Snagglepuss89

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

I mean, he seems like an in-universe Howard Hughes, only more anonymous/reclusive. Billionaire seems more than fitting for the modern setting.

- And yeah, I think a healthy OOC is paramount to a healthy RP. If you don't end up making a Discord chat for it or something then you can expect the occasional bout of shitposting from me to try and keep some conversation going on off days.

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Yandare Ending Route: Everyone was actually the murderer fighting to be with Bonaparte-Sempai and his stacks of cash.

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Of course, of course, for my character's backstory. Not at all for plans involving Monsieur Billionaire.

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

You realize from now on this is going to be my mental picture every time you write out his name:

Lucifer Van Bonaparte

And what do you mean joking? My character is divorced, this is clearly in relation to him. No need to make everything about Van-Suave-As-Fuck

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

@Aewin@Pudding@Melo@Ailyn Evensen@tsukune

Just a helpful reminder for everyone: Van Bonaparte is both single and a billionaire.

@Shoryu Magami Important lore question: Do prenups exist in this setting?

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Konrad (Conrad) Richter

Name:
Konrad Richter

Also Known As:
Conrad (Anglicized) Richter

Birthdate:
April 5th, 1982

Place of Origin:
West Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany

Ethnicity:
European (German/Some form of Slavic)

Gender:
Male

Height:
183cm / 6'0"

Weight:
57kg / 125lb

Laterality:
Left-handed

Occupation:
Author (former), Store Clerk

Marital Status:
Single, Divorced

Appearance:
Tall and blonde, it would surprise nobody to find out that Conrad had a lot of German blood flowing through his veins. Still, while he managed to inherit his father's blonde hair, it was his mother's brown eyes through which he viewed the world. They're eyes that are intelligent and forlorn in equal measure, and they often gave him the look of somebody who wants to speak, but holds back.

Having lived nearly half his life in Kent, when Conrad does speak it's in a near-authentic English accent, with only hints of his German dialect slipping through. He would almost avoid notice, all told, if not for the fact that his right forearm ends in a stump halfway to the hand. A birth defect, but one he has managed to adapt to quite easily. Still, it was a fact that certainly didn't help his already light weight for his size.

Synopsis:
Conrad's life before adulthood is as uninteresting as is it unimportant, as he tells it. He lived in Germany his entire life. At a young age he was gripped with the desire to be a writer, and began learning English so that he could reach a wider audience. It was natural then, that he should make plans to immigrate to the British Isles upon reach adulthood. He had no love for his father's land, and the literature he had grown up with filled him with a longing to reside in the UK, with many of his favorite authors having filled him with a idealized image of their home. It was as he was making preparations to leave Germany that the high point of his life was realized. Firstly, he met his wife, a Bosnian woman, who agreed to move to England with him. Secondly, he began work on his book, "Forlorn Hope", a fictional account of an unnamed war orphan. Thirdly, he turned eighteen, and began his journey into adulthood by quite literally sailing away from his childhood.

Upon publication "Forlorn Hope, written in English, received international acclaim, and modest success in sales. Still, in spite of this, his success was short lived. Seemingly having lost his muse, Conrad (As he began stylizing himself, even using it as his pen name over the German Konrad) never published another book. Instead he took a job as a simple store clerk as his royalties began to dwindle, and by the time they had been together five years his marriage ended in divorce. He has spent the last few years of his life living quietly, outside of the public eye. His short success having not held the world's attention for long.

Altogether he is social, but rather reserved, preferring to steer any conversation into a direction he is comfortable with. He appears to also be well read, or at least experienced, dispensing advice where he feel's it appropriate. Although who knows if he does this for praise or simply because he enjoys it. A writer's ego lives for being flattered, after all. In either case, he seems to be someone who enjoys partaking in conversation, even if he can seem a little... uncomfortable with his own voice at times.

Notes:

• Enjoys piano, and plays as proficiently as his handicap allows. Still, prefers to relax by sticking to the rhythmic left hand sections.
• Seems to prefer speaking in English, even though it is not his native language.
• Despite having worked at the same small town grocer for years, has not moved up into any sort of managerial position.

Theme Music:
Maggot Brain ~ Funkadelic

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Oh, look, another applicant. Private profile sent as well.

