Nevis

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

O-kay, I apologize for taking so long. My ('dumb') post is up!

Cat's got Ddraig's tongue.

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

Something struck Ddraig in the leg-more than gently. Given his already tense state, being in the room with Dallas and his mother, coupled with his stress still on his mind from his ousting from the HEMA group, he barely managed to curb his instinct to fling his arm out. A moment later, a girl far shorter than even him walked by, peeking at Dallas. She stood on crutches and bound in a cast, her long, vivid orange hair gracing her small frame like a doll. Her expression, though, was quite dour.

The sense in the room was awkward; he wasn't the only one here that was nervous, at least. A dark-skinned girl-Muslim, he guessed, by her attire, looked more on-edge than him. The really tall guy looked practically shot-out and the Valkyrie-well, she looked collected, at least, as did the Asian girl. Mrs. Dallas didn't seem to have noticed him yet-and Ddraig was hesitant to make his presence known, considering she might blow up again. He bit his lower lip as he considered.

Then Dallas moved. Ddraig tensed and the hair on his neck stood up, his eyes going wide, as Dallas moved as though in a seizure. Oh God, don't let it actually be a seizure. Should the tie him down? Everyone else was just staring and he doubted they were thinking about the danger that presented.

Again, though, the time was passed before he acted, and Dallas stopped. And opened his eyes.

And sat up.

He fucking sat up.

Sweat trickled down Ddraig's skin and his hair stood up like a cat's as Dallas's mother embraced her son and several of the others spoke to him. Ddraig stood there, visibly shaking. What should he do? He was relieved that he had woken up; he wasn't sure what he would make of it, though, or his mother. Or anyone else, for that matter. What would he even say? He opened his mouth, only to swallow; it was painfully dry. He stood there, dumb and mute for a moment. A quiet squeak croaked out of his mouth as he raised his palm vertically in a tiny gesture.

"Hey."

God, what a stupid thing to say.

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

Ah, oh, uh. Present!

I won't have time to tonight, and likely not tomorrow. I'll get it on Sunday. I apologize.

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

Again, I suggest you message the other players in this. Due to its 2-week silence, they may not be actively checking this thread.

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

No, he thought that. Him say that out loud?

And as far as has been said, the 'everyone posts once-per-round though the turn-order is ditched' is still in effect. Ie, everyone posts at least once again in this round. As I was the very last in the previous (two, sort of), I prefer to wait until at least several of the others have posted (as I don't have much to respond to yet).

Also, while I know Dallas just woke up, how does his mother react to Ddraig entering?

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

I am now picturing myself as a yo-yo. I am not effective at using yo-yos.

Ah, alright. I'll go edit that tidbit, then.

Also, it may behoove you to pm the other players; it's been two-three weeks since this was really active. Some of the others may not check in unless you notify them that this is moving along again.

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

Post up. A little language involved-not a regular aspect of mine, though. Just there to punctuate a few things, and it won't be a regular occurrence.

Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

"Jake! Jake!" an assembly of young men in black cloth, plastic and leather huddled around a crumpled figure on the gymnasium floor. They removed his kendo helmet, allowing him to breathe, a sheen of sweat glistening across the boy's face. He was cradling his right shoulder with his left hand, his right arm dangling uselessly on the shiny wooden floor. Most of the others focused on him, asking him if he was alright and determining the extent of the damage; several others glared at Ddraig.

Ddraig cursed silently. This was even worse than any of the other recent injuries he had inflicted on the other members, none of them intentional. His fetterschwert-a training longsword-hung awkwardly in his hand as he stood apart from the others. Though he wanted to help as well, some of the others would explode if he got close to Jake right now; thus, he held back, stayed away.

Their instructor bent over and examined his shoulder. He pressed softly into it, inciting another agonized groan from Jake. "Yeah, your shoulderbone is likely broken. Let's get you to the nurse's office."

