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DOUBT EVERYTHING
except me... i'm cool

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In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Helicopter shot over some woods and a rocky incline. You can make out figures working their way through the wilderness in a line formation, being led by two real hot slightly older ladies. An inner monologue starts up, you don’t know who is speaking yet. The voice is younger but deep and crisp, like a young Sam Elliot. “I’d always lived for my adoring masses. The 100k-ish, I mean 1 million, followers I had on Instagram and Twitter. But now, I had to leave that all behind. And, I had to be secretive about it. So, this turned into a trip with ‘friends.’ In which, all my friends would be confused about who I took and laminate lament that it was not them. Instead, I was off to a hidden school for hyper-humans, protected by the most elite that Canada had to offer. So like, Super Mounties or something…”
Location: Team 78 Campsite - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials: # 1.90: Don't Stop Bee-Lieving
Interaction(s): Sierra # 2 or 3 or 4 @JunkMail
Previously: N.A

Snapping selfies in LA was easy. Just find the light, and it was arid and sunny enough that you always looked good. Snapping selfies in Canada was like trying to take a picture in a child’s ball pit—it really was a toss-up on what sucked the most. Coop tried to get a picture on a scenic rock, but there were too many tree shadows. Then he tried to get a picture out in the open, but the cloud cover made it look like he’d put on a cheap “night filter” that B-movies used. He tried by a tree with his flash on, but it was just too dang green. It washed him out in the weirdest way. So, he just took a picture of the tree and posted it. “Me and the boys hiking in Canada. Hope moose don’t like Italian.” He then had a crisis of intelligence. Was it “moose” or “mooses” or “mises?” Also, do they eat people? After a quick couple of Google searches, he felt better about his choices. Well, except for the fact that he could be gored by a moose. But that seemed quicker and less traumatic than being eaten. Speaking of which—

Halfway through the trek, Coop’s stomach made a horrible noise. It was almost cartoonish in the way groaned. He turned a pitched red and fished out a protein bar from his pack. His pack was 60% snacks, 20% a solar-powered ring light, 10% an extra pair of socks and underwear, and 10% EPI pens (he hoped). He eyed the bee girl, again. At least moose goring would be traumatic and dramatic. His throat closing against his will seemed almost comical. “He lived as he died, trying to ask for help but instead flailing around.” Also, his corpse would probably not be cute. Not that corpses were cute—but—he just wanted an open-casket funeral. Cool. Cool. Cool. Why was he thinking about this right now?

Fortunately for his spiraling thoughts, they arrived at the grounds. He immediately set down his tent. “Man, I hope these tents were heavy because our personal masseuse is in them. I feel like an old lady in water aerobics. Hope I have slipped a disk.” He made a dramatic show of bending his back only for it to pop. “Oh hey!”

No more thought was put into the tent as there was talk about pizza and a portable pizza oven. O-kay, maybe Canada had more in common with LA than he thought. As others milled around, he made a beeline (agh! He needed to make sure he brought his EPI pen) for the food.

He had a large, if almost comically so, piece of his pizza hanging half out of his mouth when he was approached by someone. “Ever been camping before?” she asked. He’d been looking at the group that was clustered by the bee girl, which had included this girl. This girl that was still in the group, and also in front of him asking him if he’d ever been camping.

“Yeah. Used to go camping outside of LA as a kid. I mean the tents didn’t do that but it wasn’t bad. I’m sorry—” he trailed off as he shot his hand out to see if this second identical girl was actually there. He bumped up against her very solid body. “Whoops. Sorry! I thought you were a hologram or something.” His hand rested right below her shoulder but not too low as to be scandalous. He gently patted it as if he’d meant to do that the entire time. “So, what’s your name? I’m Coop.” He then traded pizza to his other hand to shake hers. He realized there was grease and cheese soaking it, and now it covered his left hand as well. In hopes of not smearing it all over himself, he leaned over to a tree and ran his hand down it. “Nature’s napkin?” he questioned, probably more to himself than to the girl in front of him. He then extended his fairly clean hand towards her—a few leaves stuck on it for posterity. “That’s very hot of me, I know.”
In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ｄ Ａ Ｓ Ｈ Ｃ Ｏ Ｏ Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ
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"Chi nasce tondo non può morire quadrato. Jokes on them, I'm a triangle."
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Dash Franklin Cooper
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October 29th,2003 | 20 | Caucasian 1/2 Italian
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Single | ♂ | Heterosexual
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Los Angeles | California | US

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▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S
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▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
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H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || F A T M A N I P U L A T I O N
__PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC
__SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || SOMATIC

Coop's fat cells store his HZE, and have an effect on the surrounding cellular structures (read: muscle, bones, organs, and skin). Like most fat cells, when they are activated, they expand. When they're dormant, they become compact. When Coop doesn't activate them, he is a statistically perfect (<2% fat) model. He doesn't need to work out or watch his diet to have the perfect Adonis-like figure. Though he still does the former due to the downsides of his ability, we'll get to that. When they activate, they expand. They also consume any HZE around them to become more powerful. While Coop does have HZE stored within him, he can further expand his powers by absorbing the HZE around him. This may cause a detriment to other hyper-humans that are in the vicinity, but we'll also get that.

