Supermaxx

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

---

Andrew // Graves
_{LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon
TIME // Afternoon}

---

---

Graves T. Bludd had never been lauded for being of good report. He had a reputation among anyone that had run into him for being crude, crass and volatile. The man had made more than one sexually charged joke in his time playing Pariah. He found it humorous to watch other people squirm, and it tended to be an effective means of making people with good intentions avoid him- after all, who'd want to spend time with a creep? His strategy of making himself as rude and unapproachable as humanly possible worked with most players. Graves's attitude was widely considered as toxic beyond repair. Only a select few tolerated his bullshit behavior, and the number of people whom did it in any way Bludd appreciated was even smaller. Elian was a good example of running with how he acted in the right manner. She carried on just long enough for the interaction to not grow tiresome, and the dancer rarely moved into territories Andrew was uncomfortable with. However, it was quite easy to play around with Graves incorrectly. He turned on people quickly, having no qualms showing hostility toward someone for one misinterpreted joke or side comment. The Blood Knight's explosive anger was a defining trait that he had little control over.

Mirage's innocent enough jest hit all of his buttons just in the wrong way. She suggested that the two of them had some kind of deeper connection in the past as lovers. That was her first mistake. It went against every barrier he had ever tried to put up. In a handful of words, the ranger had managed to bring his whole persona under questioning by everyone else- he'd have to do something drastic to reset the scales. He couldn't have people thinking there was any truth to that statement. Her second, more grievous mistake was painting him as inadequate. Andrew Gray's self esteem had always been fragile. He tended to keep it protected through a false devil-may-care attitude. After all, if he pretended to be cool and strong and brave for long enough, everyone else might start to see him as those things. To have his ego put under the microscope by a total stranger made the warrior's skin crawl. Compound both of these together with the normal pre-dungeon stress that weighed on the tank, Mirage had unknowingly created the perfect storm for pissing the tall man the hell off.

The Blood Knight slowed to a halt. He closed his eyes, taking a handful of deep breaths in an attempt to keep his anger under control. The halberd found itself stabbed deep into the soft earth, top half first. He started to remove his steel gauntlets, tossing the metal vambraces to the ground alongside his large weapon. Look pissed off. He mentally prepared himself. He had to play up how easily enraged he was. Andrew, while a hot head by nature, was not nearly as explosive as Graves showed himself to be. Everything was apart of a clever, almost subconscious attempt to be someone he was not. In a way, Andrew was playing a character. He didn't think of it as Roleplaying, but it was quite clear in his mind that Graves and Andrew were two different personas he swapped between whenever he played Pariah. It was funny. He could be himself in real life because he never had to drive unwanted attention away. Nobody in his bumfuck, backwards town cared about him. Even his parents were distant. He'd never say it, but...honestly? He liked having to fight off people's attention. In some twisted way, Andrew didn't actually want to be alone.

The huge crimson fighter turned around to face the group at large. His intense gaze locked onto the woman's. One could tell a lot about someone by looking into their eyes. And looking into Graves' eyes was like staring into the sun. They burned with an intense passion, fueled by unquenchable anger, as they directed themselves toward her own gaze. He stepped forward, his face contorting with indignation. "Liar!" The fury in the tank's voice was unmistakably. It thundered, loud and deep, directly from his very soul. "I don't even know you, you little fucking whore!" Graves reeled his arm back in the most telegraphed punch ever thrown. Anyone with even an ounce of combat experience could have seen it coming and reacted accordingly. It was an impossibly sluggish movement. Even as he rocketed his fist forward, one might swear they could see it aimed past his target's head. His footwork was all wrong, too. There wasn't any twist of momentum in the blow, so it lacked a significant amount of force behind it. It was all a finely crafted act. The anger, the incompetence, all of it- an attempt to show everyone that he was an asshole and a monster that no one in their right mind would want to associate with.

