Lugubrious

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

Imogen Reed

9/08

At last, today was the day.

Although, it didn’t exactly feel like a big day. In fact, it felt very much like boarding school. Imogen sat alone in her dorm room, munching away on her breakfast and doing her best to drown out any worries about her first day at Harbor Academy with a days-old VOD from one of her favorite streamers. Eating couldn’t occur without something to watch, after all, but she found herself glancing away from her laptop screen rather often anyway, even if just to rove around the familiar shapes that surrounded her. It was a different room, a different desk situated so close to a different bed that she could roll straight from her different sheets into her different computer chair if she so desired, but it all felt pretty much the same. In a way that was reassuring, but it did invite the gnawing, nagging feeling that Imogen wasn’t treating this new experience with the respect it deserved.

Oh, well. Soon enough her trepidations were beaten to a pulp by the firestorm of flashing lights and casino sounds from the game the streamer had been playing. Even if Imogen wasn’t playing herself, seeing the 2D avatar in the corner of the screen jump and bounce around in elation for a lucky drop was like a squeegee to the girl’s reward center. She quickly checked her laptop’s clock -thirty-five minutes until her first class- then got back to enjoying her breakfast. Courtesy of her expensive minifridge, laden snack drawer, and excellent coffee machine, she had everything a busy student could ask for. Little plastic packets of fruit snacks (Not a substitute for real fruit, my ass) provided all the vitamin C she needed, while salty cured meat sticks and jerky offered a convenient and non-perishable source of protein. It perfectly complemented the main course: a bag of powdered sugar mini-donuts. The coffee she was guzzling down didn’t exactly taste good, like at all, but that wasn’t coffee’s job, and copious amounts of sweet creamer made it a moot point, anyway. All coffee needed to do was tear her free from the warm, enveloping embrace of her bedsheets to face a new day. And what a day it was, her first at Harbor Academy!

Imogen pulled a tissue from the box beside her laptop and carefully wiped powdered sugar from her lips. As she threw it away the streamer popped off–a loot chest just so happened to deliver five whole level-ups at once, including two weapon evolutions! Forgetting that she was watching a VOD and not a livestream, she hurried to add her pogchamps in with the rest of the recorded viewers’. She watched her emotes scroll up and disappear, smiled, and reached for her coffee.

Twenty minutes later, Imogen entered the hallway bathroom. Her tank top and sweatpants had been replaced by her school uniform, and her favorite green coat was ready to confront the brisk air of the English fall, with her backpack slung on top. She took a moment to smile at her reflection, happy with how her beanie and scarf looked. Then she removed her glasses and bent down to wash her face. She felt a little discomfort somewhere behind her face, some pressure in her sinuses perhaps, sore eyes, maybe a slight headache or just fatigue. A splash of warm water rubbed around her cheeks and eyes always helped whenever this happened, to chase away the buzzing and set herself at ease. Imogen sighed in relief, dried off her hands, and went away.

It was several hours before Imogen encountered her first real disappointment. When she arrived at the Icebreaker meeting, as instructed, she quickly realized that not everyone had shown up. If I’d known I didn’t have to come, Imogen thought, a little ruefully. I wouldn’t have. The Icebreaker didn’t make her nervous or anything; she just didn’t see the point in it. How out of touch did these administrators have to be, to think friendship could be forced? Luckily, a dragged-out episode of forced socialization wasn’t in the cards. To her credit the group’s senior advisor made an effort, but it came across as…well, cringe. Everything went downhill fast, suffocated by the sheer apathy of those roped into coming here. Before she could slip away, though, another girl introduced herself. Imogen gave her a polite, thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How d’ya do, miss Kalde,” she replied, rather formally using the girl’s last name. “Nice to meet ya.” A handsome guy introduced himself too, but Imogen didn’t want to just repeat herself and look foolish, so she said nothing. After neglecting to mention her own name at all, Imogen left.

9/10

“Hi there!”

Imogen looked up from her coursework, taken ever-so-slightly aback. Although her second psychology class had just let out, she’d remained in her chair for a couple minutes before hightailing it to her next one, just so that she could get some slight headway on the introductory assignment while the professor’s words were fresh in her mind. When she raised her head, she found another girl standing in front of her, a young lady with glasses like hers, but glossy black hair pulled into a side ponytail. Her voice carried a pronounced Indian accent, and her eyes shone with friendliness. “I’m Spoorthy,” she greeted Imogen. “I just so happened to see you the first day. It looked like you wanted to say something when Mr. Pierce asked if we had any questions, but it was dead silent!” She gave a sympathetic smile. “I’m the same way. I hate being the first one to speak up. It’s so awkward when the teacher calls out the class for not saying anything, too!”

Extending a tenuous smile in reply, Imogen closed her textbook and leaned back to make sure Spoorthy knew she had her full attention; anything less would be bad manners. “Oh, I just realized I could probably look it up myself, is all,” she said. Trying to think of a way to make relevant conversation, she reached back for an anecdote. “Usually I’ll ask when I need help. When people say oh, how d’ya get such good grades, I just tell ‘em it’s because I get help when I need it. That, and doin’ my homework on time. Turns out the big secret is not crammin’ everything into the last hour before it’s due, haha!”

“Haha,” Spoorthy offered a halfhearted giggle, feeling like she was supposed to. Her attempt to find common ground and maybe make a friend fell flat, and instead she got something that sounded more like condescension or bragging. “Sounds like you’re on top of things. Me, it always seems like I end up cramming…” She glanced at Imogen’s schoolwork, then up at the wall-mounted clock. “Well, I’ve got to get going, so I’ll get out of your hair. See you around?”

“Have a lovely day,” Imogen replied, giving a little wave. What a nice person. I managed to make her laugh, too! Maybe there’s hope for me yet. She started packing up her own things, ready to move on to the next class. On the way she stopped in the hallway bathroom to wash her face.

