In a world where a cataclysmic event has destroyed the ability for people to route between major settlements without getting lost, ending up where they came from, or being utterly desecrated in mind and body, a select caste of people - ‘Navigators’ - have become the only remaining links between pockets of civilisation, able to depart from one city and arrive at another, completing the journey to their intended destination.
A select few of the select few have been able to charter their journeys and make rudimentary maps - ‘Cartography’ has become a type of pseudo-magic skill, the maps making travel possible for non-Navigators perhaps once or twice before the map loses its efficacy; but there are rumours of an Atlas, a definitive map, permanently effective that would allow humanity to guide itself across the globe once more.
Luce sat quietly, coldly, staring Dr. Mercia in the face as the psychiatrist looked back, poised over the edge of a clipboard, pen in hand and sympathetic smile waning as the tension in the room built. Luce had been silent since she'd entered the room for her weekly session; this was not unusual. Gila was used to having to prompt Luce. But the silence this morning felt thicker, heavier on their shoulders, and somehow grimy and unfriendly. It had changed, not born from Luce's previous meekness and anxiety; instead, this silence was the result of the sheer animosity that radiated from Luce in red-hot waves, an invisible but very-much present-and-felt barrier between patient and therapist. Gila Mercia knew all of this, and knew that the relationship between them had been fundamentally altered, and would likely never be repaired. And yet, she couldn't simply give up on Luce; she had a medical duty to her patients, and more pointedly a moral duty to the people who had suffered from this fresh trauma. Some of them were beyond help, she thought darkly - those who remained deserved to put themselves back together.
"Fine." Luce offered back, short and terse like Gila was used to but with venom that hadn't been there in their last session. Their session before the plateau incident. Dr. Mercia's hand flitted across her clipboard as she made quick notes. 'Angry'. 'Hostile'. 'Guarded'. On reflection, it was all very obvious. What was the point? Posterity? Record-keeping? "Have you been taking your medication?" Gila asked, feeling like she was merely going through the motions - but the motions had reasons to be gone through. Normalcy was a rock in stormy seas; she needed to offer Luce what she could. "The Xanax? Sure." "And have you found they've been helping?" Luce smiled an unsettling smile. "Not at all."
Gila decided to change tack. "Have you been sleeping?" She asked, knowing the answer and again scribbling on her clipboard. 'Medication insufficient'. 'Sleep difficult'. Sleep was difficult for everyone. "In pieces." Luce answered. "Usually not by choice." Many students had been seen micro-napping in cafeterias, classrooms, libraries. A biological result of sleep deprivation brought on by PTSD-driven night terrors. Luce had had issues with sleep even prior to the incident. "Have you returned to the greenhouse?" "Once. The panes had shattered. Plants didn't survive the storm." Luce broke her rancorous stare to glance briefly at her hands, taped and band-aided to cover paper-thin scratches and scars where she'd shredded her fingers scrabbling in glass-filled soil trying to replant and save even a handful of seedlings. She'd failed. Just another failure to add to the list. She folded her hands in her lap, and returned to staring bitterly at Dr. Mercia.
There was a pause between them. Shocking Gila, Luce was the first to break it.
"Is this really the best you can fucking do?" She asked, her tone accusatory and dangerous. "I'm sorry?" Gila responded, unable to catch herself before the shock of Luce's words and tone wore off, a knee-jerk reply to something she'd never expect from Luce. "Feelings? Pills? Sleep? The fucking greenhouse? Is this really the best you can do?"
Dr. Mercia floundered, blind-sided by this unexpected salvo. She set the clipboard down, her mind racing to find the words to retake control of the session. "It's important to maintain a routine, a baseline - it helps return a sense of control and normality-" Luce sneered. "What the fuck is 'normality'? Are you serious? Cassander is dead. Dead. To the hands of a terrorist who controls storms, multiplies, makes people fly with a thought. What's fucking normal about any of this?!" Luce had risen from her seat as the anger took hold, her voice raising to never-before-used levels. She was frightening herself, though she'd never admit it; to Gila's credit, the doctor remained calm and seated. Luce breathed, and returned to her seat, her face fading into an emotionless mask. "This place is full of fucking liars."
That was something Gila could pivot on, a focal point for the session. "What lies do you feel are being spread, Luce?" "About this academy being fucking SAFE!" She suddenly shouted, and from beyond the office door the usual hustle-bustle of passing students and faculty momentarily paused before resuming, slightly more subdued than previously. "I understand you feel vulnerable - the incident was unprecedented, unpredictable. No one saw it coming." "No one even fucking thought about it. You all thought the school was untouchable. Promised to keep us safe. You can't even keep yourselves safe, let alone your students. Rude fucking awakening, wasn't it? Good thing no teachers got killed, right?"
Luce's face was turning red, and her hands were trembling. Dr. Mercia recognized the signs of rage, and this anger was threatening to spill over and derail everything, at which point Luce would be inconsolable and any progress completely undone. "I understand. The academy has stood many long years, and takes its security very seriously. The incident was on a level beyond realistic projectio-" "I want to see Dr. Lehrer."
Gila gently shook her head. "The Chancellor is extremely busy, evaluating what happened and taking measures to make sure it never happens again. He will have time for everyone, but not now." "Let me see Jonas, right fucking now." Gila shut Luce down. "No. You're highly-agitated, spiraling into rage, and you will take that emotion and turn it into fuel for something you will regret. You need to sit down, let go of anger, and then when you're calm, Dr. Lehrer will be happy to diarise a session. He could even join one of ours-" "You're a patsy. Jonas' fucking lapdog. Think toeing his line will get you in with the clique? I know you're not a hype. Must sting. Must be alienating. You're just a tourist here, aren't you?"
