OwO

Magic in the Park

@OwO If you want, it could be the situation where Amaya looked out for Macaron during her early years, in more of a 'teach her to cook food and get odd jobs' kinda way. Probably saw something sympathetic in the literal teenager. If they were extra close, one of Amaya's particular crafts could have been formed/obtained initially to mentally soothe Macaron during particularly bad nights in the City.

@ERode

That sounds good. It's incredibly funny that Amaya would have developed a craft because of Macaron's instability. That'd probably mean that Amaya's one of the few people that Macaron will legitimately get mad for when something bad happens to her.

also the random cooking manga style comfort food flashbacks they share.

Magic in the Park

Menhara girl and mental attack ally.

Surely this won't cause any problems in the future.

Magic in the Park

Macaron

^{20 y/o | Female | 5'2" | Manifest}
『 Ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｗｅｓｔ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｗ 』

Background

The Kataoka family was once one of the great families of the city. At their peak, they were unequalled in both the Manifest and the underworld. While the Kataoka family focused on their pursuit of the magecraft, the numerous subsidiary families and organizations under them controlled the city's underworld with an iron fist. Leading their family was the great Hayao Kataoka; a staunch traditionalist who--were it not for his old age--would be considered one of the strongest mages of the city.

Tsune Kataoka was born into this family as a bastard--a tryst between an artist outside of the Dark Sphere and her mother--the sole granddaughter of Hayao Kataoka. For the conservative Hayao, Tsune was his worst nightmare come to fruition. His sole granddaughter--someone whom he raised from birth after the the death of his son and daughter-in-law--had come home sick and with child. To say that Hayao loathed Tsune was an understatement. No, in his eyes, she was the reason why his granddaughter was sick. Tsune was nothing more than an outsider. Someone of impure blood. Someone who didn't even deserve the name bestowed upon her by her grandmother.

While her mother truly cared for her--even negotiating with her grandfather in deep sickness to ensure Tsune's safety--her pleasant memories did not last long. The fragrance of incense. The sun shining on cotton blankets. The flowers her mother delicately arranged. Her mother calling Tsune her little Macaron--just like her father used to call her, she would say. But the sickness took her mother. Rainfall. Black and white fabrics. Coldness.

Tsune's position was precarious. Her mother's wishes protected her, at the very least. But she was not loved. The child was taught the bare minimum. She had always thought that maybe if she showed more effort and been a good girl, she would even feel a semblance of love from her family. But no matter how hard she tried or how good she was, she was never given even a glance by Hayao or anyone else. To Hayao, she was nothing more than the beast who killed his granddaughter. To her aunts, uncles, and cousins, she was the child of their oh-so-hated doted-upon sib. To those not of Hayao's blood, she was simply persona non grata lest they incur the wrath of the head.

But this precarious position no longer matters. It hasn't mattered for eight years. The Kataoka family was once a great family. Past tense. It happened in a single night. The horrors. The blood. There were only a handful of survivors. A handful of Kataokas who were hiding in personal safe houses. A few peons who were to unimportant to slaughter as they patrolled the red light district. It was only thanks to the hiding spots devised from an unwanted child that she survived. She watched as it happened. The horror. The beast. The behemoth. It punctured the only thing she could call family with its teeth--sliced them to bits.

The police said it was simply gang warfare. A coalition of upstarts sought to bring them down. An easy explanation. It was simple and believable. The power vacuum left by the sudden passing of so many Kataokas and their affiliates was good enough cover. Likewise, the only witnesses were the police and detectives that corroborated the story.

Meanwhile, Tsune no longer had a home--if you could even call it that. She was placed under the ward of one of the few of her family that survived--not that they cared to look after her--and received what little unseized familial assets she was entitled. It was enough to live. Or at least, support her until she reached adulthood.

But what was left of Tsune? Not much. The good little girl who tried her hardest to win the love of her family died that day. What was left was a girl who had seen too much. Someone who could no longer regulate their emotions. Someone who still craved love and kinship, yet no longer had an adequate understanding of them. A broken, fractured person who never had a chance to properly grow up. A girl who no longer kept the name carelessly bestowed by her grandfather and instead kept the name that gave her love.

A girl who delved into the labyrinth alone with only the memories of what she was taught.

A woman who survived 8 years alone in the city.

A woman named Macaron.