9/15

The week rolled by uneventfully. Any ceremony that accompanied the start of a new school year quickly gave way to routine, and Imogen settled in happily. She attended every class, did every assignment, and partook in lunches and dinners at the school cafeteria, all alone in the midst of a burgeoning throng of humanity. In psychology she kept an eye out for Spoorthy, waiting to see if she wanted to talk to her again, but any further polite exchanges of pleasantries lasted even less time than their first encounter. Imogen didn’t try to push it further; she could take a hint, after all. Things really weren’t all that different here compared to boarding school. The schoolwork was harder, but that just meant she needed to work harder herself. She was here to learn and improve herself, and after spending her school days doing just that, she could enjoy her evenings relaxing with games or videos. Her favorite content creators were always there for her, after all. How’d she ever managed to get so anxious in the first place? Everything was perfectly fine.

The night before, Imogen was up late thanks to a latte she’d gotten a little too late in the day, grinding out some levels in a sci-fi MMO with her ears full of frenetic breakcore. She hadn’t noticed anything slipped under her door until she stepped on it on her way out to use the bathroom before bed, squashing the origami flat with a crinkling sound. After unfolding it -and tearing it a little in the process- it took a couple tries for her bleary eyes and frazzled brain to fully comprehend the note’s contents. “Huh…” Was this another Icebreaker-type social event? Or just a prank? And why would anyone need a towel? Well, if it was the school’s doing, she couldn’t just ignore it. With a yawn Imogen tossed the note on her laptop’s keyboard so she’d remember it come morning.

Somehow, the next day’s classes seemed to go by quicker than usual. When it came to drudgery Imogen was a well-oiled machine, and with her strategy of spreading homework out evenly to not overload herself she predicted that it would be a while before the sleepless nights of pulling hair and gnashing teeth began once more. With her days all to herself, her focus was absolutely, and when it wasn’t either a quick break to wash her face -or a longer one for an extra shower- set her to rights. When seven o’ clock rolled around, Imogen headed to the dockhouse right on time, her backpack full of extra towels. If this was a school-mandated event, after all, she needed to excel. That said, she did enjoy the pleasantly cool walk on the way over, and the fresh air felt like it cleared her head. Maybe I should get out in the evenings more often, she said to herself, tucking away the map she’d been given into her coat pocket. Before her she could see the dockhouse, sitting glumly at the water’s edge, and after tucking away the hair pulled loose by the playful coastal wind she meandered on over.

World of Light

@Lugubrious here's my next character per your review boss.

Comic Sans

Game Origin: Undertale

---

"it's a beautiful day outside..."

- Sans

---

Personality: Sans is lazy, prone to sleeping on the job and taking frequent breaks. This laziness is a combination of fatalism and apathy, due to the knowledge that the world could simply reset. Conversely, he often suggested that the knowledge could be "a poor excuse for being lazy." Although Sans couldn't be motivated to get a single thing done, he finds ways to get the work done by someone else like the fallen child.

He enjoys being mischievous, primarily towards those he's on good terms with like his brother Papyrus. San's antics range from an assortment of illogical, juvenile and slightly inconvenient pranks. His list of tomfoolery vary from using whoopee cushions to eye paint on telescopes, but Sans isn't above utilizing his magic for practical jokes either. But the self-proclaimed 'comic' is quite fond of making the occasional low-brow pun, but he seems to enjoy making others laugh.

Sans is almost apathetic about his own life at times, however he has shown to be considerate to those he cares for like his brother and the other monsters who frequented Grilby's all of which seem to admire the skeleton in a way or at least regard him in a positive light. Despite being friendly with the other monsters of the underground Sans hates making promises, due to the fact that even if he kept a promise it wouldn't matter at the end of the day.

Although the skeleton will play the part of an easygoing slacker, Sans is fairly observant and can easily read a persons expression. Most times he is an agreeable fellow, yet he can become eerily serious to emphasise a subject when least expected.

Background: Nobody in Snowdin can really recall when exactly the two skeletons took up residence in their cozy little town, some say they simply showed up one day and asserted themselves in the area but the story goes the skeletal siblings made themselves quite a kerfuffle at least the taller of the pair did.

Meanwhile his brother tried his best to make friends with the people of Snowdin, Sans simply spent most his days frequenting Grilby's much to his eccentric brothers chagrin. As far as he was concerned, Sans didn't take his sentry duties seriously though Papyrus was unaware that his brother had begrudgingly made a promise to someone.

Despite wanting the best for his brother he had no interest in capturing any human, were it up to him he'd have simply killed any unlucky enough to pass by but he made a promise not to. So he watched and judged the fallen child, passively of course.

Specialty: Glass Cannon
Level: 1
Experience: 0/10 EXP

Powers:

• Teleportation Magic: Due to the somewhat spacial or gravitational nature of Sans' magic, he is able to use teleportation magic on himself, his opponents and his attacks to a certain degree. He normally uses this as a "shortcut" to certain locations he visits but in battle he uses this power to dodge enemy attacks, making him incredibly hard to hit as well as making it difficult for an enemy to avoid his attacks. He can't teleport anywhere unless he is familiar with the destination or has a line of sight with wherever he plans to teleport to.
  ^{(Starting Power) Power Level: 1}

Strengths:

• Karmic Retribution [KR]: Sans' attacks have an affect on enemies who have done things that are considered evil, such as mercilessly killing innocent people or causing malicious harm to others, etc. When damaged an enemy will be affected by [KR] like they would if they were being effected by poisoning, each time their hit it accumulates if not healed right away.
• Enhanced Speed: When bothered to, Sans is capable of moving at speeds fast enough to outpace the fastest vehicles. Moving at such speeds isn't as harmful to him as it would a regular person, although he doesn't use his enhanced speed to run instead to dodge incoming attacks along with his teleportation magic. Because of this at times his movements are almost impercieveable, making it hard to anticipate his actions.
• Awareness: While seemingly ignorant, Sans is in fact incredibly aware of his surroundings and can usually anticipate the actions of those around him. He can usually interpret and predict an enemies attack and react to it, and avoid the attack if there is room to dodge or teleport out of the way even at a dead angle. Sans also can read a persons expressions pretty well too.