Gila bit her tongue. "I think we should end today's session there." She stood, putting away the clipboard in a drawer in her desk and walking to the locked medical cabinet in the corner of the room, pulling out two new bottles and a prescription pad. "I understand you're angry. Anger is natural when mourning. But you need to be calm and constructive and co-operate with these sessions, or they won't be of any use to you." She sighed, looking her patient in the eye with a weary sadness that deflated Luce's fury. "I don't want you to end up hurting yourself." Gila said softly. "Don't worry about that, doctor. I don't." Luce answered. Gila pushed the two bottles across the desk toward her. Luce glanced at the labels: Fluoxetine. Clonazepam. "If you experience prolonged nausea, vomiting, fever, diarrhea, or elevated heart rate, call me. If you see or hear anything that isn't there, come to my office immediately. Either myself or one of the medical staff will help you." Gila handed the bottles to Luce, who studied the warnings splashed across the label. "These should help stabilize your mood to a better baseline and ease feelings of panic. Two of each a day after waking, with food and water. No more than two a day, okay?"
Luce popped the lid on both bottles and swallowed a mouthful of each before Gila could react, smirking as she replaced both caps. The expression was uncharacteristic, and pulled Luce's face in ways that looked off and uncanny. "I feel better already." Luce lied. "And I don't really need to worry about OD'ing, do I?"
Location:Northern Cove - Dundas Islands
First Class #2.18:Staring, The Abyss, and How I Became Haunted
Luce stood at the shore of the beach in an icy silence that had become her new familiar. The boat holding Cass' body slowly drifted away from the lapping tides of the coast, and as Luce watched the flames grow brighter and fiercer, licking at Cass' pallid skin and beginning the slow process of cremation, she pictured herself in his place. She felt selfish doing so, twisting the tragedy of the loss into her own personal self-loathing party, but it was almost reflexive. She'd done the same at her brothers' joint funeral, considering - wishing - herself in their position, a trade of places, giving all involved parties what they each deserved. Instead, Luce lived, again, another body in the ground beneath her twice-dead feet.
Storm, rain, whipping wind. Surrounded. Luce's face was warm, and she couldn't see quite right. No pain, though, but Luce had long-since learnt not to trust pain, or the absence of it. She raised a hand to her face. Something was jutting out some 2 inches from her cheek, and Luce followed it up her face, over her eye, and found the end of it halfway up her forehead. She frowned, drawing her hand back from whatever shard was now embedded in her skull, and only then noticed the shattered bone jutting out from her forearm. She flexed her fingers without impediment on the same arm, wiggling them in front of her face as her vision swam and re-sharpened, her system already compensating for the loss of her eye using other senses. She'd tried to stand, but stumbled, off-balance - quickly attributed to a snapped ankle. No bother. The protruding tibia functioned perfectly well as a homegrown peg-leg.
Absent-mindedly, Luce traced her finger down the fresh scar that ran from her forehead to her cheek-bone. The eye was fine, having healed as easily as her broken bones and torn skin. Three new scars. One new ghost. Luce wondered how many more of either she would accrue before finally being able to join Cass, or James, or Owen. Luce wondered if she'd ever be able to join them. She'd failed twice already.
She shook her head. It didn't matter how long she stared at Cass' corpse; she couldn't will herself into feeling grief instead of the yawning nothingness that ached inside her. Tears staunchly refused to flow, in contrast to much of those in attendance; Luce knew she looked insensitive, or apathetic, but she longed to be in their place, weeping for the tragedy of Cassander Charon, ripped away before his time for nothing more than trying to make a difference. A difference she had abjectly rejected attempting herself, once again despite forces that deigned to make her uniquely capable of weathering such an attempt. And there it was; once again, circling the drain, trapped in a loop of self-loathing. She couldn't stand here and stare any longer. There was no point to it. She turned on her heel, briskly walking away from the shore and back toward campus, not really sure where she was going; she just had to leave the ghosts and their arraigning glares behind her, at least for now. She'd likely see them again this evening, tossing and turning in her bed, failing to sleep, a third figure joining the established double-act.
She pushed through crowds, keeping her head down and avoiding attention, staring at feet clad in dress slacks and over-polished shoes. It was by sheer chance that she looked up and saw perhaps the only faces in the audience that held a semblance of recognition to her.
"I'm going to kill them." Haleigh uttered to the Blackjack member that stood beside her. She wasn't sure who it had been exactly. "Cass. Banjo. Jim. Tad. They're going to pay for everything."
“Innit what Hyperion would want? Get angry? So, he can spout more stupidity about bein’ superior while we flop around like fish? Nah, I’m good. I ain’ bathin’ in blood for Cass. You can, though. You got the power to.” They held the hibiscus out to Haleigh. “Aren’t you more interested to find out why us? Why Tad? How did they know we were goin’ to be out in the middle of nowhere? This place has its secrets, too, and I’m not happy playin’ that they’re innocent in this, either.”
Rory strolled over in their direction, lifting his hands to readjust his coat absent-mindedly. ”Trace is right.” Those words felt weird coming out of his mouth. Rory didn’t make eye contact with the two of them, and kept his voice down to avoid drawing too much attention their way. ”For now, at least. Cass tried, and I can’t do another funeral. I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Asking why. It doesn’t make any sense to me… but that’s not new.” Rory paused for a moment, out of habit. Negative self talk wasn’t going to help right now. ”I think we all deserve answers. No matter what it takes.”
Trace and Rory had spoken up, consoling Haleigh. Trace had a point. Why? That question wracked her own brain. "Hyperion is going to pay." Calli let her words hang there. She wanted to let this be about Cass' memory and not her own plans for vengeance. She got a notice that she was scheduled for therapy the following week. She felt her heart race again. She wrapped one hand around her wrist and took some deep breaths.
