Stein — Roleplayer Guild

| BIRTHNAME: |
Llavi Arutro De La Rosa

| NICKNAME(S): |
Llavicito, Slick

| ALIAS(ES): |
TBD

| SEX: |
Male

| AGE: |
19

| APPEARANCE: |
What do you look like? This can be described or you can use a visual reference. Please do not use 'Anime/Manga' images. Photorealistic images are preferred but we understand they don't always work depending on the character's mutation.

| ABILITIES: |
Oya’s Blood

Biomass Secretion: 
Llavi is able to produce a black, ichor-like substance from his body. This ichor substance, or “Oya’s Blood”, is stored in his body and he is able to use it whenever he chooses. The ichor has a variety of uses that Llavi is still discovering. (Pictures to come soon)

The Ichor typically releases itself from concentrated pore areas on both of his hands and his feet. At its base and raw form, the ichor sticks to most substances, blotting out light, sight and etc. Though it can flow rapidly from his “Hot Spots” (a little tinge of dark humor), he can’t seem to propel the ichor and thus can’t shoot it from his hands with any type of velocity.

The ichor, when not in his presence evaporates into a fine dust powder after a short period of time.

(Seeming) Low Level Sentience: The ichor responds to Llavi’s behest and can coat his arms and legs, spreading to the rest of his body in turn. The process can take a few seconds, so he needs to be able to prepare. Each “Hot Spot” releases the ichor and it flows the length of his limbs, covering his body.

Durable Nature: The ichor can also instantly harden and solidify at Llavi’s behest, becoming a durable exoskeleton. Surprisingly, the ichor still responds and is supple to Llavi’s movements. With no concentration, the ichor is about as durable as a thick leather, having some stopping power against sharp objects and a good amount of dampening against regular melee attacks. By applying a second layer, it is as about as durable as wood. A third layer and a good bit of concentration and a small amount of time allows Llavi to mimic the durability of concrete. The ichor is a bit heavier at this point on his body, but it doesn’t tire Llavi out too much. (Pictures to come soon)

Flame Resistant: The ichor is resistant to flame to an extent. At this point, it still transfers heat, so prolonged exposure to a heat source can still harm Llavi. Electricity is dampened for a few seconds, but it can disrupt the ichor after a while, completely negating it. 

Blood Spread: With a little experimenting, Llavi has found that the ichor is capable of converting other materials. Most distinctly, damp dirt and mud. Leaving a jar of wet dirt and his ichor for 3 days produced an entire jar full of the ichor.

Drawbacks:

At this point, Llavi can only produce so much of the ichor in a day. With too much strain and exertion, he has noticed traces of his own blood in the ichor he produces, quickly followed by a sensation of being lightheaded. 

The conversion of other materials into the ichor begins and ends with sand so far. And even then, Llavi had to constantly divert his attention to the jar when conducting his small experiment. 

Llavi has noted that his skin can be more sensitive and raw after an extended amount of time encased in the ichor. 

Applications

Durable Exoskeleton: The primary use of Llavi’s powers, he coats the entirety of his body in the ichor. In this state, Llavi even feels that he has a slight heightened awareness of his surroundings. What he gives up in speed, he more than makes up in durability and awareness of the battlefield.  

Ick Ball: By slightly solidifying an exterior shell, Llavi can chuck small balls of the ichor at opponents, halting their progress obscuring their vision. With a little effort he can create bigger balls of the stuff, but is careful about using that tactic. 

Fly On The Wall: Llavi is able to stick to most walls and even ceiling if he coats his hands and feet. 

Rough Exterior: With a bit of concentration, Llavi is able to roughen his exoskeleton and produce ridges and more texture to his exoskeleton. With more effort he can even produce small spikes. These aren’t projectiles, but are attached to his ichor

| BIOGRAPHY: |
It all started with a cough. 

That damned rain mixed with a childish rebellion, giving birth this damned cough. Mami had told him “Llavito, you put your jacket on if you’re going outside! Escuchame!” He’d had to turn around and mumble his acknowledgement. But of course, the little jacket stayed on the hook.

The sly tickle, switched to an itch while wriggling its way up his throat. His pitiful attempt at clearing his throat only gave the demon more to work with.

That damned cough. It burst from him and built on itself, bringing more and more. Reaching for a tissue, he jerked back in surprise when he saw the fleck of black specks fresh on the tissue. “Mami?” His panicked cry left him on instinct as he looked around for an answer.

