Izurich
Lord Wraith
Crimson Flame
Mixtape Ghost N
| BIRTHNAME: |
Llavi Arutro De La Rosa
(Ya-Vee)| NICKNAME(S): |
Llavicito, Slick
| ALIAS(ES): |
TBD
| SEX: |
Male
| AGE: |
18
| APPEARANCE: |
Llavi stands solid at a 6'0". He's developed smooth muscle from a mix of genetics, boxing, running away and now, a good regiment of workout from being in a stable environment. His eyes hold a piercing amber to them, courtesy of his mother. His years of salsa keep him flexible.
It may be compensation for the nature of his powers, but hygiene is important to Llavi and as such he takes step to make sure he's properly cleaned and groomed. He's got a fondness for light scruff but can be seen with a clean face just as often.
His style leans toward simple and crisp. Various clean pressed henley shirts with sleeves pushed up or a fitted v-neck shirt (plain colored or coordinated). He doesn't wear black often, as homage to his religion and sticks mainly to white or pastel colors. He tends to prefer fitted and flexible pants over shorts.
His deep brown bead necklace stands out in comparison to his clothes and is ever present on his body. Along with a matching bracelet, inscribed with a prayer.
It may be compensation for the nature of his powers, but hygiene is important to Llavi and as such he takes step to make sure he's properly cleaned and groomed. He's got a fondness for light scruff but can be seen with a clean face just as often.
His style leans toward simple and crisp. Various clean pressed henley shirts with sleeves pushed up or a fitted v-neck shirt (plain colored or coordinated). He doesn't wear black often, as homage to his religion and sticks mainly to white or pastel colors. He tends to prefer fitted and flexible pants over shorts.
His deep brown bead necklace stands out in comparison to his clothes and is ever present on his body. Along with a matching bracelet, inscribed with a prayer.
| 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.
(Somewhat) Peak Human Conditioning At one layer of Ichor, Llavi's physical attributes are slightly enhanced. There's an energizing effect to his Ichor that is most prevalent/balanced with a primary layer of the stuff. Though, as stated earlier, his durability isn't of particular or special note in this form, his other attributes all seem to get a slight boost.
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
Skills
Analyst: Growing up poor in an outskirt village of Colombia, Llavi learned early on to to be aware of his surroundings. Traquetos (drug lords) often tried to recruit him (as they did most poor boys in Colombia), and shady characters were common in his area of the world. Also growing up without a father, Llavi took steps to attempt to be the man of the house. Add to that a couple of con-artists for uncles and you get a perceptive young lad. He can pick a drug mule out of a line-up faster than a trained dog, he can tell you which of the girls at the bar are looking for clients and even which are just looking for drinks (much to the likings of his uncles).
Boxing: Defending oneself (and by extension their machismo) was vital growing up. Llavi was thrown into the boxing ring by the age of 5. He picked up on it quickly, in part because of a desperation that a stronger body would fight the Cough easier. Even before his powers, Llavi was noted as surprisingly good at perceiving attacks and absorbing blows. His particular style rests more in a bastardization of Ali's style: tiring them out via evasion.
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.
(Somewhat) Peak Human Conditioning At one layer of Ichor, Llavi's physical attributes are slightly enhanced. There's an energizing effect to his Ichor that is most prevalent/balanced with a primary layer of the stuff. Though, as stated earlier, his durability isn't of particular or special note in this form, his other attributes all seem to get a slight boost.
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
Skills
Analyst: Growing up poor in an outskirt village of Colombia, Llavi learned early on to to be aware of his surroundings. Traquetos (drug lords) often tried to recruit him (as they did most poor boys in Colombia), and shady characters were common in his area of the world. Also growing up without a father, Llavi took steps to attempt to be the man of the house. Add to that a couple of con-artists for uncles and you get a perceptive young lad. He can pick a drug mule out of a line-up faster than a trained dog, he can tell you which of the girls at the bar are looking for clients and even which are just looking for drinks (much to the likings of his uncles).
Boxing: Defending oneself (and by extension their machismo) was vital growing up. Llavi was thrown into the boxing ring by the age of 5. He picked up on it quickly, in part because of a desperation that a stronger body would fight the Cough easier. Even before his powers, Llavi was noted as surprisingly good at perceiving attacks and absorbing blows. His particular style rests more in a bastardization of Ali's style: tiring them out via evasion.
| 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.
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 17, 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 9 months he spent on his own showed Llavi some of the darker parts of the world, it wasn’t until he crossed paths with Warren Worthington that Llavi even had close interaction with another mutant. He originally rejected him, wary of this organization he'd heard such bad things about. He didn't trust this blonde haired, blue eyed man. His words smoother than most powerful traqueto and the pain in his eyes!
Emma Frost made contact a few days later, initially putting off Llavi just as well. But she soothed him with her words, knowing his turmoil and not only feel his pain like Worthington, but have a way to help him get past it. Llavi broke down, exhausted from running and hiding, finally accepting the offer.
