Roman

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

G I L G A L A H A D // A M M A C A H O R S
G I L G A L A H A D // A M M A C A H O R S

_{Location: The Southern Plateau - Dundas Island}

Welcome Home #1.102: The Ship I Seek Is Passing, Passing

---

_{Interaction(s): @Rockette//Amma}

Gil returned to the campfire feast alone, Calliope having quietly diverted herself to her tent; he took up his empty plate, and fetched another couple tacos, the supply dwindling but not without firmly sating everyone present. Gils 2 and 3 were long gone, no longer required once the work was complete, but with the Homecoming Trials looming across the horizon of tomorrow, he wanted to be prepped and ready to pop out clones at short-notice. To that end, he pulled a long mouthful from a bottle of Hyper-Aid, and pocketed another with the intention of an early boost the next morning. He'd rather wake up over a mug of tea - even out here, it wasn't impossible, between Lorcán's fire, Zebulun's water, and ample supply-packs from campus for teabags - but he suspected he might not be afforded proper time to sip and contemplate before being thrust into action.

Speaking of thrust, he watched Banjo carefully depart the gathering at a controlled pace before breaking into near-sprint towards his tent. Calliope had yet to reappear, and Gil didn't expect to see either of them again until the morning.

He was luckily distracted from his own spooling-out imagery by Amma sidling up, cigarette caught between inviting lips, her gaze as simultaneously inscrutable and alluring as ever. Was there a single member of the team - of the entire student body - who wasn't at once both fearful and seduced by Amma's measured, mysterious glances and careful, delicate words?

"Hey there. Got a light?"

Gil kept his mouth shut, nothing suitably suave and tantalizing coming to mind. Instead, he carefully set his plate aside, putting a hand to his pocket and coming back up with a box of matches; he slid the box open and removed a single match, and then put a single finger to the end of Amma's cigarette. With a simple, quick movement, he swished his hand elegantly, and once stilled again it now held its own cigarette, a perfect replica down to the dark lipstick stains around the filter from where it hung from Amma's mouth.

Gil struck the match, lighting Amma first before his own.

"Aren't you just the name on everybody's lips this evening?" He said after a few drags, pale smoke drifting skyward in twin trails from their shared cigarette. "But rumour aside, I think you might have the most insight on today's events of all of us."

A helpless trill of laughter pulled from her lips, punctuated by sweet smoke and the sweep of her tongue against the ridges of bone tucked against her lip. Her delicate, intentional gestures brought her opposite hand up to smooth the nail of her index finger against the pout of her lip, something akin to amusement lighting up the blue of her eyes, bidden to a unique hue by the reflection of fire alighted there.

"Yes," Amma pauses, two pulls of clove later, and says: "And I doubt it'll be the last time."

"As the rumors say: Lorcán and I left together." She flicks her thumb against the filter of her cigarette, dropping ash at her feet. "Nothing more. Nothing less." Her gaze pierces through the gloom and haze of smoke. "But you'd think I stole him away, the way they carry on. The way they look at me." Amma's lashes drop, cutting through her glare as she slides those eyes towards Gil, observing him with his copied cigarette nestled betwixt his fingers.

"Maybe I should have."

Gil takes a couple more quiet drags of his own cigarette. He's not sure how to approach this, pulled in different directions. Lorcán and Aurora felt like the guarantee, the inevitable, the pair of them slowly figuring it out in a delicate dance that dragged all of Blackjack into its event horizon. But the pair were by no means official, and certainly not exclusive. If Lorcán found himself drifting in a different direction...there might be a few hurt feelings left in the wake, but ultimately neither had made a move, and they'd both had plenty time and opportunity, and even encouragement from the rest of the team. At this point, after the events and conversations of the last couple days, Gil could only conclude they were either willfully ignorant of their feelings, or truly didn't have them at all. In either case - if you spooled it out, Gil reckoned there really wasn't anything wrong with it. If Aurora found herself upset, maybe she ought to consider quite why.

"Well, that's your prerogative. There's certainly nothing stopping you, it seems." He finished his cigarette, holding the stub up between two fingers as he let the construct fade. It paled, seeming to lose its colour, and then crumbled away in flakes, drifting away into nothing in the breeze. "If you know what you want, reach out and take it. Why not?"

She is quiet; contemplative, the incense of their shared smoke hazed before her eyes, the prick of her stare lowered, fixated to the construct of his fingers where the duplicated cigarette drops away. Figments on a breeze, remnants of her own, it is poetic in the disintegration, a more delicate surrender than her powers that thrum away around her. Amma turns her palm up, drops her smoke into the crisscross of scars laden there, puckered lines stark and thick, woven against the lines of fate that she snuffs the flamed cherry against as something wistful blooms across her face there.

Did she know what she wanted?
...What did she want?
Something whispers back, a soft scream that echos in her head--

Everything.

“No, there really isn’t anything to stop me.”

“And if only it were that easy,” she utters, almost as an afterthought, coiling lines of red whisking away at her wrist and crawling up and over the structure of her hand, the ashes within her palm cradled against the silver accents of her power. “But there are roles to play here, right?”

“The sinner, the sin. The damned.” Amma’s usual tone of voice drops, a husked whisper that feathers away into almost nothing. “The beauty and the beast.”

Gil watches Amma carefully, seeing for the first time the tumult beneath her affected veneer. She seems unsure, unsteady; her eyes, usually ferocious and deliberate, are now downcast, avoidant. She pushes smoke into her hand, and Gil notices a map of tangled scars he'd not seen before. Amma's face softened, melancholy tinging her features. She looked alien compared to her usual façade, no hint of the stern, predatory Amma he was used to. Gil stopped to consider whether Amma's distance from the majority of Blackjack was by her design or theirs.

