Snagglepuss89

HALT! The not so glorius life of the City Guard.

Yeah, I took "The mages guild keeps magic and its practitioners under a strict and very ruthless rule. Magicians have to be licensed to practice within the walls and a licence takes years and costs massive amounts of money to obtain. This ensures the magicians are either people of wealth or practically indentured servants to the guild. One way to escape such a service, is becoming a guard." and ran with it.

I take it this means Emerson is accepted?

HALT! The not so glorius life of the City Guard.

So, here's my character. I took "Skill" a little broadly in that there are negative things in there as well. Apologies to everyone in advance who will get annoyed by one very obvious aspect of how Emerson is written.

Emerson

Name: Emerson (Em') L. Pèlerin

Race: Human

Gender: Both? Neither? Responds to both He and She and prefers not to think about it.

Appearance:
Emerson's appearance depends entirely on how he prefers presenting herself from one day to the next. With plenty of outfits to give off both a masculine and feminine appearance, it's a toss up depending on her mood and how long he's portrayed himself as one gender or the other. His life on the run has instilled a habit of very frequently changing things up, in order to keep the heat off his back. On top of this, her hair colour also changes daily, almost a source of pride for Emerson. He started training her magical endurance a decade ago by changing one strand at a time until he passed out from the effort. It's still a tiring task, but part of her daily regiment.

Other than Emerson's extreme androgyny, there are a few other features that are distinguishable. While attractive there are signs of malnourishment present, she's not quite dangerously thin, yet, but it's clear that eating has either been impossible or of a lesser priority for some time. On top of this he's quite short, perhaps a result of stunted growth throughout her youth. Whatever the reason, Emerson barely breaks five foot on a good day, tiptoes or not. If pointed out, she would usually deflect by saying all of his growth went into his brain.

Barely peeking out from the collar of Emerson's shirt is a tattoo of an eyeball that glows faintly whenever she begins casting spells. Magical runes can also usually be seen running up and down the length of both arms, notes taken when inspiration strikes and the parchment in his backpack is too far away to bother retrieving. Usually these are covered up with long sleeves to avoid unneeded attention, but some days she can get carried away. Since joining the guard, these days have become much more frequent, no longer needing to blend in with the general population.

Age: 17

Former Proffesion: Street Urchin, Apprentice to Aurelius the Sage

Skills:

Photographic Memory: Emerson forgets nothing that he is taught, or reads. Events may pass by her notice, but that's usually because he is more absorbed in research than what's going on around her. When on the run it came in handy many times for recognizing off duty guardsmen to avoid.

Magical Prodigy: Magic fascinates Emerson more than anything else in the world, and she's dedicated every spare moment of her young life to it's study, and practice. Moreso than just recreating existing spells and effects, he strives to invent new and creative ways to implement the powerful resource.

Bereft of Talent: An almost complete lack of natural affinity for magic means that it's use taxes Emerson to the extreme. Often only one or two spells of even moderate potency will knock him out, or otherwise drain her completely of energy.

Poor Eater: Whether due to circumstances or choice, food has never been something Emerson has had in abundance. While this has affected her strength less than one might expect (Just try lifting her backpack) he tires easily when straining himself with non magical tasks as well. This, however, is much less extreme than his magical lack of endurance.

Urchin's Skills: While they've rusted since she was a child, Emerson's life growing up on the streets of Kings Knell has instilled a certain number of thieving talents. These helped him elude capture while on the run, and could conceivably be improved to full blown thieving skills of she so chose to spend her energy perfecting them. He has no such desire though.

Dual Casting: Emerson's trademark is mixing two (or more) types of magic to make a more potent affect. Often this results in overkill, but she considers it to be experimentation as much as practical use. Whether this means creating earthen shackles that electrocute their target, or a fireball that also freezes the insides of it's victim, the results are sure to be interesting if nothing else.

Personality: Emerson is in actuality quite social in spite of both his past life on the streets, and his shut in years of research and magical practice. Perhaps it was because of this shut in lifestyle that she developed a habit of seeking out company, even if she prefers to read or otherwise occupy himself while carrying on a conversation. A lack of... experience in this department and a bizarre sense of humor means that she does personify social awkwardness.

