!" Simon barely opened his eyes. "And time expires!"
Sounded like his low-bet wasn't going to pay off either.
There were years apparent on his face, years of weariness and no surprise.
There was a loud knock on the door. No crispness. Just loud.
Simon trudged to the front door and opened it without looking through the peephole.
He was met by his bookie. An undersized man, fast talker. Full of life. Chasing life.
Feeding on life.
"If I'm not mistaken, Vandy just got up."
"Were you waiting right outside of my door?" Simon asked, incredulous at how quickly the bookie got to his home to collect on a twenty dollar bet.
"I was, and do you know who else was..?"
And knowing their cue in walked two large men who didn't look like they'd be able to mentally handle much more than that cue.
"They know their choreography..."
"They do. But they only dance when I say so." The confident man of smaller stature said. "And when I say so, tends to be when people don't answer this next question properly."
"Where's my money, Maddicks?"
"Sonuvabitch. He knows I've got a second bet laid. It was with HIM for chrissakes. The prick wants to make me beg. Beg for an extra hour or two, when my next bet ends. Which I'm also likely to lose. Little turd's playing power tricks."
Maddicks wasn't going to beg. However today went down, THAT was not on the cards. Simon walked back across the room, and turned up the volume on the television.
"I don't have it."
This caught the smaller man by surprise, as evident by his gaping mouth. One of the larger two men nudged him and mouthed something, dragging him back down to Earth. Something was different. He wasn't openly agressive, Hell, he still gave off the basic impression that he was dead inside. But he wasn't yielding. He wasn't arguing his own cause for an extension. If only for a few hours.
"We--well that's too bad. You owe."
"I do." Maddicks said plainly. His eyes still barely open with general disinterest.
"Then I guess these two guys are going to take have to take it out of your ass."
The first one punched him in the gut, just below the solar plexus, and folded him in half like he was made of cardboard.
Simon was sucking up air, when he was straightened up, and his jaw met with a heavy right hand that knocked a tooth loose. Maddicks raised a finger, and struggled to catch his breath. The bookie put a pause to proceedings with a smile, expecting Simon to beg and plead for the extra few hours to see how it would play out.
"What's our balance so far?"
Another heavy right. Another shot to the gut. A left hook that sent things spinning briefly.
"You're a punching bag. I mean, I knew you were for those tights and capes guys, but Good Lord, Maddicks. You're going to die over what? Five hundred bucks? Twenty bucks? I mean, you know I'm gonna kill you, right? You realise how much faster those two-bit, no-money dickheads will pay up after they hear I iced a gen-u-wine supervillain, right? Or at least, whatever the Hell you were... Don't worry, I'll make you sound far more impressive than you are. Or ever were."
Simon kept taking repeated punches.
"I mean, I don't get it. I heard you've got no income anymore, but surely you could have sold this old suit to some kind of capes and cowls collecter for a couple grand."
"Two hundred." He grunted out in exhalation, through his teeth.
"What?" Came the bookie's surprised reply, not the least because the man could still talk.
"I got it valuated. Two hundred bucks. Market's flooded."
"Well, shit Maddicks. I don't even value your life and I still overvalued you." He chuckled, as the beating continued.
"I mean, I guess I can see, why it's only two hundred. Even if you weren't a big name, suit made of steel. Really, steel? In THIS world... and you've only got one gauntl-- Oh shit!"
The bookie was interrupted by the larger of the two men flying backwards across the wall, whilst seizing from electric shock.
Sparks flew from Simon Maddicks as he looked up with a brutal grin, blood drooling out from between baked bean shaped teeth. Lit by the flickering blue electricity from the one remaining gauntlet on his wrist.
The bookie shoved the remaining big body towards Maddicks, who grabbed him by the throat and made him convulse with the power surging through the gauntlet, befor dropping him in the corner.
"Empty your pockets." Maddicks said, now that the pair was alone.
"Wh--What?"
"Empty your pockets." His eyes were still half open, but now that was mostly because his right eye was closing over from the battering he'd allowed himself to take.
He dropped a roll with three hundreds four twenties and a bunch of quarters and brass.
"You really thought I give a shit over twenty bucks? Even now?" The bookie shook his head. Terrified. A wet patch spreading across the front of his pants.
Simon pocketed the notes and juggled the change in the palm of his hand.
