Prosaic

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

It made him queasy, the scent of alcohol lingering on the breath of the stranger hovering over him.

He wasn't taller than him but his broadness made him feel giant-like in comparison to Simon's own narrowness, he had never felt so cornered. His instinct in these situations had never been flight though, not as it should be, he wanted to know more. He wanted to know why this wild-eyed man had pulled him aside, he wanted to know why madness was burning behind his eyes. Whatever was happening at these parties in the Wilde Woods was going to be blown wide open if he had any say in it.

The stranger spoke fervently, like a man at an altar, like he needed to get the words out. It all made Simon sort of hungry to hear more. He was about to inquire but he had no time before the man had grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him closer to him. His hand nearly went for his knife again but he restrained himself to listen to what he had to say.

"You need to burn them. Burn them all. Like rats."

The sentiment left an odd taste in his mouth. He wanted to wash it out with another question but again-- he was too late. The man had released him and he had fallen back in dazed confusion, staring up at the face of the man a breath before he turned and retreated. He heard the sound of his footsteps as he disappeared up ahead and he felt indecision. He could pursue him, maybe even catch up with him but then what?

What if he couldn't make him talk?

These thoughts spun around his head, a whirling, disorienting mess of indecision. He heard the sound of hooves as the carriage took off and realized he'd have to catch the next one anyway. So, without another moment to waste, he took off in pursuit of the man.

As soon as he started running, he realized he wasn't feeling up to it. Simon wasn't exactly what anyone one would call athletic. Between cigarettes and a mainly sedentary lifestyle of writing and reading, he was not much of a sprinter. This became glaringly obvious as he pursued the retreating madman through the alley. He wanted to shout after him, to beg him to slow down but expending even a bit of extra air on that seemed like a bad idea with how he was feeling already.

The man attempted to vault through a cluster of trashcans towards the end of the alley and by luck and luck alone, his foot caught and he fell forward. There was an audible crash as he came down towards the ground, taking a few of the trashcans down with him. Tough luck. Simon internally winced but pushed forward, catching up to the man in a few long strides and carefully moved one of the cans from his direct path.

By this point he was out of breath and mused, discontent and tired which he attributed to how his tone came across strained. "Hey- I know you're scared, I'm scared. I just need to know what I'm walking into. I need to know what happened to you. I'm not trying to corner you, I don't want any trouble, I just want answers. I need to know what's happening."

The man on the ground seems unmoved by his words, eyes wild and a hand clutching his arm close to him. Wounded dogs were the most likely to bite. He took an almost imperceptible step back, but held his eyes, keeping his stance guarded. The man bared his teeth in a smile, the whites of his eyes were too bright in the gloom. Simon felt uncomfortable as he stared at him but thankfully, the man started to speak and he listened, resisting the urge to pull out his notepad and write it down immediately.

No need to test his luck any further, he'd have time to write it down on the way to the party.

I wanted a mystery and I got one. I'm not sure why I feel so sick.

He inclined his head, drew another step back. He felt out of place and like he should take off, he had a carriage to catch, after all. With a new worry tucked behind his ear, he offered only a parting sentiment "Please get your arm looked at, that was quite a fall." And then he made to retreat, feeling somewhat shaken by the encounter.

Edenridge

Mentions

@Aces Away

Days blurred into one another.
One by one by one.

Monotony was familiar.
He woke up every day at exactly the same time, brushed his teeth, brushed his hair, didn't linger on his reflection and got dressed for work. He wasn't at the bakery every day, just most days, he found the days that he wasn't at the bakery were the hardest. If he couldn't keep his hands busy then he started thinking too much and when he started thinking too much, he spiraled. The last thing he needed was to spiral again.

So, it was monotony or bust. He kept his hands busy, he kept his head down and he didn't think about things that might send him spiraling. He liked it when life was slow and there was nothing to talk about. Unfortunately, there was something to talk about. The letters. The letters had caught him off guard at first, had made his hands start trembling, had nearly triggered a spiral. He hadn't wanted to read them, not when he'd seen who had signed off each entry.

He had wanted to burn them.