Several of the other students took him out through the door. The instructor watched them go before turning around and looking at the rest of the group. He made a shooing motion with his hand to the rest. He wanted to speak to Ddraig alone. After a few moments, the other Highschool HEMA members obliged, spreading out into smaller groups throughout the gymnasium again. Once they were gone, the instructor looked at Ddraig.

"This is getting out of hand."

Ddraig looked at him angrily and helplessly. "I know. It's not like I'm meaning to, though."

"Meaning to or not, there's way too much difference between you and the others. Even in practice, you're hitting like a tank now. The sprained ankles were bad enough. Breaking his shoulder, though? How do you even do that on accident?"

Ddraig hesitated. "Being in a three-on-one helps."

John gaped at him. "You guys were actually doing a three-on-one?"

Ddraig nodded. "Yeah. They asked me to. They're new and wanted to see..." he trailed off, unsure of how to say it.

"They wanted to see the local badass beat three guys at once," the instructor said, folding his arms. "Which means things get chaotic, which makes it much more likely for someone to get seriously hurt."

Ddraig looked downward, away. He nodded.

Silence for several moments. "Go home."

Ddraig looked back up at him. Anxiety and fear at what he was about to say filled him.

"Go home," he said, looking harshly at Ddraig, staring down at him, "and don't come back until I say you can. This is enough."

Ddraig looked up at him, mortified. That wasn't right, wasn't fair. Yeah, he had messed up-more than once. What was he supposed to do, though? Every time he actually meant to fix something, he only made it worse. He had been working and changing left and right to make it work for them, and they were going to freaking kick him out?

"Coach, please, I-"

John put his hand up, cutting him off. "That's final. Leave. Now." Before Ddraig could say anything else, he turned and began walking to one of the other groups. leaving Ddraig standing alone in the middle of the gym.

***

Ddraig kicked a garbage can on the quiet street, empty at that time of day. A dent formed in the ridged metal as it clanked and rolled a way, sent flying easily when so empty. Hollow. Alone. Freaking everything was like a mirror for how he was even more alone. Again.

It was far from the first time anyone he even somewhat had considered his friends had abandoned and betrayed him-actually, they pretty much always eventually did.

"Fuck them," Ddraig muttered quietly. He visualized bringing his blade down from Ochs, whacking his pommel violently into the faces of those ones glaring at him and taking his instructor's head and slamming John's head into the floor and ground until blood seeped out. It didn't help, though; the anger just grew with every graphic image, as did his self-disgust for wanting it. For craving it.

Ddraig stopped for a moment and breathed loudly, deeply. It was time to think about something else. He looked at the bend coming up down the road; the hospital was just around the corner of buildings. The one where Dallas was.

That was a bittersweet topic. For once, he had done something good. Sort of. Maybe. Hopefully.

The wreck had been... well, a wreck. A really bad one. A drunk teenager in one vehicle, and a driver who wasn't paying attention in the other, they had crashed in the late evening. Ddraig did not revisit the image of the twisted metal and leaking fluids and smoke-nor the explosive fire that later consumed it. Instead he thought of Dallas-which, perhaps, was actually worse. He had been a bloody mess in the car, the door crumpled against him. Initially, he had kept other people on the street from ripping him out of it. As his mother, an ex-paramedic, had taught him, pulling an injured person out of a vehicle was dangerous and could easily cause worse and even permanent damage. Therefore, you actually left them there, unless the car really was liable to explode, as he had explained to other onlookers. Once some of the oil caught fire, though, Ddraig had to eat his own words and he himself had pulled the other young man he knew little more than in passing out. The tank blew less than a minute after he had gotten him out.

Unfortunately, even his heroics seemed to be marred by mistake and accident. Once the EA had gotten him to the hospital, it was discovered that Dallas had gone into a coma. The potential damage that could be inflicted by removing someone incorrectly rang in Ddraig's mind, and he wondered if he was the reason for Dallas's unconsciousness. The boy's mother certainly seemed to think so; she had exploded as violently as the car at him, albeit that didn't actually mean for certain that he was responsible. The doubt alone, combined with everything else, though, was driving him insane.