"You're here for one reason. I made those bets for one reason." The supervillain sighed, adrenaline starting to leave him.
He shoved the change in the bookie's mouth. "You can't. Buy. Hungry." The gauntlet sparked. His mouth flashed blue, he didn't stop until he could smell the foul scent of the man's hair burning.
He dropped him on the floor and donned the Killer Shrike costume once more, leaving his apartment forever with all of his belongings on his back.
Hound subscribes to the "post and edit in the days that follow" philosophy.
Posting begins what I call "The Self-loathing Stage"...
If I did that I'd never post in anything.
"You haven't done this before, right? To me, I mean?"
Banjo's words hung in the air, directed at the H.E.L.P psionic who'd brought him in 'just for a chat', that seemed a lot more like a psych test now that he was in it.
That 'just a chat' had now turned it's focus towards a mental scan to try and find whatever remnants they could of his parents, scattered floating in the ether of his memories.
"No." Summer Carlyle replied softly. "That would be deeply unethical."
"Yes, I'm sure that the school which seems to want to make us boots on the ground soldiers in some kind of battle over public opinion would neither do anything deeply unethical or ever ask anything deeply unethical of you either."
Her lips pursed at the assertion, she opened her mouth to speak and--
"Yeah, you could drive a truck through that hesitation, so I'm guessing that was right. Still, agenda's are aligned on this one so have at it. Let's see what you can find. Just... steer clear of any moments where I'm alone in my dorm from about age fifteen onwards. Those are 'Banjo's times'."
"It doesn't work like that. It's guided. You're going to be with me all the way."
"Even better. Then it probably makes sense if we start at the beginning..." Suddenly he found they shared a space with no walls, flickering echoes surrounded them.
"Huh. So this is my mind is it?"
"This is how you choose to perceive it presently."
"Wait, so I can like change up the decor and that in here, eh?"
"You can. With time and some effort, yes. Psionic's tend to have a little more influence on the mental-space than other's but that's because they tend to spend more time in these places. Practice makes perfect. But your influence in here is probably going to be most effective when you model areas within here on places you're most intimately familiar with. Those kinds of changes will hold form better."
"Maybe I'll leave it as is for the time being, then. Bit of a fixer-upper, but--"
"Well, how about if we start over there?" Summer pointed down a pathway to where a huge scene was playing out.
"Bit specific. What makes you want to start there? Bit intimidating..."
"The biggest ones tend to seem big because they happened when you were so very small. And if you were small, then those would be the earliest memories, yes? When you were still around your parents?"
"Well, makes a sort of sense really, then, I guess. Alright. Let's go. Guided, right?"
"Right."
Banjo hooked Summer's arm with his own and started down the pathway, as the memory unveiled itself all around them.
He was in a chair. His little legs couldn't reach the ground. They dangled tapping against the wooden legs of the dining room table after each swing.
"How old am I there... I don't remember any of this?"
"Yes..." Summer hissed in a hushed whisper. "Evidently you do." She gestured all around them. The kitchen seemed blurry, and a figure moved around as a walking blur. They kept a close watch as it moved, impossible to distinguish, they could only see the outline of where the figure had been after it moved. The blur not only encompassed the person, but the surrounding kitchen around them.
"Tell me what you're seeing." Summer asked gently. "I can see these things too, but sometimes it can distort perspective if viewed through someone else's eyes."
"It's-- a female. I'm guessing... by the gait. Her walk. My mother?"
"If I had to guess." The H.E.L.P psionic confirmed.
The small child flung peas and corn with his spoon, with a big smile on his face.
"BAAAAAAAAAAAAN-DJROOOOOOOOOOOO!" The blurred figure called out, it's voice echoed from a thousand miles away, distorted as if it was being called through water.
"Ban-jo hafta see if I can gettem in my cup." Explained the boy. Everything was laid out in front of him, but the cup seemed so distant for the small child.
Another blur swept through. It rushed through the door next to the kitchen in a frantic. It's speech wachn't through water. It was rushed and faint. No words were discernable. The voices gave Banjo a headache. The entire scene was starting to give him a headache.
"Let's see if we can clear that bit up before, shall we?"
Summer stepped up and wound back proceedings.
".puc ym ni metteg nac I fi ees aftah oj-naB" "!OOOOOOOOOOOORJD-NAAAAAAAAAAAAB"
"We're going to speed this next bit up, play it a bit faster. See if we can lose some of the nostalgic distortion."