Weaknesses:

[+]

• Lazybones: Despite his extraordinary capabilities, Sans can't be bothered to use them in most situations unless absolutely necessary. He doesn't like putting in the effort and has even fallen asleep during battle. Although he does use his abilities to do less extraordinary things like travel without needing to move his legs or commit his usual childish pranks. In a fight if Sans uses his abilities repeatedly he will grow tired and may even fall asleep, though he has been known to dodge attacks in his slumber.
• Weak Stats: While incredibly difficult to beat due to his enhanced speed, difficult to anticipate attacks and skill with teleportation magic, Sans has the lowest strength and defense of any monster in the Underground. Each of his attacks do the least amount of damage, though [KR] and the speed of his attacks remedy this. And one good hit can put him in relative danger, as he isn't as robust as others which is why he uses his abilities to avoid being hit.

Spirits:

• N/A

Inventory: A blue parka, white shirt, black gym shorts, and a pair of slippers.

@Dark Cloud

I have a couple notes on this. The first is that you need to have your first character at level three before you bring in a second. The second is that I'd like you to demonstrate posting consistently and accurately for a while with one character before taking on two. The third, ignoring the first two, is that Sans is a difficult character to play in this manner. Between teleportation and superspeed it's almost impossible to actually fight him, all but negating his 'low stats' through absurd evasion and insane DPS. He even got strengths included in his weaknesses, like being able to dodge while asleep. The only limiting factor to this is him being lazy, but this is a voluntary act on the part of you the player, so your character is very overpowered unless you decide for him not to be. And if he doesn't do any particular thing, it isn't because he couldn't, but because he chose not to. Would you really just let him let his allies get hurt, or an enemy accomplish an important objective? That's be negligence, callousness, or worse. Would he, a notorious layabout, really depart on a cross-continental journey in the first place? He's a character of extremes dictated by whim and not, in my eyes, suitable as a PC.

Hello! I'm back! Is my character still in the rp?

@Isaac

No. You ghosted us without warning or anything, so I wrote him off. If you want to rejoin, you'll need to start fresh.

World of Light

Detroit

Sector 8 Lower
Level 11 Tora (115/110) Level 12 Poppi (5/120)
Susie and Blazermate’s @Archmage MC, Raiden’s @XoXKieroBombXoX, Geralt’s @Multi_Media_Man, Benedict’s @Dark Cloud
Word Count: 1240

With the all-clear given, all hell quickly broke loose. After concluding her gravity-empowered fusillade from on high, Poppi momentarily retreated from the Misconducts’ return fire with her masterpon. The two cycled clockwise around the partially-constructed structure away from where they’d last been seen, looking for another angle, and as they repositioned both driver and blade snuck a shot at the action down below.

Rather than face the firing squad that would be the Misconducts’ reply after her attempt to take down their boss, Giovanna hightailed it while her foes dealt with the concussive force of Poppi’s dark garage, forcing a handful of the goons to give chase around the side of the building. At the same time, Geralt made his entrance on the opposite side, laying waste to three crooks who happened to be on that side. Though literally outgunned, the Witcher fought with brutally pragmatic use of his strength and magic. In just a few moments he’d downed all three, leaving them writhing on the ground to nurse their bruises and fractions as he joined in the projectile mayhem with his crossbow. A couple seconds later, however, the furious report of Blazermate’s sentry from behind him completely outclassed his output, plugging any Misconducts unfortunate enough to be in cover facing the opposite way with lead, starting with the hockey player Geralt tossed over his shoulder. Neither Tora nor Poppi could hear the man’s shouts over the turret’s gunfire.

Susie joined the fight in a rather bloodthirsty manner, landing on and grinding one of the hapless hoodlums to pulpy powder with that giant war machine. Doing so got the attention of almost every Misconduct scattered around the bottom level at once, and bullets riddled her Business Suit from all directions, but her infused missiles wreaked even further havoc on their foxholes by yanking them and their equipment around. The distraction offered by that mechanized menace proved to be the undoing of those closest to the G-men, since the minute they looked away, Loup-garou was among them like a wolf among sheep. As one man aimed a shotgun at the back of Susie’s head, seeking to cut the head off the snake while he still could, Loup-garou struck him from behind with Souffle D’eclair, frying him in a brilliant blue surge of severe electric breath. Nearby Misconducts turned on the wolfman, but he swept through the area with Axel Claw, striking random foes. Unfortunately for Susie, his cohort had already assumed everyone in the area who wasn’t a G-man to be an enemy, so her Business Suit took three medium-damage slashes as well. Further off, Manananggal finished draining a female gangster of blood with her proboscis-like tongue, healing some of the gunshots she’d already taken.

Those two, Poppi realized, were going to be a problem. While the rank-and-file Misconducts could kill someone in mere moments with their firearms, they weren’t particularly strong in and of themselves. They’d bitten off more than they could chew, and the Seekers would be paying the price. If only Raiden and Benedict had come along to help. With a full strike team, they might have been able to end this before the G-men got involved.

As Tora and Poppi neared the edge of the upper bend of the C-shaped structure’s second floor, ready to help pick off their foes, they spotted TNT Randy on the offensive. He hurled a handful of lit TNT sticks toward the area occupied by Geralt and Blazermate’s turret. The ensuing chain-explosion destroyed the sentry, and with a roar Randy wrenched his axelike hockey stick free from the cleft skull of Blazermate’s last zombie. “You’ve all made a BIG mistake coming here!” he bellowed, taking aim with his rocket launcher. “You’re history!”

Tora pointed down at what was about to be a big problem with his wing. “Poppi!”

“Roger!” Poppi scooped up and kicked her Masterpon like a soccer ball, probably not what he meant but effective nonetheless. He hurtled down and bodily smacked Randy right in his mask, staggering him enough that his first RPG went wide and exploded against one of the third-floor supports on the right.

“Argh!” Randy growled as Tora landed. When the Nopon started swinging his Variable Saber the huge man brought up his shield, blocking strike after strike. Tora quickly realized his blade wasn’t getting through, but thanks to his low profile spotted an alternative. He reversed his weapon’s grip and stabbed its laser blade right into Randy’s foot.

