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- MissAddler 11 yrs ago
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EDIT: Perry's bio/personality is still in progress
"This is affecting our group from yesterday, isn't it? I'll go along with whatever dumb thing you'll plan, I've got nothing better to do," Whitney snapped as he walked past and though Pen raised an eyebrow, she held her tongue. No use starting an argument.
Dave appeared again and grabbed his backpack.
"I'll go look around for Saxon and the others, see you later" he said, rushing off. Pen shrugged, not really wanting to go to English. With her headache worsening, she made the logical decision to skip it.
She wandered down the corridors and tried to act casual as she walked out the back door. The area outside was empty and Pen breathed in the fresh air, feeling marginally better. It seemed as though being outside was helping and Pen took this as an excuse to walk out the school gates. She staggered over to one of the benches down the avenue where the school was set and tossed her own bag down on the seat next to herself. Sighing, she leant back and closed her eyes, praying for the dizzy spell to pass.
Dave appeared again and grabbed his backpack.
"I'll go look around for Saxon and the others, see you later" he said, rushing off. Pen shrugged, not really wanting to go to English. With her headache worsening, she made the logical decision to skip it.
She wandered down the corridors and tried to act casual as she walked out the back door. The area outside was empty and Pen breathed in the fresh air, feeling marginally better. It seemed as though being outside was helping and Pen took this as an excuse to walk out the school gates. She staggered over to one of the benches down the avenue where the school was set and tossed her own bag down on the seat next to herself. Sighing, she leant back and closed her eyes, praying for the dizzy spell to pass.
In
Xmen- Its a mutation. Its a very groovy mutation (Me and MrsAddler)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
"I'll go see how far dinner is away."
Sophie merely nodded, suspicious that Charles didn't want payment off her. She wandered around the room and glanced out the window, her gaze sweeping across the deep green manicured lawns and the water feature. The facility was truly beautiful. She found herself smiling as she pushed the window open, so a light breeze could enter.
She wandered out of the room and downstairs, exploring the building which seemed absolutely vast. Though part of her knew she was being nosy, she couldn't stop herself and she found herself in various different rooms - one of which held a whole host of picture frames. Sophie was startled to see one of the girls in picture looked like lizard, with blue skin, red hair and gleaming yellow eyes. Mr Xavier also featured in the picture, his arms over her shoulder, as well as other. She guessed the man frowning with dark brown hair was the Erik Charles had been talking about.
Sophie merely nodded, suspicious that Charles didn't want payment off her. She wandered around the room and glanced out the window, her gaze sweeping across the deep green manicured lawns and the water feature. The facility was truly beautiful. She found herself smiling as she pushed the window open, so a light breeze could enter.
She wandered out of the room and downstairs, exploring the building which seemed absolutely vast. Though part of her knew she was being nosy, she couldn't stop herself and she found herself in various different rooms - one of which held a whole host of picture frames. Sophie was startled to see one of the girls in picture looked like lizard, with blue skin, red hair and gleaming yellow eyes. Mr Xavier also featured in the picture, his arms over her shoulder, as well as other. She guessed the man frowning with dark brown hair was the Erik Charles had been talking about.
The Land of Azakina is one of the less known part of the kingdom of Harore.
Azakina consists of mostly woodland, broken only by a few steady, meandering rivers and it's inhabitants are peaceful folk, who like to keep themselves out of the majority of Harore politics, which was infamous for being cutthroat and ruthless. As a result, it was usually left alone and the people living there preferred it that way. The majority of the population consisted of elves and solitary dwarves who favoured the quainter, slower lifestyle of the rural woodland. Dwellings were simple but cosy and most were content.
Wars are becoming more frequent. The crown of Harore has fallen into the hands of an unpopular tyrant called King Solitaire and many races are beginning to rebel. As he possesses Giant's blood, Solitare thinks himself better than many of the other species scattered throughout the Kingdom and the new rules he's beginning to enforce are becoming more and more irrational that benefit only himself and a few elite Noble families at the top of Harore's hierarchy.
It is only a matter of time before he turns his attention to Azakina.
But most of the folk there live in ignorance, claiming that he'll forget about them.