Ddraig had come by to see Dallas in the hospital before, only to be turned away every time. He felt... something. He thought he was somewhat responsible for him, as though he had claimed a part of Dallas's very life by saving him. At the very least, he wanted to see him through the entire ordeal, not just some coincidental moment of pulling him out of a fire. Actually help. He seriously wondered if the reason Dallas's mother had said no visitors was just to keep him away from Dallas.

In any case, though, the restriction of visitors had been lifted; the secretary had been kind and phoned him about it. He was still out, yet at least he could actually see him now.

And speaking of which, Ddraig was there, hefting his backpack of black clothes and wrapped practice sword strapped to it over his back. He walked through the automatic doors and into the air-conditioned lobby gratefully.

While he understood to some extent, Ddraig really didn't get other people's squeamishness of hospitals. They were hardly as sterile as people made them out to be; there was plenty of dirt and germs in the air (likely more, actually), and besides that, they were clean-far better than the oily rooms others like, where putting your hand on something left a greasy residue. The white color was actually welcome to him-white was the color of purity, of healing. It made sense for a hospital even by a color therapy approach (albeit, perhaps having a little more in the way of other colors would help). Regardless, though, he was actually more comfortable here than in places like school. Except for the frigging music. Ddraig hated jazz.

"Hey," he said, coming up to the receptionist. "Good evening," he smiled warmly. The receptionist looked up and smiled in return when she recognized him. "I'm here to see Dallas."

"Alright," she said encouragingly. "Mrs. Robertson hasn't said anything about you not being able to come in, so there shouldn't be a problem. You know where he is," she said, nodding her head down the hallway.

"Yeah," he confirmed. He began moving towards the hall. "Thanks for calling me." His tone indicated his gratitude was genuine.

"You're welcome," she beamed before turning back to her computer. "Good luck!"

I hope so, he thought. He doubted it.

The walk up was short, being familiar at this point. Soon enough he was going down the last hall-only there were several others in the doorway, moving inside.

That was odd. Dallas didn't have many friends. Even less so that he imagined would actually bother to visit him, and they didn't look like his family. And, as he drew close, he noted that there were too many for that, anyways. Besides that most of them were really freaking tall.

Nervousness tingled up Ddraig's legs, arms and back. He had really just wanted to see him, not be around a lot others-especially ones this talkative, meaning they were bound to ask questions. He was really wanting this to be a silent visit. Nonetheless, he continued on and stepped into the doorway. Dressed in a stark white fitting hoodie/sweatshirt half-zipped up, red T-shirt and black jeans, his color scheme was a little vivid-especially with his dark emerald-green hair-though not especially striking. His height, seemingly the only medium between the tall, shaggy hospital patient, an enormous blonde woman, and a tiny, adorable Asian girl with streaks of dyed hair.

And Mrs. Robertson. Fuck.

Ddraig stood there silently, wondering if he should come at a different time and his unease written all over his face.

Essence of the World II: Tears do Fall

Bye-bye, Kid :<

Also, mine and WW's collab is finally posted.

Essence of the World II: Tears do Fall

Nen sat down under the shade of the tall, wide park tree. Sweat close to breaking and looking tired and displeased, he laid back against it and closed his eyes, breathing in the cooler air.

Damned heat. Damned sun.

The cooler months were much more to Nen's liking, and mostly the middle-sections of those. The in-between times, the cool yet not cold.Though even the stark winter was far better than the sun, caustic and burning. And there was no real escape from that damned overbearing blaze, as invasive and obnoxious as a computer virus. Even the shadows were only cooler, not really reasonably cool. Nen opened his eyes again to watch the market across the street from the small city park move about, wishing the sky was overcast with clouds. Storms were the only thing he really enjoyed about warm weather, aside that people were more social-though little good that usually did him.

A couple was passing by, an almost regular sight, save for the fact that one was a human and the other was an angel with light grey wings.