His power, simply putting it, is invulnerability. Basically, the more fat he has on his body, the more invulnerable he is. It's not hard invulnerability, allowing for compromises when it comes to force, energy, and impact. He can survive terminal falls, bullets deflect off of him, and electricity and fire have no effect on his body. And as a side-effect of his power, he also has strength equal to his mass. Meaning a punch from him could range from breaking bones to crushing a car with ease. The cells are practically powerhouses, which causes the HZE to radiate outwards and affect the rest of his body. This allows for his form to complement the power within him. Meaning he can become taller, his skin more pliable, his muscles capable of supporting his weight, and his organs capable of keeping up with the pressure put upon them.

He currently has a variation of his height being 6'4" to 8'4" and his weight being from 190 lbs to a ton.

L I M I T A T I O N S || HZE CONSUMPTION

Coop's power relies on the use of not only the HZE inside himself but the HZE outside of himself. To keep the power fueled on the inside, he has to have a heavy intake of calories to keep the fat cells happy and viable. If he went without any form of nourishment for a while, his power wouldn't be able to be used at its full capacity if at all. If he's around other hyper-humans he might not have enough to draw into himself to reach the upper limits of his ability. Or he can consume it, leaving others around him without any HZE to manipulate. This makes it hard for him to work in a team setting when his ability is necessary to succeed.

W E A K N E S S E S || MOBILITY & OUTFIT MALFUNCTIONS

For instance, if Coop uses his ability to its fullest there's a chance that he won't have the musculature to run or even walk. There's also a chance that his surroundings won't allow him any forward progression. Meaning he has to dispel the power to get anywhere fast, and it may be impossible for him to re-engage his power if he doesn't have any reserve HZE. Now, he doesn't have to reach the limit of his ability, and he has more mobility--but he has less power. There's a middle, sweet spot with it, but it's really reliant on practiced control. Which Coop doesn't have at the moment. So, to try to offset this as much as possible, he does work out to give him some residual strength that isn't reliant on the use of HZE. But no normal person can work out as much as it would take to be on an even level with carrying around a ton of weight. It's a wet bandaid on a broken dam.

Also, normal clothes can't withstand the use of his power. He's sure that he'll get an outfit to withstand it, but will it be perfectly tailored to him? Probably not.

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Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?

"I hope it's not my Twitter blowing up. I mean I do hope it is, but there's a difference between it being the attention I want versus what I don't want. People say that there's no such thing as 'bad press,' but they've never been on the bad side of Twitter. They can destroy you with a snap of their finger. That's why all my posts are perfectly curated to not offend anyone. Or at least I try. I am like a cishet almost white guy that lives in the upper class. I'm basically a living, breathing privilege. Which I don't hate, but it's not good when you want to make a point. Which, don't repeat what I said. Like... you never heard this... I don't know the currency exchange for Canada bucks. Is a hundred, good?"

A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?

"Oh I totally help him. I will film myself doing it too. I can see this blowing up on Tiktok. Now that's some good press. Unfortunately, strangers don't approach me that much. I must just ooze that my dad is a lawyer. Bet."

A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?

"Again, I'm going to go throw myself at the problem and film it. Good press, people. You know how people blow up after they help defend against school shootings? Actually. Let's not. That's a shitty comparison. Oh boy. I feel just awful now. I need like some seltzer water with some honeydew in it. That'll make me feel better. And some Cheetos? Maybe some like one of those fried croissant things with the ham in it? Great... now I'm just hungry. Wait... what were we talking about? Oh yeah... I'll go play the hero."

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"I'm tacking on an extra grand for this meeting because your Powerpoint is ugly, and I'm bored."
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COOPER, FRANKLIN II || F A T H E R
COOPER, FRANKLIN II || F A T H E R
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He received his JD at Yale University in CT before moving to LA to start a practice. It was mostly to help film companies research certain laws in hopes of either a) finding loopholes or b) exploiting them for their gain. Of course, Franklin always stated that it helped with the realism that was seen on the screen, and made sure that the various workers within the industry had their rights. Sure, he might have done that... at one point. He recently started dabbling in politics (read: helping politicians with the same thing.) He's emotionally distant, constantly bored, and has a tendency to only give his highest-paying clients attention. Everyone else could more-or-less be talking to a bored cardboard cut-out. ▅
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"Parla bene, ma parla poco. It's an old saying that my mamma would tell me. I ignored it."
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D'AMICO, GIANA || M O T H E R
D'AMICO, GIANA || M O T H E R
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A second generation Italian, Giana grew up in upstate New York before leaving to Los Angeles to pursue a career--any career. She just wanted from her smothering family and their antiquated lifestyle. She easily found a job modeling. Yet, unlike a lot of her peers, she was actually able to make a career out of it where she was paid quite well. Though, considering the timeframe, a lot of the more risque photos require you to take your Google off of safe search. She met Franklin at a party, married him, and was quite content to give that life up in hopes of lounging by the pool and looking at the view. Her family never comes to visit.▅
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Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.
In 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊 ✦ 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔶 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶 → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Ordai’el consumed most of the island it sat upon, the only other landmarks there were the mountains, and the shrines that found their home in the forest leading up to it. The docks were massive, but beyond a few warehouses and gatehouses, there wasn’t anything one could call valuable architecture. On an island not too far away from Ordai’el, a new city had popped up in the wake of Ordai’el’s fall. It was dubbed Tornika. Most of it was off limits to anyone not within the Holy Order, but it did have numerous inns, eateries, and places of worship that anyone could attend. Yet, the crowning jewel of Tornika was a structure made entirely of crystal and starlight colored metal. No matter how the light hit it, even during a stormy day, it had an ethereal glow to it. And on a day like today, where the wind erupted from the sea and threw salt in the eyes of all that walked down those polished roads, it had an undulating glimmer to it. Like it was submerged into the deep well of water.