He did wind up reading them. He did not wind up burning them. They sat on his dresser, a wrinkled pile of diary entries. They were an unwanted stain on an otherwise monotonous existence. He tried to ignore them, he tried to pretend they weren't there and most of all-- he tried not to spiral again. Things weren't all bad in his life, he had Lanie, he had Decky, hell, he had Bradley. People he could talk to, who didn't judge him, who accepted that he was kind of a spaz.

He liked that bit of his life. He liked them.

He leaned onto their presence when things got rough-- of course, there was still so much leftover drama between Lanie and Decky. He didn't exactly want to be their mediator but as the days went on, he felt more and more like he might have to. Especially with Decky back in town, especially because it was almost entirely his fault he was back in town but sue him! Decky was his friend. He hadn't seen him in an age and he missed him.

He had almost forgotten about the letters that would greet him.
An unpleasant surprise but not one that was really his fault.

He had made it to his car by the time his phone pinged and he cringed internally at the preview message. It wasn't a good sign. He dropped his response before he took to the road.

You're going to have to specify, man. What did I do?

Nolan

Nightland

Spat out a short Kea reply! Mostly just a lot of introspection filler.

Nightland

---

He had a bad feeling about the vagrant.
It wasn't just his usual misgivings about unfamiliar people but rather something... worse than that. He had made to push his way over to the man before realizing he was a breath too late and they wanted him to come along to the police station. Well-- "wanted" was generous terminology. He was pretty sure he'd hear about it later if he didn't attend, at the very least, it would look suspicious since Linda had kindly turned the light onto him. If the crime had been arson then maybe he would have been more forgiving.

He was grateful for Mia, at least. She had almost immediately stepped in to back him up and they weren't even-- did that mean they were friends? Weird.

His gaze trailed over the other attendees, at least he wasn't alone. He wasn't sure where Valerian and Emily had wandered off to but he figured that anyone with any sense would have probably gone home and slept this off. Reluctantly but without much fuss, he made to follow the group outside, keeping his head down and his shoulders drawn. He didn't speak as they walked but he couldn't help but wonder about the vagrant, about the two patients who weren't here now and about-- everything. Stanton was dead and the whole circumstance was wrong.

Eventually they had left the building and he could not turn off his mind. Whatever terrible thing had occurred with Stanton, it was following him like a wave of black.

It was an odd feeling, to be in the back of a police vehicle.
It gave him too much time to mull over what he'd already tried to unpack. He could see that the worst of the snow had ceased falling and the city was lost beneath a blanket of white. Spectators had gathered around the building, eager to catch a glimpse of the carnage and something about it made him feel worse somehow.

"It's fucking freezing, isn't it?" He murmured, maybe in general, maybe to the others.

Remnants of Mana

REMOVED

Remnants of Mana

Devan Lock

More Art :)

Portrayals done by Riantuk & SistarStarly. These are both commissions so uh, enjoy!

Those fires in your attic that rage without permission sometimes invade your living room or break out in the kitchen. | So sing your sad excuses, you've got the scars to prove it and I'm sure they'll sing along.

Age

17

School Year

2nd

Specialty/Apprenticeship

N/A

Magic Affinity

Dark

Magic Class

Animation

Personality

Devan is rude, whether this be intentional or unintentional is sometimes hard to decipher because he often seems confused when he’s called out on it. Despite this rude demeanor, he’s unapologetic, seemingly convinced that people who think he’s mean are just whining or “don’t really know him”. He’s got a tendency to lean on a sharp sense of humor, one that picks at the insecurities of others and he also fails to see an issue with that.

Devan is manipulative by nature, a toxic person who finds it advantageous to twist others to suit himself. He seeks power, driven by an urge to stand above his peers and willing to crush whoever he can to climb those ranks. However, he’s not terribly confident in his ability to do so. Achievements are often seen as things he could have done better and he tends to pick apart his strategies with an over-analyzing eye. This can make him incredibly organized but also incredibly in need of approval.

His better qualities fall into an inherent goofiness when he’s with friends or loved ones, he can even be construed as sweet in these moments. He’s got a gentle nature hidden beneath that rough exterior and he’s kind of a hopeless romantic, although it’s hard to tell with how eager he is to flirt with others.

