Rockette

OBLIVION

@nodogs
damn right he is.

ᵀʰᵉ Spirits Within/Aeon

@Salsa Verde
not weird. we had a guy here who graduated in forestry and he identified all the trees we have on the mountain. can't remember what they all are though. If they are even pine trees.

Actually we have photos on our website.
link.

The pictures with the string lights is where we usually hold ceremonies and a lot of events in the summer. Wedding on Saturday had their dance floor and shit out there.

OBLIVION

@Prisk
that's right. Sam looks absolutely nothing like he did in school.
shaped up, all bad ass tatted with puberty and adult hood having smacked him right in the damn face like a brick.

speaking of. Found a FC for Sam. Edited my sheet and tacked a photo on the bottom.

other than some social media blubs and posts from Black Arrow and his own personal handle, Sam has been kind of recluse.
Ocean City is a killer tourist attraction though, so anyone with tattoos could've been done by Sam and they not even know who the hell he is.

ᵀʰᵉ Spirits Within/Aeon

@Prisk
we have everything. Maybe it's that. I blame the valley now.
It's a bowl for allergies and suffering.
or maybe it was the flowers from the past wedding we did. Couple thousands of dollars worth everywhere.

OBLIVION

it'll just add more to the mystery.

OBLIVION

samuel.

█ Samuel Sabiston

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▼ PERSONAL DETAILS ► Age - twenty-six. ► Gender - cis-male. ► Sexuality - hetero. ► Nickname - sam. ► Occupation - tattoo artist; contracted at Black Arrow on the boardwalk. ► Qualifications - associate's degree in fine arts. ► Residence - ocean city, maryland. ▼ PHYSICALITY ► Scars - long surgical scar on his right arm, about as long as his forearm. ► Tattoos - from neck to feet, all six-three of him, Sam is donned in tattoos from conceptual lines and fonts, to expansive murals of snakes and birds; mammal skulls, shadowed out profiles, and miscellaneous practice flashes from various artists. ► Piercings - stretched out earlobes, up to 1". ► Style - black on black with rare interchanges of various-stages-of-wash denim and graphic tees between shades of white and gray. bottle-black dyed hair, razor-faded at the edges, and curling stubbornly on his brow. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

LIFE AT RITMAN Samuel Sabiston was always troubled. Ritman High would remember the creature that was poor, grungy, unassuming and an overall underachiever that listed into the crowds as a specter: the kid sunken into his seat; bedded down away from the social woes and ques of his peers. Overweight and penned as the loner child from separated parents that found solace in the back of the class and spent lunch hours smoking at the nearest park on the swing sets. Clove and smoke and hole-punched ears with barbed wire exteriors and acid wash hand-me-downs. A counselor's wet dream. Homework was penned in scrawls of skulls and cross-bones, snakes and pin-ups of historical dames, the black splotches of ink bleeding into math problems -- completed, but none the less marred -- and English papers much to the chagrin of his teachers. Even the vexation of his art instructors was palpable, his brand of flourish not quite accepted and their criticism going unheard to the ear-buds jammed painfully in safety-pinned lobes. Endearing terms of prodigy and genius were exchanged for the fixated labels of trouble-child and lost-cause; maybe he'll grow out of it, as Mom would say. Maybe he'll change. And he was just fine with it. He could manage. Rumors dipped and spun, an elaborated tale of the woe be gone boy that flitted between families during the holidays, his parents remarried, beginning lives anew. Mutters and whispers of ball-pen stick 'n poke tattoos done in the boys room, pretty white lines on mirrors to fix the ravenous voices in his head, and looted liquor cabinets to drown out the noise his music could not. PSYCHE Buried - entombed, maybe - beneath dregs of smoke and mystery lies a heart of gold. Tarnished, dented, chipped and perhaps a forgery, but none the less the by gone remains of a child the world forgot. Samuel Sabiston set fire to the child within and from the ashes he was made anew and he never looked back; but even ashes hold the remains of what was and could have been. From baby pictures thrown aside and yearbooks sacrificed to the shredder, he didn't want to acknowledge the demon within and Ritman High was nothing more than the foundation of lonely days and nights numbed thoroughly by addictions. An addictive personality his mentor would mutter, one that flings upon the chasms of obsession and passion and fixation when sanity refused to be had. Such appellations befitting to his work perhaps, from apprenticeship days spent on faux skin until his first practices of twenty-dollar flashes on insatiable individuals looking to rebel. Smiles are perhaps sharp and brittle, like bared teeth peeled through the shadows, the mask of mystery and secrecy one wears to protect the most delicate parts of their heart and soul. Outward projections allude to a rebellious man unhinged and untamed, wild and brazen and harsh, but Samuel instead exchanges deep whispers liken to an old and aged man, and anxiously drums his fingers to a tune unheard. He's seen and heard and done it all, got the shirt, and the post card to prove it. As many of the woefully misunderstood and underestimated, life did not begin until after graduation wherein Samuel disappeared, not that many would've noticed, let's be honest. Two years of absence until social media became abuzz with an emerging artist with an eye for conceptual commissions and aesthetics of hyper realism with a broad portfolio that ranged from traditional, old school, blackwork to new age water color and Japanese landscapes. A young prodigy, the irony did not go unnoticed. Still, Samuel mastered them all, dedicated his life to the art, to busy himself because as they say, the devil finds work for idle hands. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

