R31GN

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Oh hey, just an fyi/update. I'm back, but I've taken to ignoring the OoC because it's really spammy. Every now and then I'll try to sift through to see if anything important is actually posted, but other than that, if you have something relevant directly to me in the OoC, do me a favor and ping me so I don't miss it.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Though on a better day, Baron would find the antics that so quickly surrounded him amusing, today was not one such day. Between a pain surfacing behind his eyes and the very swiftly worsening weather (which he still found to be far too mundane of a topic on which to focus), he was quite frankly pissed, for lack of better wording. While teetering on the edge of snapping and putting the children in their place, Baron found some far off reserve of self control, and gripped tightly to it, his good hand mimicking the motion as it clenched tight, knuckles turning white. "Oh how satisfying, to dispose of these trifling whelps." He thought to himself, his face betraying no emotion but a polite smile.

Watching Max's struggle to get out with amusement, Baron found himself glad he hadn't strayed too deep into conversation before it had been too late. On the outer fringe of the meeting that filled the kitchenette so quickly like tumors in a cancer patient, Baron took a few careful steps backwards, cane moving in tandem with his feet. He nodded to Max as he made his exit, a move likely to be followed soon by Baron.

Between Atlas' utter lack of social skills, the new arrival ("Kale was it? Like the vegetable?") being a pain in the ass, Jaklo sporting an attitude of arrogance, and Drake doing... whatever it was he was doing, Baron thought he would find far better company in his books, and rightly so. Still, he stayed firm, body language not betraying any of these thoughts. He looked down at the doughnut in his hand, unfortunately a bit unrecognizable under his iron clad grip. He cocked his head to the side, frowning at the loss of the baked good. That was to be his breakfast, and he certainly wasn't about to go back in the cluster fuck for another.

As Baron turned to make his exit, he noticed Glory Grey, and felt a twinge of guilt for having missed her entrance earlier. He smiled at his discovery, nonetheless, and turned to address her. "Bonjour, madame. Divine to see you." He couldn't remember the last time the two had actually conversed -likely because he had been rather engrossed in his studies for the last heaven knows how long. He reached out and embraced her in traditional French sense, kissing the air to either side of her face. Admittedly, as one who lived in France many years ago, even Baron knew this wasn't real tradition, only a bastardization of real tradition. Right? He was almost certain, but he had missed quite a bit during his many magical hibernations.

"Ah, muffins? They smell divine, cher ami, merci." He said with a wide grin, grabbing one in the same motion as he tossed the mangled mass of doughnut he held into the trash. He waved the baked good beneath his nose for a moment, savoring the smell as he stepped carefully around Glory Grey with a wink. As he moved, he made a beeline to his own desk, where he resumed his previous position almost to the t -leaning back in his chair as tentacles sprouted from his back to help him sort through his books. Hardly posturing or display of power, this was simply where he felt most comfortable. Anyone who had been at the office at the same time as Baron knew it was far more normal to see him with tentacles waving around than not, hopefully something they could accept.

As he finished his muffin, licking the crumbs from his fingers, Baron was interrupted from his book by Jaklo's announcement. "Meeting in 5? And here I was hoping I could have a moment to read." He pouted mentally, as he struggled up from his chair. A tentacle tossed his book onto the desk lazily as he moved, but a thud caught his attention. The arc of the book sent it at a rose on his desk in a small vase, which he just barely caught as he desperately lunged with a tentacle. He grimaced slightly as he replaced the flower in it's position, and more carefully put the book down. A copy of the Tanakh, which he lined up quite purposefully parallel to the edge of his desk. He gave the book a quick pat to assure it's safety, before leaving his desk to walk to Seph's office. His exit was punctuated by a petal falling from his rose to the floor, lightly drifting through motes of dust.

Baron entered Seph's office with the telltale click, clack, click, clack of his cane that so commonly went hand in hand with his gait. He almost limped as he moved to take a seat, eyes straying across the room. He took a seat two to the right of Max, giving the man a warm nod as he sat down rather heavily in the chair. Baron sat surprisingly tall considering how he had just limped in, and looked briefly around the room before looking down again to a book, this one a leather bound journal detailing his case notes. Baron smiled at Lenya's comment, but otherwise didn't speak up as he awaited a briefing.

God Neon

Made some minor edits to Ramsay, just formatting and a couple additions to the Psychological Profile, hope you don't mind.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Hey all, sorry for this being so short but something important just came up for me IRL, so I won't be able to post for the next 4-5 days.

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

Hey all, sorry for this being so short but something important just came up for me IRL, so I won't be able to post for the next 4-5 days.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

If by base you mean a shitty box fort of books in his apartment, then yeah Baron has it covered. Your authority isn't recognized in Fort Kickass.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

Recap time, Day 2: Max, Lenya, and Jaklo talked at the water cooler donut stash. Baron judged. Coal survived the treacherous morning commute. Atlas complained.

@AdobeFlash

Hey! Baron would never judge. Well okay, but he'd never judge out loud. Wait yes he would. But at least he won't judge you to your face. Well okay he totally would, but that's not the point.