Name
Perrafine "Perry" Wisebane
Age
20
Appearance
Perry has lived in Azakina all of her life, where her parents are simple farmers. She, herself, is one of the food gatherers for her small tribe and spends her days wandering the woods with a bird she calls Totem, who keeps her company. She is a bit of a dreamer and is a hideously bad time keeper. She is often reprimanded for arriving home late and not sticking to the boundaries of their territory.
One day - whilst gathering - she stumbled across a pair of fairy travellers. She hide in the bushes and began to eavesdrop, her curiosity finding them hard to ignore - she didn't see none-elves often. She heard them talking about King Solitaire and she became fascinated by the idea of politics - of which she never knew existed, due to the controlling nature of her parents. It seemed a very odd hobby for a mere Azakinian elf and as a result, Perry kept this particular interest to herself. Not that she'd ever pluck up the courage to leave her tribe. She is very reserved and does not make many friends from mere choice of wanting to be alone. For this reason, she often comes across as quite prickly when people try to talk to her.
She has ambitions of leaving Azakina and visiting the Capital City. She wants to travel the lands - she's getting bored of living in the small bubble of the woodland of Azakina.
Totem
"I really am sorry lovely...I didn't hear a word of that...I guess the music was too loud...i'm really sorry..."
She nodded, taking a couple of deep breaths. The painful need to correct disorder had waned slightly and she managed to relax a little, her grip on her knife and fork loosening from 'vice-like' to just 'tight'. She even graced him with a semi genuine smile - something she hadn't allowed herself in quite a long time. She picked up her glass of orange juice and took another careful sip.
"My name's Robert but everyone calls me Rob."
His accent was certainly not American and when Emma recognised it as Welsh, she felt instantly reassured. It reminded her of home and she was beginning to realise just how much she missed it. Just how stupid she'd been to take this pointless trip. She was just taking another gulp of her juice when a grinning man, with blonde hair, approached their table. Emma tensed, instinctively.
He introduced himself as Billy Blue, the Deacon of the church and Emma raised an eyebrow, never considering herself very religious. She continued to drink, only half listening to his spiel until he mentioned something about a friend who wouldn't leave them alone. She nearly spat orange juice across the table in surprise but forced herself to gulp it down, before turning to him.
"What was that address?" she blurted out. It was too much of a coincidence. It must be divine sign - either that, or they had her medical file. How else could they know about Whisper, her long-term hallucination? Both scenarios were unnerving to think about and she noted down the place name mentally, deciding to go. She turned back to Rob, a little shaken and tried to smooth over her facial expression. She didn't need people thinking she had another mental illness, on top of her OCD.
"I'll probably go, you know," she said, quickly, trying not to appear as crazy as she felt "For inner peace, and all that mumbo jumbo. I'm a little far from home and could do with a little 'spiritual guidance'. Even if I am a sceptic - I suppose it's something to do."
She nodded, taking a couple of deep breaths. The painful need to correct disorder had waned slightly and she managed to relax a little, her grip on her knife and fork loosening from 'vice-like' to just 'tight'. She even graced him with a semi genuine smile - something she hadn't allowed herself in quite a long time. She picked up her glass of orange juice and took another careful sip.
"My name's Robert but everyone calls me Rob."
His accent was certainly not American and when Emma recognised it as Welsh, she felt instantly reassured. It reminded her of home and she was beginning to realise just how much she missed it. Just how stupid she'd been to take this pointless trip. She was just taking another gulp of her juice when a grinning man, with blonde hair, approached their table. Emma tensed, instinctively.
He introduced himself as Billy Blue, the Deacon of the church and Emma raised an eyebrow, never considering herself very religious. She continued to drink, only half listening to his spiel until he mentioned something about a friend who wouldn't leave them alone. She nearly spat orange juice across the table in surprise but forced herself to gulp it down, before turning to him.
"What was that address?" she blurted out. It was too much of a coincidence. It must be divine sign - either that, or they had her medical file. How else could they know about Whisper, her long-term hallucination? Both scenarios were unnerving to think about and she noted down the place name mentally, deciding to go. She turned back to Rob, a little shaken and tried to smooth over her facial expression. She didn't need people thinking she had another mental illness, on top of her OCD.