The structure was called the Radiant Gate, and most days it was dormant. Today it lit up, crackled, and hummed with intense magic. Many people gathered outside, looking at the volatile illumination that poured from the Radiant Gate. The conversations went from fevered and loud to hushed as the clouds themselves opened. A bolt of light shot upwards into the sky above and tore into the horizon like a festering wound—a virulent green bathing the crowd before everything calmed.

A priest of the Holy Order pushed open the heavy, metal doors. He spoke to his fellow mages and knights as they exited the dome shaped structure of the Radiant Gate. They all had a relaxed tone as if this entire situation was a part of their daily grind. The crowd looked onwards in anticipation. A knight came to the forefront of the group and waved them away. “It was successful. Another group was transported to Ordai’el. Not that it matters. Go back to wherever you’re staying. We’re done here.”

“Where’s the Empress?” Someone in the crowd called out.

The knight shrugged. “She don’t come to these send offs anymore. Her Holiness has much larger issues to attend to. She should be coming to Tornika here in a week or so—you can hear those words from the mouth of the divine herself. Now, like I—”

A blood curdling scream ruptured through the crowd. A woman pointed past the knight and to one of his colleagues. He turned in enough time to see his stomach distend and explode like a pustule. The liquid didn’t get on him, but it did a few of the other priests, and they started screaming in pain. One’s skin started sloughing off at a tremendous rate. The others began to scab over with flat gray skin until it consumed him in its entirety. Another found arachnid like appendages bursting from their eyes. They started to flee from the group. The knight pulled out his sword and summoned the roiling fire from within him. The blade caught ablaze before he charged at the ones before him.

Hours later… the knight stared at a pyre of nearly fifty bodies of all races. The flames roiled before them, and the black smoke touched the sky. He, along with a healer of Wether, were the only two that weren’t infected by the time it was over. She vomited so many times in the interim, though. It had almost become commonplace for her to heave out brackish, yellow bile every time she had to look at the corpses. “What do you think that was?” she asked. “I’ve participated in dozens of these. That’s… never happened before. Did we do something wrong?”

The knight frowned. He didn’t know. “I think the only thing wrong is that place—Ordai’el.”

The healer straightened herself. Her usually dark skin looked pale and clammy, and there was a tinge of nauseating green around her eyes. “I don’t imagine the Empress will want to open that connection again for a while.”

“If Her Holiness is smart, she’ll never open it again.”


One moment they’d been in the glistening dome of the Radiant Gate. The thrum of magic around them was thick and palpable. Then there’d been a sheer, blinding white and the whole scene dissolved around them. Naenia swore that she saw the entirety of Goan underneath them before her feet found purchase on the ground again. It went from flat, shiny slabs to reddish-gray dust. At their landing, a massive cloud of dirt rose around them. Naenia coughed wildly before the dust settled and their surroundings became evident.

They were in a gate yard of sorts. Behind them was an archway that led out and into the surrounding city of Ordai’el. The left and right of them was the curved inner yard that encircled the Holy Order’s tower, boxed in by a tall, white wall. The tower was where the order convened. Naenia had been there a few times. She hadn’t been allowed into the depths of it, but she’d seen the city from the top. It expanded out from the tower in rings of importance, each walled off, before the massive outer wall kept everything inside. A river ran around the periphery, pale blue and manmade. Usually, if the rings weren’t filled with white, gray, and pale blue houses there were large swaths of greenery. Around them, in the innermost ring, the ground was dead.

If Naenia remembered correctly, this was usually known as the market. There were stalls lining each side. Yet, they’d fallen into heavy disrepair. Their vibrant banners either faded or stained by some dark ichor. The polished stone walkways that ran between the stalls and fed into the tower, proper, were dull and crumbling. Still, one could make it out easily enough to tell where they needed to go. If Naenia squinted, she could see the grand entrance to the Holy Order’s tower. It was open. She turned the archway behind her, the portcullis fully risen and rusted into place. Yet, a shiver ran down her spine at the thought of walking through there. It didn’t help that written in Trade Speak were the words “DO NOT CROSS.”