Pariah Online: Prologue [ closed ]

---

---

Andrew // Graves
_{LOCALE // Outskirts of the Dungeon
TIME // Afternoon}

---

---

Graves Bludd moved at the vanguard of the raid party, his massive frame providing a shield for the weaker members of their group to take cover behind if anything went wrong during the trek over. He felt the weight of his gargantuan halberd. It was perfectly balanced, with the center of balance at the head of the polearm. The weapon's cumbersome nature was oddly comforting to the brazen warrior. He'd always been of the opinion that the heavier the weapon, the stronger the fighter. He scoffed at people like Ebon, who thought a tiny toothpick of a sword was a worthy tool for a warrior of any real merit. His halberd could lob a monster's limb off in one clean swing. It made Andrew feel...powerful. In control of any situation, so long as he had his 'pike' in his gauntleted fists. He held the weapon at chest level, hands at an even spread on the shaft. This was his default stance. It allowed him a degree of versatility in any situation, as well as the ability to quickly swap to another stance if necessary.

The Blood Knight marched ever forward at a reasonable pace, keeping his eyes peeled for any would be ambushers. The short girl and the warrior were of the same mind: it was too quiet. Every dungeon Graves had raided possessed some form of outward defenses that needed to be pushed through. A small skirmishing force, meant to keep wandering players from easily approaching the heart of the dungeon. It made Bludd restless. His axe head demanded blood be spilled soon. The less time he spent fighting was more time spent walking with the ragtag party in relative silence. He wasn't wholly against quiet. In fact, Graves was usually mute during any activity that involved more than two people. He had vowed to keep distant from others. Relationships had never done anything for Andrew except leave him hurt and betrayed; it was better for Graves to be alone. If only I could play this stupid game alone. He grumbled to himself. He loved the contents of Pariah and other MMOs. The fantastical adventures, the visceral combat, and the compelling nature of a player driven narrative drew him in. Singleplayer RPGs never sated his desires like a good MMO did. The only drawback was that the game necessitated he work with others, which meant getting close to people.

Ew.

Graves was glad he'd found Elian. Unlike most people that formed parties, the irreverent dancer kept Bludd at arms length- so far, anyway. Her banter was actually enjoyable to engage in. He never had to worrk about any of that touchy feely bullshit. The Blood Knight hoped his working relationship with her remained just that: work. They only went to one another when a dungeon was too difficult to do with moronic pubbies, or there was a raid that required large parties. She provided most of the teammates, all of whom tended to be new faces, and Graves provided his overwhelming badassery. A win-win, in his mind.

One of the other party members spoke aloud what the tank had been wondering earlier. He looked over toward the smaller frame of Rael, raising a questioning brow in her direction. "No kidding." Graves returned. She was correct, things had been far too quiet so far. He could only assume something was up. "Could be they're scared shitless of us." He joked. "Or it could be a trap." The large man grew serious, turning around to address the entire party. "Hey, fuckheads!" He crassly called to get everyone's attention. "Tighten up! Tanks on the outside, squishies on the inside. Don't leave our flanks exposed, unless you like it up the ass by surprise. Got it?" Bludd turned back around, moving forward once again. "Amateurs." He muttered just loud enough for the smaller tank to hear. "They're gonna get us wiped. I'm betting on it."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

---

Andrew // Graves
_{LOCALE // The City of Thorinn
TIME // Afternoon}

---

---

Graves Bludd moved at the vanguard of the raid party, his massive frame providing a shield for the weaker members of their group to take cover behind if anything went wrong during the trek over. He felt the weight of his gargantuan halberd. It was perfectly balanced, with the center of balance at the head of the polearm. The weapon's cumbersome nature was oddly comforting to the brazen warrior. He'd always been of the opinion that the heavier the weapon, the stronger the fighter. He scoffed at people like Ebon, who thought a tiny toothpick of a sword was a worthy tool for a warrior of any real merit. His halberd could lob a monster's limb off in one clean swing. It made Andrew feel...powerful. In control of any situation, so long as he had his 'pike' in his gauntleted fists. He held the weapon at chest level, hands at an even spread on the shaft. This was his default stance. It allowed him a degree of versatility in any situation, as well as the ability to quickly swap to another stance if necessary.