"And which do you suppose you are?" He asked in return, his own voice dropping to match Amma's whisper-soft words.

"I wouldn't have thought you would be happy dancing to someone else's tune." He said, aware he was treading into uncharted territory, and not certain how Amma might react. "It's been a year since you arrived from the Foundation - but it sounds like you're still playing the part they cast for you."

Red and silver whispers crawled across Amma's skin, and the interplay of colours against her snow-pale skin and the intense, dark tattooed artwork wove an irregular, entrancing beauty. Gil steeled his jaw and took the plunge.
"From someone used to micro-managing his every move - if you have an opportunity to redefine yourself, it's yours to seize."

"I am All," Amma rejoins, arched and splayed fingers twitching and caressing over the display of power woven through her palm, her gestures usually smooth and deliberate, burdened by something lain within. Something that swells, something that kindles away at the crystalline hue of her eyes as she snaps her gaze back to Gil, the rigid blue of his stare investigating pieces of herself thought lost and forgotten. Segments of brutality shattered concepts and pieces of self refined in jagged edges and cruel intentions, she almost laughs then, unable to deny the bare truth his words reveal.

"In some ways, I will always be what they made me. A year is not long enough to wash away all that red," her lips curl around her spoken admission, an acknowledgment of what she has always known. "The chains not so easily sundered. They'll pay for that though. They all will."

"What about you, Gil, you've been here for as long as I have. Yet, you've managed to blend in well enough. Or is that all a part of the micro-managing? Like defining yourself to a role in a film."

Amma leans in close, head tilted down, curiosity suspended on her words, and says: "What is your part to play?"

Gil took lungfuls of Amma's aroma as she leaned in, perfume mixed with earth from the woods she'd escaped to earlier that day, and an acrid, metallic hint from the swirling red about her person.
"The every-man. The deuteragonist. Carefully scripted, so as not to upset anybody. Artie feeds me lines when I need them, and otherwise I fly under the radar."

He watched a small group of students in the distance who were chattering amongst themselves, and caught one of them pointing at him. They caught him catching them, and blushes erupted before they quickly shuffled further away.
"As much as I can, anyway." He said, shaking his head. "If I'm to return to my life after all of this, I need to navigate back to it meticulously. I suppose those are some hard-to-break chains as well."

Blackjack began to shrink across the campsite, members retreating to tents to turn in for the night. Calliope and Banjo were already gone; Rory had turned in previously; and now Gil could see Haven, Lorcán, and Aurora all making their own ways to their respective bunks. Firebird were trickling away as well, though a few hung around as the sun dipped below the horizon and the campfires burned through the last of their fuel.

"It's late." He said, with a reluctant finality. He wasn't sure what they were dancing around, but he felt tense, each step assessed and delicately placed. "Thanks for the smoke," he said, holding his hand up palm-out, before turning it and another cigarette appearing in the movement. He turned it in his fingers, eyes lingering on the lipstick lingering on the filter, before letting it drop to the floor, disintegrating before it reached the ground. "Don't be a stranger. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Always stuck playing the part they cast for you, mm?"

A soft hum coils away in her throat, eyes gone distant, pin-pointing figures in the distance that turn to retire for the evening, shadowing after a certain pair before she stands with a flourish, eternal scarlet threads blooming like slick grins across her flesh.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Amma spares Gil one final glance, watching another duplicate of her cigarette fall away into nothing, distracted by the simplicity of his power, piece by piece fragmented so easily. Her lips part as if to say more, to expand upon her clipped words and peculiar inquiries, instead she merely turns and walks away with another trill of laughter to punctuate her departure.

Gil, for his part, merely watched her leave, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. He'd cut the conversation off deliberately before it'd become too close to worming its way beneath his carefully-constructed veneer; but at the same, an uncomfortable, foreign part of him wanted desperately to shed the shell and expose the raw self beneath it.

Couldn't risk it. It would be a short year, and then he'd be flying back to Los Angeles. All he had to do was stay the course.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R
G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R

_{Location: Southern Plateau - Dundas Island}

Welcome Home #1.074: An Interesting Proposition

---

_{Interaction(s): @Qia//Harper}

Of all the things Gil, Gil, and Gil may have expected to happen, Haven's deliberately bold and sultry come-on to Rory in reply was pretty low on the list. The three of them shook their heads in mutual disbelief, stunned at the success Rory's sheer obliviousness had conjured for him. Of course, such success unimpeded was short-lived; Mei arrived, clearly still wounded from Rory's faux pas on the beach the night before. Emotions were high from the morning announcement, and the Gils foresaw many such dramatic gestures on the horizon. At least the Trials would force them to focus on each other in a more pragmatic tactical sense, rather than the love-bug currently circling the group.

Rory tripped on Mei's silk and discarded his trousers entirely in his efforts to chase after her; Gil wondered how the oaf managed to enrapture so many women, and yet remain so incognizant of any of it.
Speaking of, his observation was interrupted as Harper appeared in eyeline. All three Gils smiled warmly at her pleasing countenance. She returned each smile in kind, and Gil was keenly aware he outnumbered Harper - it happened often in conversation - and he also noticed a degree of nervousness in Harper's manner.