She tried to see why, staring into the ring of houses after that. There didn’t seem to be much change, really. The ground was still dead. The buildings were crumbling and stained. Yet, there were a few figures standing amongst it all. Naenia thought twice about lifting her hand to wave, as she noticed they did not move. They didn’t even seem to be breathing. She took a few steps away from the entrance and moved towards the inside of the ring.

A grinding noise erupted into the eerie silence of the courtyard about that time. She turned and watched as a fountain, something that used to be quite splendid, pushed out a mucous brown substance from its jets. It fell into the brackish pools with a sickening “glurgh,” before the grinding stopped. It seemed so surreal that it was still on a timer after all these years.

Naenia ran a hand through her short brown hair before she turned to the group. Her eyes fell over each of the members. Right, they weren’t much to look at, but what did she expect? This venture was viewed as fruitless at this point. Many people would say that Ordai’el was a lost cause and that Goan would do well to forget it.

“I know we really didn’t have time for introductions, earlier. My name is Naenia Blackwell, a priest of Dhrobris. I’ve been here before but—” she trailed off as her vision finally rose to the sky above. Red clouds raced across a dark black sky. There were no stars or suns or moons in the sky. Just an empty, black void.
In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Location: The Minotaur/Trial Campground - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.73: Cum Bye Yah
Interaction(s): Katja @Zoldyck, Calliope @PatientBean, Banjo @Hound55, Cass @Lord Wraith, and Everyone Else by the Fire
Previously: It's Like if WWE just Braided Hair and Sang

“And every joke I could fucking hit would take a backseat to the one that God, the fates, Provenance, call-it-what-you-fucking-will played on you already, doesn't it?”

Banjo said he didn’t want to punch down, but there he did. He quickly tried to cut himself off and steer in an entirely different direction. One that had a joke that petered out like a flaccid fart. Trace didn’t care about that. They didn’t hear it. Their fingernails bit into their pale skin so much so that the bluish blood started to pool before it dripped from those crimson claws. But they said nothing. Instead, they rolled their eyes when Banjo walked away, taking with him any spark of interest. They turned on their heels and saw Katja. Their tent mate would notice the smug grin absent from their lips. They cleared their throat and plastered it back on. “Bloody fuckin’ wanker,” they said over their shoulder. Though there was no one there to hear it. “Sorry, Katja. I was bored and… decided to—what’s the Yank phrase—poke the bear. Well, the bear left to shit in the bloody, fuckin’ woods.”

They didn’t wait for Katja to say anything, instead pressing past her and passively surveying the tent. There was really nothing to look at. Just a slowly expanding domicile with all the fixings. It was apparent that they had hit a nerve with Banjo. True. They’d laid it on far thicker than they should have. It was just boring being a social pariah as everyone laughed and joked around them but not with them. But they didn’t focus on that. Instead, they wondered what they said that had set Banjo off. Just some light ribbing, dick jokes, and fucking jokes. It was nothing that they hadn’t said before. Maybe it had more to do with who they said it in front of. Trace looked up to see Banjo and Calliope sticking close together. Oh boy… that had to be it. But it was strange for Banjo to give a shit about his personal image. He hadn’t seen a comb since it broke off in the tangled mass called his hair. So—was it the fighting comment? Or the fucking comment? Oh no… it was the fucking comment in front of Calliope. Well, if that riled him up then he really needed to evaluate why it did. People shouldn’t equate worth with sexual conquests. Then again society didn’t care to uphold that notion—especially for the male gender. It was a shit move for Trace to say that out loud. They knew better. But it wasn’t a measured response for Banjo to say they were a joke—an abomination—cursed by the powers that be. Yeah—they fucking knew.

About that time, Bill whistled loud enough that every dog within twenty kilometers could hear him. He stated something about a team swap and not to fuck in the middle of the night. Trace shrugged. Like that would be an issue for them. Then it was time for them to gather around, sing kumbaya, and eat.

Traced stared at the kebabs and then sniffed them. They weren’t bad but there didn’t seem to be a sprinkle of seasoning on them. Or maybe there was, and they were just used to the kebabs back home that were practically dripping in curry. They chewed on the chicken slowly as everyone gathered around and started yammering. It seemed that within the past couple of hours, Calliope had decided that she was de facto leader. Then again, she probably hadn’t had to follow anyone a day in her life. Trace didn’t even look at Banjo when he spoke, they gave Cass a skeptical look, and offered Katja their rapt attention as she did. There were a few people sitting away from the fire not uttering a single word. Trace couldn’t decide if that was what they wanted to do, or if they wanted to dive right in.

“Bloody, ‘ell,” Trace grumbled. “I’m Trace Whitlock. They and them for the lot of you that didn’t get the memo. I’m from Sutton London. My dad is British Military, my mum is dead, and I was scouted for a professional football league before all this happened. And by football—RORY—I mean your fuckin’ soccer. Except better and with less bullshit.” They shrugged. “As much as my power goes. It’s easier to show you."