The Blood Knight marched ever forward at a reasonable pace, keeping his eyes peeled for any would be ambushers. The short girl and the warrior were of the same mind: it was too quiet. Every dungeon Graves had raided possessed some form of outward defenses that needed to be pushed through. A small skirmishing force, meant to keep wandering players from easily approaching the heart of the dungeon. It made Bludd restless. His axe head demanded blood be spilled soon. The less time he spent fighting was more time spent walking with the ragtag party in relative silence. He wasn't wholly against quiet. In fact, Graves was usually mute during any activity that involved more than two people. He had vowed to keep distant from others. Relationships had never done anything for Andrew except leave him hurt and betrayed; it was better for Graves to be alone. If only I could play this stupid game alone. He grumbled to himself. He loved the contents of Pariah and other MMOs. The fantastical adventures, the visceral combat, and the compelling nature of a player driven narrative drew him in. Singleplayer RPGs never sated his desires like a good MMO did. The only drawback was that the game necessitated he work with others, which meant getting close to people.

Ew.

Graves was glad he'd found Elian. Unlike most people that formed parties, the irreverent dancer kept Bludd at arms length- so far, anyway. Her banter was actually enjoyable to engage in. He never had to worrk about any of that touchy feely bullshit. The Blood Knight hoped his working relationship with her remained just that: work. They only went to one another when a dungeon was too difficult to do with moronic pubbies, or there was a raid that required large parties. She provided most of the teammates, all of whom tended to be new faces, and Graves provided his overwhelming badassery. A win-win, in his mind.

One of the other party members spoke aloud what the tank had been wondering earlier. He looked over toward the smaller frame of Rael, raising a questioning brow in her direction. "No kidding." Graves returned. She was correct, things had been far too quiet so far. He could only assume something was up. "Could be they're scared shitless of us." He joked. "Or it could be a trap." The large man grew serious, turning around to address the entire party. "Hey, fuckheads!" He crassly called to get everyone's attention. "Tighten up! Tanks on the outside, squishies on the inside. Don't leave our flanks exposed, unless you like it up the ass by surprise. Got it?" Bludd turned back around, moving forward once again. "Amateurs." He muttered just loud enough for the smaller tank to hear. "They're gonna get us wiped. I'm betting on it."

VIGILANCE: Blood & Justice - A Superhuman Roleplay (Always Open)

---

C L A I R E " N O C T I S " Q U I N N

<sub>Los Paradiso, Crescent City | 2:30 AM

Go Home, Hero
@BlackSam3091</sub>

---

The strength with which the wannabe superheroine yelled caught Claire off guard. She had expected the vigilante to back down. There was a deep, powerful rage teeming up inside of this odd stranger. It surprised Noctis just how much the woman seemed to care about a couple of worthless scumbags. 'Why the hell does she care so damn much?' The perplexed huntress thought to herself, unable to grasp how someone could take heed of such...dogs. That's all that they were to miss Quinn. Nothing but a pack of wild mutts trying to tear each other apart to get at the last scrapes of food left. They were a sad, pathetic lot. But not worth Claire's pity. The city's gangs were too dangerous to show mercy to. If she had half a mind to actually do something about the parasites that infested Crescent City, like the sad idealist in front of her did, Claire wouldn't hesitate to kill them. The prisons were already stuffed full of thugs that would eventually be let out, only to murder, rape or steal again. A single bullet to the head was cheap, effective and irreversible. The evils of the world were better eradicated than simply pruned and then allowed to fester and regrow. That was how the Venari had taught her to see the world. Death was the most effective means of protecting the lives that mattered.

But none of that was Claire's job. She wasn't a vigilante. She didn't work for the city's incompetent police force. Claire was a hunter in the Order of the Venari, and one of the last defenders against the encroaching darkness. She couldn't waste her time dealing with petty criminals. 'Even if I haven't seen a damn thing for months.' Noctis grumbled internally. Hellions and Draoi posed a far greater danger to the world as a whole than any mobster or street thug ever could. If even a single one slipped past the Venari's guard, everything could be compromised. One crazed magician showing himself to the world at large had the potential to destroy everything they had worked so hard to protect. Every single mage, monster and 'At least, that's what Kletus says.'