"I'll probably go, you know," she said, quickly, trying not to appear as crazy as she felt "For inner peace, and all that mumbo jumbo. I'm a little far from home and could do with a little 'spiritual guidance'. Even if I am a sceptic - I suppose it's something to do."
"You know what I could have just ran away but I stayed to help you get out of there." Rose called, "Sometimes helping people is worth the risk. Now stop being invisible or whatever."
Dr Douglas couldn't argue with the truth in her words - but before she could say anything, the shadowed girl had withdrawn and she found herself back in front of the dude (who she was fairly sure had just confessed to also being a mutant) and the cheerleader again. What a bizarre, little group they made.
"so... I know I am just an idiot first class, well I spoiled the beans about my self already, mostly cause I realized you girls are gifted as well, but I am pretty sure that our shadowy lady here is wary, and I doubt you 2 would think, 'hey lets trust this guy with no reason', so... perhaps, I dont know, tell each other our powers as a basis of trust or something, I dont know?"
Dr Douglas just stared at him. This was exactly the type of situation she'd been trying to avoid.
"I'll pass," she said, flatly and slouched back against the brick wall, "Besides, I would have figured it would be pretty obvious now. Now, I know we're hardly going to become the Justice League - or whatever - but we have to remember that that robot man-thing is still out there. It seemed pretty intent on destroying that mutant and it now knows that we all exist. I don't doubt that it's already logging our DNA into whatever company it works for. This is a matter of personal safety."
She resisted the urge to shudder. So much for anonymity.
"We need to find it. And I'm guessing the best place to start would be the internet - and for unlimited access, I'll need my computer system," she was sounding more like herself - business-like, efficient - and it seemed to draw her out of the startled mind state she'd been operating in.
She pushed off the wall and began striding back down the alley, using the pain from her leg to keep herself focused. She had a purpose. She was past the point of hysteria and a cool, collected determination had settled upon her. She straightened the charred collar of her shirt, beneath her jacket in an attempt to order herself.
"I'm guessing I'll need your help - I think there's enough space in my car for you all," she said with a defeated sigh.
She marched off, her heels clicking (one louder than the other). Her pride prevented her from glancing backwards, to see who would follow.
Dr Douglas couldn't argue with the truth in her words - but before she could say anything, the shadowed girl had withdrawn and she found herself back in front of the dude (who she was fairly sure had just confessed to also being a mutant) and the cheerleader again. What a bizarre, little group they made.
"so... I know I am just an idiot first class, well I spoiled the beans about my self already, mostly cause I realized you girls are gifted as well, but I am pretty sure that our shadowy lady here is wary, and I doubt you 2 would think, 'hey lets trust this guy with no reason', so... perhaps, I dont know, tell each other our powers as a basis of trust or something, I dont know?"
Dr Douglas just stared at him. This was exactly the type of situation she'd been trying to avoid.
"I'll pass," she said, flatly and slouched back against the brick wall, "Besides, I would have figured it would be pretty obvious now. Now, I know we're hardly going to become the Justice League - or whatever - but we have to remember that that robot man-thing is still out there. It seemed pretty intent on destroying that mutant and it now knows that we all exist. I don't doubt that it's already logging our DNA into whatever company it works for. This is a matter of personal safety."
She resisted the urge to shudder. So much for anonymity.
"We need to find it. And I'm guessing the best place to start would be the internet - and for unlimited access, I'll need my computer system," she was sounding more like herself - business-like, efficient - and it seemed to draw her out of the startled mind state she'd been operating in.
She pushed off the wall and began striding back down the alley, using the pain from her leg to keep herself focused. She had a purpose. She was past the point of hysteria and a cool, collected determination had settled upon her. She straightened the charred collar of her shirt, beneath her jacket in an attempt to order herself.
"I'm guessing I'll need your help - I think there's enough space in my car for you all," she said with a defeated sigh.
She marched off, her heels clicking (one louder than the other). Her pride prevented her from glancing backwards, to see who would follow.
