Ellis is sad that Cory isn't on the team anymore. Who will be the vanilla typhoon to his chocolate cyclone now? The white hexagon to his black pentagon? The ivory to his ebony? The John Dorian to his Turkelton?
Hope it's not too presumptuous, but I've decided Ellis and Warner and friends, simpatico, bros if you will. They seem like they would have known each other and gotten along before this whole occult debacle.
Also Ellis wants to start a band. Who wants to turn their supernatural talents to making music history? Max? Eh? Play a twelve-string base with telekinesis?
Mary? Maybe you'll find out your super power is the ability to summon and play a magical drum set.
Jackson looks like he's got plenty of angst he could work out writing lyrics.
August could do sound tech, or play the ukulele, or just be a groupie, whatever, creative freedom, man.
Raven could...I don't know...enhance Jackson's mopier songs by making the audience feel the pain he instills in his lyrics.
These are the ideas people, throw me a bone.
Tenish the Mighty Member
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There are no foxes.
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Orion smiled placid, benign, at the presentation of cupcakes into his world. There were few moments that couldn't be improved with baked goods. One long, languid limb unfolded to swipe the dessert. Chewing on it thoughtfully, Ellis slanted his eyes back on August. Oreo? Black on the outside white on the inside. Alliterative to the first two digits of his name. Yeah, had heard that one before. Still, he'd been called worse. As she leaned into him, Ellis just smirked wryly, his eyes shut. Ah, the scintillating vagaries of youth.
After that he didn't move much. Eyes shut, tight smile. He breathed slowly. His hair was tousled, He watched. He Listened.
Anecdotes of the bizarre and the fantastical, demonstrations of ability and phenomenon beyond the ken of mankind, and of course, the posturing endemic to the young and the restless. Orion tapped his foot on the floor. He should have been excited. Here was a revelation to the unseen wonders of the world, the very sort of mysteries he had always fantasized about. Or maybe he should have been terrified of seeing his mundane schema shattered by this unreserved show and tell of supernal acumen. Instead, all Orion could think about was how his lungs felt like they were wildly different temperatures. It had happened as soon as Raven had entered the stage with her cupcakes. Or how Mary's introduction made the bite of cupcake he had been thoughtfully chewing suddenly taste of asparagus and asphalt. Maxwell had what Ellis could only describe as the odor of a sonic boom. The shadows on Cory's body were inhabited by non-euclidean geometry in an awful shade of orange. Everett was accompanied by the echoes of an orchestra being fed into a smelter.
Ellis took a deep breath and sighed. He opened his eyes. He looked around the room at the rag-tag group of miscreants. As surprising in their variety as number. Freaks, geeks, lords, and leasers, all touched by strange and disparate powers. Ellis wondered where he fell in the mix. Kicking his feet off the desk he planted them wide and stood, sprouting like a long, lean birch. Surveying the assembled throng once more his gaze finally settled on the surly Mister Oannes. Ellis couldn't help but snort a little, amused. Who knew the supernatural world had such loose standards with who they invited in. Ellis turned rolled his head to look at the invitation thrown on the ground, then at Marigold, Ellis frowned only slightly. Someone knew.
"Interesting bunch you got yourself here Madame President," he arched an eyebrow questioningly, "should we pack our wands and wizard hats for Hogwarts or is this more of a Winchester kind of deal?"
A sour, yellow note. There it was again. Ellis' eyes narrowed at the back of Sarah Langtree's lilac blouse. Why did she make that sound? Was she making that sound? Ellis rubbed his forehead anxiously. He wished it would stop. Narrow gaze shifting he tried to ignore the sound, turning his focus on the front of the room. What period was it? History? No. Jesus. It was physics. He liked physics. He hadn't heard a word the teacher had said all period. The homework he'd handed in was a mess of figures. He was certain he'd failed it. Ellis had never failed at anything. He tried to make out the equation on the board. It was hazy. Ellis adjusted his glasses. No, it wasn't his eyes. The whole room was hazy, there was a fog, almost the same color as Sarah's shirt that filled the room. No one else seemed to notice it. Ellis wanted to hold his breath, he didn't want to breath whatever it was in. He wanted out of the room.
The ringing bell almost made him jump out of his skin. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. Ellis was good at keeping a lid on his nerves. He didn't flinch, he didn't twitch. He got up easily from his desk, packed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, and sauntered, not walked out of the room. He didn't take a breath until he was in the hall. The air still smelled. It left a taste in his mouth. Like emulsified molasses. Ellis breathed. He tried to ignore the symbols in the shadows, the ones that looked like they might cut his eye if he looked at them too hard. He could feel the note throb in the bag on his back. It had beat like a heart, pulsing in his hand the moment he'd picked it up. It hadn't stopped since. A club for the occult, huh? Months ago the thought would have amused and delighted. Now it just unnerved him. Ellis could feel the world unravel. No, not unravel. It wasn't coming apart. That would imply that it was seamless before. No. Now he could just see it for what it was. He looked at the tiles under his feet. He used to try and walk only on one color. A small game as he walked from class to class. Now he tried to walk on different colors. There were colors no one else could see, and they filled the yawning gaps that he knew existed between the tiles. The world was like a wire net, thin, stretched, so fragile above the maelstrom over which they were all suspended. Ellis wished he didn't have to know that.