On top of this, while she loves talking about her research into the magical arts, she's bizarrely tight lipped about his actual years as an apprentice, describing what he does decide to share in a cold, matter-of-fact manner that one might find more fitting to her analytical mind. He is only slightly less distant about her years living on the streets of Kings Knell, clearly much more interested in staying in the present. Still, beneath this detached exterior cracks of emotion can be seen if asked on a particularly bad day. Hinting that these experiences are not so distant in Emerson's mind.

Clearly though she has a deep love for what she does. Even though it takes incredible effort to cast even the smallest amount of magic, he does so with great joy. When fatigue inevitably overtakes him from the strain of his actions, Emerson passes out with a smile on her face, clearly enjoying a satisfying slumber. How long it takes him to recover varies, but usually ten or twenty minutes will suffice, leaving him exhausted for the rest of the day afterward.

History: Emerson grew up like many of the urchins lining the streets of Kings Knell: Poorly. Although her lack of nutrition wasn't due to any absence in talent as a thief. Indeed, had he chosen her belly would have never been left wanting in those years. However, he put those talents to far better use (at least in her mind): The theft of books. Literacy wasn't something common amongst his kind, so he traded favors in exchange for education. Food and baubles were exchanged for knowledge, which awakened a voracity in her that still has yet to be quenched. One day a drunk and lost man stumbled upon her hidden library in the alleys of Kings Knell, and recognized her potential as a student. That man was Aurelius The Sage, one of the greatest researchers of the arcane arts in the city.

For almost ten years to the day Emerson served under the man, attacking Aurelius' library of research like a starved animal. However, there was one slight speed bump in Emerson's road to magehood: he was almost entirely lacking in talent for the magical arts. Every spell cast felt like swimming against a raging river, and rarely could he perform more than one such feat per day. However, the results were always both precise and powerful. Emerson seemed to grasp the science behind the magical arts like few others. How exactly to coax the power latent in the world around her and change it to suit his needs. Within the (admittedly small) world of magical research, Emerson was hailed as a prodigy, more than capable of even surpassing her teacher.

However, three months ago Aurelius was found mutilated in his bedroom. His skin was burnt almost beyond recognition and his organs were found to be completely frozen solid underneath. Dual magic was known to be a specialty of Emerson, and especially considering the fact that the prodigy was nowhere to be found in the aftermath of the murder led investigators to deduce an obvious culprit. Those who have met the prodigy in the months since the incident claim that Emerson has professed innocence, but in spite of that never allowed the guard to detain him for a trial. He often used his relative anonymity (At least amongst the general public), and ability to easily pass as one gender or the other from day to day to avoid suspicion. That, and a quick escape was only a spell away. A painful, taxing spell away.

However, though as a child she lived the life of a petty criminal, Emerson had never been wanted for a serious crime. In fact, for the most part was completely ignored except by others of his kind. Being actively hunted for murder was an entirely different kettle of fish, and far worse was that she had no license to practice magic. Guardsmen were easy to escape on any given day, but the guild was far more tenacious and capable of hunting him down. After three months of being on the run she finally grew tired of it. Knowing that her talents would be valued- and that the guard could be called "loose" with their acceptance of fugitives- he finally turned himself in for a pardon. Considering his talents for magic and stealth, it was agreed he'd be absolved of the high profile murder and made a member of the guard on the condition that he allow the city to track him at any time. Now she sports a tattoo of an eye on her chest. which activates a scrying spell any time she uses magic. A small price to pay, in his view.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@LasreverDon't worry Las, you've always been a bit slow.

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

Marcus E. Hamilton

_{An Early Morning Market Jaunt}

---

---

Ah, market day. A collector's dream, a gourmand's paradise, a broke man's reminder of his place in life. The latter was the case of one Marcus E. Hamilton, who had spent the last hour of his day "window" shopping, so to speak. Except for the fact that he was neither shopping nor looking through windows. In fact, the proper term would probably be loitering.

Still, he didn't let it bother him. Since coming to Blackfinger he had come to terms with the concept of being broke, as he was sure many others had before him. As the noonday sun assaulted him from above, he scouted out the next merchant whose hopes he would raise in vain. Preferably one with a canopy set up for some shade. And free drinks. And free food.

Dismissing the grumbling in his stomach, a dark skinned merchant caught his eye further down the road- juxtapositioned with a stall full of shining chrome firearms. Shrugging to himself, and only slightly put off by the lack of shade, Marcus made his way over.

"Ah, good day, good day! I can see you're a fightin' man yourself, and with a good eye too! What's caught your interest partner?"