London, England 2nd August, 1943
It all started when Christina's mother refused to get out of bed. This, in itself, was not an unusual occurrence. Ever since Peter's death, her mother's mental state had been balancing on the edge of a precipice and the smallest thing seemed to force her into one extreme or another. Many a day, she'd refused to leave her tiny, dim bedroom and Christina had to nip round to deliver meals - from where she lived, in a renovated farm outbuilding next door, unable to afford her own place - where her mother would flood her with a tidal wave of emotional anecdotes that could keep Christina trapped for hours. Today, though, Christina's patience was particularly thin. Her brother had been dead for nearly a year, now, but it was if his ghost was resurrected each and every day in the presence of her bleary-eyed mother. After heating her up a bowl of stew, Christina flung it towards her bed-bound parent and marched out before the aging woman could even open her mouth. Christina could hear her mother huffing in annoyance behind her, as she left.
She needed to get out for a little while and so she had pushed her way through the front door, down the garden path and out the gate. This sliver of rebellion gave Christina a sense of excited liberation and she had stop herself from skipping down the road. She had no idea where she was going. Anywhere was better than there.
A little way down the lane, she paused when she caught sight of the wheat field. The wheat field where she had frozen Victor. She - and the villagefolk - had no proof that it was her and at first, she managed to convince herself that it was just 'one of those things' but when she got angry, she often discovered her surroundings glistening with the formation of pure ice or dust with snow. The slow dawning realisation that it was her doing was met with a gloomy, though not altogether surprised, acceptance. She didn't tell anyone. She didn't anyone to preach to her or outcast her ;she knew she was headed to hell. She was just a bad person for some reason that was beyond her comprehension, full stop.
When she glanced away from the wheat field and the memories it held, her eyes snagged on a short, skinny man dressed in a long, dark trench coat, lounging at the side of the road. She frowned - he didn't look in a hurry to be anywhere and no strangers came here without a purpose. The village was too out the way of mainstream war advertising and major transport links. She slowed her pace in surprise.
"Christina Buckley?" a low voice said and she jumped, as she realised he had fallen in step with her. She instinctively took a small step to the right (away from him) but he was unfazed by this. He held out a small, pale hand for her to shake. It bore no calluses nor dirt; certainly not the hand of a worker. Cautiously, she shook it, unsure of what else to do.
"My name is John Smith" - how likely, Christina thought absently - "And I'm hear on a government recruitment scheme for special soldiers. Soldiers like you."
She scoffed a little, quite unable to understand what she was hearing. She wasn't particularly strong nor fast and certainly nothing special enough to come all the way out here for. She wasn't exactly weak - working on her mother's farm had ensured she had some muscle - but there were lads in the area who were double her size and strength. Surely they'd be better suited? She waved away the notion, thinking they must have mixed her up with someone else. But he spoke, before she could object out-loud.
"We know about your little ice trick, you know. We know everything," he said casually, shrugging, and then by way of explanation "We're the government."
Christina felt herself freeze, excusing the pun. Her heart began to beat rapidly and she felt a mass of lead settle into the depths of her stomach. Her mind could not formulate anything resembling coherent thought. Someone knew. But how? She'd been so careful to conceal it - hiding whatever she froze by accident until it had thawed. She stopped walking, a small breeze ruffling her hair. Her eyes were wide.
"I-I don't k-know what y-you talk-"
"Cut the crap," the man snapped and any traces of friendliness drained from his tone "You have the chance to help your country. Take it. Now."
Christina blinked, not expecting his response to be so sharp. Mentally, she flailed - she was still unable to get past the mental shock that these people knew about her unnatural curse. She opened and closed her mouth several times, aware of his dark, beady eyes studying her and monitoring her reaction. Finally, she settled on a grim determination. Peter had left her mother and, no matter how frustrating the old woman was, she couldn't do that to her mother again. She shook her head, her resolving hardening.
"I'm sorry but I can't. Women aren't even allowed in the army; besides, I have my elderly mother to think about"
"We can make an exception for you" he cut in, abruptly.
"My final answer is no" Christina was unwavering.
His mouth set into a hard line as he stopped, mid-stride, regarding her. Christina thought he would argue, force her into it (whatever it was), but he merely stared with those hard, dark eyes. He was evidently angry - it seemed to pulse through every crease and line on his face - but he said nothing. After an eternity of silence, he nodded slowly.