"An-Drew!"
"BanjohaftaseeifIcangetteminmycup!"
"So... Andrew. Would seem your name is Andrew. 'Banjo', maybe it came from you not being able to pronounce your name correctly." Summer clarified.
That didn't sound right. Not the Andrew part. That seemed to make sense. But he felt like he'd been called it before and after. Like he always had been, a nickname he'd received and could just say it easier than his birth name.
The blurs came back, and with it the pain, the headaches. More intense with the increased speed of the playback. Banjo called out in agony and the pair returned, finding themselves not in the house, not in the mental space, but back in her office.
"What the Hell was that? Why does it feel like someone just took a jackhammer to right between my eyes?"
"Well, I understand why you asked me that question before... And I assure you, you're safe here, Banjo. I haven't been poking around your memories."
Banjo didn't care at the moment, he was awash with nausea, and the pain that was right behind the space between his eyes.
"But SOMEONE has pruned them. There's something there people don't want you to remember."
"Do you know why I called you in to see you, Banjo?" The last word seemed to stick in the prim and proper man's mouth. Almost like it held a silliness that he didn't want to lower himself to utter, lest his participation be mistaken for support.
"Well, it's not because you wanted to say the name 'Banjo', that much is for sure." Banjo thought to himself.
"I suspect for the same reason the pricipals of most of the other boarding schools have wanted to pull me away and speak to me separate from the rest. Concerns over my disciplinary record and you're seeking some kind of assurance that it'll be different in the future."
"Oh yes?"
"Yeah. And I'm not going to be giving you those assurances."
"No?"
"Nah." He shook his head with a broad smile across his face. "See, I can't. It's in my nature. As Popeye would say I yam what I yam. I do what I do. I am defined... by me. And telling you that I'm not going to do a thing when it may just be innate. I'm not going to do that."
"Is that so?" Jonas Lehrer had rocked back and was polishing his glasses now.
"Yeah, let's just chalk it up to me having too much respect for you to lie to you like that, sir. It'd be... distasteful." A shit-eating grin crossed the youth's face. Bullshit meter was swinging heavily in the 150% range with steam coming off it.
Jonas replaced his glasses and seemed to grow inches taller as his posture changed from leaning back to leaning forward.
"I called you in to speak to you, Banjo--"
"--Because I like to take the time to speak to all of our new addition students. Nothing more. I like to lead off with that question, because I find, it turns out to be a pretty good Rorschach test for how our students see themselves. You'll get alpha personalities who'll come in here and think the reason they've been called in is because they think I'm pushing forward the hopes of the next generation on their specific, very special, backs. You'll get beta personalities who'll come in thinking the reason is because they're expecting me to repeat some kind of spiel about the expectations of the school, that we're all pulling together, that every person has their part to play in creating a community which forms the bedrock of the education which will sculpt future minds, then you get those with questionable disciplinary records--"
Banjo's ears started to get hot. He'd underestimated the situation, but waited patiently for his opportunity to reply.
"--who basically feel they've been hauled in here to confront their own past, repent and swear that they'll try to do better in the future like they've been dragged before some kind of parole board hearing."
"And that brings us to you..."
"Who came in, of the belief that you'd been brought in because of such a disciplinary record. But claims to be completely unrepentent. That your own behaviour is bound to repeat. That it's innate. And that you're incapable of change."
"And I'll tell you, with my own specific field of expertise, I could spend well over an hour lecturing you on this and still not adaquately hit on JUST HOW MUCH I know that to be untrue based on the monumental weight of empirical evidence that I've had in the field over the years."
"It's actually quite laughable. That you would come in here and suggest that. Either that you ACTUALLY believe that, or that you think so little of me that you expect me to. It leans to you really not being briefed at all on me, or this place."
"For example, did you know that the campus used to be an old miliitary Academy?" The Chancellor finally left space for a retort. Banjo wouldn't pass it up.
"USED to be?"
"HA!" Jonas let out a singular laugh. "Yes. Good one."
That felt off to Banjo. Stilted. And both student and teacher let the silence weigh heavy in the room. "Had he just... deliberately set me up for that one?" The older man smiled. Not just radiating with warmth, but with a twinkle in his eye. as if he knew what game was being played and he was telling Banjo that he'd be more than up for it at any time. The weight of the silence was becoming uncomfortable now. Banjo decided to try and see if he could knock him off balance.