The Misconduct miniboss howled. He slammed into Tora with his shield, bowling him away, only for Poppi to strike the next instant. She swooped in like a peregrine falcon and struck with her full weight and thrust behind a dive kick straight to the hockey mask. The rocket launcher clattered down beside its owner as Randy slammed head-first into the ground. Poppi’s momentum carried them both a few more meters, and when they slid to a stop she leveled her revolvers at the big man’s face. “Hey, hey. Roughhousing with Masterpon is Poppi’s job.” A hissing noise beside her got her attention, however, and she turned to see another bundle of TNT tossed up into the air. She jetted sideways before it could explode, releasing Randy but making sure he took a bit of self-damage in the process.

At about that time, the ground began to rumble slightly. Something was coming, and as a grinding noise grew louder, those not immersed in the action got the urge to look toward the street. After another moment, a giant bipedal machine rumbled down the road, tearing across the asphalt like a hockey player sliding on ice. It stopped, turned to face the construction site, and began to walk, carelessly tossing aside or crushing any cars or other obstacles in its way. Predominantly sleek black but with nodes of heavy, bulbous green plate reinforcing several areas, it resembled a walking tank. Pile drivers like talons on its feet pierced the ground with every step for added stability, while its long, double-jointed arms featured pronounced claws, blood-red like the mech’s other highlights. In those claws the machine held a weapon even taller than itself, a giant pickaxe-like implement with a chainsaw axe on one side, a pointed hammer on the other, and rocket boosters in both directions. At the very center of the machine rested its cockpit, enclosed in armor and adorned with both glowing red eyes and enormous horns, like a steer’s. The end result was an engine of destruction blended with a bovine titan, every bit as imposing as it was enormous.

“Attention, all you maggots crawlin’ around down there!” a boisterous, soldierly voice broadcasted from the machine’s speakers, loud enough to make its slight unhinged bent noticeable. The cockpit opened just enough to let the cyborg pilot see the scene with his own eyes. “This is Khamsin, of the Winds of Destruction! You know what that name means? Freedom! Today, I’m freein’ this place from scum of the earth like you!” The chainsaw blade of his colossal weapon spooled up, roaring like an industrial wood chipper. “So buckle the FUCK up, ‘cause here. I. COOOME!” With Manananggal pointing him in the right direction, the fearsome newcomer charged straight for the construction site, eager to tear asunder anything that stood in the way of freedom.

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

Bows in the wind - Hanging by a thread

---

Name:

Imogen Reed

Arcana:

The Hanged Man

Birthday:

July 29th

Appearance:

Quietly composed, with a tasteful and cultivated smidgen of elegance. Her expression, while seldom happy or cheerful, suggests mere seriousness rather than haughtiness or ill temper. In fact, her big bright eyes make her solemn manner cute in the eyes of some. The combination of dressing for comfort in what are clearly still expensive clothes says enough about her in and of itself. Even in her student uniform, the presence of her signature beanie and scarf (as well as her headphones) give her that same dignified yet casual air. At 5’4” and on the slender side, she doesn’t stand out much otherwise

Reputation:

For the most part, people don’t think about Imogen. She is merely an element in the background, like a lampshade or doormat, nice enough but quite forgettable. People don't know much about her background, or care to know, and she doesn't care to inform them. That said, everyone does know she's Irish, and the bad blood between the Irish and English goes back a long way, subtly tinging her interactions. While not shy, she’s soft-spoken and taciturn enough to seldom get much attention, and though she’s happy enough to exchange pleasantries she has no problem with silence, either. The headphones she often wears give the impression that she doesn't want to be disturbed, although this isn't strictly true; instead of desiring silence she is dealing with the silence that is assumed. She never gets into trouble, always minds her own business, and dutifully does her part in group projects but rarely attends social events. The end result is someone that to most other students is little more than a warm body, an unassuming inoffensive occupant of space, and whether she’s there or not makes not a whit of difference.

Class Track:

Social sciences

Background:

Obedient, independent, self-sufficient, mature for her age–if these were not traits Imogen were born with, they were ones that her upbringing made more than second nature to her. The two happiest days in her father Cedric’s life were the day that he married Millicent Lancaster following an extended trip up from England to Ireland, and the day that their only daughter was born. Her dad knew that the woman he’d somehow married was too good for him, and so did she, but they were in love. He showed her how to love again; she shone a ray of radiant light into the murky hae of his life. It was like a storybook tale come true. Whether she came from a rich family or not, he -a poor, blue-collar Irish laborer- would do his damnedest to provide for his precious family.

Millie allowed him to. While he worked long hours to make ends meet, she idled her time away wherever she pleased, leaving young Imogen at home. She came from the fast life, after all; the simple pleasures after a hard day’s work that Cedric cherished, and that Imogen yearned for, would never satisfy her. Her needs for diversion, attention, and appreciation had to be met, and slowly, her husband ceased to satisfy. That wonderful spark of passion that galvanized them into a quick marriage was gone. With the passing interest known as a family now little more than a nuisance, it was no wonder that Millie ended up cheating on Cedric. What good was he for her, after all? Though stunned and hurt, Cedric forgave her, only to later learn that the affairs continued. When the infidelity finally reached the breaking point, he attempted to confront her, threatening to take his beloved daughter and leave. Instead Millie divorced him, crushed him in the legal proceedings, and took with her back to England the one thing he had to his name.

In England Imogen’s lonely life continued, all the lonelier for the absence of the only one who really cared about her. Millie provided for her, sending her to fine schools to try her hardest and succeed, but any show of tenderness inevitably rang hollow. Naturally awkward Imogen made few friends, spending most of her time either on schoolwork or online. She didn’t know how to talk with people her age or get them to like her, and felt like an outcast. For a while she did everything she could to try and make people give her the pity, sympathy, and kindness she believed she deserved. At the same time, she felt the urge to lash out, to bitterly dismiss and rebuke those who did as insincere, inadequate, or misguided. They should pity her, but she didn’t need their pity. Somehow, self-loathing and self-absorption walked hand in hand. As a result, those around her saw her as a selfish, manipulative drama queen, a weirdo, and a freak.