"Very well, Miss Buckley"
Embarrassed, she glanced down at her scuffed, leather shoes, in an attempt to avoid the full force of his disapproving glare but when she glimpsed up again, he was gone. Alarmed, she scanned the road and caught sight of a thin, dark figure marching off swiftly in the opposite direction. That was it.
And she thought she'd seen the last of John Smith.
But apparently not.
When she awoke the next morning, he was looming over her. The soft green of her bedroom wallpaper had morphed into sterile white walls, and the cold, hard table she awoke curled up on was a far cry from her old, comfortable mattress. Everything about the place was angular and foreign. And the heat...sweat was already dripping from her forehead, matting in her hair and she felt drowsy and faint. John Smith smiled from where he stood across from her - the first sign of any kind of happiness he had shown since she'd first met him - and turned on his heel, walking back across to the doorway. He paused, glancing back.
"Welcome to the facility, Miss Buckley. You can call me Dr Granger. I'll be overseeing your stay here."
Christina propped herself up, blinking. Her breaths came out in quick, shallow pants as she took in her surroundings. This wasn't home.
"Where am I?" she managed to croak, her voice hoarse and scratching like sandpaper on the back of her throat.
"A labyrinth, built by the bricks of science, from which there is no escape," he announced, tagging on a short, maniac laugh before exiting the room.
The door slammed shut behind him, sealing her fate.
It all started when Christina's mother refused to get out of bed. This, in itself, was not an unusual occurrence. Ever since Peter's death, her mother's mental state had been balancing on the edge of a precipice and the smallest thing seemed to force her into one extreme or another. Many a day, she'd refused to leave her tiny, dim bedroom and Christina had to nip round to deliver meals - from where she lived, in a renovated farm outbuilding next door, unable to afford her own place - where her mother would flood her with a tidal wave of emotional anecdotes that could keep Christina trapped for hours. Today, though, Christina's patience was particularly thin. Her brother had been dead for nearly a year, now, but it was if his ghost was resurrected each and every day in the presence of her bleary-eyed mother. After heating her up a bowl of stew, Christina flung it towards her bed-bound parent and marched out before the aging woman could even open her mouth. Christina could hear her mother huffing in annoyance behind her, as she left.
She needed to get out for a little while and so she had pushed her way through the front door, down the garden path and out the gate. This sliver of rebellion gave Christina a sense of excited liberation and she had stop herself from skipping down the road. She had no idea where she was going. Anywhere was better than there.
A little way down the lane, she paused when she caught sight of the wheat field. The wheat field where she had frozen Victor. She - and the villagefolk - had no proof that it was her and at first, she managed to convince herself that it was just 'one of those things' but when she got angry, she often discovered her surroundings glistening with the formation of pure ice or dust with snow. The slow dawning realisation that it was her doing was met with a gloomy, though not altogether surprised, acceptance. She didn't tell anyone. She didn't anyone to preach to her or outcast her ;she knew she was headed to hell. She was just a bad person for some reason that was beyond her comprehension, full stop.
When she glanced away from the wheat field and the memories it held, her eyes snagged on a short, skinny man dressed in a long, dark trench coat, lounging at the side of the road. She frowned - he didn't look in a hurry to be anywhere and no strangers came here without a purpose. The village was too out the way of mainstream war advertising and major transport links. She slowed her pace in surprise.
"Christina Buckley?" a low voice said and she jumped, as she realised he had fallen in step with her. She instinctively took a small step to the right (away from him) but he was unfazed by this. He held out a small, pale hand for her to shake. It bore no calluses nor dirt; certainly not the hand of a worker. Cautiously, she shook it, unsure of what else to do.
"My name is John Smith" - how likely, Christina thought absently - "And I'm hear on a government recruitment scheme for special soldiers. Soldiers like you."
She scoffed a little, quite unable to understand what she was hearing. She wasn't particularly strong nor fast and certainly nothing special enough to come all the way out here for. She wasn't exactly weak - working on her mother's farm had ensured she had some muscle - but there were lads in the area who were double her size and strength. Surely they'd be better suited? She waved away the notion, thinking they must have mixed her up with someone else. But he spoke, before she could object out-loud.