They pulled the back of their shirt up, which caused the front to ride up as well. Their torso was finely muscled, though far from the definition of Katja’s, and as pale as the rest of them. Their deep blue veins were obvious underneath. At first, it would be hard to tell what was happening in the light of the campfire, but it became apparent that a long limb started to form underneath the back of their shirt. At the end was a hand with fingers. The arm extended longer than a normal one should, lengthening out six feet in front of them. It was as pale as their flesh but didn’t seem to be made of skin. It looked to be denser and made of marble. While it bent in the middle, as if it had an elbow, there was nothing natural about it. The hand splayed its fingers and dove into the fire. It picked up some smoldering coals and held them there as if just holding a handful of rocks. It crushed them into a cloud of fine dust—easily—before dropping them back into the pit. The arm then crumbled away, landing on the ground like chalk before bubbling up as if someone doused it in vinegar before disappearing entirely. “That’s it. And I can produce six of those things.” They could do more with it, but they didn’t care to elaborate. Surprises might be fun in the future. Not to mention, they were already braced for whatever shit Banjo was about to spew.
In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Location: The Minotaur/Trial Campground - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.61: It's Like if WWE just Braided Hair and Sang
Interaction(s): Katja @Zoldyck, Calliope @PatientBean, Banjo @Hound55
Previously: Honestly, Just More Tea

Trace didn’t mean to embarrass Katja. They were just trying to make them feel better about the entire rejection, but it seemed to be unnecessary. She was more than happy to pair up with Trace. That made at least one person in this entire team delighted by their presence. Hell. Trace would take it.

Katja was on top of it regarding the tent. She mused over it only for a second before setting it down and releasing a lever. It popped to life like something out of a sci-fi show. Trace scratched their head. “Of course, we used cuttin-edge technology only to make things more fuckin’ bougie,” they grumbled as it bloomed into a domicile that was nicer than their bedroom back home. Honestly, that was wrong. They wondered if the thing needed pitons to fix it into the ground, or if it deployed those as well when it was done. Trace had watched enough “camping fail” videos to know that was the bane of many an outdoorsman.

Likening the entire experience to the old saying that a “watched pot never boils,” they turned back to Katja as she started explaining the ins and outs of her powers. Trace’s mouth went a little agape. Also hearing her say “TLDR” in her accent was wildly amusing. “Wait—no—you can’t skip the part where you were shot in the head. Sorry, I know you just said not to ask. I mean I’m glad you’re okay, but that’s fucked up. I bet—” At that moment Rory walked up, and Trace went from curious and concerned to bristling.

To his credit, he apologized for the confusion earlier and then explained who that nameless rando was that picked up Haleigh. It was a member of Team Blackjack, just one that they had never really met before. Trace felt better about that entire situation. They were beginning to doubt their sanity at that one.

Any further conversation was ruined by the yelling that was happening right over their shoulders. Like a golden retriever who just spotted its ball, Rory abandoned them and ran to the commotion. Trace just watched as Banjo lost it on Iñigo for whatever reason. Haleigh yelled out in confusion, and Calliope was apparently working up to saying something when Rory jogged over and placed his hand on Banjo’s shoulder. “Oh no, you precious idiot, what are you fuckin’ doin’?” Trace grumbled under their breath. Internally, though, they were chanting fight, fight, fight, fight. It was then that Calliope raised her voice and poured cold water, pun intended, over the situation. They frowned as everyone seemed to diffuse and Iñigo rattled off an apology.

“Katja, I know this is a bad idea, but I feel called to say somethin’. Hold on one sec, and then I have so many things I want to see you smash.” They winked before walking a few steps over to where everyone was huddled up.

“Calliope, pet, you have got to tell me how managed to take Deliverance’s balls and make some snazzy jewelry out of them. I mean that’s what had to have happened here. Never seen a dog bark so hard only to back down the moment a pretty face interrupts. He had to have been snipped.” They made a pair of scissors with their fingers and pantomimed the action. “And here my money was on Rory beatin’ his ass. I mean, it’s the difference between a show dog and a mutt you find in the gutter—fleas and all. For some blokes with powers and machismo, you sure as hell love to be cucked. Bet you fuck as fast as you fight—which is not at all.” They laughed.
In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Location: The Minotaur/Trial Campground - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.49: Honestly, Just More Tea
Interaction(s): Katja @Zoldyck
Previously: The "Tea" in Team Spirit

Trevor looked beyond Trace, not even acknowledging their existence. He waved at someone before walking away. “I’m like a meter away from you, wanker. Are you fucking kidding me?” They glanced at Rory, who became distracted by an American football. The boys turned white when Trace tried to employ them beyond just continuing their two-man circle jerk. They bit those words on their tongue, knowing better than to dig their heels into the situation. It was useless. Neither of them was smart enough to comprehend what Trace was asking. They would just do it themselves.