In the years of misery that followed, Imogen eventually had to change her tune. Starting after middle school, she calmed down. She buried her anger and the despair that caused it beneath a polite, considerate dignity. Imogen succeeded in completely changing her image, from her behavior to her appearance, seemingly becoming an upstanding young lady with an excellent academic record, a totally different and much more tolerable person. Though never popular or anything, she behaved long enough that all memories of that crazy, maladjusted problem child disappeared. All except Imogen’s, of course, To most, she just grew up, but in reality she worries that she never did, and had merely given up instead. She more or less accepted that it’s her lot in life to be a ‘ghost’ that matters to nothing and nobody, meaning that instead of others’ love and appreciation, she gets her new sense of self-worth from spite–the wholehearted commitment to spitting in life’s face by living a good one despite all its cruelty. She's still bitter about her loneliness and apathy, but she hides it and is too exhausted all the time from her studies to act out. It sometimes feels like something’s crawling inside her, a mania just waiting to break free.

Miscellaneous:

• Although outwardly calm, cool, mature, and collected, Imogen is something of a dork. ‘Terminally online’ might be a bit far, but she spends a lot more time watching streamers than hanging out with friends. The fact that she needs those glasses to see doesn’t help, either
• She doesn't like the quiet, or being alone with her thoughts, so when she isn't playing a game with a stream on in the background she's typically listening to loud music
• Her hobbies are surprisingly intense. It would probably be a surprise to anyone to learn that she owns and often uses a punching bag, or that she considers a day at a shooting range an absolute treat. She also likes horror, war movies, and so forth, perhaps desensitized by all that she's seen on the internet over the years
• There are bags under her eyes from staying up late staring at screens and textbooks for either stimulation or study
• She’s an avid coffee drinker and would probably suffer withdrawal symptoms if she stopped suddenly, but that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon
• Wherever there are students bragging to one another about how little they slept last night, Imogen can typically be found
• Owing to a childhood spent on fast food, frozen food, TV dinners, and a lack of motivation to cook for herself, Imogen's taste in food (and diet) are objectively terrible. She's immune to freezer-burn, ignores nutrition labels, doesn't care if things are burned a lot a little, and might very well eat something that fell on the ground if it looks fine. She'd probably be huge if not for her remarkably high metabolism
• To summarize, Imogen is an outwardly quiet, sweet, polite, very tired, slightly twitchy nerd, who may or may not be suppressing psychotic tendencies

---

Persona:

Odradek - something adrift and unanchored, obscure and aimless that is neither quite dead nor alive, neither object nor human, and bereft of either origin or purpose. It appears to be a simple piece of junk, being a quantity of scrap twine or rope wound around two metal spikes in the manner of a kite or perhaps the sail of a ship, with an eye nestled inside the knot at the very center. It tends to float above and just behind the user, its loose threads flapping gently in some ethereal wind. If held its flight is strong enough to glide with, but not to ascend. When it manifests, it does so like it’s rapidly knitting itself together

Moveset:

Odradek specializes in screwing with, breaking down, and picking apart enemies. With its baleful, disquieting gaze that brings all into question it can weaken foes’ presence of mind (attack and accuracy debuffs), or it can take initiative to restrain them with its thread, making them sitting ducks (speed and defense debuffs). While it possesses only mediocre physical attacks of its own with its metal crossbars, its strange threads allows it to turn enemy attacks against them (counters) or with a little luck and preparation, puppet them directly (brainwash). Its element is Nuclear, the wellspring of enigmatic, almost eldritch radiation that is anathema to living things

Weapon:

Imogen's weapon is an unusually volatile and violent one: a grenade on a string, or more specifically, a garrote. Whether a piano or guitar string, the garrote is tough and sharp, ideal for stealth takedowns. When time to go loud, however, it can be used to pull the pin on Imogen's grenade from a distance, setting off its very, very short fuse. The grenades inherit Odradek's element, acting like teensy-tiny nuclear explosion

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

Well dang, that's some great news! I'm very grateful. And funnily enough, seven of the eight people who were accepted were ones that I voted for in the popularity poll. Go figure! I'll get my sheet ported right over.

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

This is certainly an unexpected and interesting development. Next we'll be seeing 'Dark Stone' with an inverted PFP and 'avoid Helck' as the title.

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

Not a concern for one such as I, seeing as I never color-code speech.

World of Light

Vs Mom

Level 10 Nadia (92/100)
Therion’s @Yankee, Sectonia’s @Archmage MC, Jesse’s @Zoey Boey, Omori’s @Majoras End, Ganondorf’s @Double
Word Count: 1624

With a bloodcurdling, guttural roar the tiger went to work, slicing into the robes and eldritch flesh of the Priest and Witch that stood in Nadia’s path. After a direct swat from the great cat’s massive mitt nearly severed her right arm at the bicep, leaving it a barely-attached mess of loose, dangling teeth and tendons, the hissing Witch slunk away from the chaos. Since her counterpart seemed to be grappling for the tiger, unveiling twisted limbs of weaponized bone and muscle from beneath its cloak, Nadia went for the caster.

She pounced on and tackled the stress-slinging sorceress to the ground beneath her, then rolled to put herself on the bottom and her quarry on top. “Upsy-daisy!” she grunted, extending one of her legs upward as far as they would go in a deluge of pressurized blood. Her relatively lightweight foe blasted off, and a split second later slammed into the ceiling. Before the stunned Witch could plummet downward, Nadia snapped upward like a giant elastic band, using her leg to drag the rest of her body toward it instead of it toward her. Her other foot punched straight through the monster’s torso in a brutal upside-down stomp before both began to fall back toward the ground. On the way down the feral pivoted around to put herself back on top once more, her free heel planted on the Witch’s skull-faced mask. When the two landed the next moment, Nadia popped the cultist like a zit beneath her. Another enemy down, and in every bit as gruesome a fashion as these crimes against nature deserved.

