Leonerdo

City of Gold Character Storage Vault

Name: Mia Jones
Nickname/Alias/Etc: N/A
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Height: 5'9”
Weight: 198
Faction: Neutral (contemplating Skull)

Appearance

Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Once brown, now cloudy
Ethnicity: Sudan, Egyptian and Arabian (and obviously some hints of Caucasian in there somewhere) heritage gives her skin a rich and dark brown hue.
Physical Appearance/Attire: Mia, a 5'9" woman weighing 198 lbs, appears well built and physically toned. While not having a body builder form, her muscles and bones are thick enough to accentuate and tone her modest curvature. She is strong without working out, and it shows through her physique (it ain't washboard, but the woman has got abs). As implied above, she is not impressively tall, though nor is she short enough to give a weak or vulnerable vibe. Much of her weight comes from her power, having dense muscles and bones. Her skin is mostly clear of blemishes, save for the obvious scar on her face - and speaking of her face, it is particularly pronounced and gives the impression of an independent woman. Her jawline is strong and symmetrical and meets up at a pointed, yet squared off chin. This feature is accentuated by thin cheeks and sharp cheek bones, and lips several shades lighter - a trait hidden by dark makeup that is applied to her lips, a gentle black that doesn't shine or gloss under light, nor sticks out like a sore thumb on her brown face. Her nose is also sharp. It's length isn't pronounced, and appears proportionate to her face and her bridge thick, though thin in width. Given these sharp features and fierce, striking appearance, her eyes are an alarming contrast. Her left eye is nearly stark white. With a milky cornea and cataract-afflicted pupil, her eye is totally blind. Her right eye is covered by a scar that goes down to the top of her cheek. The same ugly scar rips through the center of her eye, making her blind in that eye as well. Her face alone is an unnerving combination of beauty and danger, despite her disability.

Her black hair is usually well-managed and clean (meaning very little oil, if any), often done up in something like an updo of an undercut mohawk, generally done with very little product. Given how it's easy to do, where the hair doesn't bother her face, isn't impractically long, and supposedly looks good, Mia found it to be well suited for her. She has a soldierly posture: her head held high, firm soldiers, straight back, and a heavy footstep. It suggests she knows discipline, a factor that likely sculpted her in her early childhood. Her abdomen is ripe with muscle, she neglects to flaunt the c-cup breasts she carries and her legs are strong and have only a few scars from minor injuries such as scraping a shin or knee by accident. Her feet can be considered large, and are fortunately not afflicted by bunions. She has a few piercings. One is a half-ring septum piercing, three small loops on her left ear's upper lobe, and an industrial bar on her other ear. They are all made of brass.

Given her lack of sight, Mia has a pretty weak sense of fashion. Fortunately, she already had a wardrobe before she lost her sight. At the bare minimum of clothes, she always wears a sports bra and men's boxer briefs, thinking they're more comfortable than other under garments. Over that, a white men's tank top is worn over her torso, and she dons a pair of Lee's boot-cut jeans. Over her white shirt, she tends to wear a fleece flannel shirt, due to the comfort and warmth it provides (she remembers her favorite one having a yellow and black color scheme but can't really tell which is which anymore). Should the weather get any worse than that, she has an old brown leather jacket she got from her husband when they were younger. She tends to wear this pair of light brown/mustard-colored unstylish work boots because they're comfy and firm and she has no clue how ugly they actually are.

Personality

Outward & Innate Personality: Spiteful, contemptuous, driven; strangers often characterize her as enigmatic and scornful. She reveals nothing and manages most people with disdain. This disdain, however, is mysteriously sourced and gives the impression it stands as preexisting stress and is redirected towards whomever spoke to her. Other times, she simply ignores them or gives them the silent treatment. On any other occasion, she simply shares short, brief words and returns to her thoughts. She lacks the arrogance or overconfidence that some super-powered morons may come to don, however, has the tendency to peg others as fools. She bides and listens, and she isn't one to put her trust into another very lightly. Moreover, Mia is incredibly driven. She doesn't let on to others what her reasons might be, but she moves forward with such inspiring conviction despite the obstacles set before her.

She had a good deal of morals before, and though her attitude and outlook took a major turn for the worse, they still stick with her to some degree. While no longer being interested in politics, she'd still be more prone to vote liberal. While no longer concerned about most peoples' welfare, she'd beat the crap out of a rapist. And while hurt feelings no longer bother her, she'd still make a sexist or racist person buckle over and plant her foot on them. She has morals - they've just become become much looser than they were before. She thinks little of any of the factions of Mendel. The Skulls are too loud and stupid, the Vanguard is pious and is one side of the same coin, and she lacks any ability to be part of the hacker group, and she really wouldn't want to. She thinks it as an invasion of privacy and see them not as a professional group, but as a collection of cheeto-eating dickheads that'll fall apart from them betraying one another anyway.

Despite her feelings for most other people, she actually treats them with apathy more than she does in deliberately rude gestures or words. This gives her an unmatched degree of bluntness and ability to speak her mind without caring who is listening or how they may react or feel according to her words. Before the accident, she was deeply in love and was incredibly faithful and protective of her spouse. To some extent, this may hold true even now should she ever find a sense of belonging. Even if she does though, she reassures herself that there isn't any point in trusting anybody with her story. Her story is no one's business and she does not intend on "opening up" or getting "touchy feely" with anybody. However, her energy is drained and she finds herself in an incredibly vulnerable position, despite her greatest efforts to appear strong. While Mia still able to maintain the facade of strength and durability, there's little she can do to escape the sense of a downward spiral towards an emotional breakdown.

Hobbies/Interests: She has lost interest in many of her hobbies when she fell victim to complete blindness. She can no longer paint or fiddle with cars or smaller gadgets. The only thing she feels she knows how to do anymore is to play guitar and she completely destroyed hers in a fit of rage. All she really bothers to do anymore is to listen to music (of a very wide variety) and brush her teeth until her gums bleed.

Skills/Talents: Before her blindness, she was good with cars and engines and whatnot since she worked as a mechanic at some point, and if you were to quiz her on the subject, she'd probably answer your questions and answer all the questions you didn't ask. She also used to paint, and was actually pretty good at it, but never bothered to sell her pieces. Her room is full of half-done canvases that she'll never be able to finish. She can play an acoustic guitar, though not exceptionally. She's a fairly good MMA fighter, since she has recently been spending a fair amount of time taking martial arts courses at a small, nameless dojo, as well as getting into boxing, learning how to combine the two.

Prized Possession: The gold band on her right ring finger.
Quote(s): “If you try touching me again, I'm going to bend you into a pretzel.”
History/Bio: The layout is simple: Mia had a pretty good life until her twenties. She was happy as a little girl. She got attention from her parents, and was pushed into more boyish activities by her father, who had wanted a boy. As naive as Mia was, this didn't really bother her very much and she led a pretty normal life. She had a fair amount of friends from elementary and throughout high, was adept at taking apart her dad's truck and putting it back together, was persuaded by her mother to take up painting (and much to Mia's surprise, she enjoyed it). When she got into high school, Mia was fairly pretty enough to grab the attention of a couple boys and tough enough to keep them in line. At sixteen, she met an irish boy named Roy and started off as friends before she discovered she liked him halfway through the year. A lot. Taking him to meet the folks was a bit odd, since interracial relationships was a bit iffy to her parents, but she went ahead and scoffed at their conservative beliefs. It turns out that the two fit together like puzzle pieces. The two crucial pieces of a complex jigsaw where each individual piece of the map had to be worked around the two.