If Marcus could admire one thing about this overseas land, it was how their firearm industry had thrived after the blackout. Europe, it seemed, was miles behind when it came to developing new weapons, even if they were ahead in other aspects. For a time he ignored the Merchant's greeting, except for returning a nod of acknowledgement, examining each of the guns laid out before him in detail. Half seemed to be new products, completely unfamiliar to him in their function. The other half were from before the world collapsed, although none resembled the one he carried with him. Small surprise, given the place his was manufactured.

".357?"

Was his first response, indicating one of the newer firearms that he was unfamiliar with. He of course had no interest in purchasing it, but the question did have a purpose. He watched confusion cross the merchant's face for a moment, trying to recognize the accent and use the information it gave him against his customer in negotiations- like any good merchant would. That alone told Marcus all he needed to know. If the man didn't recognize an English accent, then he hadn't traded in Europe. Which meant that Marcus had no information to sell him. Which meant that Marcus was effectively broke for the means of this negotiation.

Still, the man recovered from his confusion quickly and set about plying his trade:

".357, the newest model from North Kingston in fact! Just as powerful as any shooter of the same caliber, but with so little recoil you'll barely feel your hand vibrating! Perfect for someone with fewer fingers to keep a grip on the gun- if you'll pardon my observation."

Oh, the man was certainly good, Marcus would give him that. If he had the money to spend then the offer would be tempting, but as it was he would have to settle for the gun he already carried. He made a motion for grabbing a coin purse- an act he had repeated many times today by now- ready to sightsee at another stall.

"Well sir, I'd say you have me convinced. Let me just- Ah, blast it I seem to have forgotten my purse. Terrible shame that- will you be here long? It's not a very long jaunt back to where I'm staying."

With that he turned away from the man, still pretending to look for his money.

"I'll be here all day! If you'd like though we can use that watch as collateral? I'd let you have the pick of the table- and as many rounds as you need to test it to your satisfaction!"

Almost reflexively the Englishman took the watch from his pocket and turned it over in his hand. It was certainly more valuable than anything laid out on that man's table a fact that both of them knew. To Marcus, however, it held more value than all the goods in that market combined. There was no chance of selling it- not even if he could retire until the end of his days with the money. With an apologetic smile to the man, he let it rest against his chest once more, replying:

"Sorry chap, I prefer to hold onto it. I'll try to pay you a visit later when we can do busi-"

At the moment someone attempted to run by him, bumping into him with quite a bit of force and grabbing the pocket watch as he ran past. Before the chain could even tighten against his neck Marcus had a hold on the man's hand, and with a tug snapped the man's wrist and sent him sprawling to the ground, his momentum dragging the Englishman down on top of him.

Marcus regained his senses first, and not letting go of the twisted arm that was still clutching his watch, he curled his free hand into a fist and began raining blows and abuse on the man underneath him.

"You bloody footpad!"

Strike!

"Try and steal my bloody belongings!"

Strike!

"You'll pay me back for that little stunt!"

Strike!

"And you're damn lucky-"

Strike!

"- I'm not also charging you by the punch!"

By now the man was out cold, and Marcus easily retrieved the watch from his twisted hand. All of that had taken place in less than a minute, and as he dusted himself off he noticed the gaped looks of the people around him, and almost sheepishly he scratched the back of his head.

"My apologies for that, just handling a thief. If someone could get ahold of a constab- sheriff I think that would be wise."

With that, he noticed for the first time that the man had been carrying bread with him as well- no doubt stolen considering what had just transpired. One had been smashed in the struggle that took place, but the others looked to be in good condition. With a sigh he picked them up and examined the paper bags that they were in.

"Baker's Field Bakery"

That's about the least bloody helpful business name ever.

With a sigh, wondering if he was going to be able to even find the place, Marcus set off in the direction that the man had been running from, leaving the crowd to gawk in the street. After all, it's not like he had anything better to do with his time than try to return the stolen goods. And, as his stomach reminded him, he might just get a reward for it.

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

By the way, if Act V doesn't end in a Line Walk towards an epic shootout everyone has failed in this RP.

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

Marcus E. Hamilton

“'Sola Nobilitas Virtus.' Those words are more true now than ever.”

N A M E

---

---

Marcus Emanuel Hamilton

ALIAS

---

---

"English", at least to the locals

GENDER

---

---

Gentleman

SKILLS

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---

Diplomacy: Seemingly adept at the nuances of courtesy and etiquette when it suits him, Marcus knows how to walk the walk and talk the talk. While it might only serve to agitate a ruffian on the street, it's been an invaluable asset when dealing with people in positions of power.