Harper steadied her nerves as the collective gaze of the Gils settled on her, a trio of expectant stares that could easily unnerve.“So…”she ventured, her voice a careful blend of nonchalance and mischief,"I’m considering a play from Rory’s handbook… touché?”The smirk that played on her lips then was both a shield and a signal.“Respectfully,” she hastened to add, the smirk now blossoming into a full-fledged grin. A moment lingered, heavy with anticipation, before she delivered the punchline, “In separate cots, of course. For decency’s sake.”

Gil2 and Gil3 cleared their throats, but said nothing; both gazes shifted to Gil himself, deferring - as ever - to their original and maker. Gil maintained his smile, venturing to joke and flirt.
"That proposition got less exciting the more you said," he replied, a mischievous smirk playing across his face. "But nonetheless amicable. Do you have a tent picked out already?"
Gil2 hefted the single bag Gil had brought, and waited expectantly.

Harper’s pulse quickened as Gil’s grin persisted, his response to her playful proposition laced with a similar flirtatious spirit. His quip about the dwindling thrill brought a slight flush to her cheeks, yet she welcomed the light-hearted exchange. She noticed Gil2, poised with the bag, and gestured towards her tent nestled among others. “That’s my spot,” she said, injecting a touch of theatrics into her voice,“It’s far from a five-star suite, but it’s got its own charm.”She’d never actually experienced the luxury of a high-end hotel, and truth be told, she found a certain peace in the simplicity of tent life amidst the serene backdrop of nature, anyway.

“By the way, am I dealing with all 3 of you at once? Not that I think I can’t handle it but…doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” she teased, her tone light but with a hint of a challenge.

Gil raised an eyebrow as Harper matched his flirtatious tone. She gestured towards her - their - chosen tent, and Gil2 moved off without a word to deposit their luggage. Gil and Gil3 remained, collective curiosity thoroughly piqued. This Harper before them, flirty, audacious, wry, was some distance from the usual reserved, disciplined Harper he'd grown familiar with over the last year.
"I'm sure you could handle as much of me as I can deliver, Harper Baxter, but I'm not sure the tents could withstand it." He replied, winking gratuitously. Gil3 felt himself begin to blush, and instead coughed and turned away, searching for their work assignment for the trials as a means of distraction. "But no, we'll be one on one this evening. Have to keep something in my bag of tricks for later, you know?"

Harper’s mind raced as she started to process the flirtatious exchange, her earlier words hanging between them like a challenge thrown down in a game she hadn’t realized she was playing. Until now. She could feel the heat of a blush threatening to rise again.

Yet, she found herself leaning into the moment, the thrill of the unexpected banter with Gil giving her a rush of adrenaline.

One more. She had about one last one in her.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re full of surprises,” she retorted, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “But just so we’re clear, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too.”

Realizing they were teetering on the edge of a conversation that could spiral into unknown territories, Harper quickly shifted gears. She pointed towards the direction Haven had indicated earlier, her hand cutting through the tension. “Let’s not keep Tad waiting any longer for us,” she said, her tone a mix of practicality and reluctance to end their playful interaction. “After all, we wouldn’t want to be the topic of any kind of gossip now would we?”

Gil was thoroughly enjoying himself, pleasantly surprised by this side of Harper, and his mind drifted to the evening previous on the beach, wrapped up in Katja's biceps and talking about the dance. Perhaps the idea had legs after all.
²"I wouldn't worry about that." Gil2 said as he returned, having caught Harper's last few words. He rejoined the group as they began to move toward the faculty. ²"Rory's got it plenty covered. He's sharing a tent with Haven, but taking Mei to the dance. Can't wait how he's going to explain that on the big night."

Gil3 groaned in exasperation, while Gil just rubbed his temple. All tension burst, he gestured forwards, allowing Harper to take the lead as the four of them together approached Tad for their work assignments.

Harper, now caught in a crossfire of emotions, felt a headache brewing. She groaned and rubbed her temples in tandem with the Gils, the half-baked scheme made earlier making a reappearance in her thoughts. That whole debacle still needed tending, and Rory’s romantic entanglements were a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to delve into along with it. As Gil gestured her forward, she stepped ahead, her mind already brewing up some possible solutions.

“The faster he tells Haven, the better, I think,” Harper finally voiced her thoughts, breaking the brief silence that had settled over them. “She knows how he can be so might understand.”

^{1 2 3}"We can only hope." All three Gils said in unison, creating a chorus of dubious faith. Shortly ahead of them, Tad stood together with a towering man, who was looking fervently between a tablet and the various students and faculty members coming and going across the plateau.
"Tad!" Gil called, waving a hand in greeting to both men. Behind him, Gil2 and Gil3 did the same, while Harper gave them a polite nod. "Hope you're as well as you look, after this morning? Harper and we need our assignments for the Trials."

"Gil, I appreciate you asking. As much as I hate to say it, the worst I'll have to deal with is a new boss if the Foundation takes over. I've already graduated, only thing I've ever wanted to do was help other Hypes like me find a home here." Tad responded.

"I believe we have you filling in where needed. I'm a little worried about the combination of Lorcán, Rory and Amma. Why don't you check in with Rory and see if you can lend a hand there? Harper, you'll be working with Calliope and Mei to come up with the theme of this year's trial and work on programming the simulation."

Gil3 was already heading off as Gil and Gil2 flashed Tad a thumbs-up, Gil2 jogging away to catch up with himself.
"Gotcha - I figured as much for myself." Gil said, then turned to Harper. "I guess I'll see you later on - looking forward to the pillow-talk."
He gave Harper another wink before he headed off, leaving behind a flustered girl and two men with one raised eyebrow apiece.