Claire started to prepare her responses to everything the other woman was saying. She waited, listening to every misguided point the vigilante brought against the Venari huntress. Her worldview was laughably idealized and her moralistic crusading didn't belong in the real world. That line of thinking is what got good people killed. The scum of the earth didn't deserve protecting from one another; they should be left to fight, so that there's less of them left to attack innocents when the dust clears. Mutual destruction of both gangs would have improved life for that neighborhood drastically. Now that this moron had let them go, they would return to plague the good people of Los Paradiso again. She didn't need Noctis's help? 'Ha!' Before Claire jumped in, the vigilante had only just got up from a horrible beating. She was surrounded, out numbered and unarmed. No amount of endurance, strength or tenacity would overcome the sheer number disadvantage. Claire had saved her life; she was sure of it.

“You’re a monster!”

"H-huh?" Claire blinked. The indignation the Venari had felt faltered. 'She really thinks I'm...a monster?' Noctis's angry, furrowed visage splintered into confusion. She was so sure her actions had benefited this vigilante, and society as a whole. One less gangbanger and a still living hero was a net gain for them, right? Yet Claire couldn't shake how that simple, singular word had effected her resolve. "No I'm not." She responded with a frown, glancing over at the corpse of the dead man. "He is. I...I kill the monsters." Her voice was more reserved now, her tone lacking the edge it had possessed when they first began to argue. Was it possible that Noctis was wrong? That she was the one with the twisted view of how the world worked, and not this person she'd just met? The stranger spoke with conviction. She really believed what she said. It was enough to make the Venari question herself. It made her look into her heart, glancing at the darkness that touched her soul.

The words of her mentors came rushing in like a tsunami, drowning out those thoughts. Her introspection drowned in a sea of stubbornness, bringing back Noctis's earlier sneer. "You don't get it." The young woman growled. "This isn't any place for someone like you. The world is dark, it is cruel and the only way to fight it is with everything you have. You're just going to get yourself killed if you try this shit again, okay? So...Go home, hero. Take off that stupid outfit and go home before you die. There are better ways to help than trying to shove your stupid morals into a fight. Go home."

With those words said, Noctis pulled her scarf up higher on her face and started off at a walk toward a nearby alleyway. She didn't want to confront that idiot any longer. There was more of the city left for her to patrol.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

C L A I R E " N O C T I S " Q U I N N

<sub>Los Paradiso, Crescent City | 2:30 AM

Go Home, Hero
[BlackSam3091] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE</sub>

---

The strength with which the wannabe superheroine yelled caught Claire off guard. She had expected the vigilante to back down. There was a deep, powerful rage teeming up inside of this odd stranger. It surprised Noctis just how much the woman seemed to care about a couple of worthless scumbags. 'Why the hell does she care so damn much?' The perplexed huntress thought to herself, unable to grasp how someone could take heed of such...dogs. That's all that they were to miss Quinn. Nothing but a pack of wild mutts trying to tear each other apart to get at the last scrapes of food left. They were a sad, pathetic lot. But not worth Claire's pity. The city's gangs were too dangerous to show mercy to. If she had half a mind to actually do something about the parasites that infested Crescent City, like the sad idealist in front of her did, Claire wouldn't hesitate to kill them. The prisons were already stuffed full of thugs that would eventually be let out, only to murder, rape or steal again. A single bullet to the head was cheap, effective and irreversible. The evils of the world were better eradicated than simply pruned and then allowed to fester and regrow. That was how the Venari had taught her to see the world. Death was the most effective means of protecting the lives that mattered.

But none of that was Claire's job. She wasn't a vigilante. She didn't work for the city's incompetent police force. Claire was a hunter in the Order of the Venari, and one of the last defenders against the encroaching darkness. She couldn't waste her time dealing with petty criminals. 'Even if I haven't seen a damn thing for months.' Noctis grumbled internally. Hellions and Draoi posed a far greater danger to the world as a whole than any mobster or street thug ever could. If even a single one slipped past the Venari's guard, everything could be compromised. One crazed magician showing himself to the world at large had the potential to destroy everything they had worked so hard to protect. Every single mage, monster and 'At least, that's what Kletus says.'