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POWER Animation and tangibility. To bring temporary life to the still images of the world, to breath in an obsidian smoke that pulsates to a tempo of a heartbeat, that rises and falls like a lover and just as seductive in its intention. Coiled limbs bunched and tense, muscles flexing beneath the inked flesh that suddenly awakens in twining shadows as the pores of his skin expand. From their release his tattoos emerge as arisen beasts. The shadowed profiles stumble forth and serpents hiss and strike, bidden upon his thoughts and will. Shadow like wraiths donning the skulls of mammals chitter madly and stalk through the gloom whilst crows survey and scout, inky pits serving as his eyes. Some are no more than wisps, others substantial enough in their support. But, they always share a heart, a will, his thought and his emotions and sometimes, their pain. Sam's tattoos move beneath his skin in idle standing, sometimes as personifications to his hidden emotions, illustrating what his face and eyes cannot. Other times they lay still, dependent upon his reign of control. His influence varies from illustrations on paper or even written text, landscapes of epic proportions managed in small quantities and always black and white and gray - never in color. Objects can also be manipulated and animated depending on their structures, this bidden by concentrated gestures and the black smoke influencing their movements. Such objects require proper form, or joints rather, like toys, dolls, for example. This is not to be compared or mistaken for objects that are influenced by the will of the mind. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

- ▼ STRENGTHS ► Essentially his tattoos are infinite, always returning to his skin when not made tangible and alive, thus their uses vast and their capabilities broad by the structure of his will. Their potency and quality is often dependent on his state of mind and intention, be it defensive or malignant. Once unburdened from his skin and made real, their sizes can also be influenced - this concept knows no limitation other than the bounds of his mind. Objects under temporary animation are limited to their own structural soundness. ▼ WEAKNESSES ► He cannot animate all of his tattoos, thus limiting quantity. He can however animate objects along side his illustrations. ► Though made into the physical, enough injury sustained to his animations renders them null and void, inflictions done unto them sometimes transfer to his person. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

ᵀʰᵉ Spirits Within/Aeon

i have a shitty sinus infection. GD pine trees. But Scylla post coming tonight or tomorrow.
hoping my meds knock this shit out!

OBLIVION

if you wouldn’t mind also finding a FC for your sheet, it doesn’t have to be added I’d just like to attach a face to the name.

@Salsa Verde

i do mind.

^{jk. on it!}

OBLIVION

samuel.

█ Samuel Sabiston

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▼ PERSONAL DETAILS ► Age - twenty-six. ► Gender - cis-male. ► Sexuality - hetero. ► Nickname - sam. ► Occupation - tattoo artist; contracted at Black Arrow on the boardwalk. ► Qualifications - associate's degree in fine arts. ► Residence - ocean city, maryland. ▼ PHYSICALITY ► Scars - long surgical scar on his right arm, about as long as his forearm. ► Tattoos - from neck to feet, all six-three of him, Sam is donned in tattoos from conceptual lines and fonts, to expansive murals of snakes and birds; mammal skulls, shadowed out profiles, and miscellaneous practice flashes from various artists. ► Piercings - stretched out earlobes, up to 1". ► Style - black on black with rare interchanges of various-stages-of-wash denim and graphic tees between shades of white and gray. bottle-black dyed hair, razor-faded at the edges, and curling stubbornly on his brow. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