"You know who my parents are, don't you?"
The smile widened further, and the twinkle once again.
"When you go out, can you let the next one in?"
Next one? Banjo got to his feet and slowly walked to the door, looking back at the older man. That wasn't a line? He wasn't the only one called in up here? He opened the door to see a long line of waiting new students. Banjo made eye contact with the one sitting closest to the door and with a subtle raise of the eyebrows and tilt of the head, told her it was time to go in now. She passed him whilst Banjo held open the door and contemplated everything that happened in the past few minutes.
"Oh and Banjo?" Jonas said, bringing him back into the now as the next student took his seat. "The door please."
Banjo slowly closed the door behind him, but not before seeing one last twinkle as the older teacher met his gaze through the right lens of his glasses, a wry grin curling on one side of his mouth.
"Now, do you know why I called you in to see you--" he caught, just as the door clicked shut behind him...
B A N J O
B A N J O
B A N J O
Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean
he Homecoming Trials #1.02: You haven't done this before, right? To me, I mean?
Interaction(s): N/A
Previously: N/A
Banjo's bored face seemed to sink into his fist, propped up by the elbow on the desk. He drummed the fingers of his other hand rhythmically at the desk.
It was boring times in the "down hours" at the Collegiate library. The occasional student returning fiction books they'd borrowed for their own recreational reading in the holiday weeks between semesters had work down to scarcely a trickle. Early-birds had already got on their texts for the coming course-load, and the average student wouldn't make a move on getting their own until next week. So here he sat. In the dead spot.
There had been a few cohorts of giggling high school girls who'd found the strange new creature - who looked around their age but spoke with the accent from a faraway land and would be attending the university this coming year - interesting. But they weren't the kind of girls he had in mind when he was told he'd be attending this school.
He began to think it may have been a mistake to have gotten himself kicked out of the university library role.
Even if their rubbish bins are ridiculously flammable.
Truth was, he hadn't even tried to do anything this time. It kind of just happened. Then all of a sudden he's stomping out the fire, and questions are being asked about how it started and... well... yeah. He'd already been enough of a source of irritation for the librarian already. So THAT'S what must have gotten him kicked. I mean, he was pretty sure the librarian hadn't actually SEEN him accidentally starting the fire in the first place. So it must have just been holding a grudge.
He sighed audibly.
The collegiate librarian sent him out to re-stack the three books which had been returned and to go check the order of non-fiction again.
He couldn't imagine it would have changed significantly from the last time since there was only one person who'd come in the library since he'd done it last time. And they'd just come in to dunny dash and leave.
Another sigh.
Banjo wrapped his wrist around his loose fitting tie, and held it aloft like a noose, dragging himself off to the task at hand.
Banjo slowly trudged his way to the stadium. He was yelled at numerous times by faculty members to speed up, lest he be tardy, which only had the result of making him take his time all the more.
The sun was wonderful, and almost enough to tempt a man into soaking it all up. Almost.
When he finally got there he saw nothing but full seats, and shrugged to the staffmember who was watching the aisle. Looks like he'd be standing.
He winced at the cacophony of bagpipes blasting behind him, as he turned back to face the stage.
"All stand for the national anthem!"
Banjo let rip with a heartwarming, if slightly off key, rendition of 'Advance Australia Fair' to the music of 'O Canada', crunching a few lines in spaces they wouldn't fit and even tacking on chunks from the second verse which nobody ever sings in to fit, once he'd run out of words. Very creative, if not melodic.
Who knew this school would be able to awaken his patriotic spirit..? He seldom sang the national anthem at all back home.
The surrounding faculty didn't seem to agree.
The Chancellor of this rocking establishment came out to the kind of raucous response that you would expect a cult leader or at least tv evangelist would receive. Which was enough to draw a cocked eyebrow out of Banjo.
Students had started to rise and file out of their seats. Pouring out of the stadium and casting Banjo adrift on the raging torrent.
"Long time hyperhuman; first time caller. Never been to one of these shindigs before, so just out of curiosity, how many of us WILL you be sacrifing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?"
It was boring times in the "down hours" at the Collegiate library. The occasional student returning fiction books they'd borrowed for their own recreational reading in the holiday weeks between semesters had work down to scarcely a trickle. Early-birds had already got on their texts for the coming course-load, and the average student wouldn't make a move on getting their own until next week. So here he sat. In the dead spot.