"I'm with Haleigh and Calli. But I'm not doing it for Cass' memory. I'd do it to say I did something, instead of all the nothing currently going." Anger was bubbling up in her again, and she let it; it was exciting to feel anything, no matter how toxic. She didn't have the energy to repress it anymore today. "All this pushing on like everything's fucking normal is insulting. It's insulting to Cass, it's insulting to Tad, and it's insulting to us - how stupid do they think we are? The veil's fucking lifted now, we're not safe, we never were. Go back to normal? What the fuck is normal about this place?!" She was red in the face, but on a roll, and it just kept spilling out of her. Maybe this was the elusive mourning the faculty kept talking about; Luce didn't care. It felt good. She rounded on Trace and Rory. "That 'keep-the-peace' attitude is bullshit. You want to just sit around and wait for Hyperion to come back? All that talk about betters and lessers, and you think the best way to prove they're wrong is by doing nothing? The 'why' is obvious, isn't it? Isn't it?! Because they could! Because P.R.C.U. is a sham, and they had their heads shoved up their asses, and they thought they were untouchable, and they thought nothing could threaten them right up until Hyperion did. And their vanity got Cass killed." A tear rolled down her cheek, tracing the line of the scar until it hung off her chin. "Hyperion and P.R.C.U. - both as culpable as the other. Both need to be taken down. This place needs a new leader, minimum, a chancellor who'll take security and the lives of those he promises to protect seriously. Worst-case the whole institution needs scrapping and rebuilding. We stand here, watching a peer and a friend get cremated at sea, and they expect us to file out and head to 'team swap' and 'house offers', like we're just coming back from recess?" Luce wiped her face, aware she was out of control, aware she was embarrassing herself, aware aware aware but too far gone to stop it. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Mackenna approaching, and found the concept of putting up with her particular brand of faux-cheery veneer to be simply too exhausting to handle. "There's one team, one house, one side now - 'Kill Hyperion'. If you're not on it, you're on their side instead. And I am not on their side." She took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying herself before turning to leave. "If anyone else gives a shit about not letting Hyperion turn their 'new world order' bullshit into a living reality - you can find me in the ICU. I have to go beg forgiveness from the only living non-coward on campus. You should all think about doing the same."
P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Lean ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Black ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Black ◼ H E I G H T || 6'-1" ◼ W E I G H T || 176 lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || Caucasian -
C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S
M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Haunted by his connection to Limbo, Hemlocke drifts around the country, desperately trying to silence the constant noise of the departed, but simultaneously driven immutably to assist the restless dead and bring them peace. Unsure what would happen to him upon death - if he can die - he is determined to define himself as a Good Man, and his life as one lived in the service of a noble pursuit, in hopes that when he eventually passes on, he won't be trapped in Limbo like so many others he's seen throughout his journey. G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Hemlocke seeks three things, and his travels are only ever in service of one of these ends: healing his mortality, that he might find peace from his affliction; finding his parents in Limbo, that he might finally put them to rest; and hunting his parents' killer, the Jäger responsible for their deaths and Hemlocke's condition, that he might enact final revenge. Throughout his life, from childhood and beyond, he has only ever focused himself on these aims; despite this concerted and ceaseless effort, he has yet to achieve any of them. -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Has a healthy amount of 'old wealth' from his foster-family due to their own ancient and magical nature, but is something of a drifter, existing on the fringes of society and never holding a singular residence or staying in a singular city for too long. He's well-versed at grifting, grafting, and general skulduggery to survive, but maintains a personable, affable (if morose) exterior so that he's never too far from a hot meal, a cold bottle, and a warm bed. -
C H A R A C T E R S Y N O P S I S C H A R A C T E R S Y N O P S I S
Hemlocke, even before the incident that would come to define his life, was something of an unusual child by the circumstances of his birth; first child to a notorious and long-lived Hexenbrut couple, he was born decidedly non-magical, despite the arcane blood coursing through his veins; this would have fine to both parents, had either had the proper opportunity to discover this as he grew. However, the warring factions of the magical underworld were catching up with them, and after only a single year of life, hard-won domestic peace was shattered for Hemlocke's family.
A Jäger had hunted them down, coming to the end of a long-fought chase after Hemlocke's parents for some bygone and forgotten sin; the family was ill-prepared for such a foe, and all three were struck down swiftly by the Jäger's Spirit Sword, cast from the mortal plane and banished back to Limbo, the spirit world threaded beneath ours. Hemlocke's parents, Hexenbrut true and thoroughly, were scattered across Limbo utterly, never to return; but Hemlocke, young and lively and of Hexenbrut blood but not Hexenbrut nature, was simply a baby on the ashen floors of Limbo, an unwanted beacon of warmth and life that Limbo rejected by its very essence. And so, Limbo began to do what it did to all living mortal things that found their unfortunate way into its bosom - it began to eat.
Time and space have an unusual relationship with Limbo, and while the infant Hemlocke spent days in Limbo, his life essence siphoned off a little more every hour, it was mere minutes on the mortal plane before the reverberations of the Jäger's wrath were felt across the fabric of magic, Magni everywhere feeling the ripples of the banishment. Across the country, Draoi and Hellions alike were drawn to the tear between planes, dipping their hands into the fray and gorging on the magic that held it open; it was only a handful of hours before a particularly brazen Draoi reached into the heart of the rip and found Hemlocke on the other side, pulling him out - a baby boy, now quite literally half-dead.
The Draoi, one of a clan, took well to his newfound charge. Not only was Hemlocke a unique child, full of potential and an unwitting keeper of many secrets - secrets Draoi are drawn to by nature - but he was intelligent, quick-witted, a fast learner and in possession of unique qualities. His parents never identified, the clan adopted him as their own, and raised the child with curiosity and a welcoming arm. As Hemlocke grew, he learned to wield his abilities, and began to dip back into Limbo in early expeditions for his parents, or clues about the Jäger that had banished them.