Roman's Scrapbin

G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R
G I L G A L A H A D // H A R P E R B A X T E R

_{Location: The Chimera's Lair - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.074: An Interesting Proposition

---

_{Interaction(s): @Qia//Harper}

Roman's Scrapbin

FUCKIN BB CODE

Roman's Scrapbin

Two men in Arthurian medieval knight-y times are transporting a massive black stone box/coffin/sarcophagus/etc with the promise that its delivery will halt some massive war/all war/bring peace on earth.

Journey is waylaid by those wishing to steal the box/prevent its delivery/take credit themselves for its delivery.

Scene: one knight says they will be happy to see the back if war once their mission is over. The other knight derides them for believing their mission is what they were told it is. The box isn’t a means to stop war but to control it. War is profitable.

Scene: a blind knight approaches and asks the two knights to come with him. They fob him off and pretend it is their duty to the box that they cannot.
“as long as my eyes are upon the casket it shall not move”
“Little comfort from a blind man”
Blind knight removes his blindfold and actually takes his eyes out and places them atop the casket. The casket can’t be moved. The knights can’t move the eyes either
“They are heavy with the weight of what they have seen”

Scene: set upon by bandits, who try to open the casket, though they are warned against it as terrible things befall those who try.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: The Chimera's Lair - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.061: Bullet: dodged.

---

_{Interaction(s): //}

The piercing alarm from his phone, buzzing away on the carpet floor, woke Gil sharply from what he was sure had been a very pleasant dream, even as the details dissipated from memory like smoke. He lay on his back, duvet tossed and thrashed and askew across his half-naked frame, taking long hard blinks as the morning sun drifted through half-closed curtains, dust motes twinkling in the beams. He drew long, deep breaths, willing himself to wake up. The phone blared and buzzed, and eventually he pulled himself up at the waist to sit on the edge of his bed, duvet slipping off completely and rumpling on the floor. He lent down to scoop up his phone and shut off the alarm, rubbing his eyes with the back of his other hand as the light from the screen forced his still-sleepy eyes to squint.

Seconds later he was up and scrambling for clothes. He'd overslept, having gotten in later than expected from the beach - despite Amma's outburst, he was determined not to end the final night of freedom before the year began in earnest end on such a soured note, and so he'd assisted in emptying out Rory's cooler with not only the dwindling members of Blackjack, but also any late-night beach-goer who'd wandered close enough.

Now, however, he was in danger of missing breakfast before the opening ceremony for the academic year, and he was well-aware that manual labour would feature heavily in the days' agenda; not only the trials themselves, but also the construction and setup of the trials, on which senior students were relied upon for their assistance, and he needed to be well-fed if he and Gils 2 & 3 were going to be of use. Speaking of...
Gil finished pulling on his uniform in a hurry, getting the bulk of it on - trousers, shirt, socks and shoes, tie - before he shimmered and a similarly-scruffy Gil stepped forth from him.

Bleary-eyed, hungry, and ever-so-slightly hungover, Gil immediately recognised this exertion as a mistake, feeling instantly woozy and stumbling backwards; his heel hit the foot of the bed and he tumbled onto the bed, hand pushed against his forehead as vision swam and nausea washed over him. Gil2, though also bleary-eyed, hungry, and ever-so-slightly hungover, remained standing, and proffered a hand to Gil when he looked up again, dragging a hand down his face. He took it, and Gil helped himself to his feet again.

As Gil2 made his way out of the dorm and toward the mess hall to collect a sizeable breakfast, Gil threw on his blazer and took a couple minutes to himself to toss a far-too-hot espresso shot (with more sugar than many would find acceptable) down his gullet, ignoring the burning in his throat to focus instead on the blossoming warmth in his belly. Steeling himself against the coming day, he took one last once-over of himself in the mirror, used a single hand to tousle his hair (still smelling of smoke from last night's bonfire) just-so, and went to follow himself down to breakfast.

---

Gil stood outside the main doors of the Mess Hall, quietly chatting with Rory and passing the usual good mornings to whoever walked by, awaiting Gil2 to return arms laden with pastries and fried protein. The hall was abuzz with activity, the anticipation of the semester's first proper day thrumming through the student body, freshman and senior alike. He was considerably un-prepared for the arrival of Lorcán - or, more specifically, the arrival of Lorcán's hands.

He startled as Lorcán slapped his and Rory's arses with considerable fervour, and he was sure that had Gil2 been stood here, and he collecting breakfast in the Mess Hall, his friend may have traumatized himself and several other students by catalyzing Gil's sudden disintegration into nothingness with little more than an overly-fond physical greeting. As it was, Gil turned around, craning his neck for his copy in the mess hall as he did, and smiled as best he could as the three friends greeted each other, once again, as academic peers.

“Hopefully, you dudes don’t have to sit down too soon, but man, bros, you missed out on some legen-lactose heavy’-dary swells this mornin’. I am totally going to get you both out on a board before we graduate.”
Lorcán fumbled with his belt, dropping his trousers to the ground in the process, and Gil was silently thankful that he clearly wasn't the only one struggling with this particular morning.
"If you can score me a board for a day, I'll be there, bro." Rory replied, in typical 'up-for-anything' Rory fashion, and Lorcán grinned in return, turning his gaze expectantly to Gil.
"I think I'll let another Gil give it a trial run first. Wouldn't want to damage the money-maker in an errant wave." He said, offering a hand for Lorcán to shake, greeting him warmly as other members of Blackjack began drifting in.