Claire started to prepare her responses to everything the other woman was saying. She waited, listening to every misguided point the vigilante brought against the Venari huntress. Her worldview was laughably idealized and her moralistic crusading didn't belong in the real world. That line of thinking is what got good people killed. The scum of the earth didn't deserve protecting from one another; they should be left to fight, so that there's less of them left to attack innocents when the dust clears. Mutual destruction of both gangs would have improved life for that neighborhood drastically. Now that this moron had let them go, they would return to plague the good people of Los Paradiso again. She didn't need Noctis's help? 'Ha!' Before Claire jumped in, the vigilante had only just got up from a horrible beating. She was surrounded, out numbered and unarmed. No amount of endurance, strength or tenacity would overcome the sheer number disadvantage. Claire had saved her life; she was sure of it.

“You’re a monster!”

"H-huh?" Claire blinked. The indignation the Venari had felt faltered. 'She really thinks I'm...a monster?' Noctis's angry, furrowed visage splintered into confusion. She was so sure her actions had benefited this vigilante, and society as a whole. One less gangbanger and a still living hero was a net gain for them, right? Yet Claire couldn't shake how that simple, singular word had effected her resolve. "No I'm not." She responded with a frown, glancing over at the corpse of the dead man. "He is. I...I kill the monsters." Her voice was more reserved now, her tone lacking the edge it had possessed when they first began to argue. Was it possible that Noctis was wrong? That she was the one with the twisted view of how the world worked, and not this person she'd just met? The stranger spoke with conviction. She really believed what she said. It was enough to make the Venari question herself. It made her look into her heart, glancing at the darkness that touched her soul.

The words of her mentors came rushing in like a tsunami, drowning out those thoughts. Her introspection drowned in a sea of stubbornness, bringing back Noctis's earlier sneer. "You don't get it." The young woman growled. "This isn't any place for someone like you. The world is dark, it is cruel and the only way to fight it is with everything you have. You're just going to get yourself killed if you try this shit again, okay? So...Go home, hero. Take off that stupid outfit and go home before you die. There are better ways to help than trying to shove your stupid morals into a fight. Go home."

With those words said, Noctis pulled her scarf up higher on her face and started off at a walk toward a nearby alleyway. She didn't want to confront that idiot any longer. There was more of the city left for her to patrol.

VIGILANCE: Blood & Justice - A Superhuman Roleplay (Always Open)

<Snipped quote by Superboy>

I predict Eli might be blamed for this if Noc finds out what Eli is.

@Pirouette

Oh yeah. Eli's going to be the prime suspect. What are the chances there's another vampire running around the city?

VIGILANCE: Blood & Justice - A Superhuman Roleplay (Always Open)

Yeeeesssss.

Vampire attacks are my jam!

Pariah Online: Prologue [ closed ]

I'm not here!

(Ha, bet I fooled him. Now he doesn't know that I really am here!)

VIGILANCE: Blood & Justice - A Superhuman Roleplay (Always Open)

---

C L A I R E " N O C T I S " Q U I N N

<sub>Los Paradiso, Crescent City | 2:30 AM

Embrace the shadows
@BlackSam3091</sub>

---

The resounding of shot drove the rats back into the darkness. Claire held off the temptation to fire into the scattering crowd. Even in her rage, the woman knew that wanton murder wasn't going to make the city any better. Tempering her fury, Noctis lowered her firearms and allowed the human filth retreat. They would live to kill another day, no doubt. 'It doesn't matter.' Claire reminded herself, her ears still ringing from the thundering of her pistols moments earlier. 'They aren't my problem.' She hadn't set out that morning planning to hunt down thugs and criminals. Claire had merely happened upon the scene and decided to intervene to help...whoever this was, out. Where they went after her strike or what they chose to do was of little consequence to her personally. Someone else might have to deal with them, sure; but Noctis had other priorities. The sun wasn't going to rise for a couple of hours, so the young Venari huntress still had a few hours to kill before she got to sleep. That probably meant more wandering the rooftops hoping to come across signs of supernatural activity. Her late night activities for the past eight months had turned the college aged girl into a nocturnal creature. It was a rare sight indeed to see the woman up and about before the clock struck three PM.