Ologies: A Study of Arcane Specialists {Paranormal Investigations and more}

The tentacles wove around Jacques haphazardly, each seeming to move of their own volition. They traced lazy lines in the air around him, followed by a telltale ethereal blue glow. Two stood unnervingly rigid in the air, one supporting a book just inches from his face, the other holding a book next to his hand that he lazily flipped through as he leaned back in his chair. His foot impatiently tapped as he read, before he looked away from his books to his desk, covered in books in a similar fashion to his home. No cases. No new material to study. A low rumble erupted from the frenchmans stomach. "No food either, it seems." Jacques thought to himself, realizing he would need more to get him through the day than the half-apple from earlier.

With a groan of protest from his knees, Jacques stood, a tentacle moving to maneuver his cane to his hand for support. He moved his way to the kitchenette beneath the stairs, having seen Jaklo with doughnut boxes earlier. His cane tapped a steady beat across the floor in his movement, moving in a one-two-one pattern. He hovered behind Jaklo for a moment, listening to the butt end of the conversation onto which he had walked on. Lenya, Max, and Jaklo, it seemed had the same idea as him, and a smirk fell on his face as he joined them, moving to the doughnut boxes. When he passed by Jaklo to reach for a doughnut -taking whichever his hands fell upon first -his tentacles faded from existence, blurring away into a mist of arcane energies. His tattoos faded to black, and he suddenly was standing straighter, no longer feeling his muscles strain.

The French morphologist glanced briefly at the book in Lenya's hands, before giving a brief grunt of approval. His eyes drank in detail from the pages, a reflex of sorts by that point. He hadn't caught much of the conversation, and frankly hadn't cared enough to listen too deeply. "Something something, Lenya was showing something to Max, something something boring hunters, something something weather." Jacques mentally reviewed what he had heard, before a smirk fell across his face. "Ah, small talk. How adorably mundane." He thought as he leaned back against a wall, good hand propped between his head and the wall, robotic hand pointing straight at the ground with cane still in hand.

"Interesting read. Any chance I could borrow it sometime?" Baron inquired in his vaguely accented voice. Though the difference in speech pattern was quite distinctive, it fell on a blurred line. Not quite French, but not quite anything else either. The effect of time travelling throughout two centuries had an interesting effect on speech patterns, as it would happen. He himself was still adjusting to the change in accent -well, change in everything. Even his body had changed with the times, as evidenced by the sleek metallic protrusion from his shoulder. Everything about the new time he had been shunted into was not easy to acclimate to, and even after more than a year he was still caught off guard by the most mundane of experiences to those used to the modern day. "Still, not all of the new world is bad." He mused internally, flexing the robotic arm. He had to admit, even this rudimentary tool was better than the utter lack of function he had in years past.

God Neon

Ramsay

Ramsay Foraldo

"Trigger"

"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog in the dogfight." (Mood Music)

---

Faceclaim

A G E -
32

G E N D E R -
Male

E T H N I C I T Y -
American Italian

P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N -
His body is almost perfectly average, in every sense of the word. Average height, average weight, average muscle mass. His body is relatively hairless though, marred by a number of scars that rivals the number of hairs. Many of his scars aren't noteworthy, however he still bears a large scar running down his left bicep, and a thin line of satiny scar tissue running horizontally across his neck. He tends to dress like a cartoon character -a color variation of the same outfit day after day. He most commonly is seen wearing a dark tight fit t-shirt beneath a dull colored flannel or similar overshirt, as well as dark colored jeans. Around his neck he wears an array of small trinkets collected over the years, each with sentimental value, as well as a dark blue bandana tied tight around his throat. His most notable article of clothing is his jacket, a dark brown leather jacket of tight fit. Two golden racing stripes run up the back. He holds himself in a laissez-faire manner, formal mannerisms and strict body language lacking.

S K I L L S E T -
Driving Motivations- Ramsay is a skilled driver with almost any vehicle. If it moves fast, odds are Ramsay is your man. A natural talent for machinery and a pension for speed nurtured the mans early interest in driving -years of practice only honed the skill further.

In the Scrap Heap- Though Ramsay isn't any ninja-kung-fu-hippie-dippie expert, he can hold his own in a fight. He doesn't fight with any elegance, instead favors the dirty brutal fighting style of a scrapper.

Gearing Up- Ramsay is skilled with a wrench, and knows his way around machinery very well. Cars especially seem to respond to his touch.

Prophet of Profit- Ramsay is skilled in negotiation, and shows talent in weaving words to get his own way. After deals, some may call him a liar and a charlatan, but... well, actually they're pretty right. A man's gotta pay the bills, right?

Scavenger? Hardly even know 'er!- Linked very closely to his skills in mechanics, Ramsay is very good at appraisal. His line of work has given him these skills in telling the value of much.

Toss up- As of late, Ramsay has taken up the 'art' of juggling. He picked up the skill surprisingly quickly, and has only honed the skill since.

H I S T O R Y -
Ramsay was raised far from Brighton, in the slums of a greasy city many states removed. Child of the streets, he learned his way around them very well. From his youth he was destined for some less than savory activities in his involvement with the seedier locals of his skidmark of a home. While his big brother, his only real role model, tried his best to keep him on the straight and narrow, but was simply unable to.