Konrad (Conrad) Richter

Name:
Konrad Richter

Also Known As:
Conrad (Anglicized) Richter

Birthdate:
April 5th, 1982

Place of Origin:
West Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany

Ethnicity:
European (German/Some form of Slavic)

Gender:
Male

Height:
183cm / 6'0"

Weight:
57kg / 125lb

Laterality:
Left-handed

Occupation:
Author (former), Store Clerk

Marital Status:
Single, Divorced

Appearance:
Tall and blonde, it would surprise nobody to find out that Conrad had a lot of German blood flowing through his veins. Still, while he managed to inherit his father's blonde hair, it was his mother's brown eyes through which he viewed the world. They're eyes that are intelligent and forlorn in equal measure, and they often gave him the look of somebody who wants to speak, but holds back.

Having lived nearly half his life in Kent, when Conrad does speak it's in a near-authentic English accent, with only hints of his German dialect slipping through. He would almost avoid notice, all told, if not for the fact that his right forearm ends in a stump halfway to the hand. A birth defect, but one he has managed to adapt to quite easily. Still, it was a fact that certainly didn't help his already light weight for his size.

Synopsis:
Conrad's life before adulthood is as uninteresting as is it unimportant, as he tells it. He lived in Germany his entire life. At a young age he was gripped with the desire to be a writer, and began learning English so that he could reach a wider audience. It was natural then, that he should make plans to immigrate to the British Isles upon reach adulthood. He had no love for his father's land, and the literature he had grown up with filled him with a longing to reside in the UK, with many of his favorite authors having filled him with a idealized image of their home. It was as he was making preparations to leave Germany that the high point of his life was realized. Firstly, he met his wife, a Bosnian woman, who agreed to move to England with him. Secondly, he began work on his book, "Forlorn Hope", a fictional account of an unnamed war orphan. Thirdly, he turned eighteen, and began his journey into adulthood by quite literally sailing away from his childhood.

Upon publication "Forlorn Hope, written in English, received international acclaim, and modest success in sales. Still, in spite of this, his success was short lived. Seemingly having lost his muse, Conrad (As he began stylizing himself, even using it as his pen name over the German Konrad) never published another book. Instead he took a job as a simple store clerk as his royalties began to dwindle, and by the time they had been together five years his marriage ended in divorce. He has spent the last few years of his life living quietly, outside of the public eye. His short success having not held the world's attention for long.

Altogether he is social, but rather reserved, preferring to steer any conversation into a direction he is comfortable with. He appears to also be well read, or at least experienced, dispensing advice where he feel's it appropriate. Although who knows if he does this for praise or simply because he enjoys it. A writer's ego lives for being flattered, after all. In either case, he seems to be someone who enjoys partaking in conversation, even if he can seem a little... uncomfortable with his own voice at times.

Notes:

• Enjoys piano, and plays as proficiently as his handicap allows. Still, prefers to relax by sticking to the rhythmic left hand sections.
• Seems to prefer speaking in English, even though it is not his native language.
• Despite having worked at the same small town grocer for years, has not moved up into any sort of managerial position.

Theme Music:
Maggot Brain ~ Funkadelic

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

---

---

Lawrence B. Ellison

This is the battle that never ends. Yes it goes on and on my friends.
@RedDusk@GreenGoat

---

---

As he finished tightening the second tourniquet Lawrence's hand brushed against the netting around the boy's leg, and was instantly greeted by a jolt of pain. He glanced at the new wound, now the only cut on his hands, and chuckled. It seemed like it was similar to, if not the exact same magic used in the glitter bomb from earlier. Did Managerie not have any new tricks? Still, that didn't help with being able to remove the stuff from the boy's leg. It wasn't something Lawrence had the tools to do right now.

He didn't have much time to worry about it though, as one of his teammates approached from the now-quiet battlefield. Sander. The "vampire" of their group. At first Lawrence was glad to see him, intent on requesting some help in operating on the blonde boy, but those thoughts quickly fled as he got a look at Sander's eyes. Lawrence was, frankly, no stranger to drug addicts. The Institution tended not to give a damn about whatever the students used to cope with their situation, and hard drugs were one such thing. This hungering look of addiction would be bad enough, if it wasn't the pool of blood around Christmas that was the target of his gaze.