Claire lazily turned her mind away from what she was going to do with the rest of her night. There was a body to deal with. It was...strange. She had expected her reaction to ending a life to be so much more visceral. Quinn had imagined her legs growing weak, her heart racing and her stomach threatening to send bile up her throat. Kletus had told her a thousand times how awful it was to kill a man, or something resembling a man. She had been mentally preparing herself to fight off the nightmares that would undoubtedly follow the horrific event. She was supposed to wake up in a cold sweat every night for months, her victim's face plastered behind her eyelids every time she tried to shut them. Guilt was meant to slowly consume her, devouring her naivety and innocence until Claire was nothing but an empty shell of a human being. Death was supposed to hold weight. Yet, Claire found herself staring at the water soaked corpse of the gangbanger and feeling...odd. The smell was revolting, like the man had defecated himself. There was a certain lightness in Claire's chest that she couldn't immediately explain. Her heart was certainly pumping faster.

But Quinn didn't feel some enormous weight for ending the man. He was a murderous bastard that had tried to beat a girl about Claire's age near to death. He didn't deserve any of Claire's pity. The burden she'd expected never came. His face was forgettable. The cries of pain he and the others she had shot had fallen on mostly deaf ears. It took a long moment for Claire to realize how she felt about the whole thing. It only hit her once she noticed the upward bent of her lips. The gesture was subconscious and very slight. She was smiling. Claire was staring at the body of a dead thug she had shot and she was smiling. It wasn't a grin from ear to ear, nor was it burdened by any regret or bitterness. Her heart wasn't pumping from fear; Claire was excited, thrilled even, by the adrenaline that came with the kill. 'What the fuck is wrong with me?'

It was only after her introspection lasted a moment or two too long that Claire noticed the vigilante was staring at her. She'd gotten so caught up in the moment, Noctis had forgotten that not everyone had scattered into the night after she arrived. It was difficult to determine anything about the woman. Her attire did well to hide her identity. The only things Claire could truly make out were her short stature and gender. The stranger was likely a Hyperhuman, too, based upon her miraculous survival through the fight with only minor wounds. She was able to fight off multiple grown men with what looked like sheer strength and little finesse or martial skill. It was dumb luck, a Hype gene or some kind of supernatural ability that allowed someone of her size to do what she had done.

Then the girl opened her mouth. The words that left her mouth confused Claire. She didn't sound grateful, like Noctis had been expecting. She didn't give some kind of corny joke like one of those comic book heroes. The super strong fighter sounded utterly terrified. Fear laced her question like a poison, sinking into her every syllable. It caught Claire off guard. "What?" It was a dumb response, considering she had heard loud and clear. This person had thrown herself into a crowd of angry gangbangers and gotten her ass thoroughly beat for it. She would be dead without Claire's intervention- or, at least, still stuck fighting a dozen opponents twice her size. Claire furrowed her brow at the 'how could you' bit. It actually made her kind of angry. This idiot was actually trying to talk down at Noctis for saving her life. "Why? Why not?" Disbelief mixed with irritation in Claire's response. She took a step closer to the vigilante, sliding her guns back into their holsters to avoid looking like a threat.

"Those guys were going to kill you if I didn't do something. You're welcome, by the way. What are you even doing picking fights with these guys? What, do you think you're some kind of fuckin' superhero?"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