There was little to stop the two young and starstruck lovers from planning out their future. As fate would have it though, the infamous Race Riots irreparably damaged a section of Mendel and her family was unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire. Roy was "lucky" enough to live in the downtown section, further away from the riot. Mia's parents worked nearby, meaning Mia alone when she had to be rushed to a hospital. When Roy checked on her, there it was discovered that while she didn't suffer tragic damage from the riots, stray bullets had brought damage to her ovaries and one of her kidneys. She would be able to live happily with her kidneys without any problem, but any chance of bearing a child was gone. Having kids was never really something they thought about anyways, and that news wouldn't bother them until their later years when they realized what it actually meant for them. Her parents were permanently hospitalized - her father was put into a coma after getting bashed in the head, and her mother suffered so much damage from metahumans (fire and electricity - her skin is badly scarred and her breathing is strained), that she was forced to stay on life support to survive. Roy and his family offered to help Mia and by allowing her to live with them in East Mendel.

It was only when Mia and Roy were nineteen did they decide to move out. They were done with school and they rented out a small apartment in the residential district just off Watson road for just the two of them. Mia worked at a garage and Roy worked kitchen jobs. Even with their small incomes together, they couldn't afford college for even one of them, but they decided to just save their money and be happy with what they had. It was by that time did her powers finally manifest. It started off as a huge freak out when they discovered her absurd strength after she knocked over the refrigerator just by closing the door. She was scared out of her wits that Roy might abandon her, but to her relief, he remained and they agreed never to let anyone else in on her secret. They finally married when they were twenty years old.

The following two years were fine. They excelled at their jobs, they got hobbies, they biked around town (Mia always being a couple lengths in front of Roy), and all seemed fine. At some point during the second year though, normal life seemed to fall apart. There had been increased gang activity further down town, and Mia must have made a wrong stop or bought groceries at the wrong store - something must have been a front or connection that made a branch of the MCPD crack down and target Mia, who believed her to have ties with the Skulls - she figured they either had to have been pretty scared or itching to exercise their authority to target someone without any solid ground (she always said it was because she was WWB; walking while black). Regardless of their reasons, they interrogated Mia. They asked her all sorts of questions - about the Skulls, about her ties - having no connection with the Skulls, she denied any knowledge of them or their intents. They didn't believe her. They suspected her of lying and deceit and was promptly subjected her to torture. Most of their methods had brought no scarring, but another over-enthusiastic cop brought up the method was laser-eye treatment and claimed it wouldn't leave any lasting damage. This is how she lost sight in her left eye.

Roy finally discovered she had been arrested due to allegations of association with the Skulls. Along with vouching for her, he provided her medical records and legal records where there were no signs or ties with the local Skulls. She was released and subsequently promised insurance benefits in the form of large sums of monthly payments as long as she remained quiet about the misunderstanding. Mia was by no means willing to satisfy the police department, and neither was Roy. However, they decided that they were best off to accept the compensation and avoid further trouble with the department, despite the couple's seething rage for the local police force, they also needed the money. The next four years went somewhat smoothly, despite the burning hot bouts of rage she felt each time she looked in the mirror and saw her blind eye. She was forced to keep a cap on it lest she do something stupid and create more problems for herself and the MCPD.

But the four years were smooth, aside from that. She learned how to move around and grab things without her left eye, she became a little more reliant on other senses - most notably her hearing - and she found an outlet for her aggression in a martial arts class. Her and her husband both that that signing up for a krav maga course was a good idea, but that she should be careful with letting off too much steam. Mia agreed and so the twenty-five year old went on to visit the dojo every Tuesday and Thursday. The classes were not frequent enough for her to really release her stress, so she also entered a boxing gym. At some point, she heard about some charity for the aid of victims of domestic dispute (a huge majority came from gang fights and police brutality), hearing about what they stood for, she and Roy immediately supported them. While Mia wasn't active in their cause, she was still eager to help them out in some way. For instance, fixing some of their vehicles. The work was hard, but she still enjoyed it.

It was at the end of the four years, six months before now, Roy was out shopping and doing errands for a couple of friends in the neighborhood. Upon coming back, he found himself in the middle of a firefight that seemed to have spontaneously broke out around east of the Mississippi. A vicious shoot-out between the Skulls and the Vanguards was interrupted by the police, resulting in a vicious three way war. Caught in the crossfire, Roy was killed, shredded by bullets from one direction and bullets from the other, along with the projectiles from superpowers.

The firefight lasted a grueling three hours before it calmed down, too long for a wounded man like Roy to endure. Mia received a call from the hospital to give her the grim news. Heartbroken, Mia trashed the house and, in a fit of rage and grief and guilt, she grabbed one of the apartment's kitchen knives and carved her remaining eye. She stayed there, laying on carpet weeping and bleeding for a solid hour, pale faced. A solid hour before a neighbor decided to find out what was the ruckus was about. A solid hour before an ambulance was called for her. Mia is now totally blind. She stayed in the hospital for about a month, being treated for her eye, as well as undergoing mental recuperation to recover from the shock of suddenly losing her only loved one. After her month was over, she was issued a cane and she stayed in her old, trashed apartment for another month, doing just the bare minimum to survive - and struggling to do even that now that she was blind. She dealt with the event very poorly, and ended up turning to drink. She's been alcohol poisoned more than once, which put too much strain on her damaged kidney and caused it to fail. When she was rushed to the hospital, she was encouraged to rehabilitate and she was told that she can still live a happy life with just one kidney as long as she stopped drinking. Somehow, they managed to convince her - though this was probably due to her highly impressionable and compliant state of mind during that time. On her second month staying at home, she finally began to try mimicking daily life, despite the struggle to figure out what was around her. It took a while for her to walk comfortably whilst blind, and for her to remember how the house felt through her cane. It was by the end of that second month was she able to regain control of herself and understand the situation in full: the city - it killed him. It was this whole damn city's fault. It's fault for her husband, it's fault for her eyes - all of it! Whatever rage or contempt she had before was dwarfed by the pit of burning coals that sat in her chest every day. By the fourth month she went back to the dojo and boxing classes (albeit with some struggle - she would later acquire an application much like a GPS device for blind pedestrians). With some effort, the instructors were able to help her work around her blindness.

The dojo became a regular outlet for her. She took out her aggression there (on punching bags, of course), honed her other senses through sparring sessions (sense of hearing, place, and the length of her body), and learned how to control her strength and how to make the most of it. She invested so much time into that dojo, she became capable of reacting as swiftly to the movements she hears from the other students as they could by sight, and she learned maneuvers to help her work around the possibility of an assailant holding a weapon to her. While the classes helped her live with her blindness, it did little to satiate her anger. The blind woman saw opportunity with the Skulls, and while she cared very little for them, she wanted some way to get back at the city, and through the Skulls, that was possible. So she sought to waltz right into their base and demand a place. Which sounds arrogant, but her demands stem from anger and desperation, as opposed to arrogance. Her intentions lies in revenge against the city though. So many organizations are fair game. The police department, the Vanguard, even the Skulls – eventually, she'll sort something out to fuck them over as well.