LIFE AT RITMAN Samuel Sabiston was always troubled. Ritman High would remember the creature that was poor, grungy, unassuming and an overall underachiever that listed into the crowds as a specter: the kid sunken into his seat; bedded down away from the social woes and ques of his peers. Overweight and penned as the loner child from separated parents that found solace in the back of the class and spent lunch hours smoking at the nearest park on the swing sets. Clove and smoke and hole-punched ears with barbed wire exteriors and acid wash hand-me-downs. A counselor's wet dream. Homework was penned in scrawls of skulls and cross-bones, snakes and pin-ups of historical dames, the black splotches of ink bleeding into math problems -- completed, but none the less marred -- and English papers much to the chagrin of his teachers. Even the vexation of his art instructors was palpable, his brand of flourish not quite accepted and their criticism going unheard to the ear-buds jammed painfully in safety-pinned lobes. Endearing terms of prodigy and genius were exchanged for the fixated labels of trouble-child and lost-cause; maybe he'll grow out of it, as Mom would say. Maybe he'll change. And he was just fine with it. He could manage. Rumors dipped and spun, an elaborated tale of the woe be gone boy that flitted between families during the holidays, his parents remarried, beginning lives anew. Mutters and whispers of ball-pen stick 'n poke tattoos done in the boys room, pretty white lines on mirrors to fix the ravenous voices in his head, and looted liquor cabinets to drown out the noise his music could not. PSYCHE Buried - entombed, maybe - beneath dregs of smoke and mystery lies a heart of gold. Tarnished, dented, chipped and perhaps a forgery, but none the less the by gone remains of a child the world forgot. Samuel Sabiston set fire to the child within and from the ashes he was made anew and he never looked back; but even ashes hold the remains of what was and could have been. From baby pictures thrown aside and yearbooks sacrificed to the shredder, he didn't want to acknowledge the demon within and Ritman High was nothing more than the foundation of lonely days and nights numbed thoroughly by addictions. An addictive personality his mentor would mutter, one that flings upon the chasms of obsession and passion and fixation when sanity refused to be had. Such appellations befitting to his work perhaps, from apprenticeship days spent on faux skin until his first practices of twenty-dollar flashes on insatiable individuals looking to rebel. Smiles are perhaps sharp and brittle, like bared teeth peeled through the shadows, the mask of mystery and secrecy one wears to protect the most delicate parts of their heart and soul. Outward projections allude to a rebellious man unhinged and untamed, wild and brazen and harsh, but Samuel instead exchanges deep whispers liken to an old and aged man, and anxiously drums his fingers to a tune unheard. He's seen and heard and done it all, got the shirt, and the post card to prove it. As many of the woefully misunderstood and underestimated, life did not begin until after graduation wherein Samuel disappeared, not that many would've noticed, let's be honest. Two years of absence until social media became abuzz with an emerging artist with an eye for conceptual commissions and aesthetics of hyper realism with a broad portfolio that ranged from traditional, old school, blackwork to new age water color and Japanese landscapes. A young prodigy, the irony did not go unnoticed. Still, Samuel mastered them all, dedicated his life to the art, to busy himself because as they say, the devil finds work for idle hands. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

POWER Animation and tangibility. To bring temporary life to the still images of the world, to breath in an obsidian smoke that pulsates to a tempo of a heartbeat, that rises and falls like a lover and just as seductive in its intention. Coiled limbs bunched and tense, muscles flexing beneath the inked flesh that suddenly awakens in twining shadows as the pores of his skin expand. From their release his tattoos emerge as arisen beasts. The shadowed profiles stumble forth and serpents hiss and strike, bidden upon his thoughts and will. Shadow like wraiths donning the skulls of mammals chitter madly and stalk through the gloom whilst crows survey and scout, inky pits serving as his eyes. Some are no more than wisps, others substantial enough in their support. But, they always share a heart, a will, his thought and his emotions and sometimes, their pain. Sam's tattoos move beneath his skin in idle standing, sometimes as personifications to his hidden emotions, illustrating what his face and eyes cannot. Other times they lay still, dependent upon his reign of control. His influence varies from illustrations on paper or even written text, landscapes of epic proportions managed in small quantities and always black and white and gray - never in color. Objects can also be manipulated and animated depending on their structures, this bidden by concentrated gestures and the black smoke influencing their movements. Such objects require proper form, or joints rather, like toys, dolls, for example. This is not to be compared or mistaken for objects that are influenced by the will of the mind. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

- ▼ STRENGTHS ► Essentially his tattoos are infinite, always returning to his skin when not made tangible and alive, thus their uses vast and their capabilities broad by the structure of his will. Their potency and quality is often dependent on his state of mind and intention, be it defensive or malignant. Once unburdened from his skin and made real, their sizes can also be influenced - this concept knows no limitation other than the bounds of his mind. Objects under temporary animation are limited to their own structural soundness. ▼ WEAKNESSES ► He cannot animate all of his tattoos, thus limiting quantity. He can however animate objects along side his illustrations. ► Though made into the physical, enough injury sustained to his animations renders them null and void, inflictions done unto them sometimes transfer to his person. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

the aesthetics are not what I want to them be.
the information however is accurate, images subjected to change. ♥

ᵀʰᵉ Spirits Within/Aeon

Scylla post sometime this week. ♥ gunna slice 'n dice some people.