On cue, Gil2 pushed open the doors of the mess hall with his back, turning as he came through to reveal two well-stocked trays balanced precariously between two mug-bearing arms. Steam drifted from the rims, and Gil felt himself coming alive just from the smell of the tea within. The trays, meanwhile, held croissants, a couple chocolate pains, a handful of bacon rashers each, two hard-boiled eggs (pre-peeled), and a banana. Gil carefully helped Gil2 with the mugs and trays, and the two gorged themselves, supping down great glugs of sugary tea between bites of their respective breakfasts.

---

By the time Blackjack arrived at Chimera's Lair, both Gils were thoroughly sated and slaked, and felt far more prepared for the day with full stomachs and slow-boil caffeine beginning to circulate. Gil2 departed - he had no need to sit around for the speech, and would instead use the time to fulfill Gil's community contribution obligations - but Gil himself filed into the stadium alongside his teammates, fidgeting and shifting in his seat as he tried, without success, to find a comfortable position in the hard-backed plastic chairs. He paid little attention, clapping when others clapped, whooping when others whooped, and only eyed the Foundation staff momentarily until their identities were confirmed; of little consequence, or so he thought.

He stopped fidgeting and found his attention laser-focused and breath hitching as Jim dropped the bombshell on degree accreditation; wasted years and futile plans cascaded in front of his eyes, vision swimming with images of scripts being burnt and casting calls passing him by - and then Jim followed up and said,
"our degree programs in the engineering, law and medical fields,"
and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and sunk backwards into his chair, reassured his programme had not been set askew by the sudden upset. He could feel his phone sitting heavy in his pocket - he would certainly need to discuss the implications with Artie, and there was no guarantee that invalidations wouldn't stretch further into PRCU's course offerings and dismantle the university's credibility entirely - but, for now, at least he was safe.

Not that he could say the same for many of his teammates, and their reactions spoke for themselves in this regard. Gil felt himself shrinking into his seat, not wanting to be noticed or singled-out for how he had dodged such a mighty blow. This announcement would derail a strong majority of the team, and he wouldn't blame any one of them for spiraling out; he thought back to only the night previous, the twelve of them gathered around the warm glow of the bonfire beside the ocean, spooling out their futures into the fire. Only one of them hadn't indulged in such optimism.

Gil heard her laugh, and the feeling of a full stomach was suddenly distinctly unwelcome.

Had she known?

It didn't do to dwell on it. Even if she had, what use would knowing have been? To any of them?

Gil watched each of his teammates make their exits, each bearing a weight upon them he couldn't know. There was an odd sense of remorse bubbling up within him, a survivor's guilt shouldered for people who were still very much alive. A future that had seemed so attainable and assured less than merely eighteen hours ago had been suddenly and viciously ripped away from beneath them.

He'd need to catch up with Lorcán, undoubtedly; Rory too, but the pair were away from him, and Aurora had gone after the former hurriedly - her compassion was far better suited for this sensitive moment that Gil's brand of superficial charm and 'easy-breezy' philosophy. The plateau would be better, when they could talk without looking at each other, focusing on the construction instead of connection.

As the crowd of students, no longer buzzing with anticipation but now dour and deflated, began to filter out of the stadium, Gil found himself simply washed along amidst them, sympathizing for those affected, but clinging onto the future that was still within reach.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he fished it out to look at the screen. Artie was calling. Gil hung up, and slowly made his way toward the fleet of vehicles ready to ferry students across to the Southern Plateau.

---

The sun bore down, now high in the sky as the day moved through the morning and into midday and the afternoon proper. The Gils alighted from the Minotaur, aware they were on the second-wave and therefore in danger of being late again; still, the pair took the time to stretch out, looking reminiscent of an Olympic swimming duo as their movements inadvertently synchronised. Shaking off the last of the stiffness, Gil shimmered again, and Gil3 stepped forth; they all three figured to save time and multiply now, rather than wait to be asked. Gil lifted his bag onto his shoulder as his copies forged ahead, trekking to the campsite.

Up ahead, the trio could see a neatly-arranged ring of tents, pre-fabricated and already setup, positioned with care and forethought around the firepit. It felt communal, village-like; even the tents' openings were all organised inwards. Past the tents Gil could see a similar cluster of tents, and wondered which team they were situated near; then, in the noon sun, there was a paired glimmer of rich orange and shock-white blonde, and Gil knew it was Firebird. That pair of heads couldn't be anyone other than Alyssa and Luce, inseparable since their return from an extended gap-year after the Hyperion incident. Alyssa was a redhead and a stunner, an all-smiles socialite down to the hilt; Luce was even-tempered, measured in her reactions and words, criss-crossed with scars and in possession of a gaze equally haunted and haunting. He wondered how Firebird were handling the morning's news.

His own teammates, meanwhile, had gathered already, and were busying themselves with the important task of arranging bunking partners before the evening descended and a hard day's work would cut into their patience. There were obvious obvious pairings - namely Banjo and Calliope - but also subtle obvious pairings: Lorcán and Aurora, Rory and Haven, that sort of thing. It was like co-ed bunking was mandated. Speaking of...
"So, Barnes... you want to sleep together tonight?"

If Haven didn't choke on the water, Gil choked on the air in her stead.
²"Smooth." Gil2 said, fishing a spare water bottle of his own as the copies congregated with the original.
³"We should really go and help bail him out. One of us, at least." Replied Gil3. Gil himself simply held up a hand.
"No no. He needs to learn. Besides, it's more entertaining this way...and probably a better gauge if Haven actually reciprocates."