Unfortunately, things had gone south while she’d been pulling her stunt. Nadia looked up just in time to see Therion take a vicious wound from the Priest that she’d tried to keep busy with her tiger. “Damn it!” she yowled, scooping one of her fallen anchors off the ground as she sprinted toward the aberration. “Eat this!” While Therion made his escape, Nadia kept the Priest off his back by jumping up and burying the blade into its own. Its insides squealed, and the faceless horror promptly twisted around a boneless tentacled arm to grab her by the leg. “Not again, damn it!” With a cruel tug it wrenched her free, then dangled her upside-down in front of itself for the finishing blow. Its other arm swelled outward from its sleeve into the shape of a giant, malformed crab claw, the inside of the pincer lined with so many jagged teeth that one crush could turn a cow into ground beef.

It lunged in to snap shut on her midsection to messily cleave her in twain, but for the second time this fight Nadia separated herself instead. Her ears stabbed into the ground, propping her upper half up to start spinning by the neck. “Lawn Meower!” she called with a grin, carving into the tentacles holding the priest up again and again. More stray projectiles from Sectonia hit it at about the same time, adding insult to injury. Unamused, the coagulate nightmare dropped all pretenses. Its body erupted in a tide of varicose crimson, turning its robe into little more than a cape on a horrific amalgam of skulls and rippling sinew. It speared Nadia’s back with its spiked tongue to drag her into its slavering maw, filling her with immense, instinctive terror. She screamed at the top of her lungs and promptly severed the tongue, prompting the gibbering freak to fling both her halves away.

After rolling to a stop Nadia stuck herself back together, yanked out the tongue, and cringed like it was going out of style. “Eeeeeeeehe-he-he-he-heeeewww,” she mewled , clutching her own shoulders as the pure panic from the thought of being eaten subsided. Then Mom’s leg showed up, forcing her to focus on the task of hand as she evaded. “Hey, can’t ya see I’m cringing here!?” she yelled at the offending limb, only for the Knight to show up and steal the show.

The little guy was, had been, and would continue to move with practiced precision. Whether as a result of Sectonia’s prompting or its own intuition, it had been hunting Mom down wherever her leg appeared. It dodged with practiced precision, then went on the offensive. Nadia got to her feet, watching as the Knight made mincemeat of Mom’s cankles with the aid of random light rings from a certain illustrious insect. A Brawler charged at it from behind, but it leaped up and over, falling upon the cultist with a well-aimed slice that bounced it up high enough to take a final swing at the leg before its quarry fully withdrew. Then it dashed away, leaving the trash mobs to the Seekers as its pitch-black eyes scanned the room for the leg’s next emergence. Nadia whistled. “This one’s a Knight to remember.”

At that people Jesse’s shout rang out over the general chaos. “I’m okay!” Nadia replied, despite her residual heebie-jeebies. Thanks to her new striker, most of the damage she’d currently racked up was mental. Hopefully her exposure to these freaks didn’t mean she’d be getting some eldritch meat infection. The possibility was almost too horrible to consider. Instead she sought to answer Jesse’s question for herself with a quick look around. Having been hanging back to blow chunks from the cultists’ corpuscles from a distance, the FBC director herself seemed fine. It looked like Sectonia was too mobile for these things, with her gang of Antlions and unrelenting magical output making it tough for them to challenge her, even if they did get a couple hits in. Nadia spotted Therion as he finished off a Witch that gave him grief earlier, healing himself up in the process; she felt like she could count on him not to get into the same pinch twice. She couldn’t tell if the Knight had even been touched yet, but her money was on ‘no’.

That just left Omori and Ganondorf, and with a start Nadia realized things might not be hunky-dory in that department. The unlucky lad had almost been pancaked by a stomp from Mom, and then found out the hard way a couple moments later that these enemies were cut from a different cloth than usual. After that he pivoted to follow the Knight’s example, fleeing from the cultists to target Mom exclusively, albeit in a more conservative fashion given his fresh wounds. Hopefully he’d stick near Sectonia for healing. Meanwhile, Ganondorf -either too slow or too prideful to dodge- had eaten not one but two stomps from Mom, leaving him with several broken bones. Worse still, he seemed to be Mom’s favorite target other than Sectonia, though that gave Omori, the Knight, and Jesse something to look out for.

Nadia sighed and shook her head. Having caught her breath, it was time to get back in the fight, starting with that damn Priest. With its naked villainy clad in black robes once more, it loomed toward her like the shadow of death. No doubt Therion wanted another stab at it, too. “We need to focus on this one!” she called, pointing at the Priest. “Jesse, can we get some support?”

The three were ready, so Nadia made the first move. She ran in, on two legs this time like a normal person. Patiently the Priest waited until she got in range, then let rip The Finger, just as it had done to Therion. In the glare of the feral’s Night Light, however, it was more than slow enough to dodge. Nadia went low with a quick Cat Slide as Jesse’s first charged sniper shot rang out, pulverizing the priest’s spinal cord spear. “Nice one! Now for the…can opener!” Nadia burst up from below and sent one forearm into overdrive, turning it into a rip-roaring corkscrew of bone to drill into its center mass. Her combo might have ended there, but Jesse’s second shot staggered the Priest yet again, and a bright idea flashed into Nadia’s mind. With a yellow flash she pulled off her tail and held it up like a golf club. “Fore-gettaboutit!” When she whacked the Priest with her Outtake, it did no damage, but utterly demolished the monster’s stance, both knocking it on its ass and blocking any healing. At that point Therion could swoop in, and with a third and final shot from Jesse to pave the way, finish the rotten nightmare off for good. “Hell yeah! You’re Theri-on the ball!”

A moment later Sectonia’s projectile profusion finally spelled the end of another Witch, leaving just one Brawler from the third wave, and though a stomp from Mom managed to finally clip the Knight, Omori’s retaliation seemed to provoke something in her. ”Grrah!” she snarled. Three more fleshy protuberances expanded from the floors and walls of the room, but this time one was much bigger than the others. In addition to another Rapturous Cultist and a second Cultist Priest, which by itself did not inspire joy, a Templar Impaler fought free from its grievous wound.