Eventually, these expeditions grew perilous, for both Hemlocke and his Draoi family; not only did Limbo continue to reject the living half of Hemlocke, seeking to claim him completely on every new journey into its depths, but his voyages left behind shredded threads of the veil between Earth and Limbo, and these holes began to attract Hellions and Magni of all variety and disposition, and soon enough his family grew tired of the constant need for movement, relocation, and fending off of foes who felt bold enough to assault a full clan of Draoi. Adolescent but wise beyond his years, and well-versed with the world and its rivers, Hemlocke did the only thing he could do; he bid heavy farewells to his found-family, and continued his odyssey alone.
Over a century later, Hemlocke - 'Locke', to those who ask - has witnessed every aspect of the human condition and trekked across the entirety of the western continent, through cities and wildland, across war-torn trenches and country borders, forging his way through life, putting to rest those loudest of the restless dead, and ever-seeking his parents and the near-mythical Jäger that rent them from the life they had worked so hard to put together. Still yearning for closure on his lost-life in any regard, he makes a living drifting through the lives of others, selling their secrets back to them, and moving on before the world - catching up and ever-changing - has a chance to label him as something he either is or isn't, and do him harm accordingly.
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 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
S U P E R N A T U R A L A B I L I T Y || SPIRIT WALKER
Thanks to Hemlocke's inadvertent foray into Limbo as a mere babe, his souls have been forever tainted by unnatural death, the result of a living, non-native being having their raw mortality eroded by a realm it did not belong in. He came out quite literally half-dead, and due to the portion of him that was claimed by Limbo during his stay as an infant, he exists in the planes of the living and the dead simultaneously, belonging in neither, prevailing in both.
Because of this, he acts as something of a medium, inconsistently able to hear and converse with the dead who have yet to pass on, though often this is dependent on the volume of the spirit itself; those with serious trauma or heavy unfinished business are louder and wilder than those who are merely meek or unwilling to pass on.
Hemlocke can also deep-dive into Limbo completely, able to use its peculiar nature with time to travel across the mortal plane with leaps and bounds in mere seconds, as well as forge a direct connection to spirits, hellions, and Hexenbrut that reside there, far stronger and clearer than what he can hear on the living side of the veil.
Finally, his particular nature has given way to a natural talent for exorcism, as he exists as something of a walking bridge between Earth and Limbo; he has been able to 'help', with varying amounts of willingness from the traveling party, many a being cross from life to death to be returned where they belonged. Hemlocke has theorized that the return journey may very well be possible - but he is uncertain if it can be done, and even less confident that it should be done.
L I M I T A T I O N S || T B D
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.
W E A K N E S S E S || T B D
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.
R E L A T I O N S H I P S R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.
Suddenly Luce turned away from the approaching teen, hand over her mouth before she stumbled away from the approaching teen. Tad knew exactly what was going to happen next before the retching sound echoed across the campsite. Grabbing a cold bottle of water from the nearby cooler and a wet cloth, Tad and Jessica rushed over to Luce.
"Hey, hey, it's alright." Jessica started kneeling down beside the Blackjack member, "Hi, I'm Jessica Friend, like Tad I'm a student rep, just for a different team. Can I help you to your feet?" She asked, extending a hand to Luce while Tad looked around for Banjo.
Banjo was saying...something, standing over Luce's hunched form as she retched into the grass, nothing but bile and air coming out from the depths of her stomach. A small, half-digested white pill floated on the surface of the sticky, acrid ooze, innocent and accusatory all at once, but then the retching was over and someone else - someone decidedly not Banjo - approached and introduced themselves and offered some actual assistance, rather than dry, vaguely-witty self-deprecation. Luce managed to lean back, resting on her haunches as she shivered with the after-shocks of vomiting; Jessica offered her a new water bottle and a cloth, both of which Luce took quickly and gratefully, and soon enough she was cleaned up, mouth rinsed out. With Jessica's help, she stood, shaky but stable, smiling with embarrassment at Jessica and avoiding Banjo's eyes as she walked around him and back toward the tents.
She was feeling better - the anxiety and panic had reached a crescendo, and now she felt purged almost, nausea flushed out and leaving only those damn hunger pangs behind. She could smell the grilled meats that Tad had been overseeing, and suddenly felt ravenous, any shame or nervousness overpowered by an overwhelming eat something please that she was all-too-happy to oblige. Jess, however, had momentarily disappeared, returning with a spare set of folded uniform. She smiled sympathetically as Luce looked down at herself. Yellow-brownish splatter marred her track pants, with smaller flecks having splashed onto her shoes and the hem of her top. Luce felt her face go red again, embarrassed once more. Wordlessly, she nodded in thanks at Jess as she took the spare clothes, retreating to the tent she and Kenna had set up to change - and find something to bag up the stained uniform. She'd have to find a good moment to toss it over the cliff later. Maybe herself at the same time?
By the time she emerged the team had settled and gathered in a loose circle, all sating their hunger. Luce picked up a plate and seized whatever kebabs remained - it didn't matter to her what was on them, as long as it was edible - and then quietly edged into the group, sitting in silence as she chewed beef and chicken and mushroom and felt the hole in her belly shrink and settle. She felt a lot better, and even the anxiety had been driven away by the food. She sipped her water and surreptitiously swallowed another pill. Didn't hurt to be safe.
Suddenly, Calliope spoke up, and initiated the most haphazard version of group therapy Luce could have conceived; one-by-one, they went around, spilling both background tragedies and their powers in some kind of recreation of the world's worst icebreaker exercise. Still, it was an awful lot more civilized than the team's first attempt at getting to know each other; previously-drawn battle-lines were crossed, truces were struck, and there was an opportunity for everyone to actually learn about each other, rather than making snap judgments based on micro-moments of interaction. Luce was as guilty of it as any other member of the team; she needed to extend the metaphorical olive branch to each of her peers, and hope that they'd offer her the same courtesy.