'It's the black cough,' Abuela chortled, her English crisp, her eyes fresh. The paper-thin hem of her dress brushed his leg as she swept over Llavi. She hummed a hymn of their Yoruba religion as the chilled yet damp touch of her spindled fingers brushed over his face, his eyes, reaching down his throat. Enclosing around it, feeling the pulse. The urge.

‘Oh no!’

He hacked again, bringing his entire body forward. His hands came to meet his mouth instinctively and he looked with horror as more of that black ‘whateveritwas’ coated his hands. Llavi’s breath quickened and he tried to get up, only to be met by those spindly fingers once more.

“No no no no, Llavicito,” Abuela tuttered “You don’t have to afraid, little one.” It dawned on Llavi, as his abuela busied herself, making tea for them, that that’s what panicked him the most of this situation. Her English. Abuela, who stuck to to their home tongue, because she was proud of it. The only English she used was for The Real Housewives, and even then it was thick and slurred, deliberately lazy. Not this crisp, English he heard. 

“It is the black cough,” she repeats, a tint of her native accent coming in while she serves them both. Llavi sipped his tea. “The black cough which brings about the black blood. This is just the first step in changing. Oya has chosen you, my love.” The lack of worry in her voice soothed Llavi.

“But, what is it? What will it do?” 

“It will show you whether you were meant to live as a man or be remembered as a child forever.” It wasn’t much of an answer at all to Llavi, but he couldn’t bring himself to question her. He couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything except sit there. Even that seemed to become more tiresome as the seconds slipped by. His abuela took his cup from his hands just as he was beginning to drop it, setting it gently on the coffee table. Her arms swooped under him just as his balance swayed him off the chair, the allure of a sudden fatigue becoming too great. 

“It’s okay Llavicito, you will be fine,” she cooed to him, her accent getting stronger. She laid him on the couch as he drifted to a heavy and foggy sleep. 

---

The following day, Llavi awoke feeling fine and the mind of the 7 year old quickly forgot the previous days fear.

Until a few months down the line when “the” cough came back. He hadn’t even been out in the rain this time! It had spawned from nowhere. More black speckled tissues and this time over the course of three days. His mother lectured him, unaware of his silent terror, until they went away.

And came back, seven months later. This time for a week.

Three months. Two weeks.

Four months. Another two.

Five months. Three.

For a while, 12 months to be specific, “the” cough stopped and a feeling of relief falsely settled on him. His mother stayed on almost a constant stream of work, working to support four. That’s when his younger sister stepped in. When the Cough had bedridden him, Melina -two years his junior- would step in, nursing him back to health. Those days held a bittersweet nostalgia to them as Llavi and Melina spent countless hours reading together, her playing “Abuelita” (Little Grandma) and lecturing him in an over exaggerated Spanish. They would laugh, even in the midst of his hacking coughs. Little Melina, tittering about in shoes too big and a dress that could fit three of her. 

The eve of his 10th birthday brought about the worst fit he had experienced to that point. His mother, concerned attempted to take him to the hospital, until his abuela stepped in.

“He will be fine,” she said simply “It is all a part of his changing”. As she placed a hand on him, the cough seemed to alleviate and he began to feel relief. 

However, his relief was short lived as a day later, an unease in his stomach grew to sharp pangs and cramps that doubled the boy over. With his mother away at work, it was only his abuela who could help. The pain grew to induce vomiting. “It is finally time,” though there was a lightness in her voice, there was a serious look in her eye. “We must hurry.”

Llavi didn’t know it, but his appendix had begun to rupture. His groans of pain were constant as he remained doubled over. Melina began to well up as she panicked to help. It had never been this bad, never hurt him this much. He cried out in pain, only to feel a wet warmth flowing down his face. It wasn’t tears, it felt thick and viscous like honey. Llavi reached up to pull back hand stained with a black goo. 

“Melina? ABUELA!”

His words were followed by a retch. The ichor laced with bits of blood swam before his blurring vision. 

“Abeula?...” His question trailed off as he finally collapsed.

---
That day, Llavi’s life was teetered to the edge and reeled back only when it was almost too late. His abuela was able to save him, but that was the first day his mutant powers activated. One in a seeming line of family members, Llavi’s appendix that day was replaced by a new organ that had been forming inside his body. 