On another end, he is woeful and self-pitying. He tends to presume he’s going through the worst and he feels ill-fated when things don’t go his way. He feels targeted, whether he is or not and he’s his own worst enemy. He’s argumentative, grouchy, and very cynical. He tends to think he knows best and won’t take the advice of anyone else. He’s easily frustrated and he lacks basic empathy which often causes him to act immorally but he’s quite good at emulating empathy.

Notes

Devan was born with malformed lungs which causes him to lose breath quite easily under certain circumstances, if the conditions are particularly bad, he can wind up suffocating as a result.

History

Devan was born in Soria, a somewhat sickly child with a lung condition that kept him on the brink of life and death throughout his infancy. He grew stronger as he grew older although the condition of his lungs never got better, he just had to learn to work around it. While this got easier, he was never all that good at keeping up with other children. He had a loving mother and a cruel father, this made his childhood somewhat riddled with turmoil.

Devan's father was not someone to be reckoned with and he often found himself at odds with the older man. Arguments were frequent and loud between the two and they often ended with Devan getting injured. This did little to stop him from throwing in whenever he heard his father and his mother arguing. However, things were not all bad, due to the influence of some extended family, Devan had a soft spot to land at times where he felt accepted and cared for. He would often find himself squirreling away to the home of his aunt when things got to be too much.

Sick and tired (somewhat literally), Devan found himself growing weary of his own household which inevitably lead to his decision to apply for Insunia, he was somewhat alarmed but grateful when he managed to get in.

Nightland

I can respond sometime mid-week!
Sorry for my brief absence, I'm hanging with friends.

Remnants of Mana

I'm interested!

Lanius School of Villainy and Mischief

Devan Lock

Those fires in your attic that rage without permission sometimes invade your living room or break out in the kitchen. | So sing your sad excuses, you've got the scars to prove it and I'm sure they'll sing along.



FULL NAME

Devan Joseph Lock

NICKNAMES

Dev, Lock

AGE

Seventeen

GENDER

Male

DIVISION

Strength

POWERS

Necrosis Inducement

Devan is built compact and short, he only stands in around five foot seven inches although he looks a bit shorter upon first glance. His build is wiry with muscle and he is very lean, he can easily be compared to a dancer in frame. He has broad shoulders and a broad chest although this is somewhat due to how compact his muscular distribution is.

His skin tone is olive and spotted with dark freckles that are evenly scattered across his body. His fingertips are usually blackened with rot, his nails are almost always cracked. He tends to keep his hands wrapped in gauze as a result of this.

His hair is often kept just a bit too long and it tends to be somewhat messy. He almost never seems to keep his hair brushed and as a result it winds up hanging across his forehead and nose. He has a pretty face with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, his eyes are heavy-lidded and a very pale gray in shade. He has a full mouth that's often down-turned and somewhat somber. He has a prominent hawk nose.

He can usually be found in hoodies and sweaters over dark jeans and boots.

Devan is rude, whether this be intentional or unintentional is sometimes hard to decipher because he often seems confused when he’s called out on it. Despite this rude demeanor, he’s unapologetic, seemingly convinced that people who think he’s mean are just whining or “don’t really know him”. He’s got a tendency to lean on a sharp sense of humor, one that picks at the insecurities of others and he also fails to see an issue with that.

Devan is manipulative by nature, a toxic person who finds it advantageous to twist others to suit himself. He seeks power, driven by an urge to stand above his peers and willing to crush whoever he can to climb those ranks. However, he’s not terribly confident in his ability to do so. Achievements are often seen as things he could have done better and he tends to pick apart his strategies with an over-analyzing eye. This can make him incredibly organized but also incredibly in need of approval.

His better qualities fall into an inherent goofiness when he’s with friends or loved ones, he can even be construed as sweet in these moments. He’s got a gentle nature hidden beneath that rough exterior and he’s kind of a hopeless romantic, although it’s hard to tell with how eager he is to flirt with others.