There were two key exceptions to what was otherwise a shared trauma-dump; Trevor, who seemed honestly too cheery to have had such an experience in his past, and the ever-aloof Kenna, who's contribution consisted of bragging and the obligatory ability explanation. The scream was new information at least, though Luce couldn't help but wonder why she'd held that back previously. The abilities were wild and varied; some seemed straightforward, like Banjo and Katja, while others - Trace and Trevor particularly - were just plain bizarre. A world opened up in front of Luce's eyes, one filled with Hyper-humans in possession of abilities both odd and dangerous, and for the first time since learning she belonged to that world she felt almost normal. She had no active control over her powers, they had no flashy effects, they changed nothing about her body beyond hand-wave-able scars after the fact; she was almost lucky. Trace was marked for life, irrevocably and unwillingly, and while Luce found them strangely beautiful, it was all-too-easy to envision a world where such an appearance was a death-sentence instead. Haleigh, meanwhile, was cursed with power dangerous enough to necessitate the abandonment of them entirely. She felt a pang of shame for being so self-absorbed. Survivor's guilt was the worst her own abilities had to impart upon her; all she needed was to take therapy seriously.
Suddenly, it was her turn, and ten pairs of eyes settled on her face, absent-mindedly chewing a chunk of beef as she mulled over the rapid-fire epiphanies about the revealed scope of it all. She swallowed, taking a deep breath to steady her voice.
"Hi everyone. Sorry about earlier. I'm Luce. It's really nice to meet you all. I'm from Canada - close by, relatively. Houston BC. Never knew my dad, but my mom worked really hard. Used to camp. I don't anymore. Lost my brothers in an accident. Don't like the trees anymore, or open spaces. But it's how I found out about my powers." She put her plate down, lifting her fresh top up just slightly enough to show the first scar on her torso. "I don't know the rating, or category, or the official stuff. Whatever it is - I don't feel pain when I'm hurt. Hurt bad, I mean. It doesn't slow me down, doesn't stop me, I just keep going. It's like my body just...adapts. Whatever stops working, something else picks up the slack. And then when I'm out, when I'm safe...I heal up real good after. I'm um, I'm not sure I can actually be killed."
She took another deep breath, letting her top down and pulling from her water bottle. That was the most talking she'd done in a long time. "My mom sent me here for a fresh start. Small town stuff, you know. It's really nice to meet you all. Sorry for vomiting, Banjo. It wasn't you. I just panicked. I um...I panic a lot. I'm sorry."
Luce looked around the circle, smiling as warmly as she could muster and letting the nerves wash over her and depart again, allowing anxiety to come and go like commanding the tides. She noticed one missing among their number, and turned her head toward Iñigo, who was sat separately a little off from the circle, propped up against the trees. She shivered slightly to look at it, but raised her hand to wave. "Iñigo, right?" She called out, putting on her best friendly voice. "Would you like to join us?"
Behind the forced smile, Makenna’s eye twitched. God the girl really was a hopeless. “No need to be so modest,” She encouraged, pulling out her phone and taking a step back to leave the group as quickly as she’d joined it “There was all that unstoppable stuff too, right? Plus you’re from the area and been camping before, you’ve got to have all kind of tips for us.”
From inside its pocket, her phone was already lighting up from tapping. “We’re all here to bond after all- I just need to check one thing, then I’ll catch you all for dinner yeah?” With a wave, she turned and left the group to give her undivided attention to her phone.
Rory gave a polite nod to Trevor, holding up a single finger to indicate he needed a moment.
"Hi Luce! Not dying is pretty cool. Lots of people aren't too jazzed about the whole dying thing. I know I'd prefer not to."
The topic of Hyperhuman abilities gave him pause, however, as he tried thinking of a way to explain his ability without making himself out to be the world's most off-putting Mr. Potato Head. Thankfully, he was given a bit of respite, but not so thankfully because of the escalating argument between several of his teammates. As much as he didn't want to interrupt making a new friend, this seemed more than a little serious.
"Really great to meet you, Luce. I promise I'll be right back. I feel like I gotta go y'know—" he made a broad gestured at the growing crowd of arguing students "—help stop that."
Location:Southern Plateau - Dundas Island
The Homecoming Trials #1.64:Never Panic On An Empty Stomach
And just like that, Luce had been dragged toward social interaction she was ill-prepared for, before being utterly abandoned by both those who she had been thrust toward, and those that had thrusted her forwards in the first place. She couldn't get a grip on Mackenna; she seemed at one moment spritely and encouraging, and the next aloof and disconnected from proceedings. Luce wasn't sure if her initial friendliness was sincere, or if it was merely surface-level platitudes intending for playing the part of an attentive student. It seemed the real Mackenna was the one buried beneath her phone screen. Perhaps Luce had been chosen because she required the least amount of engagement, and Mackenna could retreat to her texts without protest.
Luce was anxious. She could tell she was anxious, because she was getting nasty. Nasty towards others, nasty towards herself. She was hungry, too, which compounded the problem; hanger mixed with unease and from it bloomed nausea and spite in her stomach.
Rory had disappeared without a word, merely one finger held aloft, like Luce could be simply paused until it became more convenient for him to address her; at least Trevor delivered the courtesy of saying hello before politely excusing himself and scurrying off to the brewing fracas that was spilling over and threatening to involve every member of Blackjack. It seemed only herself and Cass were unaffiliated; all's the better, Luce thought. She'd barely had an opportunity to begin forming opinions about her erstwhile team members, but this social ugliness was a poor first impression.
She stood, alone, watching the argument ebb and flow from afar, awash with turbulent emotions. A peculiar mix bubbled away within her, simultaneously disheartened that the team's first opportunity for creating camaraderie had devolved into petty in-fighting, but also somehow jealous that she'd not been dragged in. Again, she had been left on the fringes, abandoned and unappealing. Flashes of quiet recesses spent with a sandwich and no company on a bench or in the cafeteria corner flew past her; suddenly she felt 10 inches tall and invisible, reduced again to the lonely child abandoned by her peers and elder brothers. Her eyes stung and she swallowed hard, self-loathing-fuelled nausea burning in her belly.