There had been a few cohorts of giggling high school girls who'd found the strange new creature - who looked around their age but spoke with the accent from a faraway land and would be attending the university this coming year - interesting. But they weren't the kind of girls he had in mind when he was told he'd be attending this school.
He began to think it may have been a mistake to have gotten himself kicked out of the university library role.
Even if their rubbish bins are ridiculously flammable.
Truth was, he hadn't even tried to do anything this time. It kind of just happened. Then all of a sudden he's stomping out the fire, and questions are being asked about how it started and... well... yeah. He'd already been enough of a source of irritation for the librarian already. So THAT'S what must have gotten him kicked. I mean, he was pretty sure the librarian hadn't actually SEEN him accidentally starting the fire in the first place. So it must have just been holding a grudge.
He sighed audibly.
The collegiate librarian sent him out to re-stack the three books which had been returned and to go check the order of non-fiction again.
He couldn't imagine it would have changed significantly from the last time since there was only one person who'd come in the library since he'd done it last time. And they'd just come in to dunny dash and leave.
Another sigh.
Banjo wrapped his wrist around his loose fitting tie, and held it aloft like a noose, dragging himself off to the task at hand.
Banjo slowly trudged his way to the stadium. He was yelled at numerous times by faculty members to speed up, lest he be tardy, which only had the result of making him take his time all the more.
The sun was wonderful, and almost enough to tempt a man into soaking it all up. Almost.
When he finally got there he saw nothing but full seats, and shrugged to the staffmember who was watching the aisle. Looks like he'd be standing.
He winced at the cacophony of bagpipes blasting behind him, as he turned back to face the stage.
"All stand for the national anthem!"
Banjo let rip with a heartwarming, if slightly off key, rendition of 'Advance Australia Fair' to the music of 'O Canada', crunching a few lines in spaces they wouldn't fit and even tacking on chunks from the second verse which nobody ever sings in to fit, once he'd run out of words. Very creative, if not melodic.
Who knew this school would be able to awaken his patriotic spirit..? He seldom sang the national anthem at all back home.
The surrounding faculty didn't seem to agree.
The Chancellor of this rocking establishment came out to the kind of raucous response that you would expect a cult leader or at least tv evangelist would receive. Which was enough to draw a cocked eyebrow out of Banjo.
"...And as our returning students know, today signals the start of the Homecoming Trials. For our incoming students, you will get the full Pacific Royal experience as you compete in your assigned teams for the weekend for the honour of being the Homecoming Royals. These trials will also determine your house placement, so be true to yourselves and give them your all."
The crowd burst into applause as Jonas turned to accept a torch that was handed to him. Standing up from his seat, the House Canis faculty member; who Cass recognized as none other than his guardian's brother, Aiden Roth, suddenly ignited the flame with his heat vision. With the torch lit, Dr. Lehrer turned towards the bronze Chimera, lighting a flame in each mouth of the statue.
"Let the 2023 Homecoming Trials commence!" Jonas shouted into the din of cheers. "All incoming students! You are to return to the Intake House before proceeding to the Southern Plateau. New students should proceed in their assigned teams. You will find a package on each of your beds containing everything you will need for this weekend, including your physical activity uniform. You are to report to the Southern Plateau by 1500 hrs and in this uniform. I wish each of you luck and look forward to seeing with House calls you home!"
Students had started to rise and file out of their seats. Pouring out of the stadium and casting Banjo adrift on the raging torrent.
"Long time hyperhuman; first time caller. Never been to one of these shindigs before, so just out of curiosity, how many of us WILL you be sacrifing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?"