Before and long after he had known it, Ellis found himself in front of 12c. He wished he could truly ask himself why he'd come. He couldn't. Ellis knew precisely why he was here. Ellis touched a hand to the doorknob. It felt like wet satin. He breathed. He opened the door.
Colorful bunch. His first thought. He recognized faces. Marigold. New council prez. Not much competition around here. He didn't know much about her. She like to paint. Probably a little nuts. Nice curves. Little orange moth-shapes beat around her, throbbing like the letter she must have sent.
August. Batty. Knew her a little better. Tended to make a bit of a spectacle of herself. Wizard with what she did. Certainly a little nuts. Cute, in a mousy kind of way. There was a keening to her, like the last octave going out on an old amp.
The only other male in the room looked like he was trying to hide. Ellis didn't know him very well. Jackson something. New kid. Seemed unhappy with life. Join the club. He smelled like cinnamon and sulfur.
They were an odd bunch, that was for sure. So why did Ellis feel like the outsider? He only took a moment to take the room and it's occupants in. Shrugging in what he hoped and did look like a nonchalant fashion he threw his bag down at a desk next to August. Sitting down he kicked his own long legs up on the seat of the desk in front of him, folding his arms over his chest, glancing sidelong at the red-head.
"Hey there Batty, what's the word?"
Name: Orion Ellis
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Personality: Cool is probably the best word to describe Ellis. No necessarily in the positive social adjective, though it often translates to peoples' opinion. Regardless of how others take it, however, Ellis is always cool. He seems to act with ease regardless of circumstance, always centered, always certain. Even in his most passionate moments, Ellis projects a sense of unerring poise and commitment. Of course, this does not always translate to his internal disposition and humor. In fact, Ellis takes considerable and increasing pains to project the image that he is painless, while the vagaries of the Conveyance eat away at his sense of reality and self and cast him adrift into what he is growing to fear might be most accurately be described as insanity.
Appearance: Ellis is a typical youth in many respects, preoccupied with his own sense of style while still conforming to the predilections of a particular subculture, in his case, Ellis exemplifies the archetype of the black, nerdy, hipster, with hand me down jeans, ironic t-shirts, and an aloof sensibility. Here is him trying to look cool.
Tether: Ellis’ mind is impregnated with a fragment of the Conveyance, the, or at least a, language of creation. The single note of phoneme has opened his understanding to truths beyond the mundane banality of reality, enabling him to perceive the supernatural with clarity in spite of his lack of natural talent. It also causes him unpleasant headaches.
Ability: Ellis’ connection with the Conveyance has allowed, or perhaps more accurately, forced him to perceive the underlying language of reality, able to see the interconnected code of existence. Consequently, Ellis is privy to information about the world around him that he otherwise could not, or should not be able to know, both mundane and supernal.
Unfortunately, the ability to perceive this information, which slithers into his mind unbidden, presented as notions of symbols alien to all human language, strange colors that cannot be seen by the human eye, and other more esoteric media still, is almost impossible for Ellis’ to translate into any meaningful way. He may know that the old grocer at the locale supermarket puts him in the mind of a strange, vaguely goose shaped symbol and a shade of red that seems more emblematic of blood than the color of blood in the real world, but Ellis has no idea what any of it means. Ellis has begun to understand some of the eldritch information that bombards him, some repetition of forms that he has come to denote the concept of feelings of anger, the strange keening tones that seem to emanate from locked doors and windows, but practical use of most of this information eludes him.
Furthermore, the information presented to Ellis is distracting, his performance in school, on the practice field, and other areas has dropped as he tries to cope with the unbidden knowledge bombarding him at all time. If anything this interference is becoming more difficult for Ellis to cope with, a prospect that frightens him deeply.
Talents: In spite of his nerdy mein, Ellis is remarkably athletic. He enjoys skateboarding and soccer in particular, as well as his more extraordinary extracurriculars, and benefits from a certain degree of natural talent, all of which adds up to a degree of speed, strength, and stamina that exceeds the average lackadaisical teenager.
Ellis is well read, he enjoys his studies and has a deep fascination for the world around him. This plurality of interest, however, does not lend itself to intense focus upon a singular subject giving Ellis a broad, but sometimes shallow knowledge base. The only thing that Ellis is very well versed in is the occult legends, urban myths, and supernatural folklore of the mortal world. How accurate any of this information is, however, is suspect when presented to one privy to true supernatural perspectives.