On another end, he is woeful and self-pitying. He tends to presume he’s going through the worst and he feels ill-fated when things don’t go his way. He feels targeted, whether he is or not and he’s his own worst enemy. He’s argumentative, grouchy, and very cynical. He tends to think he knows best and won’t take the advice of anyone else. He’s easily frustrated and he lacks basic empathy which often causes him to act immorally but he’s quite good at emulating empathy.

RELATIONSHIP

N/A

SKILLS

Powers
Devan's ability can be detrimental with the right control.

Scrappy
The boy can hold his own in a fist fight.

Thick-skinned
It can be hard to bother him, even when one is trying to.

Charismatic
He's quite good at seeming more charming than he is.

WEAKNESSES

Easily Discouraged
A few words contrary to his ability and Devan tends to take it all very personally.

Lacking Control
His ability is sort of a wild card and he ends up injured as a result.

Irritable
His temper is quick and destructive.

It started in Manhattan, New York...

Okay, again.
I just uh.
I don't feel like writing, Echo.
You can't make me. Quick summary: Devan grew up in Manhattan, he had kind of a poor ass family, he didn't get proper medical care as a result. He developed his ability in his early teens and started to act out blah blah blah. Here he is now.

OTHER

Devan has malformed lungs which results in shortness of breath quite easily. He can suffocate under extreme circumstances.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

Journal Entry #1 - Unfinished

Initial thoughts...
I do not have any qualms with traveling outside of New York, I never have. I like the trains, I like the way they smell and I like the sounds. There's a nostalgic value in watching the world go by outside but being incapable of doing anything about what I see. Watching people is easy. This will not be easy and that makes me nervous.

I feel weird and that's no surprise, I opened enough doors that the devil came knocking at mine. I am not one to ignore a rap at the door but for a moment I considered it. I'm not sure that chasing shadows is smart but it is what I've chosen to do. Violet might appreciate my fortitude. Too bad she does nothing but scream at those same shadows any longer.

I bite my tongue as I consider what might face me and I find I can't reason why I shouldn't go. I'm not the brave sort but I am the curious sort and sometimes that is just as bad. It's important that I keep my wits about me despite this, although the idea of venturing into this lacks wits all itself. Oh well. Hell awaits, yes?

Standing now at what he'd considered the point of no return, Simon was left to face down with a peculiar figure. His instinct was to go for a weapon but he could hardly bring himself to move. He had frozen in place shortly after his unsuccessful retreat, staring up at the cold blue eyes that stared back at him. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was stuck there, incapable of speaking or acting. His breath exhaled sharply and he tried to make note of as many details as he could about the individual although they were shrouded in gloom and that was no easy task. He could not make out much of their face but he could see the scar, a twisted, knotted thing that stretched across their cheek.

He wanted to brush them off as some sort of vagrant, a nobody in the darkness who was hungry for a fight. He considered they could perhaps be a local who was too keen on superstition, he was familiar with the type. He did what he could to ease his posture as he stared them down, tried not to look threatening, just in case they were looking for a fight. If they were just a superstitious local then he doubted they'd strike him but it helped to be nonthreatening in these situations all the same. He did not want to consider them to be some sort of sign. The words they spoke rung too true with his own internal turmoil, they was too close for comfort.

At the very least, this was an opportunity, wasn't it?

He had wanted to ask questions anyway, his whole purpose for visiting was to ask questions. If this dark figure had some kind of answers then who was he to complain? He tried to reassure himself with this logic although it did little to qualm the fear in the pit of his stomach. He would quiz this strange person a little and then he'd retreat the carriage, preferably without sustaining any injuries. He struggled for one more deep breath, and exhaled through his nose before he managed to force a pleasant smile on his face. The change was almost immediate, he'd gone from cornered animal to friendly face in no time flat.

He swallowed down the anxiety rising up the back of his throat and he forced his words out through his teeth, smiling all the while. "I don't know what you mean," he knew exactly what they meant but he would not show fear if he could help it. Fear was no use to him when he was engaging in investigative journalism, this wasn't the first shady figure he'd ever had to face off with and he presumed (or hoped) they would not be the last. His eyebrows drew together in an attempt to look confused. "What's to fear about the woods?"

What wasn't to fear about the woods?