B A N J O
B A N J O
B A N J O
▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅  ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ Andrew(?) "Banjo" Olyphant _________________________________________________________ April18th, 2006 | 17 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | Male | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ Uncertain | Unsure | Australia _________________________________________________________ House Strigidae | Team 21 - Blackjack ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ _________________________________________________________ | ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ Banjo was stuffed in an orphanage/care facility from before he could remember until he reached school age. He was then retrieved from this care facility at school age and relocated to a boarding school by an intermediary he calls "The Butler", due to the man's dress, and being provided with no other name. He was then moved around to different boarding schools within Australia - sometimes extremely lengthy trips across state lines - at various times, sometimes for questionable behaviour, and sometimes for seemingly no reason at all over the next ten years. On April 18th he was relocated one final time. A footlocker containing all of his worldly belongings was his luggage for an International flight to Vancouver, before the long drive up the Western Canadian coastline to Dundas Island, where he would receive more permanent schooling. The school his parents - whoever they were - had planned for years for him to attend. ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || P H O T O - T H E R M O K I N E T I C E N E R G Y M E T A B O L I Z A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Exoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Fundamental Banjo is able to convert his HZEs in order to draw upon ambient heat/energy/light in a way that enhances his musculature and creates and strengthens neural pathways, also creating a greater capacity for intelligence. The nature of his powers also means he has acute thermoception (can determine local temperature to a tenth of a degree) and tolerance to extreme heat and cold. When he uses his power, he turns completely black as ambient light is being absorbed and there is no reflected light, and appears to be surrounded by an aurora corona due to the effect of bending light around into himself. When using his power, local temperature and light will drop as he draws upon it, in proportion to how much energy he is drawing. L I M I T A T I O N S || His biggest limitation has been himself. Due to the intelligence gained from early use of his powers, he now sees great potential for things to go wrong in using or abusing those powers - to the extent where he believes he even has the capacity to cause the complete heat death of the planet, solar system and universe beyond. He is, of course, not anywhere near capable of this at this point. He merely fears his potential. Whilst his powers create new neural pathways, and clear and strengthen existing neural pathways, they do not bestow upon him any NEW knowledge or intelligence. They merely grant him the capacity for increased intelligence (and perhaps grant focus/allow him to think more clearly). Likewise, the way his powers affect his musculature are exponential working off his initial baseline strength... so in other words, he would not have to use his powers to absorb as much energy in order to lift a large object if he were well trained and fit, as he would if lazy and ignoring any kind of training regiment. He won't use his powers in close contact of others, and is even extremely loathe to use them indoors in general. W E A K N E S S E S || As well as his own fear of his powers he's been having recurring nightmares where he finds himself encased in a small, confined, vacuum-sealed space - acute claustrophoblia. At this point his power taps out at barely above a peak-level human (think Super Soldier Serum enhanced human ala Captain America) in terms of strength, speed, agility, stamina. He's potentially capable of exponentially more though, but again his unwillingness to take that plunge, and see the true depths of his capabilities, stands in his way. Use of his powers whilst in direct contact with another COULD potentially cause devastating harm and/or death, since he draws heat and light. This is not a baseless fear he has. So far he has never hurt anyone in this way, though. He's just terrified of it happening. Obsessive about his parentage. Whilst intelligent and quick-witted, he's fairly young and in many ways still naive. ________________________________________________________________________________________ |
▅ P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
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▅ P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?
A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?
A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?
It happened again. He couldn't see his hands, but felt it all pressed around him once more.
He was in 'The Box'. His heart rate quickened, panic started to set in. He punched it as it closed in around him, where it constricted, knowing it would have no effect just as it never had before, because he always would.
The incessant need to break free of the indomitable constriction. It wouldn't be enough.
Fightng his own rules, he drew deep. He never used them inside, least of all in a place as confined as this, and his black hand struck with perfect focus on a precise point in front of him.
Then less focus, less precise. Then repeated banging, begging for an inch more. Just some more space todraw from. Breath. Power. Life. Anything. He screamed and was slapping the sides. He screamed as the last of the oxygen from the box was drawn and gasped...
With a gasp he found himself awake. He was panting. The nightmare again. The same damn one. It wasn't every night and somehow that made it worse. Because sometimes the dread of sleep would be justified, and other times not.
He checked the bed and the only place it was damp was around his upper body. Just sweat. Thank God.
He was in 'The Box'. His heart rate quickened, panic started to set in. He punched it as it closed in around him, where it constricted, knowing it would have no effect just as it never had before, because he always would.
The incessant need to break free of the indomitable constriction. It wouldn't be enough.
Fightng his own rules, he drew deep. He never used them inside, least of all in a place as confined as this, and his black hand struck with perfect focus on a precise point in front of him.
Then less focus, less precise. Then repeated banging, begging for an inch more. Just some more space todraw from. Breath. Power. Life. Anything. He screamed and was slapping the sides. He screamed as the last of the oxygen from the box was drawn and gasped...