Family:
Dataj Joyce, Father (comatose)
Sasha Joyce, Mother (alive; on life support)
Roy Jones, Husband (deceased)

Relationships

Relationships:
Kylie “Grease” Evans | Mixed Feelings | Middle/High school rival | “I haven't seen her in ages. She isn't really relevant to my life anymore and I don't think I'll ever run into her again, but she at least made grade school sort of interesting.” |

Abilities

Power Class: Super System
Power: Mia possesses your typical super-strength and insane reflexes, as well as various other improvements upon her body such as enhanced durability and endurance (but is not enhanced to such an extreme degree as her strength). She can rip down your door with ease, turn over a car, and kick your head off your shoulders. Her strength is not derived from over-inflated muscles, but her dense muscle strands being capable of exerting a hundred times more force than the average man - enough to bench press at least 17,500 lbs (or African elephant - and then some). As for her reflexes, she is capable of reacting to events as soon as they come to her senses or sees it coming and so on. While she can't dodge bullets, she can retaliate against her assailants as soon as they come within arm's reach. More on her endurance, while she is not invulnerable and still very much prone to gun shots, she is capable of taking a professional boxer's punch to her abdomen with only so much as a flinch and shaking off bare knuckle punches from an average man rather easily - this applies to aerobic endurance as well, allowing her cardiovascular system to become less winded with greater physical exertion. And of course, whenever she hits her shin on something by accident and it hurts like hell, she can rest easy knowing that whatever she kicked was probably demolished.

But her power comes with side effects as well. Her strength is so incredible in comparison to a normal person, that getting punched by her would actually put so much shock on the body that recovery becomes immensely difficult. Even superhuman regeneration becomes greatly impaired and the recipient would notice a delayed recovery response. The fatigue-producing lactic acid that the body produces also happens to be different in Mia. It has changed to such a degree that it no longer produces fatigue, but acts as a steroid that increases her energy, muscular endurance, and strength. This means that her power allows her to plow over her enemies like a snowball down a hill.

Weaknesses/Limitations/Drawbacks: Mia is stronger than she is durable. Let that sink in for a moment. That means that she is very capable of harming herself if she is not careful. But aside from that, he lactic acid, while quite beneficial, can work against her. Fatigue is the natural body response to exhaustion and damage. It removes body inhibitions that would normally signify that her muscles are under a great amount of duress (the limitations of which are greater than normal people, but it still is a limitation to be wary of). In addition, as the strength and energy the acid grants eventually snowballs to monster levels, this means the production of lactic acid does as well. Mia's one and only kidney has to process all the waste and acid that her body produces, and it takes a toll. So once she feels some incredible pain in her body, she has to stop unless she runs the risk of seriously damaging herself and causing her only kidney to fail. At that point, her body and muscles will also likely be worn down due to the amount of activity done with them, and she'll feel sore for a while.

As for her weaknesses as a person, her blindness goes without saying. A blanket of darkness acts as a permanent veil to the world outside her eyes. Mia is also a pretty bitter woman, and this makes diplomacy and friend-making more difficult for her. While she can cooperate, she won't hide her disdain from the people she is working with. She also is not a very good shoulder to cry on should any of her teammates be experiencing any difficulties or stress - most of her motherly instincts have been forsaken. But when it comes to small children who might be in danger, she gets a twinge of frustration with herself until she brings herself to protect them. Senseless crying, though? Rolling her eyes or perhaps snapping at them. She also is not fit for a leadership role. She prefers to cut the garbage and get straight to the point and isn't interested in uplifting speeches or being bothered with telling everyone what they have to do. It just isn't in her. She is rather outspoken in her lack of love for authority figures, namely police forces and gangs and so on. Her bitterness and disregard can be used against her, since when she becomes especially pissed off, she has a pretty "straight-line" train of thought.

Other: Despite being blind, her sparring matches has helped to give her a "battle-sense". Much of this has to do with sense of hearing (their footsteps and breath), and feeling and hearing the subtle differences in the air, but it is something more innate than just that. Much of her fights run off instinct, and she describes it as having something like a flow.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iy7aiy20bYM

City of Gold Character Storage Vault

[hider=Baron Moreau]Name: Baron Moreau
Nickname/Alias/Etc: Barry, Zombie, etc.
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Height: 6'3”
Weight: 162 lbs
Faction: Neutral

Appearance

Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Green
Ethnicity: Canadian; has English and French blood.
Physical Appearance/Attire: Barry looks rather unorthodox among the mercenary crowd, appearing somewhat of a rugged aristocrat. He is tall and slender, specifically standing at 6'3", and weighs in at 166 lbs. This said, he isn't the strongest fighter and his body is fairly skinny and not as muscular as much of his other... “associates”, although he does abide by the standard requirement of fitness in his organization that is befitting of him, though this is usually in the form of physical therapy (he has a strong, mechanical brace reinforcing his left leg). His skin is fairly pail and unblemished by anything other than the scars littered over his body. On his back, torso, legs, and so on - the damage on his left leg in particular being rather severe and is bestrewn with scar tissue. His pale skin is in dramatic contrast with his black hair, which comes down at a widow's peak, and is neatly swept backwards with a comb and then kept in place a small dab of hair gel. He appears on missions almost as though he were going out on a date, but forgot the proper attire. He has piercing green eyes that are, at just the right angle, appearing somewhat hollow, if words were to do any justice. It is as if he stared into hell and hell stared back, but even then, they appear no less brilliant, cunning, deceptive, or even deadly. Thick lashes and sharp eyebrows simply sharpen his piercing gaze. His true expressions always seem somewhat hidden, as though his face were hidden by a million and one masks, each with their own different story. Even his walk, it seems, where his apparent full-of-himself strut appears to be well-disguised pacing. This brings along with him an air of mystery. Given his pampered features and esoteric air, along with a charming and clever disposition, he's quite the heart-breaker. His hands are covered in calluses and his fingers usually look a little cut up, but is generally well taken care of.

If he had a choice in his uniform, he'd be dressed nicely and perhaps come in a nice suit with a boutonnière. However, glamor and sophistication has no place in his line of work or among suburbs (unless the objective specifically calls for good appearances). He often visits areas in South America, so the humidity doesn't help much to bolster his preferred fashion. Baron does not often appear anywhere close to the front lines, so heavy equipment is never really necessary - which is a plus, given how it would add unnecessary stress on his brace and left leg. So he usually does his job in waist-high black dress pants that rides up to his naval and are tucked into thick black boots, causing some bagginess around the lower calves. His pants are accessorized with button suspenders crossing over each other on his back and then meeting parallel down his front. These suspenders are usually strapped over a greatly faded light grey t-shirt. The collar has three buttons going down the center, making it able to change from a round neck to a v-neck. He usually leaves them unbuttoned give the hot air or humidity of the environment he often enters, which in turn tends to reveal just a little bit of his chest and collarbone. The subtle fact that there are very faint hints of blood stains on his shirt that looks as though someone had tried to bleach the stains off the shirt - this in conjunction with the lack of any holes - might appear disturbing to anyone who just happens to notice it. Otherwise, his wardobe is dynamic, so describing his outfits during casual or formal ventures would do little to express his appearance, and would do no more justice than stating simply: he dresses very nicely as if he looks to impress. Underneath Barry's right arm is a tattoo in Arabic, a memento from a particular expedition that required him to infiltrate an organization of radicals. It reads "وعاء الله", which means "Allah's vessel", or "God's pot".