They sat down on the grass under a big chestnut and talked for a while about this new movie that was coming out in the weekend and the last one that was by far not as good as the trailer had promised. About five minutes in, however, Nen started noticing something was off. The girl seemed to have something on her mind that she finally voiced out another five minutes later.

“Darren, you know that thunderstorm last night? I heard on the news that it hit a house in Thorpe and killed the old couple living inside.”

“Is that so? Didn’t they have a lightning rod?”

“No, apparently not.”

“Did they have an insurance?”

Lisa’s throat clenched. She should have expected the question, it was the most logical one after all, wasn’t it?

“They are dead, Darren. Whether they had insurance or not doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to their progeny.”

Lisa’s eyes dropped to her shoes and she blinked the welling tears away before she spoke again.

“Where were you yesterday evening?”

“At home. I was reading a book. Why?”

“The couple is dead, Darren!” Lisa snapped, her eyes piercing the angel like a naked dagger. “And you could have prevented it!”

The man’s eyes widened in shock.

“Lisa, we’ve been over this before. Please, calm down. Natural disasters all happen for a reason and they’ve been around for as long as the worlds have existed. Forest fires and thunderstorms are vital for the planet’s well-being and without them life wouldn’t be possible. I didn’t kill those people, I simply didn’t prevent them from perishing. How is that a crime?”

Lisa knew that his voice rambled on but she could no longer hear it. She felt tiny and lost as if drifting in the middle of an ocean with nothing but water around on all sides, not even air. Her lungs were stinging but she couldn’t take a breath, her eyes lost in Darren’s, her thoughts lost in memories.

What a beautiful person he’d been, how caring and gentle, how loyal and helpful to everyone… He had been one of those few really good guys, the ones little girls dream about and grown ones made fun of. The guys who would always put others first.

And then those wings sprouted. And sapped out his soul. Oh, how she wished they could simply disappear!

She didn’t realize she had closed eyes but she must have, because hand on her cheek startled her.

“Lisa, please. Those things are meant to happen sometimes. I will be out for the next storm, I promise you. Just, please, calm down.”

There was something different about his touch. Something distant about his eyes. Yet she couldn’t let go.

“Okay. I love you.”

He couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth. But he couldn't bring himself to lie either. So he didn’t respond. He never responded. Instead he embraced her and held her close. He hoped his heartbeat on hers could explain better than his words. He hoped it, at least, could deceive her.

After that she just departed without a word and left him leaning against the bark of the chestnut and staring at the few clouds overhead.

Nen hid his quiet glances behind his long bangs, glinting gold-bronze in the light of day, even cast in shadow. Two people had come up to the tree and began talking-and there was an unhealthy sense to them. Nen cursed his empathy as their emotions washed over and into him, smothering him like a wave on the beach. Anxiety; blame. Loss, frustration and longing. The girl, especially, was distressed, though she continued to prattle on with the taller man-wait, those were wings. An angel, then.

The young angel didn't seem to notice the emotion she was hiding-or, rather, avoiding. Eventually, though, she confronted him on it, and brought up something about someone who had died in a recent bout of wild weather.

Nen squirmed uncomfortably. He should leave, let them be alone with it; yet to move may interrupt it, or at least draw their edged attention at him as something to lash out at to relieve their stress. Thus, he remained rather still, failing to not overhear their not-so-quiet affair.

The context was odd, though; she spoke as though the guy was somehow responsible for the deaths, or at least could have stopped it. Yet angels, as mighty as they were, rarely managed to intervene with something as fast and potent as natural lightning. And, by the sound of it, he agreed that he was fully capable of altering the state of a storm and would in the future-which held the ramification of being a very strong angel... or one that held domain over the weather.

Nen tensed further, sweat threatening to wet his skin from something other than just the heat now. Was he within ten feet of a freaking weather angel currently in the midst of a lover's spat?

Thankfully, they embraced-if obviously sadly to him, if not as much to them-rather than exploded. An emotional outburst from the angel-if Nen was right about him being a weather angel-could quite literally cause sparks to fly-and perhaps a lot else. A moment later, though, the girl abruptly left, and the aloneness of the boy with light grey feathers permeated the air, now alone under the tree with him. Nen glanced around, wondering if now was the time to leave. Better that cursed sun than the wave of negative emotion pouring into him now, nevermind the potential for a literal explosion.