Termed “Oya’s Heart”, this organ became the source of Llavi’s mutant ability. Around the age of 9 to 11, certain members from Llavi’s family exhibit these symptoms, early indications of the change to come. His mother, though aware of the family’s lineage, paid little mind to the stories growing up. Her skepticism put on Llavi on edge, while his abuela put him at ease. She assured him that the Change was nothing to be afraid of. She told him that this Change might even lead him to leave the small town they called home in South America. It was enough to keep Llavi calm and still allow him to lead a somewhat normal life.

When his abuela passed soon after his 12th birthday, his mother took that as their final sign to leave the place they had called home for so many years. A better life could be achieved in the States, and with her mother gone, there was no one holding them to the town.

Llavi wasn’t a fan of the change, fearing leaving the abuela he had grown so close to, even if she was dead. Abuela had promised that he could leave this place some day, but he didn’t want it to be the so soon. But of course, it was a lost battle from the beginning and Llavi found himself being hauled to the United States.
---

Their transition was rocky at best and the stress of a new place didn’t make things easier in any way. Since his “Change” things had been quiet, but it shifted soon after they moved. Llavi would wake up with sheets covered in splotches of the ichor, his hands filthy with it. But it kept happening. During the time, he began to notice a small mole on the back of his hand. Until it wasn’t a mole. It was a black dot, spreading on his hand. The darkest of bruises, it seemed to be. An odd birthmark with a rapid progression. Anything but the Black Blood. But Llavi couldn’t fool himself for long. Finally, one morning he awoke to find his entire arm coated with the hardened ichor. It felt like a hardened cast, supple to his movements. He panicked, trying to break it against any hard surface he could, but to no avail. His mother came in at that point, readying herself for her nurse shift. His panic seemed to cause the more of the ichor to produce and slicked itself over his arm more, thickening. His panic rose further until he felt a sharp prick. A needle of sedation from his mother.

Sedating him caused the ichor to break away and down into a dust as he slept, his mother told him when he woke to his normal arm

 He worked to keep it from his sister, who he knew would worry. The States had opened their eyes to the existence of the mutant gene. And though they had never spoken about it, Llavi and Melina both knew what Llavi was now. She noted the spot on his hand and he was forced to come clean.

Though he and his sister still shared a close bond, Llavi still felt a small disconnect. She worried worse than his mother at times, and wanted their safety. But Llavi wanted to know more about him, whatever the Black Blood was, and whether it could be removed. Any research he did yielded no results. Fevered nights began to await him whenever he slept and he could feel the onset that usually came with the Cough. 

For the next three years, the Cough came more frequently. The retching, hacking fits and extreme fatigue always left with no lasting effects, but each time it felt just slightly worse. His sister was always there, aiding him however she could. 

At the age of 16, Llavi had decided it was enough. He wouldn’t accept a life of this. There was a mutant rally a few blocks from where he and Melina went to school in New York. He felt someone there might be able to help him, give him answers or at least a direction. His mother expressly forbade him, giving birth to one of their most heated arguments. Melina sided with their mother! It was this act that caused Llavi to falter. They wanted nothing more than his safety and the climate towards mutants had been anything but safe. They could work through it and find answers together, but the mutant rally posed to big a threat. 

That night, after his mother left for work and Melina had gone to bed, Llavi couldn’t get the rally off of his mind and as he poked and prodded at the black marks on his hands, he knew what he had to do. 

Near the end of the rally was when things turned violent, and Llavi was forced to hide for his safety. One of the more violent rally’s, the police were forced to section of the block and Llavi wasn’t able to make it home until the wee hours of the morning, where he knew he would await a hefty sentencing from his mother. What he was faced with was his mother weeping. His sister had gone to look for him that night and hadn’t come back. His mother saw the reports on the news and feared the worst. They found her later that day at one of the local hospitals, clinging to life in the midst of a mutant attack gone wrong. She was stable but in critical condition. There, in the hospital was where his life changed.

“You get the hell out of my house, and take your cursed life with you.”

The words splashed across Llavi with a surprised chill. He looked at his mother again, confused.

“You heard me,” the words were strained and he could see the tears as she looked at her daughter's vitals. “I don’t want to see you when I get there.”

There was a flare in Llavi when the shock was replaced with a sudden rage. “See you in hell then,” he spat as stalked out.

The next year he spent on his own showed Llavi some of the darker parts of the world, it wasn’t until he crossed paths with …..okay honestly, I’ve written a lot at this point and I think we all know he winds up at the Xavier School. I’ll hammer out specifics a bit later, but it won’t really affect the pre-existing narrative….like at all.

| MISC. NOTES: |
Cumshots or Kahlua.
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That's Queen Stein, thank you.

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