Pluck: Both an asset and a flaw, in his youth Marcus threw himself into many fights when the wiser choice would have been flight. This has been tempered somewhat by his age, but no man (or woman) could say with any honesty that he lacked courage. Almost to the extent of recklessness.

Swordsmanship: His years on the high seas were filled with many engagements as he tells it, almost all of them beginning with the words; "Damn the guns, we're boarding!". Whether engaging Germans in the North Sea, or Moroccan privateers outside of Gibraltar, Marcus brought as many as he could into hand-to-hand combat. While he wields both sword and gun in combat, he very much favors the blade, the latter only being used when opportunity or necessity favors it.

Captain?: While unfamiliar with the waterways of America or the operation of steam ships, Marcus is one of the most able navigators of the Atlantic(According to him), and peerless if leading the crew of a sailing ship(Also according to him). More importantly though, it has given him a wide breadth of experience in dealing with, and fighting against, various peoples who have managed to recover from the Blackout. Knowledge that has kept him fed since arriving in Blackfinger.

Southpaw Slinger: Marcus doesn't choose between using his sword or his gun, he uses both in tandem. As it isn't his primary weapon, not even his years of combat experience can allow him to compete on equal terms with the lifelong gunslingers that have sprung up in the remains of America, but to underestimate his abilities as merely average would be a fatal mistake. It is a weapon of opportunity, but opportunity is something he's become quite skilled at creating.

PERSONALITY

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---

To a man and power of influence, Marcus is every bit the proper nobleman. Courteous, respectful, and demanding of equal respect. To a merchant heading overseas in a Zeppelin, Marcus is every bit the seasoned adventurer, world wise and able to part with his expertise for a price. For most other people: He's really not much more than a common man, fond of a drink and a joke- if a bit prone to grim moods as his youth continues to leave him. He is the type to pursue a goal wholeheartedly if one is in his mind, but for now he has none. So he drinks, and he tells stories, and earns coin to drink some more. Perhaps not to the point of being a drunkard, but that future doesn't seem far off.

HISTORY

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---

Rumor has it that Marcus Hamilton dropped into Blackfinger one day on a German Zeppelin. In spite of the fact that German Zeppelins were exceedingly rare (Though one was in the area around the time he showed up), that they never carried anything other than Germans, and nobody could recall seeing a Brit since before the Blackout. Still, the novelty of his arrival quickly gave way to more pressing issues like survival- and after a couple weeks "English" was just part of the local scenery.

For the most part, he spends his days talking to merchants and drinking. While rarely drunk, when he does go over his limit he'll regale anybody that can stand to listen to him with tales of fighting pirates across the Atlantic, and a grand Royal Navy that had yet to reach the Americas, but would surely arrive any week. How much of it was true was anybody's guess, but people were used to storytellers after the Blackout, they were one of the best sources of entertainment.

Oddly though, the stories are suspiciously lacking in regards to the missing section of his left hand (Ring and pinkie fingers included), and the watch he always wears around his neck, tucked into the pocket of his shirt. Merchants seem to pay his bar tab and lodging, although he never seems to actually trade anything with them. Overall, he's a curiosity, but curiosities take a backseat to survival for most in the New World.

INVENTORY

---

---

Marcus' Sword

A cavalry saber, which upon closer inspection reveals a slight pattern on the blade.

Marcus' Pistol

An antique 6-round-chamber double action revolver

Marcus' Watch

A watch that is always on his person. The initials VW are etched into the front, while in the back is a more crudely carved symbol:

REASON FOR VISITING

---

---

There's no one reason, just an attempt to make a life for himself in a new country.

RELATIONS

---

---

Any friends and family he may have are (likely) on another continent, and he remains tight lipped even when drunk.

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

Marcus E. Hamilton

Marcus E. Hamilton

“'Sola Nobilitas Virtus.' Those words are more true now than ever.”

N A M E

---

---

Marcus Emanuel Hamilton

ALIAS

---

---

"English", at least to the locals

GENDER

---

---

Gentleman

SKILLS

---

---

Diplomacy: Seemingly adept at the nuances of courtesy and etiquette when it suits him, Marcus knows how to walk the walk and talk the talk. While it might only serve to agitate a ruffian on the street, it's been an invaluable asset when dealing with people in positions of power.