In the distance, the quarrel was nearly quelled - where was Jim, or Tad, or any responsible adult to put a definitive end to the skirmish? - but suddenly Trace reared their head, and with it came a pointless, acerbic assault, seemingly for no reason other than to re-ignite tensions. Banjo, true to form, launched back with equal vitriol, and Luce felt everything crashing down around the group; despite best intentions of those who had sought to ease the fight, it appeared goodwill had no place here. P.R.C.U. and its promises of fresh starts felt hollow and foolish. Luce felt sick, and then, in the midst of despair and panic, with only a xanax and half a bottle of water in her stomach, the last straw settled on the proverbial camel's back.
He made his way over to the nervous blonde girl. Daring to hope that Calliope might still follow.
Banjo rounded on Luce, storming towards her with heat still coming from atop his head and a face like thunder, humiliated by Trace's barrage and freshly riled. She had seen this scenario many times before; a shamed and emasculated adolescent seeking to deflect onto an easier target. She couldn't believe it was happening again - but at the same time, it felt inevitable, unavoidable. This was just how it went for Luce.
The panic reached a boiling point and her stomach turned; desperately, she fumbled herself away from the vicinity of the tent and towards the edge of the pitching area, clutching a hand over her mouth. She made it twenty or so paces before collapsing to her knees in the most unkempt patch of grass in proximity - and then, in a most ungracious manner, spewing up her guts.
“Well that’s the first time anyone's asked me that way,” She grinned in reply, before throwing the package to the ground where if slowly began to unfurl and self-inflate. “Got a thing with voices,” She continued casually. Except the next time she spoke, it was Dr. Lehrer’s voice that left her mouth.
“Esoteric expulsion ability seems to have produced a malleability within the vocal cords. Paired with the student’s exceptional ear for key and tone, it creates a unique opportunity for mimicry of voices and sounds.” She decided it best to leave out the part about using HZE ions to create sonic blasts. That seemed more of a second-night together sort of thing.
Makenna began circling the tent as it took shape, kicking the corners slower to inflate. “That’s the long science bullshit version they gave me anyway. How about you?”
Luce fixed her eyes on Mackenna’s as she explained her abilities, trying to give the impression of polite attentiveness, hoping it didn’t come across too stare-y; when Mackenna demonstrated, Luce’s eyes widened as a pitch-perfect mimicry of the chummy-yet-mysterious Dr. Lehrer spouted from her lips. Luce repressed the urge to applaud; despite her own status, and the status of those surrounding her at this very moment, it was still so wondrous to see such quirks in action. A small part of Luce felt jealousy for the at-will nature of many of her peer’s powers.
“Neat!” She said, forcing a smile. She stepped back from the yurt as she fixed the last fastening, running her gaze over the firm dome and turning the idea of a couple nights sleeping within it over and over in her head. Again, her eyes flitted to the distant treeline. Were they closer than the last time she looked? Or was she just paranoid, looking for a reason to break down and be excused from the whole endeavour? Dr. Mercia’s words rang in her mind, offering warm reassurances that felt much more hollow now than they had done when spoken within her office, seated in a plush armchair, balancing coffee on the armrest, surrounded by sturdy brick-and-mortar walls. Luce put a hand in her pocket and wrapped her fist around the bottle of xanax.
She realised she’d been staring as her vision sharpened, bringing the features of Mackenna’s face back into focus, patiently waiting for an answer. How best to word it? “I don’t die when I should.” Is what Luce settled on, and the reactive furrowing of Mackenna’s brow immediately caused regret to blossom in Luce’s chest. She chased her words, stumbling over them as she tried to elaborate and explain. “I-I mean, uh, w-when I get hurt. B-badly. I just keep- keep going? A-and then I get better after.” Luce cleared her throat, not really feeling like she’d helped.
Carefully, she pulled up her shirt, showing off golf-ball sized scarring on her stomach and below her breasts. “These are from…from when I found out…” Luce paused, feeling her brain rattle and eyes sting as she forced herself through traumatic memories. She squeezed her eyes shut, tracing the feel of the rough scar tissue beneath her fingertips as she pointed to each. “That’s my stomach…” she said, pointing to the lower one, “...and that’s my lung,” moving her hand upwards, “and there’s another through my heart.” She lowered her shirt, opening her eyes and feeling her face suddenly flush and burst red as she effectively trauma-dumped, embarrassing herself in the very first actual conversation with a peer she’d had since arriving on this island. “I uh…I lived, and h-healed right up after.” Lucky you, said the slimy voice.
"Wow, that's..." Makenna shook her head, the plastered smile still maintained, though she stumbled for words and the tent finished unfurling behind her. "Really useful," She finally landed on saying, adjusting the shaking to nodding as she tried to look away from the myriad of scars on the girl's exposed body. Maybe Trace hadn’t been the looniest choice to make. "The perseverance bit at least, I hope we won’t be needing to defy death on our first week." She scanned the horizon, willing herself not to ask the obvious questions of just how Luce had gotten so many injures or discovered such a niche ability. The answers were likely related, and she wasn’t ready to single-handedly deal with this girl’s baggage the first hour of their trip.
She moved to unzip the tent door instead, showing the fully prepped interior bedroom that had somehow unfolded with the entire tent. Makenna couldn’t help but let out a delighted laugh as she fell backwards into the bed. “These are better than the bunks at the intake house-” The pillows and comforter had barely settled when she stood again to admire the curtains covering the transparent side of the wall. “Is this carpeted?” She continued, as though forgetting Luce entirely, until she was suddenly grabbing the younger girl's arm, encouraging her to come further in and examine the amenities afforded to them. “And here I thought we were in boot camp. Would have done so much more camping as a kid if it was like this, you know?”