Personality

Outward & Innate Personality: Barry appears as a cheerful fellow, but somehow balancing his grating optimism with stern realism. He wears a smile on his face most of the time, one that appears almost naive, but also inquisitive. His eyes always appear to be trailing somebody, or analyzing something, and very few details escape him. In fact, were it not for his charming demeanor, he might even be marked as the group's creep who watches everybody simultaneously. He assures this as nothing more than simple curiosity of studying human behavior and overseeing group cohesiveness. As such, he is quite adept when it comes to deductive reasoning and breaking down a person's behaviorisms that might tie in to other areas of that person's life as well. In fact, he is quite possibly more aware and knowledgeable of his comrades than they are aware of (but he is also rather fond at looking through personnel files). Otherwise, he may just be an incredibly elaborate liar. But there's little doubt in any one of his seasoned associates' mind that the man is brilliant. It is even said by his comrades: mad, but brilliant. But mad, per se, was of course the perspectives of another individual who was ignorant of Barry's reasoning and his intents.

He is a mixed bag in terms of morality. He is sympathetic to the wounded and the soldiers that do the fighting, and while he would much rather prefer a calm and relaxing time working with his "clients" to get what he needs, he doesn't flinch at the prospect of turning an interrogation session on its heels to either scare or torture the information out of a target. Jobs such as that, and jobs such as infiltration, allow him to disconnect himself from others to a degree that is almost inhuman. He also is not above manipulating or lying to either foes or allies, provided that the outcome is decisive in his favor. However, he remains an egalitarian at heart and is uncharacteristically loyal to his primary employer. He doesn't quite let on at to his purpose in being there - whether its money or excitement or so on, but he definitely does enjoy the perks out of being in his line of work. He doesn't think about religion and gods a whole lot, but he has forsaken God when he was treated in kind when imprisoned in South America.

Hobbies/Interests: Cigarettes, chess, prose, cold coffee, cheeses, wines, olives, corned beef, psychology and sociology, vintage, music (classical, jazz, swing, blues), musicals, linguistics, foreign culture, etc. Baron is a man of many interests and enjoys simple indulgences, and prefers the rich taste of life's fruits. He pursues not the things that makes life work but the things that makes life worth living.

Skills/Talents: Despite the oddities that he may be accused of, he isn't as emotionally distant as some people who "know" him may think. He can break up a fight between soldiers and other personnel, or at least ease the tension between the two or few. Even though whoever has heard of him among the ranks is well aware of his occupation, not many actually grasp how much Barry is truly a psychological genius. If he so wished it, he could play games with a person's head at a whim. He has knowledge of the correlation between body movements/functions, and between that and undercover experience, a degree of body control that allows him to expertly craft lies, or even see right through the lies of others. Through his years of training, he can work enough of the right charm to work the truth out of a person.
Or alternatively, he can work his otherwise charming charisma into more devious matters such as intimidation or interrogation. True, while his physical form isn't too intimidating, he is cunning and intelligent enough to pick just the right words to get under your skin and play off your worst fears. That is his job in his business – he works with a mercenary group – but he isn't just some simple hired gun. There are plenty of those. When it comes to gathering information on somebody, he can hand you all you need to know just by spending some time with them alone. Having experience inserting himself into different places, he's somewhat of an amateur linguist. He learns enough of a bunch of different languages, but usually forgets how to speak them afterward when they're no longer relevant. He also enjoys chess and poetry in the form of prose. He has some cooking ability. Nobody lets him play card games anymore.

Prized Possession: He isn't very sentimental with a lot of things. Naturally, he's attached to the tools of his trade. He has a brand of handgun (that he is allowed to carry due to a gun permit) called a Caracal CP. He also possesses an early 1900s French-made Apache revolver, and is his favorite of the two. He has a modern black vehicle that's been outfitted so that the body resembles a 1940s Bentley. He also has a dog. He's a Great Dane named Pavlov.

Quote(s): “I'm always looking for a theory good and complex enough to stamp my name onto it. The Moreau Theory – that has a nice ring to it, am I right? I've no intention on wasting that!”

History/Bio: Baron was born into a middle class family in Canada and went to a wonderfully reviewed school. His last name came from his father's line - he was, in fact, only about 10% French. But that was the family line that gave him a French last name. Since his youth, psychology and the inner workings of the brain fascinated him, so he took the electives and courses as they were available to him. It was a bit challenging trying to choose between neuroscience and psychology, but the idea of understanding people appealed to him more. So he pursued the psychological path. He started at the age of 18, straight out of high-school and enjoyed his classes and found great interest in them. In fact, while he initially wanted to get his Psy.D. in psychology, he continued school for another year or two just so he could say he has a Ph.D. He got out of school in six years, getting an Associates degree in neuroscience and a Doctorates degree in psychology, and at 24, was in the workforce. At first, he worked in counseling, whether it be with children, adults, or even marriages. That sort of thing. It was nice of course - helping people - it was heartwarming, but also a little depressing. He also found it less of understanding people and more of letting his clients talk everything out, and while he asked questions about what he thought that meant, he let them come to their own conclusions. It was primarily about asking them simple questions and, occasionally, a lot of lying. So he left that job and tried his hand in criminal psychology, which he turned out to be very good at and later opened up other pathways in which he would try his hand in. He worked as a part-time detective, however, still in the psychological field where he helped figure out where the person may go given their circumstances and he was also interrogating during that time via verbal means. He attempted actual detective-work, which was mostly paperwork, and then private investigating when he learned he liked working by his own rules instead. He had many different jobs throughout the psychological and investigative fields, and some of his favorite jobs was in criminal psychology, undercover work, and investigative psychology where he was pitted against the suspect in an interrogation room.

Later, a business called the Dreadnaughts, a mercenary group, found him at the age of 27 and he found the thrill he was looking for. As it turns out, Baron was the only psychologist they found good enough or honest enough to work with them. Good enough where he even survived long enough to last three years, taking part in their hilarious antics (such as the time where he infiltrated a terrorist group holed up in Saudi Arabia, and was payed by the Arabian government itself). He went missing for nearly a year after a mission with them, where was kidnapped by some guerrilla group in South America.