He's been at the school a little over a year at this point.
#HillaandWray-Wray
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.
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 17, 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 9 months he spent on his own showed Llavi some of the darker parts of the world, it wasn’t until he crossed paths with Warren Worthington that Llavi even had close interaction with another mutant. He originally rejected him, wary of this organization he'd heard such bad things about. He didn't trust this blonde haired, blue eyed man. His words smoother than most powerful traqueto and the pain in his eyes!
Emma Frost made contact a few days later, initially putting off Llavi just as well. But she soothed him with her words, knowing his turmoil and not only feel his pain like Worthington, but have a way to help him get past it. Llavi broke down, exhausted from running and hiding, finally accepting the offer.
He's been at the school a little over a year at this point.
#HillaandWray-Wray
| MISC. NOTES: |
-One day, I'll come back and make this look pretty. Because I do care about formatting...just not right now.
-As per the religion he was brought up with, Llavi wears spiritual beads on his arm at all times. With the little master he has over the Ichor, he has also shaped the black spots into symbols on both hands. They now appear as simple (albeit vividly black) tattoos, paying homage to his deities: Oya and Obatala.
-He has a lingering apprehension to Americans, though not a distaste or dislike. However, mentally, he's more critical of them, especially what he calls "TV Gringos" (white people who remind him of the ones he would see on television in his home village).
-He's new to the world of mutant hatred. Well, the mutant world in general. It's all still pretty frightening.
-Being relatively new to the world, he's not particularly star struck by the current X-Men. They're just teachers to him. (*)
-He'll randomly cook at times because the sound of sizzling food seems to be the only white noise that can take his thoughts away when they become too much.
-Despite the "tense" upbringing, there are numerous parts of Llavi's life that are typical of a young South American male. Music and dance are a good portion of Llavi's life. On occasion, he'll cave to the music and give in to the bachata o salsa. He's a passionate young male who is rarely given the chance to express it.
-He doesn't mention his sister or his mother to anyone. His story stops primarily around where his abuela died, though he leaves the actual year of her death vague (in an attempt to make it seem more recent). He let's the assumptions of his classmates do the rest of the work.
Cumshots or Kahlua.
LLAVI'S RELATIONSHIP SHEET
// Friend // Acquaintance // Frenemy // Rival // Enemy // Crush //
- Alexander, WilliamThe air-head one, yes? Oh, no not air head. Hah! No, he is the one who controls air, yea? He is a funny kid, I like that he smiles often. He is pretty energetic though, no? He seems a little nervous around me, I think it’s entertaining. I could probably scare him someday. I think I might do that, yeah.
- Anderson, Nathaniel:Ah yes! He is funny, no? Not like “haha that one is a good joke” funny, but like...well anyway. He puffs his chest when I am near he and his novia, like a rival peacock. It’s interesting to see. He must be a resilient man or an easily...what is it called...enraptured one for his love to Mizz Hollie.
- Andrews, Allison:She is sweet, but a little vain, yeah. Oh no, not vain...eh, what’s the word...only the fashion magazines. But I like that she wants to help others. It’s a genuine want to help, not the fake one you see so much over here. She likes to help for act of it. That is good. She should maybe try to look and see how great she can turn out, yes?
- Green, Daniel:Ah yes, the plant boy! He is more quiet than the plants he grows! I don't know much about him other than he probably might not like my Ichor wilting plants after days, I think. I see the Hispanic in him, he might have been raised Gringo--oh I am sorry, that sounds bad. Only that he might not know Spanish and my heritage so it is somewhat a shame. I think Mother Earth also gave him some of her love, he seems genuine I think. Ah yes, and he has a nice, bubble ass. It's great.
- Grey, Darren:Eh...I don't like him. He walks with entitlement, like the brother of a sicario. All of the money, none of the resolve. It is funny, he does the same thing to other of us that humans do. He judges based on what he sees. His powers teach him nothing.
- Hollens, Hollie:Ah the celebrity! Hollie. I saw many snips of her growing up and when I got here. I don't like her. She is very much like her diamonds: the glitter is blinding, but when the lights are off, you see right through her. She and her cabron are good for each other. Her attitude is bad for mutants, yeah. I bet she might be accepting, but no one has shown her just how.
- Irving, William:William! I enjoy him, he's different than the others. A pariah among the freaks, and for no fault of his own. He believes in things bigger than him, I think. He can see a person past the skin. I think his powers are interesting. I respect his predicament and he's not bitter. THAT is strength.
- Keller, Heidi:I think they call her Spark Girl because she is spunky. She seems mainly unafraid. But, I don't know her well. She's also not from here, so maybe she sees how excessive the entitlement can be too?
- Lebeau, Ryan:....I think it is a good thing his parents teach here, for his sake.
- Pilgrim, Lucas:I am not sure whether he his afraid of me, hates me or has a crush on me. The other students, they talk about him, but so far I am not impressed. He's very insightful in a battlefield though. He almost reminds me of my uncle in his clever tactics.