Luce forced a polite chuckle. “Yeah, haha. Me too...” She trailed off as Mackenna turned her back to unzip the tent and step inside; there was a peel of squealing laughter, and then as Luce peered round the flap at the plush interior she suddenly felt Mackenna seize her arm and yank her further in. She snatched her arm back, uncomfortable with the contact, but couldn’t help being amazed by the decor - the yurt was more luxurious than some hotels. She ran a hand over the soft bunks, and took a moment to appreciate the curtains that would definitively block out any notion of forestry in the distance; perhaps the coming days wouldn’t be as difficult as she had feared.
Mackenna’s camping comment nipped at her, unintentionally riling Luce up, though she quickly chided herself; it wasn't Mackenna's duty to tiptoe around trauma she didn't know Luce had. “This has little in common with camping as I’ve known it.” Luce remarked, deadpan and stone-faced.
Makenna couldn't help but roll her eyes as she looked out the window. "Glad to see the team bonding is off to a great start," She said dryly. Outside one of the blonde boys was already storming away from the small group gathered around Calliope, meanwhile Luce had resumed a mopey tone and recoiled at the slightest touch. It didn't bode well for the 'fun life-long-memory' experience old Jim had promised.
By the time she turned to face Luce, she was all friendly enthusiasm and smiles again. "Just so long as that storm doesn't ruin it all for us. The boys are still struggling out there; should we give them a hand?" Without waiting for agreement, Makenna exited the still-open tent door and began calling to the others.
"Hey Trevor! Need a hand?" She all but jogged to reach the pair, smiling wildly at them while frantically gesturing for Luce to follow. Only once she did Makenna begin speaking again. "Makenna, Luce, Trevor, Rory." She quickly listed the names and pointed to the person that went with each. "That's names done, it's always powers next, right? You should tell them about your abilities, Luce, what you told me was super interesting." Her sincerity was indeterminable beneath the nauseating cheerfulness.
Luce froze as Mackenna put her on the spot, already overwhelmed having met more people in the last half hour than she had in the last six months. She cleared her throat, voice shaking, and gave an awkward half-wave as she spoke. “H-Hi, everyone. Luce. Y-yeah, uh, as Mackenna said. I um, I can’t die. I think. I haven’t uh, I haven’t tested it that thoroughly.” She coughed. “H-how about you guys?”
I am going to kill Nate with how this sheet has plagued me all morning. I finally got it to agree with me. Finally.
Just do what I do; moan about it on discord, and await the inevitable PM with a fully-complete code set up to your specific character needs with only a handful of big bright "JUST WRITE YOUR SHIT HERE YOU IDIOT" boxes left to finish.
Luce looked up from her lap, her hands continuing to pick at the frayed ends of stitching on the sleeves of her jumper. It had been a hand-me-down from her brothers, and remained to this day more than a couple sizes too big for her, but she couldn't bear to pass it on. She told herself it was a living memorial, but every time she withdrew it from her closet - almost unconsciously at times - a sharper, nastier voice in the back of her head told her it was penance. To be done with it was disrespectful to her brothers. And then, in the dark as she pulled the sweater over her head, a second, far more ruinous voice would say, to be alive is disrespectful to her brothers, and she would have to reply, well, there's not much I can do about that anymore.
"Luce?" She'd been staring at Dr. Mercia without answering the question, lost in her thoughts. "Okay. Tomatoes are ripening." Luce answered. "Something on your mind, Luce?" "No." She lied, still picking at her sleeves. Gila wanted to press the issue, but time was short, and there was more immediate concern to be addressed.
"Luce, there was something specific I wanted to address this session." Luce didn't respond, but she did stop fiddling and lay her hands flat-palmed on her lap, all attention focused. These kinds of sentences from Dr. Mercia often didn't end well for Luce, and she had learned to brace for impact. "P.R.C.U., as you know, maintains many long-held traditions, for students and faculty alike. The most anticipated of which begins with the opening of each new academic year: the Homecoming Trials." Luce nearly scoffed. It sounded like the Hunger Games. Gila read the incredulity from her face easily, and smiled awkwardly with sympathy. "In any case, I've anticipated the Trials being a potentially...fraught event for you; in that anticipation, I wanted to address what you can expect, so that we can equip you effectively." Dr. Mercia could see the beads of anxiety forming on Luce's forehead, accompanied by a slowly-furrowing brow and a tight, bitten-lipped expression. She reached out and put a gentle hand upon Luce's own. "I want you know you've made incredible strides the last few weeks, Luce - you're more than capable of doing very well."
Luce looked at Dr. Mercia's hand on her own, then drew her gaze up to make eye contact. Resolve spread across her face, replacing the fear that had settled there as an uncomfortable default. "And if it does overwhelm you - there's something of a booster I can arrange for you."
Luce opened the bottle of the 'booster' and gently tapped the rim against her palm until a thin, white tablet tumbled out, at which point she carefully replaced the lid on the bottle and pocketed it, before swallowing the pill with a gulp of water from the bottle in her other hand. Alprazolam, AKA Xanax, prescribed as a one-off acute anti-anxiety medication; take one tablet when experiencing a high-stress situation; feel relief in 30-60 minutes.
30-60 minutes felt like a long time right now from where Luce stood, one of the first of Team Blackjack to arrive outside the intake house to await collection for the Southern Plateau. The others trickled in slowly, and she gave each a sheepish, polite nod in greeting, but as Cass filtered in line beside her any threat of having to make small talk was eliminated by the roaring engine of an approaching Minotaur, making Luce jump and her heart-rate spike; when the vehicle pulled up, emblazoned with Blackjack's team logo, and Jim stepped out - their faculty rep - it all suddenly felt very real to Luce. This was it - the Trials as Dr. Mercia had described them, as Dr. Lehrer had announced to wild applause. And it all began here and now, with a group of strangers and a bottle of xanny's.