He was interrogated and tortured, where he tried his hardest to hold himself out through the agony. He was a pretty valuable prisoner to them, as he was held in their custody for ten months. Baron told them next to nothing about the Dreadnaughts during that time, but he did feel his willpower giving out and his constitution would not allow him much more punishment. Fortunately, during a feeding hour, they forgot to secure his manacles. He worked himself out of the cage, and before slipping away, he silently killed almost half of their men with a sharp piece of scrap metal, all the while with a cartilage-worn and broken left leg. He was spared the wrath of the jungle and eventually found a civilization of a small town and secured a trip with the locals to the nearest hospital. At the hospital, he rested for a couple of days and got back in contact with the Dreadnaughts. He was back in the game with some physical rehabilitation, and that experience in South America taught him plenty. While he knew the tricks of keeping yourself from being manipulated, never was that knowledge tested as much as it was during that time. The other thing he learned? No mercy on the battlefield. It was starting then he stopped allowing other members to visit him while he's interrogating. Things may get messy if his "client" is stubborn enough. It's safe to say that his methods has gotten slightly more unorthodox since his escape a year ago.

Altogether, Baron has four years of service under his belt, although he considers himself to be a Dreadnaught for a total five years (counting even his time whilst imprisoned - a lot of time there were questions about them). To avoid another event like that, he has a number of code names which he alternates through depending on the sort of mission he's on and he's built up a reputation with each of them, fooling his enemies into thinking there are three different dangerous people without letting on he could be any of them. "Skinwalker" for infiltration missions, "Dracula" for interrogation and diplomacy missions, and "Zombie", which was a nickname he earned from the rest of the crew because of how he "came back from the dead" (plus his limp). This came to be another code name that he takes on in every other operation.

He is currently taking paid leave and is vacationing off back home in Canada. His primary destination was to be Ottawa, Quebec, but when he heard about Black Fall, and heard about how it was a hub for the usually rare super-humans, he foregone his plans and decided to visit there. Whether he decides to go there for the light shows or for the valuable data and research he could get off the residents there (Looking into the mind of a super-human? Not an easy opportunity to pass up!), he's sure he's going to be in for one hell of a vacation.

Family:
Sylvester Moreau, Father (deceased)
Bernadette Moreau, Mother (alive)

Relationships

Relationships:
N/A

Abilities

Power Class: N/A
Power: N/A

Weaknesses/Limitations/Drawbacks: N/A
Other: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzvC2JP8V2E

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

If anyone wants to do an interaction with Peter, just message me. We can work out what's gonna happen then.

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

Jake, & Gabriela Valos, Sylvia Bertoose, Abraham Gene, Vespera Spindel, & Adam Blackmore. - Leonerdo, Mr Allen J, and True Night collaboration

Sheesh, it's about time. No slower could Abraham say "fuck off", they had and went done just that. What were their names? Ben something or another that rhymed with "Hoss" - Bitch Hoss - and some fish bitch. He didn't get hers. Quite frankly, their names weren't even worth remembering. He rolled his eyes around and cracked open the top of the Sprite can with the tab and guzzled away at the effervescent drink. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't find time to enjoy even that. The subject of ridicule just prior to the passing of the two nobodies had decided that she wanted to step up her game and use him as her stepping stone. Oh, hell no.

He belched out loudly, aiming his head toward the air before facing Vespera as though he were half-asleep and, ultimately, uninterested. "Bitch," he started saying in a mock southern drawl, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, taking in all the flavor from the remaining soda in his mouth, "that's some mighty big talk for someone who just got their ass burnt by a half-pint."

"I take it you're new here, you and her both." Vespera scoffed. "If that's a burn, I want see some flames. Anyone can shit talk, few can back it up." She forced a yawn, then she shook her head as if she was startled awake. "Oh wait, looks like she skedaddled."

Her reassessment of the situation proved to be accurate. This guy was just looking to be taken down a notch. If things continued at this rate she'd be happy to oblige. One way or another she'd get what she wanted out of the situation.

"You care to take her place?" she hissed. "Or are going to run off too? I'd hope not because everyone else is dreadfully boring." That was her way of a subtle compliment. For now she refrained from any direct insults, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let him show her up. As far as she was concerned they could jump right into a more casual conversation. It ultimately depended on his pride. Of course she was assessing him regardless which path this took. The headstrong ones were the most satisfying to bring to their knees.

Stars and garters, this one's grating. Not in the sense of, "haha, wow, that's annoyingly clever", Abraham was getting irritated by the amount of bottom-feeders that thought they were tough shit and decided that out of all people, it had to be him they had to pester. Like, he knew a bunch of pisshead try-hards back in Boston. Right around when he won some credibility in those fights (which isn't quite an effective form of measuring time; he made a splash the night he jumped in!), some nobodies wanted a piece of him! One punch and they were out! Just like that! There was something of a deja'vu effect in that regard. Needless to say, she had the audacity to come in like she was worth something!

"Yeah, and something tells me you're used to backing up the shitter, right?" Abe snorted. He set the Sprite down on the floor an stood up straight to his full height, taking two locks of his dreadlocks and pulling back his full head of hair into a ponytail. "Listen cunt, I don't gotta try anything. I know the difference between a lost cause and someone with a semblence of a possibility of a chance that they might know what the fuck they're doing or what the fuck they're talking about."

He gave her a pause for dramatic effect, as well as squinty eyes and a sarcastic smile.

"I ain't gonna be teaching you jack-shit because I've seen cleverer piles of garbage in a back alley than whatever that piss-smeared, asshole-scented lump of rat poison mounted upon a limpy ten year old plastic sack of hotdog meat of a body that you call a mother fucking face."

Given the stretch of the tirade given, he presented a single finger, raised as to suggest that he wasn't finished. He bent over and grasped the Sprite, taking a couple sips of it. After setting it down, let out a refreshed sigh. He looked back at Vespera, appearing thoroughly satisfied and smug as he dusted off his clothes and straightened his shirt.

"...sayeth the raven." Abe finished slowly. "It'd be a waste of time to tango with a starved little girl when I've got bigger fish to fry."

There was one more brief moment of silence, broken by Abe as he sniffed, and brushed his nose with his finger as he nodded his head toward nowhere particular, satisfied. "Yeah... that went pretty well. Was waiting to use that one."

Vespera stared intently at Abe. She was paying less attention to what he was saying, and more to how he was saying it. Everything but the words themselves, because frankly if she started respond to everything he just said, she'd snap his neck before she was halfway through. Were this any other place it could have been over before he lowered his pop. That was actually the part that bugged her the most. That this guy had some nerve to let his guard down so easily before her. Try that anywhere else... see where it gets you. She silently prompted him. Here in front of all these people, the first one to strike lost. Still, there wasn't as big of a disconnect between his verbal and nonverbal messages as she expected. Which meant he actually meant what he said. To an extent. Even then he was more than likely delusional.

The comment about her face was laughably juvenile, and she didn't restrain herself from letting him know. She threw back her head and cackled, momentarily ignoring him all together. Not something she did often. She rarely took her eyes off a target, but this one was particularly amusing to her. Really anyone that filled their language with profanity out of lack of wit. Here he was doing exactly what she had been talking about. Swinging some rather hefty words around, but in reality flapping his gums with nothing to show for it.

When he finished up Vespera clapped slowly. "Bravo, bravo. That was quite the onslaught." If you were a kiddie. "I'll have you know I wasn't trying to be clever, and spiel of yours was anything but."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, clasped her hands together, and titled her head. The note he ended on wasn't half bad sounding. If she was seen as being young and nonthreatening, all the more power to her when something did go down. She had warned him. No reason to follow up with how "big and bad" she was. Such things were determined in the arena. She particularly liked how he seemed to be seeking confirmation on how "creative" his slander was.