Of course, when they turned around to help the wheelchair girl, they found her being wheeled away by someone that Trace had never seen before. “What the hell?” They extended their arms in exasperation. “Who the hell is that? And we’re all okay with them taking her?” No one seemed to acknowledge or show panic during this entire interaction. Even their leader Bill, or whatever, seemed to be nonplussed by this development. Meaning that this person was either a part of Blackjack, or the school was fine with vagrants running off with their students.

Trace sighed, watching everyone pair off. Fine. Fuck it. They’d just assemble this goddam tent themselves, and whoever decided to sleep with a ghost, could join. Now to find a spot that was at least decently flat. That’s what a tent needed, right? A flat spot? Not too much wind. Not too much sun. Not too much… fuck if I know.

They were in the midst of rubbing their brow when a shadow leered over them. It wasn’t hard, really. Trace was only about five feet and some change. It didn’t take much to overshadow them. A tenacious blow-up doll had more length on them than the young Brit. They turned on their heel to see Katja. Hadn’t she gone to partner up with Cass? They looked beyond her and didn’t see him amongst the others milling about. Their eyes met Katja’s.

“Oye, don’t worry about it Katja. I meant, like, for flatmates. We shouldn’t be swappin’ clothes here in the tent. I’d love to partner up.” They paused. “But weren’t you talkin’ to that blond-haired wanker earlier? He turn you down?” As soon as they said those words, they figured that had to be the case. They knew how shitty that felt. “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout him. He’s probably scared that he might utter ‘step on me, mommy,’ in his sleep. He looks as milquetoast as they come—a right, proper crybaby. So, let’s get this tent set up.” They smiled at Katja, trying not to make it seem haunting. Though—everything they did was a little haunting.

“I meant to ask yah, if it isn’t personal or anythin’, but what’s your power? Feel free not to answer. I get that not everyone has an interestin’ ability. We can’t all turn things to ice or fly.”
In 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊 ✦ 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔶 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶 → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Vertigo
ACCEPTED! Beautiful, fun, and Wraith is an upstanding addition to this RP. Also, your editing of the Injury Map is chef's kiss.
In ~ AoT - The Western Siege ~ [OPEN] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


GÖRLITZ || BEHIND WALL MARIA || SPRING 844
GÖRLITZ || BEHIND WALL MARIA || SPRING 844
Abigail was the hen’s name, and she flared up her feathers and let out a low, beaky growl as she took one step forward and then another. Stian held the wicker basket of eggs tightly in his hand. There were only a few of them, considering Lars and Anneli had headed off to Quinta District with the rest to sell. None of them were fertilized as they lacked a rooster. That being said, Abigail was more than happy to square up with the six-foot teenager for them. The back of Stian’s boot hit the barn where the livestock was kept. Of all the sides that he’d run into. The other three led into the open field.

So, he tried to take a sidestep to angle himself towards the eastern corner and escape, but as soon as his boot squelched against the ground another low, beaky growl joined Abigail. “Really, Jan? I thought you were on my side. Did Abigail put you up to this?” The mottled hen looked at him, and he could swear he saw regret in her eyes. Abigail, whose feathers were as black as her heart, used that distraction to run toward Stian. He did the only thing that made sense at that moment, he leaped upwards. His fingers grazed the awning before he landed back on the ground—hard. Abigail barely missed him, but she’d coerced Jan and a new hen, Charlene, to make sure that he didn’t get away. “Fine.” He dropped the basket and leaped up with all his might, his hand clearing the awning. He bit his fingers into the side and pulled himself up. A beak latched onto his laces and was dragged three feet into the air before it released, cawing in anger at him. Stian scrambled over the side and used that time to catch his breath. Abigail, Charlene, and Jan paid the eggs no mind. Instead, they circled the side of the barn that he was on. He was safe, but he was very stuck.

This was the shortest side out of the four, and only due to an architectural blunder on the part of the people who put this barn up. From there, it steeply rose before leveling out. He was bound to break something if he tried to drop off any side that wasn’t attached to the chicken pen. So, there he was…

He sat down and pulled his knees into his chest, glancing down at the pen. The three hens were joined by a fourth and had fully planted themselves there. He was not getting down without being accosted. Sure, he was the larger of five beings in this situation, but he lacked feathers and a beak. Stian still had a scar from when the old rooster, Kislev, had torn into him. It’d also taken a while for that spot on his scalp to get hair again. Sure, one could call him a coward, but he figured it was more about being practical. His dad would come around eventually and help him; if he didn’t, the evenings were not so bad.

The town of Görlitz was idyllic. Flat lands with abundant crops were broken up by outcroppings of stones that small villages were built around. Dirt roads cut through them like brown streams before leading into straight lines that ran across the fields. Trees dotted the landscape here and there, but they weren’t an impedance to the horizon. Instead, they swayed with the wind like green clouds that refused to leave eye line. Stian watched them shift in the meandering wind. Birds chirped. Creatures skittered. And hens kept watch. He couldn’t really complain about the weather or the view. The sun warmed him, and the tilt of the awning wasn’t so severe that he slid off. So, instead, he leaned back and brought his thick, muscle-laden arms behind his head. The crystal blue of the sky was rather nice.