Craft

Macaron's craft matches her personality: unstable. Fundamentally, it is based upon the roots of the Kataoka's familial craft: to reflect one's inner self in reality. To sculpt one's form as one sees fit. A blade to cut all before them. An unbending will that can block bullets. However, Macaron's understanding of this craft is fundamentally flawed. Or perhaps, she understands it greater than even Hayao.

Her craft is driven by pure emotion. The restaint of neutrality forming sinew wires to restrain and garrote. The melancholy of sorrow being impenetrable as she is forced into turgor. The unrestricted rage and anger warping her with jaw and claw. Excitement being met with alacrity.

Her transformations are predictable yet unrestrained. Her will a slave to emotion that will easily flicker, waver, and shift.

Beyond that, she can utilize a basic spattering of novice crafts. A quick flame, a shard of light, or other such cantrips. However, her application of these crafts are unstable and warped.

Magic in the Park

Also, was my character approved?

@Sky Blue

Asuras is waiting until Wednesday for the final acceptance sweep.

Magic in the Park

Macaron

^{20 y/o | Female | 5'2" | Manifest}
『 Ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｗｅｓｔ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｗ 』

Background

The Kataoka family was once one of the great families of the city. At their peak, they were unequalled in both the Manifest and the underworld. While the Kataoka family focused on their pursuit of the magecraft, the numerous subsidiary families and organizations under them controlled the city's underworld with an iron fist. Leading their family was the great Hayao Kataoka; a staunch traditionalist who--were it not for his old age--would be considered one of the strongest mages of the city.

Tsune Kataoka was born into this family as a bastard--a tryst between an artist outside of the Dark Sphere and her mother--the sole granddaughter of Hayao Kataoka. For the conservative Hayao, Tsune was his worst nightmare come to fruition. His sole granddaughter--someone whom he raised from birth after the the death of his son and daughter-in-law--had come home sick and with child. To say that Hayao loathed Tsune was an understatement. No, in his eyes, she was the reason why his granddaughter was sick. Tsune was nothing more than an outsider. Someone of impure blood. Someone who didn't even deserve the name bestowed upon her by her grandmother.

While her mother truly cared for her--even negotiating with her grandfather in deep sickness to ensure Tsune's safety--her pleasant memories did not last long. The fragrance of incense. The sun shining on cotton blankets. The flowers her mother delicately arranged. Her mother calling Tsune her little Macaron--just like her father used to call her, she would say. But the sickness took her mother. Rainfall. Black and white fabrics. Coldness.

Tsune's position was precarious. Her mother's wishes protected her, at the very least. But she was not loved. The child was taught the bare minimum. She had always thought that maybe if she showed more effort and been a good girl, she would even feel a semblance of love from her family. But no matter how hard she tried or how good she was, she was never given even a glance by Hayao or anyone else. To Hayao, she was nothing more than the beast who killed his granddaughter. To her aunts, uncles, and cousins, she was the child of their oh-so-hated doted-upon sib. To those not of Hayao's blood, she was simply persona non grata lest they incur the wrath of the head.

But this precarious position no longer matters. It hasn't mattered for eight years. The Kataoka family was once a great family. Past tense. It happened in a single night. The horrors. The blood. There were only a handful of survivors. A handful of Kataokas who were hiding in personal safe houses. A few peons who were to unimportant to slaughter as they patrolled the red light district. It was only thanks to the hiding spots devised from an unwanted child that she survived. She watched as it happened. The horror. The beast. The behemoth. It punctured the only thing she could call family with its teeth--sliced them to bits.

The police said it was simply gang warfare. A coalition of upstarts sought to bring them down. An easy explanation. It was simple and believable. The power vacuum left by the sudden passing of so many Kataokas and their affiliates was good enough cover. Likewise, the only witnesses were the police and detectives that corroborated the story.

Meanwhile, Tsune no longer had a home--if you could even call it that. She was placed under the ward of one of the few of her family that survived--not that they cared to look after her--and received what little unseized familial assets she was entitled. It was enough to live. Or at least, support her until she reached adulthood.

But what was left of Tsune? Not much. The good little girl who tried her hardest to win the love of her family died that day. What was left was a girl who had seen too much. Someone who could no longer regulate their emotions. Someone who still craved love and kinship, yet no longer had an adequate understanding of them. A broken, fractured person who never had a chance to properly grow up. A girl who no longer kept the name carelessly bestowed by her grandfather and instead kept the name that gave her love.

A girl who delved into the labyrinth alone with only the memories of what she was taught.