"Deary me if you came up with any of that ahead of time." If that was true then his words had just lost the last ounce of credibility they held. Preparing something like that for somebody he hadn't met was beyond her. Insults should be tailored to their recipients so the had a noticeable effect. "I'm flattered you chose me to test it on all the same." Vespera added with a smirk.

Abraham leaned back and feigned a yawn - feigning which, that had brought a honest-to-goodness yawn - and was clearly unentertained by Vespera's remarks. Man, this girl (if she could even be called that) wasn't even trying. She was just lukewarm air coming around to not only waste his time, but to bore him while she's as it. He downed the rest of his soda can and crushed it with ease between his hands, before giving it a practiced backwards toss into a trash can in the corner as though it were a basketball court. He looked back to Vespera with an unimpressed glance.

"If ya ain't gonna try to be clever, you're wasting both our times and I gotta wonder what the point of all this was if not to bore me." He said.

"It's the first day of school, one doesn't need an invitation to make small talk. Or would you have me believe that you were more entertained twiddling your thumbs alone?" Vespera raised her hand and turned away in gesture discrediting any possibility of that. Then she turned towards him and inched a little closer. Her heels gave her a smidge of height over him.

"I'm Vespera, by the way." She allowed a hiatus to let it sink in. They'd be at it long enough that this numb-skull should know who he was dealing with.

"It's awfully vain of you to assume that others are here for your sake. I for one got a kick out of that if you didn't." She leaned forward and made a smooching sound with her lips. "Thanks for being a dear, but if you insist I could always leave you with the likes of them." With her arm she made a sweeping motion encompassing the front of the lounge. It so happened that Sylvia, the one eyed chick from the table the other day and some pretty boy had just walked in. Not that it changed anything.

A large portion of the populace fell under weak, uninteresting prey. Some of which wouldn't even have a chance to squirm should they find themselves on her bad side. Vespera liked a little struggle, which is why she was taking a chance with this new guy. There were indeed others (she knew of) that could give her a run for her money, though that wouldn't be half as thrilling. She needed a new plaything from time to time, and he might just make the cut.

"Oh please," Abraham drawled, "everyone else here is background, you ain't an exception to that. I'll probably forget about everyone in, say... the morning! New day, another page."

At her sweeping motion, he lazily glanced toward the entrance, looking away from Vespera. The slow, agonizing pace of the pathetic excuse of the "conversation" becoming brain-scratchingly boring and droll. Out he corner of his eye he saw a familiar sight. 'What? Naw, naw, can't be.' He craned his head around even more, now entirely distracted from his "conversational partner", as his attention was caught by a different party. Right around over there, by the entrance. 'Are those the Valos kids?'

"... And then there's Karlie. You guys will love her! She's just like me!" Sylvia said to her two friends as they, as a trio, walked into the student lounge.

Gabe had her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She had her eye closed, and shook her head. "... And yer' actin' like that's a good thing. One loud fucker is enough for the world." Gabe gave Sylvia a smirk from the side. Continuing her stride. She stopped near the entrance and took a look around... Fuck, can't see that well. She thought to herself. She nudged Jake with an elbow, and hissed, "Hey, Jakey, ya got four-eyes, take a look around if you can see anyone we know. I wanna have this beach party."

"Haha... Real funny." Jake rolled his eyes at the four-eyes comment. Jake took a look around for Gabe, since apparently she couldn't get Sylvia to look around for them. He nodded his head and observed. Yup, not a single person they care about in here. There was that emo chick - Jake was honestly surprised she isn't cutting herself right now! - and Abe... Hey, hey, hey, what the fuck? Jake had to take a double take. He stared at the tall fellow, and got a good look at him. Please god, don't let it be this big stony fucker. ANYONE but him. Things were starting to add up. Tall, African-American, muscular... Superficial charm as always. Oh boy. Just when Jake thought this school was starting to look alright, they have to take a swing at him and add this tool to the mix. "Gabe, we're going to want to leave here. Very fast."

Gabe gave Jake the dryest of all glares. "... Why? We just got here." She wanted to enjoy this lounge. She got an elbow from Jake, who directed her at him. All she had to do is take one look before she saw him. Gabe's expression had turned to a comical fit of anger, and she was almost about to froth at the mouth. "F-f-f-fuck that!" She was just about to turn out and leave.

"... Friend of yours?" Sylvia says with a shit-eating-grin. She had already pulled her guitar out, and strummed it slightly.

"Worse. He's the biggest jackass we ever met." Jake continued.

"Worse than even Johnny?" Sylvia asked, laughing quietly.

"Worse, he doesn't even have the heart Johnny has...." Gabe continued. "Last time I saw his bitch-ass, I was this close to splattering him against the wall."

"Oooooh, nice. Can't wait to meet him." Sylvia sarcastically says.

"... I think it's best that we turn away, and never show up here again...." Jake's eyes widened.

"Agreed." Gabe added.

"Awwwwwww.... Not even dick with him, a little?" Sylvia gave them puppy eyes. "You all seem to have such a rich history.... Wouldn't you want to get back at him for all the hell... I guess he gave you?"

"Rather not..." Jake started taking steps towards the exit.

Well talk about a blast from the past.

Jake was always something of a little runt in Abe's eyes who was, quite frankly, eternally astonished by how he has yet to be mistaken for a girl and get gang-banged by a bunch of sex-deprived street thugs. Or maybe he has! It's been a while, after all. By no means was Abe a fan of him or his little magic fingers, but damn, he sure was fun to fuck with. But last time... last time he left on a bad note. What was it, then? Oh, right. The shoes. Jaska. That little cretin...

He turned about and faced Vespera, giving her an insincere, cheeky smile. "Oh, I'd [looove to stay and chat, but I've got business. Be a doll for me, dear, and twerk off in the other direction."

Without so much as a warning, he spun around facing towards the lounge's exit and seemingly forgetting all about Vespera and the painful conversation he just had with her. His strut resembled something of a march as he made a beeline towards the newcomers. Two he recognized. One was a stranger. A hot stranger. Hell yeah.

"Oh, fuck that!" He called out from the other side of the room as Abe pressed on. He didn't look or sound necessarily happy. "Fuck that!"

He took a look at Gabe off to the side and a gleaming white smile stretched from cheek to cheek as he said with a wink, "'eyyy, fuck that."

It wasn't the smoothest line, of course. He gave up ages ago of the hope of actually getting in her pants, but he still had to hit on her when given the opportunity. He looked back at Jake as he closed in for the last stretch of distance between them. His face went back to stern and he crossed his arm, and his next swear was less drawn out and more of a statement than anything else. "Fuck that. What're you doing here, playground bitch?"

Abe closed the distance, still tossing insults and whatnot. Jake closed his eyes and sighed. Some things just never change. He shook his head. They have to deal with this jackass now. Well, maybe they'll a little bit of fun. "... You wish, Gene." Jake responded to all those loud and obscene 'Fuck that' comments. He smirked, narrowing his eyes at Abe.