Roman's Scrapbin

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

^{________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || T B D
__PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || TBD
__SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || TBD
__POWER SCALE || TBD
__THREAT CLASSIFICATION || TBD}

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_{L I M I T A T I O N S || T B D}

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_{W E A K N E S S E S || T B D}

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Hypes:
Molecular control shape-shifter
Friction control
Momentum/kineticism
Grafting-based biokinesis
body has developed a golden alloy that can be controlled around the body and turned into objects/weapons
animal transformation, both partial (hybrid) and full

Villains:
Gas generation
Flesh-construct hive-mind

Supernaturals:
Dispersed consciousness gaia-form
Afterlife/Limbo travel
Magic-based gunslinger (a Jäger who’s survived since 1880’s?)
consciousness bound to a weapon, that dominates the wielder
dragon bound to mortal form, slowly breaking out over centuries and regaining power

Roman's Scrapbin

Lorcán stormed off, Aurora followed him.
Calliope went to bathroom to freak out, comes back collected, stood with Banjo.
Amma had a chat with the Foundation staff, and then left for the dorms.
Rory heads out of stadium.
Harper leaves with Haven.

Roman's Scrapbin

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: The Chimera's Lair - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.058: Bullet: dodged.

---

_{Interaction(s): //}

The piercing alarm from his phone, buzzing away on the carpet floor, woke Gil sharply from what he was sure had been a very pleasant dream, even as the details dissipated from memory like smoke. He lay on his back, duvet tossed and thrashed and askew across his half-naked frame, taking long hard blinks as the morning sun drifted through half-closed curtains, dust motes twinkling in the beams. He drew long, deep breaths, willing himself to wake up. The phone blared and buzzed, and eventually he pulled himself up at the waist to sit on the edge of his bed, duvet slipping off completely and rumpling on the floor. He lent down to scoop up his phone and shut off the alarm, rubbing his eyes with the back of his other hand as the light from the screen forced his still-sleepy eyes to squint.

Seconds later he was up and scrambling for clothes. He'd overslept, having gotten in later than expected from the beach - despite Amma's outburst, he was determined not to end the final night of freedom before the year began in earnest end on such a soured note, and so he'd assisted in emptying out Rory's cooler with not only the dwindling members of Blackjack, but also any late-night beach-goer who'd wandered close enough.

Now, however, he was in danger of missing breakfast before the opening ceremony for the academic year, and he was well-aware that manual labour would feature heavily in the days' agenda; not only the trials themselves, but also the construction and setup of the trials, on which senior students were relied upon for their assistance, and he needed to be well-fed if he and Gils 2 & 3 were going to be of use. Speaking of...
Gil finished pulling on his uniform in a hurry, getting the bulk of it on - trousers, shirt, socks and shoes, tie - before he shimmered and a similarly-scruffy Gil stepped forth from him.

Bleary-eyed, hungry, and ever-so-slightly hungover, Gil immediately recognised this exertion as a mistake, feeling instantly woozy and stumbling backwards; his heel hit the foot of the bed and he tumbled onto the bed, hand pushed against his forehead as vision swam and nausea washed over him. Gil2, though also bleary-eyed, hungry, and ever-so-slightly hungover, remained standing, and proffered a hand to Gil when he looked up again, dragging a hand down his face. He took it, and Gil helped himself to his feet again.

As Gil2 made his way out of the dorm and toward the mess hall to collect a sizeable breakfast, Gil threw on his blazer and took a couple minutes to himself to toss a far-too-hot espresso shot (with more sugar than many would find acceptable) down his gullet, ignoring the burning in his throat to focus instead on the blossoming warmth in his belly. Steeling himself against the coming day, he took one last once-over of himself in the mirror, used a single hand to tousle his hair (still smelling of smoke from last night's bonfire) just-so, and went to follow himself down to breakfast.

---

Gil stood outside the main doors of the Mess Hall, quietly chatting with Rory and passing the usual good mornings to whoever walked by, awaiting Gil2 to return arms laden with pastries and fried protein. The hall was abuzz with activity, the anticipation of the semester's first proper day thrumming through the student body, freshman and senior alike. He was considerably un-prepared for the arrival of Lorcán - or, more specifically, the arrival of Lorcán's hands.

He startled as Lorcán slapped his and Rory's arses with considerable fervour, and he was sure that had Gil2 been stood here, and he collecting breakfast in the Mess Hall, his friend may have traumatized himself and several other students by catalyzing Gil's sudden disintegration into nothingness with little more than an overly-fond physical greeting. As it was, Gil turned around, craning his neck for his copy in the mess hall as he did, and smiled as best he could as the three friends greeted each other, once again, as academic peers.

“Hopefully, you dudes don’t have to sit down too soon, but man, bros, you missed out on some legen-lactose heavy’-dary swells this mornin’. I am totally going to get you both out on a board before we graduate.”
Lorcán fumbled with his belt, dropping his trousers to the ground in the process, and Gil was silently thankful that he clearly wasn't the only one struggling with this particular morning.
"If you can score me a board for a day, I'll be there, bro." Rory replied, in typical 'up-for-anything' Rory fashion, and Lorcán grinned in return, turning his gaze expectantly to Gil.
"I think I'll let another Gil give it a trial run first. Wouldn't want to damage the money-maker in an errant wave." He said, offering a hand for Lorcán to shake, greeting him warmly as other members of Blackjack began drifting in.

On cue, Gil2 pushed open the doors of the mess hall with his back, turning as he came through to reveal two well-stocked trays balanced precariously between two mug-bearing arms. Steam drifted from the rims, and Gil felt himself coming alive just from the smell of the tea within. The trays, meanwhile, held croissants, a couple chocolate pains, a handful of bacon rashers each, two hard-boiled eggs (pre-peeled), and a banana. Gil carefully helped Gil2 with the mugs and trays, and the two gorged themselves, supping down great glugs of sugary tea between bites of their respective breakfasts.