Pluck: Both an asset and a flaw, in his youth Marcus threw himself into many fights when the wiser choice would have been flight. This has been tempered somewhat by his age, but no man (or woman) could say with any honesty that he lacked courage. Almost to the extent of recklessness.

Swordsmanship: His years on the high seas were filled with many engagements as he tells it, almost all of them beginning with the words; "Damn the guns, we're boarding!". Whether engaging Germans in the North Sea, or Moroccan privateers outside of Gibraltar, Marcus brought as many as he could into hand-to-hand combat. While he wields both sword and gun in combat, he very much favors the blade, the latter only being used when opportunity or necessity favors it.

Captain?: While unfamiliar with the waterways of America or the operation of steam ships, Marcus is one of the most able navigators of the Atlantic(According to him), and peerless if leading the crew of a sailing ship(Also according to him). More importantly though, it has given him a wide breadth of experience in dealing with, and fighting against, various peoples who have managed to recover from the Blackout. Knowledge that has kept him fed since arriving in Blackfinger.

Southpaw Slinger: Marcus doesn't choose between using his sword or his gun, he uses both in tandem. As it isn't his primary weapon, not even his years of combat experience can allow him to compete on equal terms with the lifelong gunslingers that have sprung up in the remains of America, but to underestimate his abilities as merely average would be a fatal mistake. It is a weapon of opportunity, but opportunity is something he's become quite skilled at creating.

PERSONALITY

---

---

To a man and power of influence, Marcus is every bit the proper nobleman. Courteous, respectful, and demanding of equal respect. To a merchant heading overseas in a Zeppelin, Marcus is every bit the seasoned adventurer, world wise and able to part with his expertise for a price. For most other people: He's really not much more than a common man, fond of a drink and a joke- if a bit prone to grim moods as his youth continues to leave him. He is the type to pursue a goal wholeheartedly if one is in his mind, but for now he has none. So he drinks, and he tells stories, and earns coin to drink some more. Perhaps not to the point of being a drunkard, but that future doesn't seem far off.

HISTORY

---

---

Rumor has it that Marcus Hamilton dropped into Blackfinger one day on a German Zeppelin. In spite of the fact that German Zeppelins were exceedingly rare (Though one was in the area around the time he showed up), that they never carried anything other than Germans, and nobody could recall seeing a Brit since before the Blackout. Still, the novelty of his arrival quickly gave way to more pressing issues like survival- and after a couple weeks "English" was just part of the local scenery.

For the most part, he spends his days talking to merchants and drinking. While rarely drunk, when he does go over his limit he'll regale anybody that can stand to listen to him with tales of fighting pirates across the Atlantic, and a grand Royal Navy that had yet to reach the Americas, but would surely arrive any week. How much of it was true was anybody's guess, but people were used to storytellers after the Blackout, they were one of the best sources of entertainment.

Oddly though, the stories are suspiciously lacking in regards to the missing section of his left hand (Ring and pinkie fingers included), and the watch he always wears around his neck, tucked into the pocket of his shirt. Merchants seem to pay his bar tab and lodging, although he never seems to actually trade anything with them. Overall, he's a curiosity, but curiosities take a backseat to survival for most in the New World.

INVENTORY

---

---

Marcus' Sword

A cavalry saber, which upon closer inspection reveals a slight pattern on the blade.

Marcus' Pistol

An antique 6-round-chamber double action revolver

Marcus' Watch

A watch that is always on his person. The initials VW are etched into the front, while in the back is a more crudely carved symbol:

REASON FOR VISITING

---

---

There's no one reason, just an attempt to make a life for himself in a new country.

RELATIONS

---

---

Any friends and family he may have are (likely) on another continent, and he remains tight lipped even when drunk.

All right, we'll call this a first draft in case it's crap.

Let me know if that color is causing eye strain for any of you, I'll make it a little lighter if so.

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

But Gowi, is not his history still being written during the IC?

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

Eyes recent bookshelf of Victorian era literature and history books.

I may not join.

But the temptation is certainly there. I'd definitely lean more towards Victorian Europe than America though for inspiration if I do cook up a character.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

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Zoe Fletcher & "Doc" Ellison

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_{Collab between: @Lasrever@Snagglepuss89}

---

To the surprise of absolutely no-one, Zoe really wasn't much of a bookworm. There'd been more important things to worry about than stories over the past couple years, and she'd fallen out of the habit. Standing in the library, she looked and felt thoroughly out of place as she browsed the books, eventually plucking one out at random without even looking at the title, absentmindedly glancing at a couple of pages.