Jim made his speech, introducing Tad at the same time, and Luce felt reassured by the presence of a direct ex-student, a living example of how the academy's programme worked; unfortunately, any solace Tad could have been able to offer was cut off two-fold; once by the appearance of Team 18's rep, Ryan Clarke, who quickly assisted the conversation in devolving into petty inter-team bravado, and then again by Blackjack's own walking disruption, Banjo, arriving late but nonetheless demanding to be up-to-speed as he whispered behind her and Cass' backs.
"Who's that guy?" Banjo hissed, to which he received only flat silence. Banjo tried again: "Who's that guy?"; and this time Luce could see in the corner of her eyes the slightest nostril flare and flexing of fingers in Cass. "Shut. Up." Cass whispered back, and Luce felt pin-prick goosebumps across her shoulder. It was clear already that Banjo and Cass didn't find themselves compatible; she was uncomfortable with the tension and the risk of confrontation. "Who's that guy?" Banjo asked again, and this time Luce clenched her own fists as she noticed one of Cass' hands take on the slightest glow, and his jaw tense up and set where he was gritting his teeth. "Should have been here on time." Cass replied, practically spitting. Cass saw Banjo move to ask again, and the tension overtook her. "Tad." She answered, quickly, and much to her relief Banjo backed down. If this was a preview of the weekend to come, Luce couldn't say she much fancied Blackjack's chances at large of surviving the next couple days, much less her own.
Regardless, intramural sniping had finally been set aside and they began to file into the Minotaurs to be taken across the island. Luce climbed into one of the vehicles, paying little attention to who she had inadvertently chosen to ride with; in truth, she barely looked up from the floor of the truck's cabin, trying to avoid looking out the windows as the university campus and its strong, safe buildings faded into the distance to be replaced by open field and the looming, ever-present treeline of the outlying forest. The xanax began to kick-in, and Luce leaned back against the seat, eyes closed and taking deep, measured breaths. From where she was sitting, 'Trials' felt like an accurate descriptor.
--- --- ---
The ride was mercifully short, Jim's voice crackling through the radio a welcome distraction to the passing scenery as he explained further about the Trials and the surrounding landscape. The vehicle came to a halt, and they were ferried out of the cabin onto the Plateau itself, shuffling toward an empty camping lot. Luce noticed that the forest was mercifully distant, and around them various clusters of domed yurts dotted the immediate area, while further off bleachers were being erected and banners unfurled for the coming event. It felt remarkably more modern than Luce had anticipated in her anxiety, and while Jim's mention of 'camping' came as a distasteful sliver of ice through her chest, the xanax soothed the buzzing fear that otherwise hummed inside her head, and the yurts - both those already setup and the ready-to-go kits that Jim gestured towards - looked sturdy and amenable, a far cry from a length of tarp draped over a handful of poles, protecting them from the elements no more so than a raincoat and vague hoping did. Even the hedge-maze felt surmountable, despite the prospect of begin enclosed by pure vegetation: of course, the dragon of terror beats its wings and sounded its roar within her, but a calmer, more rational beast allowed reason to soothe the fear. Hedges didn't fall over - or very rarely, at least - and especially not hedges grown and controlled by well-practiced hyper-humans.
All in all, Luce gripped the xanax bottle in her pocket tightly in one hand, but felt unusually in-control of herself, even allowing a wafer of pride to drip through warmly as she thought of her circumstances and the current lack of her reaction to them. So much so that when Jim announced Tad would be camp cook for the evening, she suddenly found herself famished, her hands shaking slightly from hunger as her belly yawned at the mention of food. She had neglected to eat this morning, wrapped up in her gardening, and the anxiety post-opening ceremony had filled her with a nausea that closed her stomach off to the thought of eating. Now calmer and allowed a moment of stillness, Luce realized she was hungry.
Her ruminations were interrupted by Mackenna, who had approached her quite unexpectedly; the woman had held a sense of haughty detachment around her, like the academy was simply something she was waiting to finish before returning to something else, like P.R.C.U. was the equivalent of a phone-call from a faint acquaintance in the middle of a particularly enjoyable TV show. It was not something Luce had responded well to, given her own aspirations for the transformative potential of the university; but then Luce didn't suppose she appeared all that sociable either. Perhaps this was a chance for the both of them to discard their respective shells. Luce cleared her throat, realizing she'd spoken less words today than she could count on two hands; she hoped it wasn't obvious that she was essentially warming up her vocal cords for unplanned usage.
”Hey Luce, mind pitching together?” Mackenna asked. “Think I might have spotted the one spot slightly flatter than the others.” Luce smiled - an unpracticed expression - and nodded emphatically, trying to appear enthusiastic, but not too enthusiastic. "Sure! Mackenna, right?" she replied, extending a hand to shake while at the same time bending over to pick up a tent bag from the ground, resulting in an unwieldy, three-pronged pose, one arm out, one arm down, and one leg backwards trying desperately to counter-balance. Somehow she managed it without toppling ass-over-tit, and she followed Mackenna to the flat spot quietly, trying to remember how to make small-talk. They had to have something in common, right?
Ah. Of course.
"So, uh...Mackenna," Luce started, kneeling as she unzipped the tent and began pulling it open, letting the yurt unfurl from the bag. "What uh...what do you...you know..." she fumbled for words, not quite sure how to put it, trying not to be impolite but also naturally, undeniably, curious. "What do you do?"
[center][b]Watch out. [/b]
The gap in the door... it's a separate reality.
The only me is me.
[i]Are you sure the only you is you?[/i][/center]
[right][sub][s][i][b]DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL NOW, WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED[/b][/i][/s][/sub][/right]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><span class="bb-b">Watch out. </span><br><br>The gap in the door... it's a separate reality. <br>The only me is me.<br><span class="bb-i">Are you sure the only you is you?</span></div><br><br><div class="bb-right"><sub><span class="bb-s"><span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b">DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL NOW, WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED</span></span></span></sub></div></div>
op2024
stormphrax
shylarah
Qia
Hound55
Festive
mickilennial
Half Pint
Melissa
webboysurf