Gabe shown a complete apathy towards Abe. This guy was not worth her time. That attempt at a flirt made Gabe close her eyes, and let her tongue flop out like she was disgusted. She reverted back to a more angered expression, furling her brows, narrowing her eyes, and staring him straight in the face. She has had up to here with Abe's shit over the years, and the little incident with Jaska really left her itchin' to finish was too big of a bitch to finish. Gabe laughed, and spoke to him in a mocking tone, "What are we doing here...? Oh, das' a good question, with an even better answer. What we're not doing is pissing our little pantyhose over a shitty shoe we dug outta the donation bin." Gabe wasn't making any attempts not to antagonize him. Because he came over here talking his shit.

While Gabe and Jake responded in their own, special ways, Sylvia looked on with a face of pure sadistic glee. This 'Abe' guy sure as hell was loud. Swearing like a ten year old out of sight of his parents. Sylvia, in her two years coming here, seen this kind of guy before. She thought it'd be fun to take him down a peg or two. She blinked, and she activated her sound wave vision. She focused on Abe's voice, and changed it around a little bit. She changed his voice from deep, and raspy, to very high-pitched. Sylvia had to refrain from laughing - that'd give it away! - because she wanted to see if he'd catch on. She kept that same grin on her face the whole time, unchanging.

"Get real, Valos." Abe scoffed. Something felt off - strange, even. Something wasn't right. No, no... it couldn't be. He had to be imagining things. His voice wasn't all weird, was it? "Your spine gave out ages ago!"

Both Gabe and Jake started laughing, because Abe just sounded so cute shit-talking at such a high-pitched voice. Not that they took him seriously to begin with.

Here came the moment Vespera was waiting for. The chance to find out something. It was irritating to have her target walk away without giving her some insight as to their place in the natural order. He even lacked the decency to give her his name. That alone was reason enough for her to slowly make her way over to where she could listen in. She picked a science magazine from a small table laid back in a nearby armchair that wasn't directly facing him. In case he turned around or anyone else cared to challenge her.

Vespera was taken aback by the pipsqueak voice. For once Sylvia was doing something she approved of. It could have been somebody else's doing, but it wasn't likely. She might have laughed to spite him, but she didn't want to draw any attention to herself.

No, something was definitely wrong here. His smug face had contorted into an unimpressed and rather annoyed expression. Okay, firstly, Jake didn't have the balls to stand up to him! Not like that at least. Any attempt at embarrassment would be repaid in full and multiplied by ten! Such was the way of the nuclear theory. But sound was something he didn't recall little magician boy doing. At least, not well. Hips-don't-lie off to the side was just a flashy lightshow. Unfortunately she didn't exactly flash a whole lot. He looked from Jake and over to Sylvia, overlooking Gabe as irrelevant to the current thought process in his brain at the moment. He finger landed on Sylvia.

"You..." He murmured snidely. "Bet you think you're being real fuckin' cute, princess."

"Oooooh, how'd you know? I never pegged you as the perceptive type." Sylvia put her hand over her mouth, gasped comically, and widened her eyes. All sarcastically. Maybe she should give Abe some credence. Usually big old apes like him didn't catch on until it was right in front of them! She wasn't too interested in this back and forth, because, hell, she does this with the likes of Vespera and Valjean all the damn time. Everyone needs a change of pace. Sylvia thought to herself. "Looks like the jig is up!" She threw her hands up, and let Abe's voice go back to normal.... But, that wasn't the end of it. She wouldn't leave here until this guy was furious, and she has an easy way to do that.

"Oh, you know," Abe started saying, returning the sarcasm, "you just seemed the type to make a lot of fun noises."

It was something of an art, Abe noted, conjoining banter and flirting.

"Yes, we find her quite adorable, Gene." Gabe added on, shrugging. This wasn't really her thing, honestly, it was just a dick measuring contest. Let's see who can insult the other better, everyone! Pointless. Bullshit. "Look here, I don't really care for all this jawin' going on." Gabe closed her eyes, crossing her arms, "I got betta' things to do than talk shit to you..." She shook her head. "Because, at the end of da day; words are words. They have as much meaning as you want them to." Of course, if Abraham wanted to throw down, then she's all for it. Gabe wanted to see the look on his face when he realizes that she can break stone...

Though, Gabe doesn't have a reason for sticking around here. There wasn't a thing keeping her here. "I'm out." Gabe took steps back towards the exit. "I'm going to go do something better, like go watch paint dry." Gabe was gone, but before she left, she gestured for Sylvia and Jake to come along.

"Sayonara," Abraham droned monotonically. She had a rockin' body, but the personality of the bastard son between cardboard and sandpaper. His eyes lingered on the door for a moment before the moved back between Jake and Sylvia. When his eyes were on Sylvia for a mere moment, he smirked, and looked back to Jake with his eyes trained on him and unblinking. Sylvia seemed like the sort of "don't really give a shit" kind of gal. Looked great. Had a personality. Aha, yeah! That seems like it would be fun! She wasn't afraid to fuck with him, which would probably get a little annoying... but hell! Let's make it exciting. Gabe wasn't here, so that was one less obstacle.

Well, Sylvia was getting bored, and hell, honestly, all this chatter was going to get old fast. This guy looks fun to screw with, buuuut, Jake might be more fun in this situation. With Gabe gone... now was Sylvia's opportunity to instigate a fight between the two. Just to get some entertainment out of this. Of course, since it's the first day, once the staff gets involved they're going to flip their shit. Well, that isn't going to be her ass getting spanked...

... Thooooooough, I'm not saying I wouldn't like that prospect.

Abraham set his hands on his waist and raised his head as he looked at the ceiling. "Well!" He announced. He sounded chipper, uncharacteristically so, given the situation he was currently in with Jake. "This is a little boring. Let's try something different!"

Without so much as a warning, his straight legs dropped down into a crouch-like stance, and his right arm, which was previously set on his waist, was launched forward in a tightly curled fist. No stone or rock, but pure flesh and bone, as his mind was dead on setting Jake straight the old-fashioned way.

"Yo!" Jake shouted loudly. He threw his arm up in an attempt to block, but it still hurt like all hell. It sent him stumbling back a few steps, leaving him trying to regain his balance. Though, he was quick to do so, he used a table as support, and looked up at Abe with his brows furled. He honestly didn't see this coming... Well, it wasn't too much of a surprise that Abe was being a jackass, but attacking him like this (In a crowded room too!)? He didn't know if Abe was just stupid, or trying to prove something... The latter seemed more apparent because he didn't use any stone. Thank. God. That would have snapped his arm clean in half. Still, a punch from a regular old fist nearly knocked him over. Abe was a powerhouse, where Jake was just a pretty-boy. He needed to come up with something to avoid getting his face smashed in.

Jake's eyes quickly scanned the table. There was a open can of coke left on it. He got an idea actually. He just needed Abe to get close... "What is it, Gene!? Can't get rock-hard for me!?"

"Scary black man!" Taking a few steps back, grabbing onto that guitar she had around her back. She wanted a fight, and hell, she just got one! She wanted to see if ol' Jakey could hold his own (Which she doubted). She could help him, but this was something that they needed to sort out. Though, if it looked too bad for Jake, she would step in. The best she could do was shoot him across the room. No way in hell she's going to even try to take that in a fist fight. Time to spectate! Sylvia smirked, then loudly screamed, "Guys, hold up!" She put up a finger, "Let me provide some fitting fighting music!" Sylvia started madly strumming on her guitar.