Obviously she wasn't here to join the reading society or whatever people did in these places. She'd have enough of that to deal with once they actually made her go to class. As it was, she'd come here looking for a conversation. To clear things up. Tucking the book under her arm, she glanced around the library, catching sight of Lawrence. And suddenly feeling a lot more worried about all this. Assuming he'd seen her already, she gave him a nod of greeting.

"Hey, Lawrence. You, uh, busy right now? I was hoping we could talk."

Lawrence hadn't seen her, in fact he was trying to ignore his surroundings and relax with his nose shoved into "The Founding of Byzantium, 600-1050", having just seen off an aberration who was in need of a quick fix. Had he not recognized the voice that had interrupted him so soon after his last meeting it would have been difficult to mask his irritation, but as it was one of his new classmates he closed the book and gave her his full attention. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at "Fists to Friendship - Anger Management for the Antisocial" that she was carrying, but decided to let her control the conversation.

After all, she came to him. He was sure she had a reason besides just wanting to talk.

"Take a seat if you want, I have some free time."

"What? Oh, right. sure." Zoe appeared slightly surprised at the lack of hostility. Then again, Lawrence did always seem like the levelheaded type, so maybe it wasn't so surprising after all. Nodding, Zoe grabbed a chair, sitting the book down in front of her. She wasn't sure where to start with this, honestly. Apologizing wasn't one of her strong points. In fact it was right up there with diplomacy on the list of 'things Zoe never liked doing'. Eventually, she looked across at him, speaking abruptly.

"Sorry." She paused for a second, trying to figure out how to put it. "I mean, for Monday. I screwed up, right? Seriously screwed up."

"Yeah, I'd say so."

Lawrence wasn't quite expecting this situation. If anything, he figured she'd come here to deal with her stigma- something she clearly seemed to have issues with. Monday had certainly irritated him, although he already had enough time to cool off. That, and he hadn't been particularly mad at any one participant- save maybe Allison- over every other member of both groups. It had been a clusterfuck by all involved. Still, even if he wasn't bothered by what had happened, it was clearly on her mind enough to seek him out.

"You already did it though, so there's no point in dwelling on it. Best apology would be trying to make sure it doesn't happen a second time. And it looks like you're already trying to make that happen."

He nodded towards the book she was holding for emphasis after he finished speaking.

"Huh?" Noting Lawrence's gesture, Zoe finally took the time to properly look at and read the cover of the book. "'Fists to Friendship'... You're kidding me." She muttered. That was certainly a title. Maybe she should have actually looked at it before she'd picked it up. "Gonna be honest, I did not look at this thing. Who names their book that?"

She laughed uncomfortably. "Anyway, not the point. Point is, I guess I wanted to - to explain myself, I don't know." She shrugged. Was that all of it? She wasn't sure. Part of her wanted to ask what she was meant to do about any of this, but that felt like admitting she couldn't deal with this on her own. Which people had been trying to tell her anyway, but she had her pride to think of.

"You didn't..."

She didn't look at the book she picked up? He had yet to encounter a woman from this class that he could call normal, and using magic and stigmas as an excuse was starting to sound a bit hollow.

Still, she had finally gotten around to the reason she was here, so instead of pressing her on her poor library habits, he flipped down the plaque that read "Doc Ellison", and leaned his chair back until it rest against the corner of the book case behind him. Folding his hands behind he head, he offered:

"All right then, if you want to explain then I'll listen."

"Okay. Right. So," Zoe frowned, clearly not confident with the whole subject. "I've read up on the mental stuff. You know, with being an X-marked and all. We're all different or something, though, right? 'Cause the way it was all described sounded like stuff I could deal with." Her expression darkened. What had it said again? Bad memories, worst moments? Stuff to torment them? That would doubtless be completely awful, but she could deal with it.

"I guess I don't know how I'm supposed to fight mine. So I didn't, and I got carried away."

Lawrence nodded in response, not being told anything new but still listening attentively. That she hadn't found a way to control her stigma was pretty obvious from what had happened Monday. Still, this was the sort of thing that people came to him for regularly, and if he could be of help then Lawrence was going to try.