---

By the time Blackjack arrived at Chimera's Lair, both Gils were thoroughly sated and slaked, and felt far more prepared for the day with full stomachs and slow-boil caffeine beginning to circulate. Gil2 departed - he had no need to sit around for the speech, and would instead use the time to fulfill Gil's community contribution obligations - but Gil himself filed into the stadium alongside his teammates, fidgeting and shifting in his seat as he tried, without success, to find a comfortable position in the hard-backed plastic chairs. He paid little attention, clapping when others clapped, whooping when others whooped, and only eyed the Foundation staff momentarily until their identities were confirmed; of little consequence, or so he thought.

He stopped fidgeting and found his attention laser-focused and breath hitching as Jim dropped the bombshell on degree accreditation; wasted years and futile plans cascaded in front of his eyes, vision swimming with images of scripts being burnt and casting calls passing him by - and then Jim followed up and said,
"our degree programs in the engineering, law and medical fields,"
and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and sunk backwards into his chair, reassured his programme had not been set askew by the sudden upset. He could feel his phone sitting heavy in his pocket - he would certainly need to discuss the implications with Artie, and there was no guarantee that invalidations wouldn't stretch further into PRCU's course offerings and dismantle the university's credibility entirely - but, for now, at least he was safe.

Not that he could say the same for many of his teammates, and their reactions spoke for themselves in this regard. Gil felt himself shrinking into his seat, not wanting to be noticed or singled-out for how he had dodged such a mighty blow. This announcement would derail a strong majority of the team, and he wouldn't blame any one of them for spiraling out; he thought back to only the night previous, the twelve of them gathered around the warm glow of the bonfire beside the ocean, spooling out their futures into the fire. Only one of them hadn't indulged in such optimism.

Gil heard her laugh, and the feeling of a full stomach was suddenly distinctly unwelcome.

Had she known?

It didn't do to dwell on it. Even if she had, what use would knowing have been? To any of them?

Gil watched each of his teammates make their exits, each bearing a weight upon them he couldn't know. There was an odd sense of remorse bubbling up within him, a survivor's guilt shouldered for people who were still very much alive. A future that had seemed so attainable and assured less than merely eighteen hours ago had been suddenly and viciously ripped away from beneath them.

He'd need to catch up with Lorcán, undoubtedly; Rory too, but the pair were away from him, and Aurora had gone after the former hurriedly - her compassion was far better suited for this sensitive moment that Gil's brand of superficial charm and 'easy-breezy' philosophy. The plateau would be better, when they could talk without looking at each other, focusing on the construction instead of connection.

As the crowd of students, no longer buzzing with anticipation but now dour and deflated, began to filter out of the stadium, Gil found himself simply washed along amidst them, sympathizing for those affected, but clinging onto the future that was still within reach.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he fished it out to look at the screen. Artie was calling. Gil hung up, and slowly made his way toward the fleet of vehicles ready to ferry students across to the Southern Plateau.

---

The sun bore down, now high in the sky as the day moved through the morning and into midday and the afternoon proper. The Gils alighted from the Minotaur, aware they were on the second-wave and therefore in danger of being late again; still, the pair took the time to stretch out, looking reminiscent of an Olympic swimming duo as their movements inadvertently synchronised. Shaking off the last of the stiffness, Gil shimmered again, and Gil3 stepped forth; they all three figured to save time and multiply now, rather than wait to be asked. Gil lifted his bag onto his shoulder as his copies forged ahead, trekking to the campsite.

Up ahead, the trio could see a neatly-arranged ring of tents, pre-fabricated and already setup, positioned with care and forethought around the firepit. It felt communal, village-like; even the tents' openings were all organised inwards. Past the tents Gil could see a similar cluster of tents, and wondered which team they were situated near; then, in the noon sun, there was a paired glimmer of rich orange and shock-white blonde, and Gil knew it was Firebird. That pair of heads couldn't be anyone other than Alyssa and Luce, inseparable since their return from an extended gap-year after the Hyperion incident. Alyssa was a redhead and a stunner, an all-smiles socialite down to the hilt; Luce was even-tempered, measured in her reactions and words, criss-crossed with scars and in possession of a gaze equally haunted and haunting. He wondered how Firebird were handling the morning's news.

His own teammates, meanwhile, had gathered already, and were busying themselves with the important task of arranging bunking partners before the evening descended and a hard day's work would cut into their patience. There were obvious obvious pairings - namely Banjo and Calliope - but also subtle obvious pairings: Lorcán and Aurora, Rory and Haven, that sort of thing. It was like co-ed bunking was mandated. Speaking of...
"So, Barnes... you want to sleep together tonight?"

If Haven didn't choke on the water, Gil choked on the air in her stead.
²"Smooth." Gil2 said, fishing a spare water bottle of his own as the copies congregated with the original.
³"We should really go and help bail him out. One of us, at least." Replied Gil3. Gil himself simply held up a hand.
"No no. He needs to learn. Besides, it's more entertaining this way...and probably a better gauge if Haven actually reciprocates."

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.040: First-Date Certified

---

_{Interaction(s): All //}

Amma made Gil nervous, but not nervous enough not to dance dangerously close in flirting. He certainly recognised the short chuckle she proffered, as well as the lingering, deliberate sweep of her gaze up and down his body. He smirked, not un-used to this kind of attention, never getting tired of it regardless.
"Well, you certainly have plenty to spare, don't you. Gil."
"And yet there never seems to be enough of me to go around..." Gil replied, offering a subtle wink to go with his remark.