The bizarre, grisly confluence of man, scorpion, and eye-pocked viscera filled Nadia with dread, but she wasn’t about to quit now. While there wasn’t much to go on, the hunter in her smelled blood. Whatever this leg-creature was, it seemed to be losing, and this fresh horror smacked of a desperate measure. “C’mon, guys! This gam is almost over! Let’s show ‘em what leg-ends are made of!!”

Edinburgh MagicaPolis

Level 8 Big Band (41/80)
Ace Cadet’s @Yankee, Frisk’s @Majoras End, Red’s @TruthHurts22
Word Count: 2277

After her new acquaintances expressed the faintest hint of interest in Wicke’s company and what they did, the floodgates were open, and the bespectacled lady launched into an excited monologue. Happy to let her babble on about conservation and habitats to her heart’s content, Big Band kept to himself in taciturn silence, crunching away at an extra-large candy bar full of nuts. He’d been amazed to learn that in a place like this people used physics defying sorcery for as mundane a purpose as making chocolate, but he’d be hard-pressed to deny his appreciation for the fruits of their magical labor after trying some for himself.

Nice as the smidgen of dessert was, however, his mind currently dwelled on matters other than sugary sweets. He listened to Wicke’s spiel as best he could, hoping for her to drop an even tastier morsel of information about what might be going on in this city, but she stubbornly refused to suggest anything of value to him. While she did touch upon the inhumane mistreatment of Pokemon by rabid breeders as something of an endemic problem in Edinburgh, and ‘research’ undertaken by the Aether Foundation, any conclusions drawn from such vague descriptions would be speculation at best. He might have assumed her monologue to be a carefully rehearsed advertisement for the Aether Foundation, especially that part about donations, if she didn’t speak with such clear and present passion for the subject matter. The only scoop he’d be getting out of this chance encounter would be one of ice cream.

Still, he didn’t begrudge this meeting with Wicke one bit. In fact, he was grateful for both her and Sierra taking the team a little ways across town, for reasons keenly aware to both himself and Lucia. Those three loose cannons were still on his trail, after all. He’d worried about Irons’ lackeys putting in a surprise guest appearance at the All Round Spheal Show, and kept a close eye out during the event. While he didn’t notice anyone who fit the profiles Lucia gave him, he couldn’t discount the possibility that they watched from inside nearby buildings, or other vantage points he simply missed. Simply put, Band did not want those ill-omened cops showing up any time soon, which was why a quick trip in Sierra’s van worked to his group’s advantage, especially if any would-be pursuers happened to miss their exit into this arcane patisserie. The fact that Band kept glancing discreetly over his shoulder at the shop’s entrance indicated how much he believed in his luck, though. His merry little band hadn’t been too careful, not by a long shot.

Ace took the chance to turn the conversation toward the team’s investigation on his own. It was a good question, asked in a casual enough manner to not seem probing, and Wicke didn’t hesitate to answer. “Monsters and skeletons, you say? Well, not many know this, but ‘Pokemon’ is short for ‘Pocket Monsters’. That’s probably not what you mean, but actually I have heard about skeletons appearing at night as of late. Some trainers have shown up who used their Pokemon to try to deal with them, which is terribly reckless, if you ask me. Pokemon battles aren’t life-or-death fights, after all. It’s like sending, oh, I don’t know, baseball players to join a SWAT team. And their poor Pokemon had the scars to prove it!”

Wicke shook her head with a heavy sigh. “The only other rumors I’ve heard are even spookier. They say that some of the skeletons that appear are those of Pokemon themselves! It makes sense if some sort of phenomenon is reanimating the dead, since of course Pokemon have passed away in this city, but how awful! I don’t know if I could stand seeing one reduced to such a sorry state.”

After a sip of hot chocolate, Wicke managed to relax. “Anyway! Enough about all that. Here, I’ve finished writing your checks. You can cash them at any bank in the city.” One by one she distributed slips of paper covered in her elegant, loopy script. The Seekers’ full compensation for their work was outlined therein.

“Thank you.” Though it felt a lot more like a promissory note than any actual money, Band supposed that he wouldn’t be getting any better. He carefully plucked the proffered check with the padded pincers of a tiny mechanical arm and stashed it in one of his enormous trench coat’s many inside pockets.

“Dearie me!” Wicke pushed out her chair and stood, gathering her pocketbook and purse. “This was a lovely little break, but I’m still on the clock, and every day’s a busy day at the Aether Foundation. We do have work available, so please visit the headquarters and apply if you’re interested. Have a splendid day, sweeties, and remember: with Aether, not even the sky’s the limit!”

Her heels tap-tap-tapped as she left at a brisk pace, back into the cold streets of Edinburgh. Band remained at the confection-laden table with the others, thinking. While it did strike him as funny that any woman in her thirties would call a grizzled forty-nine-year-old man a ‘sweetie’, he wondered more about taking her up on her offer. “Even if we didn’t need the money, I figure we probably oughta pay the Foundation a visit sooner or later,” he put forward. “Even if I ain’t a Pokemon fiend like Bede or Bowser Junior, it seems like an important place.”

“Shoah,” Lucia replied. “But ouah fahst oahdah of business is whatevah the deal with the skeletons is, right?”

Band nodded, already trying to figure out a path to take that might lead them in that direction. “Mm-hm. Right now though, I ain’t exactly swimmin’ in ideas, other’n just waitin’ for sundown and seein’ for ourselves.”

“Excuse me.” The two glanced over at Frisk, cognizant of the first time she’d spoken up since the show. Her expression took them by surprise; it was clouded, stormy, and even suspicious. “Before we move on from the company Ms. Wicke works for, there’s something she said that stuck out to me.” She took a deep breath. “Actually, it just about slapped me in the face. She said…she said that the mission statement of her company, the Aether Foundation, is to ‘love and protect’ all Pokemon. Love and protect…that’s exactly what she said.”

