Rockette — Roleplayer Guild

Well, it is purely evident where most lie now, and I have to admit simple defeat in my hopes that most, if not all, will return. While I abhor to close a story with tons of potential with an entire construct meant to span into a sequel even, and then some, I recognize the marks of differing interest and priorities. It falls onto being my fault, so I won't call out any respective writers here or bother to shed away my attempts! Just know that I strongly appreciate those that made efforts and stayed loyal and with me to the bitter end. It has been a wonderful time writing with you and I hope to have that privilege in future stories!

But despite that, it's with a heavy heart that announce that Requiem will be no more, I can't allow my efforts and world to crumble away without being given some sort of rest. 

Once more, a strong thank you ♥ to those that stayed until the end, and a huge apology and regret on my part that you didn't get to explore the depths of your character. Perhaps the verse of Viera will make another appearance in the future, but for now, I've exhausted my tolerance and patience entirely and have to force the inevitable outcome. Ah well, it was fun while it did last!

Best wishes,
Rockette. 

O A K R I D G E  A C A D E M Y // June 6, Saturday. // Deployment Garage.

Monika was all the fixings and embellishments befitting a brick wall, laden with ice, cemented into perfection with uniform components dredged in colours of mute grey, flattering ebony edges with splotches of incredible azure that feathered into steelish determination and stalwart inflection. Her accent was both staunch and absolute, and when she approached the throngs of activity ascending beyond furor and capacity at the deployment garage, she dropped her gear with a flourish of sound, allowing the near thread bare capsule to echo in the drones of various articulation and commands and deftly speared Caladbolg against polished plate and steel. 

And waited.

Close inspection would aspire to reveal the tension that began to lace and cord, exhibiting her visual unease and trepidation that could be acutely defined as excitement if not for the surrender of her brow that flexed and shimmered with her immersion of thought. With a vice woven around blade and hilt, and the opposite perched on the slight juncture of her hip, she rolled her weight and locked her knee into place to conform with her balanced palm and relaxed, just an increment, with the Caladbolg poised at an angle against the marred flooring. The garage was all muted tones of military uniformity, greys and soft ebonies to defuse that usual splendor of the the Academy where piping was woven overhead; crisscrossing figures of insulation and air conditioning that connected to massive units located against the exterior of the entire facility. Conditioning of traditional tactics and strategy permitted Monika's gaze to travel unhindered and through every flicker and oblique scrutiny. Every contingent that consisted of Guardians was awarded with a full platoon to accompany them to every focal point of their missions, allowing full access to the ranks and common infantry that would defer to their judgement. She only found that proper, as the pinnacle of Operation Downfall was weighed on their own ascendancy and endeavors, and thus was given popular priority. And those descending into the thicket of the Dark Zone where the inclinations of threat and harm swelled into the predictions of nigh—triple—scored probability, were granted with the largest brigade. The gargantuan doors of each deployment sector began to unbolt, cranking open on an impressive hydraulics that were initiated on the puncture of a single switch. Monika's posture became alerted as commands were issued and soldiers began to clamor on board their respective vehicles. 

Of course, they wouldn't embark until all Guardians were present, and at that she pondered if the others from the informative boards had begun their path here, and oddly considered if Ollie was immersing them into conversation when she heard that mockingly laced quip that betrayed the genuine accentuation of his chosen cadence and words. His utterance pinged at her lobe, acknowledging the sardonic intention as her gaze peeked over the curve of her shoulder to do much the same; bow and all creating a curl of her lip in a satirical glower.

	"Uh huh," Monika rejoined, glancing him from crown to foot [her brow quirked at the obnoxious hue of pink adorning his shoes by the laces.] She knew that lackadaisical smirk and appearance, flaxen strands of hair that yearned for some attempt of civility and taming that only increased further upon that visage adorned in a eternal simper of crooked proportions that was queerly endearing to his wayward debut. Graham Tosches. He was her polar opposite in every component, from looks to mannerisms, and spiritual aptitude with only their oculi bearing some similarity; but she knew she was of frigid hues and he of open skies. Her skin thrummed and shimmered with her glacial complexion responding to the electrical currents humming in his own being that bloomed fire in their wake, and carefully turned to avoid presenting her backside.
	