"We know about your little ice trick, you know. We know everything," he said casually, shrugging, and then by way of explanation "We're the government."
Christina felt herself freeze, excusing the pun. Her heart began to beat rapidly and she felt a mass of lead settle into the depths of her stomach. Her mind could not formulate anything resembling coherent thought. Someone knew. But how? She'd been so careful to conceal it - hiding whatever she froze by accident until it had thawed. She stopped walking, a small breeze ruffling her hair. Her eyes were wide.
"I-I don't k-know what y-you talk-"
"Cut the crap," the man snapped and any traces of friendliness drained from his tone "You have the chance to help your country. Take it. Now."
Christina blinked, not expecting his response to be so sharp. Mentally, she flailed - she was still unable to get past the mental shock that these people knew about her unnatural curse. She opened and closed her mouth several times, aware of his dark, beady eyes studying her and monitoring her reaction. Finally, she settled on a grim determination. Peter had left her mother and, no matter how frustrating the old woman was, she couldn't do that to her mother again. She shook her head, her resolving hardening.
"I'm sorry but I can't. Women aren't even allowed in the army; besides, I have my elderly mother to think about"
"We can make an exception for you" he cut in, abruptly.
"My final answer is no" Christina was unwavering.
His mouth set into a hard line as he stopped, mid-stride, regarding her. Christina thought he would argue, force her into it (whatever it was), but he merely stared with those hard, dark eyes. He was evidently angry - it seemed to pulse through every crease and line on his face - but he said nothing. After an eternity of silence, he nodded slowly.
"Very well, Miss Buckley"
Embarrassed, she glanced down at her scuffed, leather shoes, in an attempt to avoid the full force of his disapproving glare but when she glimpsed up again, he was gone. Alarmed, she scanned the road and caught sight of a thin, dark figure marching off swiftly in the opposite direction. That was it.
And she thought she'd seen the last of John Smith.
But apparently not.
When she awoke the next morning, he was looming over her. The soft green of her bedroom wallpaper had morphed into sterile white walls, and the cold, hard table she awoke curled up on was a far cry from her old, comfortable mattress. Everything about the place was angular and foreign. And the heat...sweat was already dripping from her forehead, matting in her hair and she felt drowsy and faint. John Smith smiled from where he stood across from her - the first sign of any kind of happiness he had shown since she'd first met him - and turned on his heel, walking back across to the doorway. He paused, glancing back.
"Welcome to the facility, Miss Buckley. You can call me Dr Granger. I'll be overseeing your stay here."
Christina propped herself up, blinking. Her breaths came out in quick, shallow pants as she took in her surroundings. This wasn't home.
"Where am I?" she managed to croak, her voice hoarse and scratching like sandpaper on the back of her throat.
"A labyrinth, built by the bricks of science, from which there is no escape," he announced, tagging on a short, maniac laugh before exiting the room.
The door slammed shut behind him, sealing her fate.
In
Xmen- Its a mutation. Its a very groovy mutation (Me and MrsAddler)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Haha! That's why dogs are better than cats...
In
Xmen- Its a mutation. Its a very groovy mutation (Me and MrsAddler)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Sophie allowed Charles to lead the way - or wheel the way, rather - to a spare bedroom. It was nice enough; the furnishings were wooden and reminded Sophie of a boarding school room, with a neat, wooden desk in the corner and plain bedspread. It probably was actually for the gifted students - which Sophie now knew were gifted mutants. How bizarre.
"I feel so tired." He yawned "Hope I can last till dinner time."
She nodded absently, going to sit on the edge of the bed and glancing around. She dug her purse out and proceeding to leaf through some bills.
"So, Mr Xavier; how much do you want for the room? I'll pay for food as well, if that's okay"
"I feel so tired." He yawned "Hope I can last till dinner time."
She nodded absently, going to sit on the edge of the bed and glancing around. She dug her purse out and proceeding to leaf through some bills.
"So, Mr Xavier; how much do you want for the room? I'll pay for food as well, if that's okay"
Hope my post's okay....^_^
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