"Not to be a bearer of bad news- but I've never met an Aberration who was able to "deal with" it. What I can do for you-"

He didn't pause, but a glowing light enveloped them both mid sentence, beginning to affect Zoe almost immediately.

"Is only a temporary measure. Keeps a freakout from happening until the storm lessens. The only thing that will keep your stigma in check is destruction Zoe, for better or worse. It's not something you can fight with your mind alone. Ground Zero exists so you can do that safely, and I can provide some temporary relief."

With a sigh, he added:

"If there's anything else that works, it hasn't been found yet."

Calm washed over Zoe with the light, the girl visibly relaxing and suddenly a little less anxious about the discussion. "So that's it. I've been to Ground Zero, and it did help, but what happens if it starts to affect my normal mindset? I mean even when my issues aren't flaring up." It was probably irrational. Almost definitely. She wasn't worried about the whole idea of hurting people - certainly wouldn't hesitate if it was necessary. But the idea that she'd start to like doing so on her own, not for her stigma, scared her.

But there she went being selfish again. Her fears weren't Lawrence's problem. This was why she didn't like asking people for help. "I shouldn't bother you with this. You've probably got enough to deal with, I'm sure I can figure it out."

"I don't have any more to deal with than you do. We live and work in the same place. Probably less without a stigma breathing down my neck."

With that he set his chair on all four legs again and leaned forward on the table, hands clasped together in front of him. Serious for perhaps the first time in the conversation as the light faded from around both of them.

"So I think bothering me with this is exactly the sort of thing you should be doing right now- because if you can't figure it out, it could kill you. It could kill me. It could kill everyone on this team they've decided to put together, and I hope you don't want that to happen any more than I do."

"Of course I don't want that!" Zoe snapped, shooting out of her chair. What was that even supposed to mean? Part of her understood that it was just a statement of fact, that Lawrence was probably just trying to help, but she couldn't stop herself from taking things personally. It was a touchy subject, and a whole host of emotions sprung forth, but she clung to anger. Anger was easy, and let her ignore everything else.

She lowered her voice, glaring down at him. "Just because I've lost control before, doesn't mean I don't want to get a handle on it, Lawrence. Don't talk to me like I don't know how bad things can be if I screw up."

"Then don't hit me with the 'Shouldn't bother you with this' crap and act like you know. My point was that this is too serious for you to try and hole up and handle it alone. So if you do know how bad thing can be, you should let someone offer to try and help you."

Lawrence held her gaze with little difficulty. He, of course, didn't want to provoke a potentially unstable Aberration, but was pretty confident if she took this encounter to blows that he could fight or get away without too much of an issue. He certainly wasn't intimidated by her compared to the horrors he'd faced since arriving at USARILN East.

It was simply a matter of being "too old for this shit". From their encounter on the streets after their first battle he expected Zoe to be more of a plain talker. Confident and direct with what she wanted. This conversation was taking a direction that was too wishy washy for the impossibly direct Lawrence. There were reasons he wasn't known for having friends.

Oh, so that was it. Just get everyone else to help with her problems! If only she hadn't been told that fifty times already! "So what, I let myself get close to all of you? Maybe sit around and talk about my feelings? Here's some news for you, you know-it-all prick, that makes it worse." Zoe practically snarled back at him, not really paying attention to what she was saying at this point. Her emotions had more than gotten the better of her judgement.

"A brush of my fingers and you're disfigured. A second of pushing, and you're dead. And I'll like - no, love every fucking moment. But sure, let's just make that more likely to happen."

"What do I care if I die because of your fingers when the alternative is being killed by a monster because you never figured out how to be stable enough to not botch a mission? "

Standing up himself, Lawrence hit Zoe with his power once more, this having gone far enough with giving her the courtesy to be an irrational bitch.

"I'll say this as plainly as I can, I want to help you, not get close to you. You think I want to get close to a bunch of people who are going to be ripped apart in front of me? I've been there Zoe, and I don't care for it. So you can keep your distance and I can keep mine and it'll be fucking dandy, but we're being forced into a partnership along with everyone else on this team and you need to work together with at least some of us. Whether it's me or not."

Zoe felt her anger fading as the light reappeared, the harsh words on the tip of her tongue disappearing to be replaced by a sigh of exhaustion. "Yeah, it's on me. I know that. People die. I know that too. That's why--" She almost appeared to crumple at the loss of her anger, sinking back into her seat. "I'm scared, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? I'm scared that I'll get one of you guys killed 'cause I lose it."