	"I'm not fitted to any other mission, the front lines need this kind of heavy artillery." Her grasp tensed, growing taut and flexing through the cord of her arm to emphasize the sword he referred to as a device of imminent death. There was a wealth of hubris in colouring her usual accent, the slight dips and curves of her origins deluged by years in the central continent, but enough to indicate her foreign reign. Her gaze swept over him once more. "If you're here, I guess you're with the Hammer as well. Interesting." She commented vaguely, cooling tones plying her voice and indicating to her perplexity and just how interesting she thought his inclusion was. She had never sparred against him personally, but heard conceptions through the mill of defamation in the gym and circuit about his dagger wielding finesse, and while it was enough for her recall, it still had not yielded his potential. And thus, Graham had not proven himself to her. That would have be remedied.

	"Well," she propped her sword against her gear and busily began to unravel her thick mane, her fingers departing the strands with well practiced habit and smoothing the tresses that fell to the small of her back before she began the long process of twisting the ebony mass into a plait. "I know Olivia Celestine is joining the front lines, if you know who that is, and I assumed a few others of the—" She shuddered. "— Aesthetic Squad would be coming as well, but it appears they're branching out to even the tide of physical strength." Her ice hued eyes slanted in his direction, her mind attempting to formulate on how he would be beneficial to the entire mission. "Now it's just a matter of waiting on the rest so we can properly create theories on how we approach the Zone."

O A K R I D G E  A C A D E M Y // June 6, Saturday. // Information Boards.

He would have to admit, much later on in the privacy as of his world eclipsed in glass, that creatures akin to Olivia Celestine both perplexed and combated against his own inclination of charms and altruistic effectiveness. She was almost genuine and obsessive in her endeavors to include the mass of Guardians smothered around the boards and was enough of a presence to diffuse attention to his own debut. Thus permitting Ollie a singular moment to quiet and dispel, the grace of lips and bone faltering to flatline into a brooding exterior and his posture to wane and slump with visual cue to the previous venture he endured under Monika's substantial blows. He would never admit to the ebonette that her corpulent strength drew curious wonderment from the BATW, or that his father had uttered how alike she was to her father, rather than her mother [and Ollie never asked how Julian knew, because no one muttered about any Abendroth's or Faye's in public venue] and how her eyes were the only indication she was of the Anatolian heritage. He knew that Monika's stoic reserves were infamous, but the single mention of her home or of the utterance of family would fracture, splintering her components of frigid grace into something of guilt and pain. And Ollie never spoke about family to her, not ever again after he witnessed the wall of impenetrable ice and stone crumble under the cruel joke of feeling sorry for her siblings in their youth against her ample power. Ollie's brood increased, darkening the swirl of his dark stare as he found himself comparing the two ebonettes he knew; one of smiles and cheer, the other of silence and rigidity.

He knew Olivia only on association with Monika, the former having done her up most best to persuade and incline the latter to join a series of festivities and jubilant celebration. Of course Monika had denied, claiming such was distracting and wasteful to her preparations that never ceased, and Ollie had went in her stead; promising to enjoy himself twice on her lack of participation.

And enjoyed himself he had. . .

	"Serenity!" Ollie exclaimed, finding the blonde and swinging his arm across her slender shoulders, brooding fixation having parted and easily swathing up into a blinding, exuberant smile in her direction and joined her with the remaining of the troupe. The one who had thrown an arm similarly over Olivia vacated and Ollie bid him farewell with a two pronged salute of his fingers before returning his focus onto the slight women eclipsed slightly by the weight of his arm. He knew her on attending courses and participating in similar social circles outside Guardianship, thus finding it elementary to reflect her usual free spirited disposition. "Shall we head to the garage then? I'm eager to see if the others for our little adventure have arrived. I don't know this Eric very well unfortunately." He mused aloud, indicating to the information Olivia supplied. "But it won't hurt to arrive a bit early and see who we are traveling with, yeah?" 

He briefly acknowledged a particular duo with names that escaped both memory and actual importance, they were muttering about Doral, attending the routines of conscription and persuading deserters and the filth of a particular location that Julian once uttered as a waste of time and potential. BATW possessed harsh standards, he thought briefly and found it only fitting to the leagues of requirement his father spoke of often when in presentation of one another. He was commonly observing and processing and the results were profound and agile, just as his Magus Bow was. He only hoped the Nexus Reactor yielded the results his sire was hoping and striving for.

Monika waits for the rest at the deployment garage where the doors have opened and soldiers are beginning to load up. Whilst being idle she answers to Graham, doubting his abilities and actual power and commenting to him in slight conversation. Ollie remains at the boards, reflects on Olivia and Monika before throwing his arm over Serenity and suggesting they leave to join Eric, and maybe others at the garage whilst reflecting on his father: Julian.

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𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

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