A woman who survived 8 years alone in the city.

A woman named Macaron.

Craft

Macaron's craft matches her personality: unstable. Fundamentally, it is based upon the roots of the Kataoka's familial craft: to reflect one's inner self in reality. To sculpt one's form as one sees fit. A blade to cut all before them. An unbending will that can block bullets. However, Macaron's understanding of this craft is fundamentally flawed. Or perhaps, she understands it greater than even Hayao.

Her craft is driven by pure emotion. The restaint of neutrality forming sinew wires to restrain and garrote. The melancholy of sorrow being impenetrable as she is forced into turgor. The unrestricted rage and anger warping her with jaw and claw. Excitement being met with alacrity.

Her transformations are predictable yet unrestrained. Her will a slave to emotion that will easily flicker, waver, and shift.

Beyond that, she can utilize a basic spattering of novice crafts. A quick flame, a shard of light, or other such cantrips. However, her application of these crafts are unstable and warped.

Magic in the Park

<Snipped quote by OwO>

Metropolis then… (dont tell me it also has a definite state)

@Asuras

It alternates between New York and Delaware depending on the comic.

Comedically, it's often depicted literally right across the Delaware bay from Gotham.

Magic in the Park

Our own world. Think of the City in the same sense as Gotham: a named place, but unknown where in the world it is (or in Gothams case where in America). It is English speaking, but multi-cultural in the way a cyberpunk city might be.

@Asuras

comedically, gotham is usually new jersey

which is apropos for a hidden, esoteric world of beasts, malevolence, and abominations

Magic in the Park - Modern Fantasy/Hidden World Anime

hit em with the eyes emoji

The Things We Fight For

---

Oh the fight. That was where Rudis felt it most. The pounding of her heart. The heat on her skin. The dust in her lungs. Truly, she was born for this. The straggling pawns that approached her had even even simpler end than the spearman. Without much effort, they were crushed under stone. Left to a bloody paste. Only threats in numbers, really. And even then, it was a matter of exhaustion for Rudis.

She was on the warpath crushing what stood before her. The destruction around her was palpable. And that was her holding back and trying to save as much energy as she could.

Then came the shrimp's fire. Destruction of their surroundings. It was fortunate that shrimp couldn't aim well enough. But to ignore it was leaving it up to chance. If the Shrimp's fire would directly hit them as they advance to the princess, it would be over. Likewise, if the shrimp targeted the damaged pilots, it would be a slaughter. That behemoth couldn't exist. That was the conclusion Rudis reached.

As much as she wanted to slaughter the princess, her old bad habits crept back in. The refusal of others' sacrifice. She wanted everyone alive. And she was going to try to fight something dozens--if not hundreds-- of times larger than herself to do so.

"Pilots!" She yelled. "If you still got some engines left--follow me! Draw this Shrimp's fire! I'll knock it down!"

"And Dan Kirk!" She said--immediately getting his name wrong. "I'm counting on you! Keep 'em safe!"

In an eruption of speed, she sprinted off towards the rook with pillar in front.

SPIRITUM

Justice

While Justice haphazardly tossed weapons into her pocket, she gave out a simple "appreciated" to Gerard.

As much as having a living mist battery seemed interesting, Justice was more annoyed at the prospect of dragging along such a conduit for awful luck. "No. We're doing our mission, finishing our vacation without incident, and then going home to be shipped off to war."

With all of the shit that was happening, it was easy to forget that this was all supposed to be a fun little excursion before they were shipped off to the frontlines as WARDENs proper. Though at this point, they were probably seeing more action than what they'd see at the frontlines.

"Of course, knowing our luck, there won't be a diplomatic hand-off. Dunbarton's going to be on fire and our contacts are going to be strung up. Call it a vague inkling with how things have been going so far. So that's going to be fun."

It was a morose prediction. One that Justice really didn't want to come to fruition. But of course, whether she said it or thought it, she was right more often than not these days.

"Or maybe they just never told you. Some dickass political drama, maybe."

Then of course, Justice looked at the distance that had been put between Collette and Silje.

"Don't take what she says seriously." Justice told Collette. "I know I don't."

She was just dripping with venom at this point.

"Well, let's get to the city. I'd rather not put off whatever fuck up the city has in store."

She paused. Right. She was vaguely their leader.

"And Kali." She said before turning to the WARDEN. "We'll talk about all of this when we get a single minute where things aren't going shit sideways."