Over the years, Ramsay became more and more involved in the local gangs. While his older brother Tony had his involvement in gangs because of necessity, it was with a milder crowd than the rowdy hooligans with which Ramsay associated himself. As time passed, Ramsay himself ran his way through many drug addictions, many trips to the hospital, and many nights spent in the back of a cop car. Though he brushed these tragedies off as life throwing him a curveball, eventually his luck caught up to him in a violent manner.

Though Ramsay certainly didn't have the best formal education, he knew enough about biology to tell that there was something wrong with his brother one fateful morning. Namely, that he should not be in no less than fifteen gory pieces strewn about to form the sign of a rival gang. That couldn't be healthy.

This was a turning point for Ramsay. It was then that he realized just how fucked his life truly was, so he made the change. He cut the ties he had left, collected all the money he could, then left town. He drove and drove, and didn't stop driving until he was several states away. In this entirely new place, he found work doing what he loved most -working in an auto shop. While this seemed perfect, it was short lived. The only auto shop in the relatively small town in which he had settled seemed to be the centerpiece of much gang activity. Not something Ramsay was willing to associate himself with again.

So it was off to the corporate ladder that Ramsay fled. While he spent almost a month toiling in the world of faxes and spreadsheets, it was as short lived as everything else in his life. He couldn't spend his days doing something he didn't enjoy, so he made another switch in profession. Stunt driving, piloting, et cetera caught his attention, and after extensive searching he found a beginning to this new career.

After years spent happily, living life to the fullest, Ramsay was hit with bad times. Shitty landlord, bad choice in bank, and a disagreement with his boss ended in his financial situation being very stressed, to say the least. He left town to run from his problems as he did so commonly, and found himself in Brighton. He found himself living in the Hoxton Tenements, trying to find some way to scrounge the cash to live day to day. It was through this that he was introduced to the H10 Crew, and eventually became a part of them.

Though he had sworn away from gang activity, he saw them as something above his past. He saw it as his chance to make a difference, and do something right for once while still chasing down the happiness he so desired.

P S Y C H O L O G I C A L P R O F I L E -
Did I ever tell you about the time...- Ramsay is a sucker for a good story, and fancies himself to be quite the storyteller. While there are worse hobbies, it leads him to... exaggerate the truth very commonly. Any story from his lips is likely about half as exciting as he might have you believe.

Cross my heart and hope to die- Ramsay is what some would call a 'compulsive liar'. While he responds to such accusations with indignant scoffs, he can't really deny it either. Oftentimes he lies for absolutely no reason and for no gain of his own. Even he can't tell why he says the things he does from time to time.

I've got a need. A need for...- Speed. Cars. Driving. Fast. Ramsay finds no greater happiness in life than in these words.

Sounds like a party!- Ramsay is nothing if not fun loving. Parties, drugs, and speed define him. If he's not doing something important he will more than likely be found riding a high somewhere, in a club, or on a drive.

Places to be, people to see.- Ramsay rather dislikes confrontation in a direct sense. More often than not, Ramsay runs from his problems rather than facing them.

Chin up, kid.- Ramsay sees himself as a big brother type, and has a caring heart. While he isn't the perfect altruist, he is self-sacrificial in his care. Ramsay gladly will give up his happiness to make another happy, instantly take a bullet for a close friend, etc.

No biggie. Don't worry about it.- While Ramsay cares, he really does, he tries not to show it. He keeps a fake detached attitude up at almost all times, to keep up face. He tries a bit too hard at this facade, and is seen through rather easily.

That's what she said. Ramsay's sense of humor is extremely vulgar to say the least. If there's a line to cross, odds are that he crossed it long long ago. He is also rather jokingly flirtatious, commonly referring to acquaintances, friends, mortal enemies, anyone really as silly pet names. He'll threaten to shove your own dick so far up your ass you choke in the same breath he calls you 'pumpkin'.

You want me to uh... go up there? While he's flown helicopters, stunt planes, and the like in his past, Ramsay is not the biggest fan of heights. Sure, he can work past it when he's riding the adrenaline rush, but on his own two feet he can hardly handle it. One of the few things he really is scared of, it takes a hell of a motivation to get him up high.

P O W E R S -
Trigger Finger Trigger possesses a powerful telekinesis of insane precision. Strong enough to lift a semi, precise enough to manipulate a knife effectively. Insane power, with heavy restriction. First and foremost of the restrictions is his inability to affect living beings. He's unsure exactly how the neon defines this, but if it's got a heartbeat he can't directly affect it. It helps stop him from tearing himself apart, which is nice. The second, most important restriction, is it's range. The telekinesis technically has no set range, and can reach almost anything in line of sight -the catch? It gets exponentially weaker and less precise the further it is. Full strength within an inch of his body, effective at about half strength three inches out, anything past three inches is effectively no influence.

God Neon

@Howler I think I fucked up my mention in the last post. Maybe? IDK. Mieux que gardir que prevenir, I guess