Where did Jake even find this chick? Exciting and plays music? Now they've got common ground. Jake managed to react fast enough, but Abe still felt a firm connection. It was first against forearm. He shook the stinging out of his fist and paced forward to close the distance. "Come on Valos!" He taunted in return. "You can't even fight back!

That's what you think. Thank God Abe was predictable. In a swift action, Jake grabbed the can of coke and splashed it directly into Abe's face. That would (hopefully) serve as a distraction! Jake didn't think too hard about this - giant man trying to beat the living daylights out of him tends to cause that - but he threw a punch aimed at Abe's throat hard as he could.

Abraham was caught by surprise. His face twisted up and winced at the sudden splash of sticky cold soda hit him. As he brought his hand to his face to wipe the shit off, he felt a punch clip his arm and hit his collar bone, there being a milder amount of pain than what Jake was probably hoping for. What the hell! Playing dirty? That was just like Boston! His turf! That little shit doesn't know what's coming to him if he's gonna start playing that way!

'Wow, that felt great.' Jake thought. Just hitting Abe and giving it to him for all that shit he's been dishing out over the years. He wants to do that again!

Abe took his hands from his face and took advantage of his offset balance and extended arm. Abe right hand came around Jake and tightly grabbed his hair and pulled it back to gain control (though he can't take too much credit; it was more improvised than planned [and not to imply that Jake's hair is "control"]), and was intending on landing a good solid knee straight to Jake's chest.

'Oh bullshit!' Jake just got this done before he got here! He only tried thrashing to get out of his grasp, he knew Abe was going to follow it up with a brutal blow. He grabbed onto Abe's hands to try to pry them free... That probably wasn't going to work at all. Fuck it. He had no choice here. He pulled back hard as he could- and this was going to hurt like hell in the morning -to the point where his hair ripped off his head. Jake screeched a high-pitched wail out of pain. Abe's hands were full of his beautiful hair... and some of that hair had pieces of his scalp at the end. Jake was going to regret this one, oh boy. Abe could win this fight by pulling out a mirror!

Abe was put off-balance from the inertia and staggered to the side as Jake ripped himself free from his grip. There was just a moment of confusion where Abe looked at his hand to see what was there, and found just a patch of the yuppy's hair! What the hell! He seriously didn't expect this grade-A puss to go so far as that! It must have been the fear. He did still find the satisfaction in Jake's wailing

Jake's head stung like hell, and there were some blood dripping off his head... but at least he didn't give Abe the satisfaction of landing a blow on him! Though he's probably laughing his ass off because his hairdo most likely looks god awful. Still, he had a fight to win (Or lose horribly) here. There was no way in hell he could take Abe directly. He had to come up with something. Jake's eyes quickly scanned the room. Of course, a weapon! This room was full of them. Jake grabbed the chair, and took many steps back. Holding the chair, and not letting Abe out of his sight. He was on the defensive here. He needed to assess the situation, and respond accordingly.

Abe continued forward, noting the chair and approaching with care. His eyes were trained on him, and he smirked. Man, he was waiting to kick his ass again for a while!

"The real world is a scary place! Ain't it, Valos?" He taunted loudly as he neared closer. When Jake took the chair and swung it around to strike Abe with it, he darted in closer and grabbed it by the backrest, using Jake's momentum to help him rip it free from his grasp. Abe swung the chair high over his head and smashed it against the ground on his other side, sending wood chips and pieces of it scattering over the floor. He turned back around and quickly stepped on Jake's foot before pushing him back. With his foot planted, Jake would go nowhere but down. Abraham followed up by dropping to his knees and falling on top of Jake and straddling his chest while his knees were pinning his shoulders. Both of his hands clasped around Jake's neck and were tensing up as his eyes bore into Jake's.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jake shouted as the whole chair plan fell to pieces (Quite literally!). He took the vicious swing with it he could, shouting, "Have a seat, bitch!" and it ended with him getting disarmed and thrown to the ground. Abe got on top of him, and started trying to strangle him. Jesus H. Christ. Was Abe trying to kill him? This guy was a real psychopath. He wasn't going to let it go down like this. Both his hands scrambled around, looking for anything to grab onto, and he clenched something. It was long, wooden... Wait, was it a chair leg? Nice. Maybe that chair might come in handy. Jake quickly swung the chairleg at Abe's head, multiple times. Right now, it was a fight to see who would go down first. Jake would either get choked out, or Abe would get knocked unconscious - But, who knows! It could actually be comedic if they both took each other out. Of course, it didn't seem like any of the outcomes would occur.

"What the hell is going on in here!?" A stern, mature, voice shouted, accompanied by footsteps. It was none other than Adam Blackmore, hearing all about the commotion going on. The second he stepped into the room, he immediately saw the struggle between Abe and Jake go on. This was simply unacceptable. He clapped his hands together, and quickly pulled them apart, and a powerful gust of wind separated Jake and Abe from each other. He walked over to them, and gave them the sternest of all looks.

"Oooooooooh, someone's going to get in trouble!" Sylvia says in a faux cheery tone. She stopped playing her guitar the second Adam came in shouting. This was pretty fun to watch. Abe was definitely a powerhouse, but at least Jake didn't get his ass kicked too badly. Sylvia was going to help him if he couldn't get Abe off, though. Sylvia looked at Abe and her eyes curiously peered towards Adam. "I bet you're going to put them over your knee and spank them right now!" She said to Adam, she would have gone for a taunt, but she honestly didn't want to hear him bitch.

Adam looked at Sylvia, and shook his head. Ultimately ignoring her and focusing on his two little brawlers here. "On the very first day, you two are acting like God damn animals!" He harshly said, he had his teeth clenched. This behavior couldn't be allowed. Especially on the first day. Fortunately, these two volunteered themselves to be the first to be made an example of. "Fights like these are forbidden. You two are going to be spending a very long time in the detention center..." He tipped his glasses, narrowing his eyes at them. "What are you two waiting for? Get up this instant!"

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

No, we're talking pornography.

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

I was referring to the girl.

There was something about Edward's voice in the dub that was just grating to me. Roy Mustang had to be one of my favorites, next to Ling and Greed. Hawkeye comes up real close.

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

Your latest character is a superb counter-balance to the roster of characters we have so far, and you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. I am thankful for that.

And I smile every time I see Ling Yao.

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

*cough*

Look at how many characters Allen has.

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

Jazzy said
Most of our posts now are collaborations between multiple people. If you make a character and want to join into a collab we can help you real time with your writing if you need it.What your job is right now is to make a charcater and work with us with any problems we find. We're looking for less combative powers right now. If the sheet meets our standards, you're good to go. I'd recommend reading either Allen, Shade, or my own sheets if you want examples of the detail we look for in sheets.

I am offended.

Academy 218 - Superhuman School (Always open)

That's generally your best bet. Hit CTRL+S every other sentence to help keep you from losing work. Keep the same file and write over it whenever you have to make a new post, because once you post it on the IC, you don't need it on your file anymore.