She chuckled drily. "And now here I am taking it out on you when you've been more generous to me than most anyone else here." So much for telling herself there wouldn't be any more tantrums.

With a sigh Lawrence ran a hand through his hair and took his seat as well.

"Look, when I got here I felt the exact same way you do, even without a stigma stuck up my ass or the power to melt people's faces off. So I do get it, really. I don't want to hear that you're scared, what I want is to see you determined. Feelings are fine, and I'll lend an ear if you want to voice them, but what I want Zoe is to find a course of action to solve this problem before these fears of yours are realized. So will you let me?"

Zoe was silent for a long moment, trying to gauge how she felt about this. She had the feeling this would have gone a very different direction if he hadn't calmed her down. She was also pretty sure she wouldn't have admitted to feeling how she did about all of this either. Wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but it'd have to do for now. Whatever she felt about it, what he was telling her did seem to make sense. She nodded her head slowly. "Fine. I can do that. Or you can. I'll listen."

Lawrence nodded in response to her, pleased at making some progress. It always felt dirty using his power without consent, and probably always would, but practicality came before morality sometimes. He didn't want to have to kill Zoe for going psycho in the future if he could prevent it.

Or be killed by her.

For now though at least he had something he could work with even if it didn't lead to anything productive.

"Let's settle on "we" for now. What can you tell me about how often that bloodlust of yours spikes to what we saw on Monday? Or what we saw just now even? Was this an issue before your stigma became a thing?"

Whether it was to make a point or not, Lawrence flipped the plaque upright once more as he spoke. Still serious, but with an edge taken off his look.

"I've always been hotheaded, but the bloodlust is definitely a new development, if not a great combination. As for frequency," Zoe shrugged, thinking the question over. "It builds up, I suppose. Monday, I hadn't done anything to deal with it since we fought the monsters. So that was a pretty bad day. I went to Ground Zero yesterday - It wouldn't normally be doing anything at all yet."

But it was, if only a little. She would have probably still gotten annoyed without it, but maybe not quite to the same level. Kind of confirmed her suspicions about the vision after the fight, which wasn't exactly reassuring. If her stigma could get worse as her powers grew, then her chance to learn self-control was on a time limit.

"It sounds to me we have two issues then. You were hotheaded before the stigma, and now you have your stigma as well. There's no reason we can't try and tackle these problems separately before they become too hopelessly entangled."

After a short pause, he added:

"Do you have unrestricted access to Ground Zero yet? Not every Aberration needs it, but it sounds like a good idea in your case."

Shaking her head, Zoe replied. "Not yet. I just have to put in a request for that, right? Shouldn't be too difficult." She hadn't really thought about it too much. What with everything else that had been happening with the whole group, she guessed the idea had just slipped her mind.

"Well, do you have someplace to be?"

With that Lawrence picked up the plaque and set it on she shelf behind him before standing up and tucking his book into the pocket of his jacket. After this encounter he was done dealing with Aberrations for the day anyway.

"I've had it for ages, so I can walk you through the process. I think it's a good idea for you to visit there a few times a week to keep that stigma of yours quiet while we try and work through your other anger issues. At the very least it'll reduce the chance we run into an emergency deployment before you've had a chance to let off steam."

"Nowhere else right now." Zoe smiled appreciatively. She figured Lawrence's actions were out of practicality more than anything, but she couldn't help but be thankful that he'd actually help her out like that. He would've been perfectly justified in not giving her the time of day after her outburst. Maybe he was just used to that kind of thing by now.

"I suppose me learning to keep a level head is probably best for everyone. Especially if we're some sort of unit. Lead the way."

With a nod he made his way around the table, before pausing and turning to Zoe, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. With that the light enveloping them vanished once more.

"Guess it's my turn to apologize- I prefer not to do that without consent. Even if it is a handy way of not getting punched in the face."

As the light faded, Zoe felt the strange calm disappear. Luckily she'd cooled off by this point anyway - if he'd stopped earlier the power usage would have probably made things worse. As it was, she frowned. "I'd rather you don't mess with my head without my permission, but I guess I did blow up on you there. Just don't do it again unless I make it necessary, alright?" She shrugged, looking away as a slight smile returned to her face.

"Let's just call it even for now. I owe you for sticking around after anyway."

"Yeah, but if I wait until the punch is already flying at my face it's a bit too late- We may have different perceptions of necessary is all I'm saying."