Further flirtation was summarily interrupted by Katja's signature greeting; she scooped both Gil and Harper up, one arm each still far more than necessary, and the three squeezed together in a blend of skin and smells on this sunny afternoon. Harper shifted in the embrace - was that her hand brushing against his? - and Gil sympathised, feeling like the well-loved puppy in a toddler's arms, well-meaning but uncomfortable. He decided to hold to his breath and appreciate the intention of the gesture, rather than its physical consequences.
“I missed seeing all of you.” Katja said, her strong voice amplified by its proximity to Gil's ear, before she set them both down and regarded the pair with warm eyes, an arm resting on each of their shoulders. “It’s been so long, we have so much to discuss. And so much to look forward to of course! Like the dance! Have the two of you found someone for the dance yet?”
"And you, Kat, though I can't say my spine can agree." He joked, giving her a playful shove that felt like pushing a brick wall, and hurt his wrist without Katja even budging a nanometer. Harper answered her before he could.

"To be honest, I haven't given much thought to the dance yet," she admitted, her voice soft but steady. "I've been so focused on other things that it kind of slipped my mind."
“I feel you on that one, sis. We’ve got a lot of things on our plates, so I totally understand forgetting about it. You shouldn’t worry though. A cute girl like you will find a date in no time! If you don’t then I’ll take you to the dance, and you don’t want that now do you?” Katja said with a playful wink.
“Thanks, Kat,” Harper replied with a short laugh. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, but honestly, I'm not too worried about finding a date. There's more to life than dances, right?”

There was a gap, and Gil took the opportunity to insert himself.
"I'm the same; no partner yet. You've gotta keep your options open, y'know? Besides, I'd hate to disappoint any die-hard fans." He grinned, playing the question off like good-natured banter, but there was a knife's edge of truth; he would genuinely have to discuss the optics of a Capital-D 'Date' with Artie, ruminate on the implications of being 'off-the-market'. Gil was well-aware of what particular corners of Tumblr and the website formally known as Twitter could get like these days. He couldn't risk hurting his public image this close to graduation and his return to LA. He couldn't go back to Bristol to be stifled and smothered and moulded into some number-crunching suit.

In his peripheral vision, Harper shifted her weight from one side to the other. Gil didn't pay it much attention.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice when the time comes, Gil," Harper said, offering a small smile. “As for me, I’ll probably just go with the flow. And… right now I think I could use a drink.”
Harper excused herself in the direction of Rory's cooler, and Gil suddenly felt very small beneath Katja's towering frame.
“Well, not everyone has the luxury of an adoring fanbase.” She said curtly, giving his shoulder a forceful pat that appeared friendly but felt admonishing. Her gaze had the subtlest hint of a reprimanding frown to it. “But I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And then Katja excused herself as well, and Gil turned to realise Amma had wandered away too, and he was alone.

---

As the day moved on and the sun began to wane in the sky, Blackjack drifted on and off the beach, eventually reconvening around a campfire built by Lorcán. One by one, the members of the team settled themselves in a ring around the roaring embers, Gil himself shuffling a little closer to push his hands towards the heat; as the sun set across the oceanic horizon, he regretted not returning to the dorms, as some of the others had, to fetch something a bit warmer. He'd buttoned up his shirt, the time for artful display of abs far gone, but still found the evening chill worming its way to his bones.

Lorcán, ever the social glue between much of the team, prompted the evening's discussion, opting for that most nerve-racking of topics: the future.
“Alright gentle-dudes and lady-brahs, where does everyone see themselves once they graduate?”

Calliope had sat down next to Gil, and then Banjo had inserted himself between them. Gil ignored them both - not the malicious, deliberate kind, just simple neutrality, their appearances here as unremarkable as anyone else's - though he did notice Banjo staring and grinning at him for an extended amount of time. Gil was used to Banjo mouthing off, or playing pranks, or finding more general, ostentatious ways to irritate the group; he wasn't used to Banjo just being plain weird. He cleared his throat and shuffled an inch or two closer to the fire, wondering if Calliope found Banjo's behaviour as odd as everyone else did. Probably not. She didn't strike Gil as having the patience for it if she did.

Banjo-brand peculiarity was quickly forgotten as the question circled the bonfire, each member of Blackjack offering their hopes and dreams into the flame. Gil noticed Aurora falling asleep on Lorcán's shoulder, and hoped his copy had offered some sage advice earlier that afternoon. He'd have to catch himself up separately with his friend later on. To his side, Rory and Haven also began cosying up, and between the pair of pairs and the twinkling sunset sparkling off the sea, Gil felt a sharp pang shoot through him, his hand reflexively reaching for his phone and his mind brought back to those damning messages from Elenora he'd gotten that morning. It was not an unfamiliar pang; but while less frequent than it had once been, it had lost none of its potency.

He found himself tuning back in as Amma thoroughly deflated the collective blue-sky optimism of his teammates with her 6-feet-under realism. There was a lull in the conversation, the mood thoroughly murdered. He cleared his throat.
"Well, as long as they still cast me when I get back to L.A., I think I can put up with the rest." He said, trying to flash a smile and bring levity back to the evening. "You're looking at the next official spokesperson for Cachou Lajaunie, packing a liquorice wallop for fresh beyond freshness. Providing I can get a weekend release, of course. And after graduation, Hollywood is my oyster."