Stian was awoken by a rock hitting him square in the nose. He jolted upwards and looked around “Finally,” a voice erupted from below. “I was beginning to think you ran away, but then I heard this horrible noise coming from the chicken pen. And lo and behold is my lost son.”

He clamored over and looked past the edge. His dad stood there in the middle of the pen. The hens were nowhere to be seen. They respected one person on the farm, and it was not Stian. Aksel’s shaggy blond hair was pulled behind his head, and his dull green eyes pressed into Stian’s. He was probably the tallest person that Stian had seen. Lars predicted that Stian would probably not beat him in height, but he wouldn’t lag too far behind. There was a controlled way that Aksel moved that awed Stian. His dad knew exactly how to command presence.

“Were the chickens screaming or something?” Stian asked.

“No. You were snoring. You’re too young to snore like that. Now get off there before the hens stop tolerating me.”

Stian tried not to seem embarrassed as he slid off the roof and landed with a dense thud on the ground. The wicker basket with the eggs was missing. He stared at the spot that he left it, before looking back up at his dad. He’d figure that mystery out later. Aksel just chuckled at his son, a deep thing that caused his chest to rumble. He then brought his hand down on Stian’s head, mussing up his blond hair.

“Dad,” Stian said. This was even more embarrassing.

“Just let me do it. Someday I won’t be able to, and you’ll really regret denying your old man this honor.”

“What do you mean?” Stian stared up at him with incredulity as they moved to the fence, and he hopped over it. As soon as he did, he saw the beady eyes of Abigail before they sunk back into the darkness of the coop.

“Oh, don’t be so dark, Kid. I mean that I’ll be old and hunched over, and you’ll be taller than me.” Aksel laughed. “I didn’t mean to give you an existential crisis, there.”

“A what?” Stian asked.

“Oh boy.” Aksel paused. “The reason I was looking for you is that you need some more experience breaking in the horses. Wilhelmina is not really giving me much leeway, and I know she prefers you a bit better. So, I figured now would be a good time. Patience is showing some progress, so I’ll be handling her today.” He sighed. “I really regret letting Anneli name all the animals.”

“She’ll run out of semi-normal ones here soon, and we’ll be calling everything ‘flarber-gest-en-flough'.”

“Bless you.”

They both laughed at that as Aksel pushed his son towards the horse pens.
INTERACTIONS || None
In Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The flat was small and cramped, and occasionally the stout smell of coriander and anise would leak in from the flat next to them, but it was home. Trace’s father kept it militantly pristine, and there was always this lingering hint of bleach with a mixture of lemongrass and honeysuckle. They’d never figured out where it came from. The soap smelled like trees and citrus. They noted that as they scoured their hands with said soap and hot water. It was late, and the muted telly was the only light on in the combined living space. Trace had barely noticed the darkness until the overhead light popped on. Through the front door came Dad, his digits fumbling with his key as his arms were weighed down with paper sacks. Trace instinctually jogged over and grabbed the bags. They placed it on the small, linoleum island that made the kitchenette area seem nicer than it was. They peeked in to see a whole, roasted chicken.

“Dad,” they said flatly. “What is this? It’s just me and Trev and you. And Trev isn’t even here, he’s over at what’s-her-face, probably given her a good—”

“Nope,” he said, locking the door behind him. “We all know what a teenage boy is doing. There’s no need to bring it up. And, I figured that we could have a nice dinner for a change.” Thomas Whitlock consumed the small entryway. While he was a demure man with soft sensibilities and a delicate accent, he looked like you’d not want to meet him in the alley. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and all his button-up shirts fought against his barrel chest. Trace knew he’d been in the military, and knew that he was in security now. There was a tickle in the back of their mind that said that he probably knew more ways to kill a man than they knew lewd gestures. He’d even shown them a few tricks to stop anyone that tried to be aggressive with them. Not that it mattered much, now, as they were able to sprout multiple arms and flail them with the insipid rage of a drunk toddler.

“It’s 11 o’clock at night. We’ve way exceeded dinnah.”

“Oh, so you’ve eaten?”

“Fuck,” they remarked. “No, I just got in.”

“And I’m going to have a talk with Tim about having you out that late.”

“Look, Dad, it’s not his fault. I choose the extra work.” They reached into the bag and pulled out the chicken, the heat radiating from the bottom singed the tips of their fingers.

A disappointed frown appeared underneath their Dad’s mustache before he smiled. He knew why they stayed late and went in early. Few people stared at them. It was a realization he’d had a while ago. He dropped the other bags on the counter, pulling out the containers with various precooked vegetables packed into them.

“You know you look like your mother.”

Trace jerked their face over and stared at him. Their blank eyes wide and possibly insulted. “Wha? Like a black and white photo where some serial killah like scratched out the eyes? Wha the actual fuck, Dad?”