C L A I R E " N O C T I S " Q U I N N

<sub>Los Paradiso, Crescent City | 2:30 AM

Embrace the shadows
[BlackSam3091] - ADD AN @ SIGN YOU DUNCE</sub>

---

The resounding of shot drove the rats back into the darkness. Claire held off the temptation to fire into the scattering crowd. Even in her rage, the woman knew that wanton murder wasn't going to make the city any better. Tempering her fury, Noctis lowered her firearms and allowed the human filth retreat. They would live to kill another day, no doubt. 'It doesn't matter.' Claire reminded herself, her ears still ringing from the thundering of her pistols moments earlier. 'They aren't my problem.' She hadn't set out that morning planning to hunt down thugs and criminals. Claire had merely happened upon the scene and decided to intervene to help...whoever this was, out. Where they went after her strike or what they chose to do was of little consequence to her personally. Someone else might have to deal with them, sure; but Noctis had other priorities. The sun wasn't going to rise for a couple of hours, so the young Venari huntress still had a few hours to kill before she got to sleep. That probably meant more wandering the rooftops hoping to come across signs of supernatural activity. Her late night activities for the past eight months had turned the college aged girl into a nocturnal creature. It was a rare sight indeed to see the woman up and about before the clock struck three PM.

Claire lazily turned her mind away from what she was going to do with the rest of her night. There was a body to deal with. It was...strange. She had expected her reaction to ending a life to be so much more visceral. Quinn had imagined her legs growing weak, her heart racing and her stomach threatening to send bile up her throat. Kletus had told her a thousand times how awful it was to kill a man, or something resembling a man. She had been mentally preparing herself to fight off the nightmares that would undoubtedly follow the horrific event. She was supposed to wake up in a cold sweat every night for months, her victim's face plastered behind her eyelids every time she tried to shut them. Guilt was meant to slowly consume her, devouring her naivety and innocence until Claire was nothing but an empty shell of a human being. Death was supposed to hold weight. Yet, Claire found herself staring at the water soaked corpse of the gangbanger and feeling...odd. The smell was revolting, like the man had defecated himself. There was a certain lightness in Claire's chest that she couldn't immediately explain. Her heart was certainly pumping faster.

But Quinn didn't feel some enormous weight for ending the man. He was a murderous bastard that had tried to beat a girl about Claire's age near to death. He didn't deserve any of Claire's pity. The burden she'd expected never came. His face was forgettable. The cries of pain he and the others she had shot had fallen on mostly deaf ears. It took a long moment for Claire to realize how she felt about the whole thing. It only hit her once she noticed the upward bent of her lips. The gesture was subconscious and very slight. She was smiling. Claire was staring at the body of a dead thug she had shot and she was smiling. It wasn't a grin from ear to ear, nor was it burdened by any regret or bitterness. Her heart wasn't pumping from fear; Claire was excited, thrilled even, by the adrenaline that came with the kill. 'What the fuck is wrong with me?'

It was only after her introspection lasted a moment or two too long that Claire noticed the vigilante was staring at her. She'd gotten so caught up in the moment, Noctis had forgotten that not everyone had scattered into the night after she arrived. It was difficult to determine anything about the woman. Her attire did well to hide her identity. The only things Claire could truly make out were her short stature and gender. The stranger was likely a Hyperhuman, too, based upon her miraculous survival through the fight with only minor wounds. She was able to fight off multiple grown men with what looked like sheer strength and little finesse or martial skill. It was dumb luck, a Hype gene or some kind of supernatural ability that allowed someone of her size to do what she had done.

Then the girl opened her mouth. The words that left her mouth confused Claire. She didn't sound grateful, like Noctis had been expecting. She didn't give some kind of corny joke like one of those comic book heroes. The super strong fighter sounded utterly terrified. Fear laced her question like a poison, sinking into her every syllable. It caught Claire off guard. "What?" It was a dumb response, considering she had heard loud and clear. This person had thrown herself into a crowd of angry gangbangers and gotten her ass thoroughly beat for it. She would be dead without Claire's intervention- or, at least, still stuck fighting a dozen opponents twice her size. Claire furrowed her brow at the 'how could you' bit. It actually made her kind of angry. This idiot was actually trying to talk down at Noctis for saving her life. "Why? Why not?" Disbelief mixed with irritation in Claire's response. She took a step closer to the vigilante, sliding her guns back into their holsters to avoid looking like a threat.

"Those guys were going to kill you if I didn't do something. You're welcome, by the way. What are you even doing picking fights with these guys? What, do you think you're some kind of fuckin' superhero?"