Band blinked, wondering if Frisk meant Wicke herself, or a different she, whose association with this or any matter was of utmost significance. With all eyes on her, Frisk wasted no time clearing things up. “The woman who attacked and stranded us in the middle of the icy ocean on our boat trip over here, and left us to die. Rather than fight us herself, she summoned two monsters with strange, supernatural abilities to do her bidding. We survived, but only thanks to Linkle, who could freeze the water for us. The rest of the trip was agony.” Her face tightened. “She said her name was L.”

“L?” Band repeated the name, his face and manner deadly serious. It didn’t ring a bell, but it needled him nonetheless. “Can you describe her?” After Frisk obliged, the detective narrowed his eyes. “Apparently, the other half of the team, the ones Ace here was with, ran into some boat trouble themselves this mornin’. They got attacked by someone in red armor, a tall man that people called a ‘Consul’. Another one showed up this afternoon in the Metro and sicced every cat in the joint on us.”

The news didn’t make Frisk any happier. “While laying low after our arrival, we did a little digging around and found out that L is also a Consul. It seems like she’s the person in charge of Edinburgh.”

“That makes three Consuls,” Band groaned. “Probably means she’s the boss of the Aether Foundation, too. So much for ‘love and protect.’ Worst case scenario, it also means she knows we’re here, ‘cause the cops answer to whoever’s in charge. To think I just walked right in and announced my presence. God, this is some funked-up sheet music.”

“The Consul’s aftah yah?” Lucia blinked, her brows as high as they could get. “I mean, I only know hah by reputation, but yeah. Iyahn’s ain’t exactly subtle when he stahts bellyachin’ about whatevah she wants him to do. No wondah he jumped on yah case, she probably had ‘em lookin’ out fah any unusual newcomahs.” She removed her hat and ran her hand through her hair, clearly nervous. “We bettah be real cayahful.”

Band suddenly jumped up as if he had ants in his pants, no longer confident in this place’s safety. “We can’t stay here and wait for ‘em to catch up with us. We gotta find somewhere to disappear.”

“My place ain’t any good,” Lucia said, getting to her feet. “They know wheah I live.”

Frisk stood also. “Albedo and I found a hideout. But before we go anywhere, we need to get in touch with him. He should be at the big library. The New Minion?”

“Noumenon?” The police officer nodded quickly. “Yeah, I can get us theah from heah, no sweat. Can take us by a bank to get these cashed, too.” She waved the check given to her by Wicke.

Band popped one last brownie into his mouth and made for the door. “Then letsh boogie.”

---

After a tense but uneventful stop at a nearby bank, where the group got to see small wads of zenny magically wired to them from the ether, Lucia led the others in the direction of the Noumenon. All five of them -Ace, Band, Lucia, Frisk, and Prisoner- hustled along as fast as they could without being conspicuous, casting many an awry glance down every alley and around any corner, but if they were being followed or spied on their enemies gave no sign. All told the trip took about an hour, errand included, so it was just past three by the time the team reached their destination. Funnily enough, they could see it from the very outside; it was rather hard to miss.

In keeping with the standards set by some of the absurdly colossal buildings in Edinburgh, the Noumenon towered over much of the cityscape, reaching hundreds of stories into the crisp arctic sky if not further. It stood as tall as the Great Pumpkin that formed the magical city’s centerpiece, if not that ginormous gourd’s ‘hat’, which doubled or perhaps tripled its height. The Noumenon, at least, was much narrower, yet its classical resplendence still dominated most of the city block that housed it, and at its zenith stood a metallic colossus that may have just as well been Atlas, shouldering the weight of the world’s knowledge on his shoulders. Next to it, Big Band felt very small. The only thing that stopped a minutes-long pause to marvel at the staggeringly vast structure was the fact that he’d already been forced to come to terms with the Great Pumpkin itself, a building so big it housed a whole nother city inside it. He took a deep breath and went in.

The rules of the Noumenon, as offered by the bookworm Lex behind the front desk to first-time visitors, were simple. Be quiet, be courteous, clean up after yourself, keep an eye out for less friendly bookworms (some nerdy, some psychic, and others downright nasty), and don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t. The lowest couple scores of the building’s many floors were open to the public, their shelves packed with the written words of a thousand thousand worlds, while higher levels were restricted to scholars possessed of the title Archon. The very highest, meanwhile, were sealed away from all except Edinburgh’s governing council, a very select group. So enormous was this place’s interior that everyone who entered was encouraged to take a magic bookmark from the front desk as they perused the facility. Those bookmarks functioned as a dowsing rod that could be used to find either people or books within the library. Even then, countless magical familiars scurried around the place helping people to find and carry their books, or who got lost. There seemed to be a great deal of (mostly utilitarian) magic here overall, from flying carpets to on-call candles to everlasting inkwells, fittingly enough for the number-one source of spellbooks in Edinburgh. Ominous guards roved around with heads covered in wax, silently keeping the peace, and there were even pools of wax for some reason.

It was pretty overwhelming, but Band didn’t come here to study. Once he took a bookmark in mechanical hand, he held it up as instructed and said, “Albedo.” Sure enough, the bookmark moved on its own, a number inscribing itself toward the tip: twenty-six. That, Lex said, would be the floor where they’d find their friend. The only problem was getting up there, since Ace was strongly averse to magic, and Band himself couldn’t just rocket-blast through a place like this lest he disturb the peace at best or cause rampant destruction at worst. That meant the stairs, and as Band stood at a seemingly infinite staircase, he realized that death might be preferable.

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

Although I'm locked in on Odradek at the moment, and happily so, it occurred to me that it might be fun to turn more legendary explorers and/or pirates into Personas like ERode is doing with Shackleton. Imagine a Persona based off Magellan, a legless specter complete with puffy sleeves, floppy hat, beard, a ship's sail as a cape, and perhaps a compass for a face (or just compasses for eyes), embracing a globe of the world. Wind element, maybe.

Persona ~ Alone at Sea (PERSONA WITH A BOAT 𓊝)

Cool beans. Between Daniel, Connor, and Leif, we might have one heck of a swim team on our hands.