"Back off, he's lost too much blood."

Sander took another step, not having heard the command at all, and Lawrence responded by switching his power onto the vampire. As a white glow enveloped both of them, Lawrence couldn't help but grimace at the drastic change that underwent his peer. It was always... horrifying in a sense, especially when the change was so drastic in nature. When it was non-consensual. The lust in Sander's eyes diminished almost entirely, replaced by a forlorn surrender. He dropped to his knees a step away from Doc and his patient, and began to speak:

"Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop."

A pause.

"I can’t just sit here, can I? I need to get back. I can get even stronger. I just need a little bit… more."

His gaze returned to the wounded boy's leg once more, and Lawrence sighed in response. How hard was it to understand that letting Christmas lose his magic blood was a bad idea? Still, he quelled the irritation before it grew enough to be sensed through his link, all of these people were still green. No sense in having expectations of them so soon.

Still, he couldn't let Christmas lose any more blood, and so he intended to make good on the offer he made in the truck. With only a slight hesitation, bracing for the pain, he slid his wrist along the magical wire and sliced it deeply enough that his blood flowed freely from the wound.

Pain.

Accompanied by a growing numbness in his hand. Lawrence was no stranger to deep cuts, he could say that having his wrist slashed was a new sensation for him. Before too much of his own blood was wasted, he help the bleeding limb up to Sander shook it slightly with impatience.

"He's off limits, you can take some of mine but hurry up before I lose too much."

"Just tell me when you get dizzy. I will… not hurt you."

His hand closed around Lawrence's wrist, causing another jolt of pain, but Lawrence didn't take back the offer.

"Don’t hesitate if I do."

A glance at his shotgun told Lawrence all of the meaning those words were meant to convey, but he had no intention of obliging. Short of trying to actually kill one of the others- including Christmas- he had no intention of actually shooting one of his teammates. Still, he didn't voice that opinion out loud. If the threat of being shot gave Sander motivation to back off when the time came, then he would let his teammate think whatever he needed to.

Still, while he expected the vampire to start slobbering all over his wrist- and probably give Lawrence a nasty infection for his trouble- he was surprised to see his blood not flowing out of his wrist, but directly into Sander's grip. Some sort of skin vacuum? It was far from the strangest thing Lawrence had seen during his time at the Institution, and he decided to just take it at face value.

Instead he closed his eyes.

And waited.

He focused on his body in the meantime. The sting from the final glitter bomb still dotting his upper body. The throbbing and numbness in his left hand. The slowly fading self loathing in his mind. His ears, which had stopped ringing once more, were still receiving sounds somewhat muted, an effect which would linger for some time yet.

Earplugs over the knife next time. Didn't even get to use the damn thing.

Finally a slight, yet growing, lightheadedness. The cause of which was his recent non-suicidal wrist slashing episode.

"That's enough now."

He began to pull his arm back, and was slightly surprised when Sander actually released him. Trying not to waste any more of his less-precious-but-still-imporant blood, he smeared his wound into the excess of healing-blood that was lying around until it closed. The pain and numbness vanished along with the cut, however the lightheaded feeling remained. Lawrence would take what he could get.

Satisfied and out of immediate danger, he finally took a chance to observe the battlefield at large and get his bearings on the situation. There were certainly casualties on their side, and more still on the monsters' side. The Eyepion had made its way to blue team, a fact that swelled a small feeling of regret in Lawrence, but he quickly quelled it. Blue team would benefit more by having now-free members of Red team help them. Green was too far away to assist, but their battlefield also looked like a complete clusterfuck, as most battles involving magic tended to.

Pink team though... By far the strongest team here had only half of their members still standing- and barely standing at that. Dropping a nuke had concerned Lawrence enough, but it looked that it hadn't even finished off their entire group of monsters.

And now they were probably defenseless.

"Shit."

The institution couldn't afford to lose another entire team of experienced battle Arbiters. Or experience battle-anything. Sure there was a chance Benediction might revive one of them, probably Ethan, but if that was a likely possibility then USARILN East would have a lot more students than it did presently. No, he would have to make an effort to get them out of there alive, and he knew it was partly because he didn't want any more names on that cardboard cutout to be scratched out.