It was regrettably just as he thought that that Darren's gaze drifted over to the tree to the left and Nen was spotted.

"O." Was the simple reaction of the angel as his eyes washed over Nen, exploring his features. "Did you witness all that?" His voice was calm and level, almost emotionless. His pupils were dark.

Nen glanced over tensely. The angel was staring right at him, his expression blank-which was rarely a good sign.

"Uh... sort of... I didn't listen as best I was able. I apologize, I just didn't want to draw your attention or interupt you," he said meekly.

"Well, you didn't interrupt." The angel stated the obvious, then sighed and fixed his gaze back on the clouds. "What do you reckon went wrong? What would you have done differently?"

I looked at him akwardly. An angel was asking him for help with his romance problems? If the pressure of being near what might be a weather angel wasn't enough, he had quite literally no experience in the field of romance himself; hardly the best person to give advise on the matter. Albeit, his advise in general seemed to be helpful to people, even when it was only theoretical, intuition and common sense.

"Uh... what exactly happened? I was doing my best to not hear, so I didn't catch all of it. It seemed like she wished you had interferred with the storm. Wouldn't that make you..." Nen lowerd his voice, his tone indicating that his next words were important. "... a weather angel, though?"

"Yes." Darren agreed calmly. He knew that was part of the reason for the conflict. It always was, these days. "And Lisa blamed me for not going off to chase after a storm a few miles away from my home instead of enjoying a quiet Saturday evening. Or maybe because I didn't express my remorse over the death of two humans far beyond the peak of their usefulness to the human world. I'm not sure which one it is. Furthermore, I think it's rather reasonable to worry about their heirs instead of about themselves. I mean, they were most likely already reduced to ashes anyway. Or will be soon, if they haven't, as human rituals require."

Nen blanched a little. He understood the guy's logic, yes-the first part of it, anyways. That coldness in the latter, though, judging them entirely by their 'usefulness'-that was bound to bring up the girl's upset. Actually, she had like showed a lot more patience for it than many would. It was chilling, as though the angel was willing the air to cold and hail to ready in the sky.

"Well... stopping a storm isn't your responsibility. Those are supposed to happen-and some drastic changes comes with drastic weather," Nen said tentatively. His sympathy was plain on his face-his nervousness, too, though. "You're right about caring about those still here as well. They have a lot more to deal with, including cleaning up the aftermath-the insurance, like you said."

"Yet..." Nen paused, hesitant. Please let him hear this well. "What you just said-about the dead people-that was... cold. Outright uncaring. You spoke about them as though they were just useful parts of a machine and then as though they were just unfeeling, inanimate things. I think, more than anything else, that's what she's upset about. I mean, if that's how you feel about those people who died, "Nen paused, looking the angel in the eye. Searching. Searching for that empathy and connection that was part of what defined humans as humans, as having humanity, and wondering if such was even in an angel's capability and nature. "what do you imagine she thinks you feel about everything else? About her?"

At first he saw understanding in those stormy eyes, impassive agreement and acceptance to pure facts. But then there was a flinch, a different glint of some other kind. Darren averted his gaze and just nodded without a word.

"Thank you." He said, getting to his feet. And just like that the seriousness vanished from his features and he grinned, gesturing to the sky with both an arm and a wing. "So what do you think? Should we have a little storm?"

Nen looked at him. "Uh... well, I like cloudy weather much more than sunny. I outright dislike sunny weather, actually. I imagine everyone else thinks a bit differently, though," he said, gesturing to the market. Then a strong breeze came and pushed the branches, showering him in the sickening, blazing sun. He glared up for a moment, then imagined blessed rain and ecstatic lightning dancing through the air, the electricity dancing around and invigorating him such as the chorus did for those who enjoyed church.

"On second thought, make it pour," he grinned.