With a gasp he found himself awake. He was panting. The nightmare again. The same damn one. It wasn't every night and somehow that made it worse. Because sometimes the dread of sleep would be justified, and other times not.
He checked the bed and the only place it was damp was around his upper body. Just sweat. Thank God.
A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?
"Whaddaya want? Whaddaya need?" Replied the equally dishevelled teen.
Curiosity won out and it wasn't even a particularly tough battle, for the teenager who too often thinks himself bulletproof - even if only figuratively.
Curiosity won out and it wasn't even a particularly tough battle, for the teenager who too often thinks himself bulletproof - even if only figuratively.
A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?
The claxons sounded, warning of impending danger.
Banjo acted warily, not wanting a wrong move to put himself in a precarious situation, he ignored the school's efforts to maintain order, and instead looked to find out more about the danger out of his own individual sense of self-preservation.
However paradoxical seeking out the danger for his own safety, seemed to be.
Banjo acted warily, not wanting a wrong move to put himself in a precarious situation, he ignored the school's efforts to maintain order, and instead looked to find out more about the danger out of his own individual sense of self-preservation.
However paradoxical seeking out the danger for his own safety, seemed to be.
▅ D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
▅ D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅ D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
When not using his hyperhuman powers he is a dishevelled looking lean, but average looking teenage caucasian male with brown hair and blue eyes.
He wears his proper school uniform to the letter of the regulations, but in a rough, untidy state. He's also taken to adorning the uniform's dress peak cap in combination with the regular uniform before school hours and as soon as the clock ticks 1601 - because he's found it irritates certain members of the faculty.
When using his power he appears as jet black, due to not reflecting any light as he is absorbing it at the time. He is surrounded by an aurora corona - the effect of surrounding light bending around his person to be absorbed.
He wears his proper school uniform to the letter of the regulations, but in a rough, untidy state. He's also taken to adorning the uniform's dress peak cap in combination with the regular uniform before school hours and as soon as the clock ticks 1601 - because he's found it irritates certain members of the faculty.
When using his power he appears as jet black, due to not reflecting any light as he is absorbing it at the time. He is surrounded by an aurora corona - the effect of surrounding light bending around his person to be absorbed.
▅ P E R S O N A L I T Y
▅ P E R S O N A L I T Y ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅ P E R S O N A L I T Y ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Sorely lacking stable consistent parental figures and because he was bounced around so much to different boarding schools irrespective of his behaviour, he's prone to misbehaving and pressing boundaries. He has a strong antiauthoritarian streak and enjoys little more than talking his way out of trouble - as such he's found comfort in law and is presently considering the legal profession in his higher education.
Not opposed to provoking people just for provocation's sake. Will get himself into trouble purely because he enjoys seeing if he can extricate himself from it.
Can be abrasive. Will be abrasive. By anyone's definition IS abrasive. But that's all part of the charm...
Not opposed to provoking people just for provocation's sake. Will get himself into trouble purely because he enjoys seeing if he can extricate himself from it.
Can be abrasive. Will be abrasive. By anyone's definition IS abrasive. But that's all part of the charm...
▅ S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
▅ S K I L L S & T A L E N T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅ S K I L L S & T A L E N T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
S K I L L || L O C K P I C K I N G
T A L E N T || S I L V E R T O N G U E
Banjo is capable of picking simple locks. Don't ask. It's a boarding school skill.
...which isn't uncommon for people who have spent as many hours in detention as he has.
...which isn't uncommon for people who have spent as many hours in detention as he has.
T A L E N T || S I L V E R T O N G U E
Banjo is adept at talking his way out of trouble, or producing mitigating circumstances as well as finding technical loopholes that allow his behaviour or at least cast it in the "grey" area.
He'd been called a #*$&% for a long time. Little did he know he's ACTUALLY been a naturally talented lawyer for years.
He'd been called a #*$&% for a long time. Little did he know he's ACTUALLY been a naturally talented lawyer for years.
▅ S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
▅ S U P P O R T I N G C A S T ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅ S U P P O R T I N G C A S T ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
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▅ R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T
▅ R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅ R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
☯ NEUTRAL ☯ || ☮ FRIENDS ☮ || ♫ BEST FRIENDS ♫ || § TENSE § || ♥ CRUSH ♥ || ☠ ENEMIES ☠
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I have tomorrow off, and I'm looking to get active and pump out a bunch of stuff for numerous RPGs to give myself a bit of breathing room.
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