He only chuckled. Usually, he’d reprimand them for their language, but he was apparently tired. “I know you don’t really remember her, but you have her smile and her laugh. I didn’t even think it was possible. It startled me the first time I heard it.”

“Probably fittin’ that I sound like a ghost, considerin—” They waved at themselves like a gameshow host showing off the prizes. Except they were far from a prize.

Their dad stopped unpacking the food at about that time. Trace could tell he was about to go into Sad Dad mode, and they felt bad about initiating it. “I get it. You had four wankers for older brothers, a dad that was only here half the time—”

“Ah no, you were there—”

“Trace,” he said, firmly. “I’ll get to the point. You never had a chance to really meet your mum, and I hate that you couldn’t. You’ve always had to be tough. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You gotta be tough sometimes, but sometimes you—” he trailed off. “Don’t get me wrong, your mum was terrifying when she had to be. I watched her scream a fellow nearly deaf one time. It was like watching the nature channel during the big cat hour. But she didn’t let anyone put her down. She was confident in who she was. And you look so much like her—it makes me sad that you don’t have that much confidence. Because, you’re a spectacular kid, and I’m glad I did a good job on at least one of you.” He reached back into the bags and finished setting everything out. “I know it’s easy to say that considering that I’ve never gone through what you have. Just know that journey –”

“I get it, Dad, I need to stop being hard on myself."

“Right. Don’t put yourself down. Put other people down.”

“That sounds like a bloody fuckin’ motto to put on a cat poster. If the cat was covered in the blood and guts of anotha cat.”

“There’s a reason I’m not a licensed counselor.”

“No… really?” Trace’s words dripped with sarcasm.

“Now shut up and eat your dinner.” He leaned over and kissed the top of their head.
Location: The Minotaur/Trial Campground - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.37: The "Tea" in Team Spirit
Interaction(s): Haleigh, @Kuro; Rory @webboysurf; Trevor @Jarl Coolgruuf
Previously: Icy Starfish

The bus ride over was anything but quiet, but Trace got lost in their thoughts long enough to not let it bother them. It was easier to daydream about a different time than it was to live in this one—this one which was admittedly easier than home was. There were a few things Trace missed, and it was mostly their dad. Who knew they could be homesick for a cramped flat and chicken that tasted a little off?

When Jim, their illustrious leader, remarked about the cliffs wailing like banshees—Trace snorted. “Must Ireland haunt me forevah?” They would have slithered back to daydreaming if they hadn’t come up to the campsite quickly.

As they got off the bus, Trace stretched, the dull pop of their bones only audible to those within a short proximity. “Is now a bad time to mention that I was fuckin’ too poor to camp? Not that you bloody went campin’ in London. If you wanted to piss and shit in the wilderness and get mauled by a bear, you’d just have to find the nearest Eurotrash Disco.” They realized that joke was probably lost on the lot of them, so they just sighed and continued their stretches.

They had seen “Team Eclipse,” and they paid them no mind. If football had taught them anything, it was that acknowledging competition would allow them to get under their skin. Sure, they could benefit from learning about their rivals, but they could also benefit from not getting psyched out by thinking about it. And this little trip was more about getting sorted into their corresponding house anyway. They just had to be the shiniest bitch in the dog show. Though they couldn’t help but feel some relief that there were a couple of hyper humans on the other team with physical abnormalities. They hadn’t seen a lot.

Everyone pairing off made Trace nervous. They truly didn’t want to share an enclosed space with anyone that tended to snore and fart. The dainty girls teamed up, the bougie rich girl asked Banjo, and then there was Katja who approached a dainty boy. What was left was a hodgepodge of testosterone and the girl in the wheelchair. There was no way Trace wanted to team up with her. Not due to any social stigma, but because they wouldn’t be of help to her. She’d probably end up having to carry around the small Brit. Trace approached her and patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll get you sorted.” They winked.

It was then that they made a beeline for Trevor and Rory. About that time Rory looked them square in the eye as he mentioned a football. They were aware of what the American football looked like, and they would have no part in it. Why was the ball that shape? Was it because American male footballers were grossly homophobic? They couldn’t cup anything ball-shaped and hold it close to their chest? Ugh.

They’d regret this next action. But they were two strapping young lads and they were a better fit for making sure that the girl in the wheelchair didn’t feel weird or left out. “Oye, you two.” They then pointed to the wheelchair bound girl. “One of you needs to go ovah and team up with her. The other one can stay behind and be my partnah. I don’t care which one it is, just leave your shared braincell with the one that’s stayin’ with me. Okay?”
In 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊 ✦ 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔶 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶 → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
✦NOTICE✦

I am keeping this RP open. Please hop into the Discord to discuss your potential character. As characters will not be introduced mid-level. Meaning you may have to wait a month or so to be able to introduce your characters. For now, acceptance for the beginning of the RP has CLOSED. Any character after this will be introduced in Level 2.

Also, join us in the Discord.
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