With Hazel approaching and Sander having had his fill, Lawrence picked up his box of shells once more and moving quickly towards Pink team, offering glance behind him just to double check that Sander wasn't feasting on Christmas while his back was turned. Lawrence had no intention of letting his power off of the vampire until he was completely out of range. As he passed Hazel, Lawrence loaded a fresh shell into his gun and turned to her, not stopping as he spoke:

"I'm going to try and save Pink team, I'd appreciate your help!"

Without bothering to check if she was following, he set his sights forward once more. Just ahead it looked as if Kusari had the same idea as them.

Dreamcatcher only knew if that would be enough.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Holidays and whatever, try not to die.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

---

---

Lawrence B. Ellison

Magic is flying, Lawrence is crying, Zhang is sighing and people are dying too.

---

---

"Fuck..."

Familiarity. It surprised him how much he still hated this sensation, hated magic. He was walking along a barren wasteland, a place he had visited once before. It was shrouded in darkness, with no sun or moon or stars above him, yet he could see every detail of the landscape. Instinctively he knew what it was, even without having been there in his life. The ocean. Or rather, the ocean floor, devoid of any water, or life. Still, it wasn't as if it had vanished entirely. He felt it, above him, a vast and terrifying ocean in the sky, ever present but out of sight. However, it was not the sea but rather something incomprehensible, and powerful beyond imagination.

From above, a bit of that ocean dripped into him, joining with the current of his existence. Not as if power had slipped into him, but as if Lawrence had joined more of himself. It was a weak current that flowed through him, especially compared to the power that was forever out of reach, and having to deal with an even larger volume of it disgusted him beyond compare.

Before he could ponder if it was the magic or his being that disgusted him, Lawrence was pulled back into reality once more.

"... Off"

As he snapped back to the current situation, watching the Eyepion freak out at his assault on its' mind, Lawrence resumed his battle against his own mind. Trying to keep up the negativity that was threatening to overwhelm him, although that couldn't prevent a small twinge of satisfaction from seeping through as the Eyepion crushed that annoying witch. As it bolted away he began working to reason away his emotions once more. It would soon run out of the range of his power, so he didn't bother dropping it. Instead he focused on moving towards the fallen Christmas, his number one priority so far in the battle.

Still, pushing bad thoughts out of one's mind was much harder than letting them settle in. The Eyepion was currently heading towards Blue team. What if his actions led to one of their deaths? What if these dolls managed to kill one of his team members while he had been focusing on the wrong target? As he drew closer to Christmas, unloaded shotgun feeling as if it weighed far more than it did at the beginning of the battle, the severity of the dolls as a threat became even more apparent. The glitter bombs from earlier had shredded everybody badly enough, this netting though had absolutely mutilated the boy's leg. As he saw the mess of blood he was gripped by the overwhelming feeling that things were spiraling out of control.

"You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength."

As the words entered his mind, a fortress of reason to combat his overwhelming loathing and panic, he felt the Eyepion hit the edge of his range, and he switched off his power once more. Right now, he didn't need it. In front of him was an injured Christmas, and it was time to let his experience helping the wounded in previous battles find some use. Knowledge was strength. Experience was strength. Magic was a crutch, and he cast it aside for a moment to be of some practical use once more.

Kneeling beside the boy, he didn't fight the relief that a cursory examination of the limb revealed that the femoral artery had not been severed yet, although it was hard to tell with so much blood. Taking his sleeve between his teeth- and grateful the structure had already been weakened by the previous blades of glitter- he tore the right sleeve on his shirt and got to work wrapping it around the boy's leg, just above where the netting ended.

"No time to be gentle, you can bitch at me later."

Was his only warning before tightening it into a makeshift tourniquet. He felt a bit of guilt at hurting the kid, but he'd have to get used to these unusual sensations until he was back in control of his emotions. A tourniquet wasn't exactly the best solution to the problem at hand, especially if they were going to stay in the field for an extended period of time, but there was a lot of blood loss even with the femoral artery intact. That, and he didn't have time to try and remove the mess of netting from the boy's leg. A battlefield was filled with quick and messy solutions, living injured was a lot better than dying in perfect health.

He hoped Christmas could appreciate that as he ripped off his second sleeve and began tying it around the leg as well, for extra security.