Ellis has a very nice voice, an agreeable enough personality, and an inoffensive appearance. Ellis has found that most people seem to like him and trust what he has to say, willing to listen to him and take his side on a multitude of issues more often than he, frankly, thinks that they rightly should. Ellis is a terrible liar. Also he can play the double bass, cornet, and sing rather well.
Recent history: Ellis has always been a pretty normal kid, painfully so, in his opinion. His parents were always decent and divorced. His life was filled with the normal, subjectively spectacular experiences of most children. He never wanted for much nor was given any great advantage or luxury. The only thing about Ellis that was really atypical was his dissatisfaction with how typical his life seemed. Since as long as he could remember, Ellis has been fascinated with stories of the strange and the occult. Not particularly stories of fantasy, but rather, those tales, often dark, of where the supernatural ran abreast of mundane reality. Ghost stories, surrealist literature, paranormal conspiracies all fascinated a young Orion Ellis and that obsession continued long into the approach towards adulthood. His mother thought he would grow into a troubled teenager, painting his fingernails black, listening to angry music she didn’t understand, but he never did. His father worried that he might become a social outcast and unable to relate to his peers, but Ellis always got along alright. It wasn’t a fashion of lifestyle that Ellis was interested in, it was the purity of the ideas.
Ellis’ great grandfather always encouraged his interests, always finding some obscure tome of early american mythology, unpublished manuscript compilations of H.P. Lovecraft, curious little trinkets attached to some odd little traditions of Maine superstition, which he would give to Ellis when the family would annually visit. Ellis always loved visiting his grandfather. The old man was himself like the gifts he gave, old, mysterious, and just close enough to the uncanny that Ellis always had the sinking suspicion that the venerable ancient knew more than he would ever reveal. Almost a year ago, however, Ellis’ grandfather died unexpectedly, Ellis was heartbroken. Family came from all over North America for the funeral. Most came out of simple affection and familial obligation, though it didn’t hurt that Ellis’ grandfather was quite wealthy. This too was surprising, for as far as Ellis had ever known, the old man had lived alone in a small cabin in the northern reaches of Maine, almost anachronistic in it’s ausere and frugal accoutrements. But apparently the man owned a great deal of property, including vast stretches of the Maine wilderness. As the family worked out the will and details of dividing up the man’s possessions, Ellis found himself bequeathed a portion of the man’s property equal to that given to the other great grandchildren, but also a small package set aside shortly before the old man’s demise.
Ellis doesn’t remember much after that. He had opened the small, brown paper package in the bathroom of the hotel the family was staying at, while his parents socialized with the rest of the relations in the reception room rented for the wake. The package had been small, squarish, almost like a book, but it was heavier than a book, and he remembered thinking that he felt like more than one object, bound together tightly by the paper and the thin string it was tied together with. He had opened the package and then Ellis still cannot remember what happened after that. The large gathering of distant relations dispersed, Ellis and his parents drove home, they didn’t talk much. Ellis didn’t have the package anymore, or whatever was inside of it. He could not remember what had happened to the package. His parents never asked. He didn’t know what had been in the package. He felt like he didn’t know much of anything anymore.
Three days after opening the package, the headaches started. Four days after that he started to see and hear and smell and taste and feel the Conveyance. It started slow at first, little flickers at the corners of his eyes, sub voce sounds he could only hear when he plugged his ears and concentrated, subtle flavors that made him wish unconsciously for a mint. But the sensations have grown in magnitude over the last several months. He went to a doctor for the headaches, the doctor posited a dietary imbalance. Ellis did not mention the other sensations. He hasn’t told anyone about them. He hoped they would go away. They have not. They have grown stronger. Ellis world is no longer mundane. He’s starting to wish it still was.
Tether: Ellis’ mind is impregnated with a fragment of the Conveyance, the, or at least a, language of creation. The single note of phoneme has opened his understanding to truths beyond the mundane banality of reality, enabling him to perceive the supernatural with clarity in spite of his lack of natural talent. It also causes him unpleasant headaches.
Ability: Ellis’ connection with the Conveyance has allowed, or perhaps more accurately, forced him to perceive the underlying language of reality, able to see the interconnected code of existence. Consequently, Ellis is privy to information about the world around him that he otherwise could not, or should not be able to know, both mundane and supernal.
Unfortunately, the ability to perceive this information, which slithers into his mind unbidden, presented as notions of symbols alien to all human language, strange colors that cannot be seen by the human eye, and other more esoteric media still, is almost impossible for Ellis’ to translate into any meaningful way. He may know that the old grocer at the locale supermarket puts him in the mind of a strange, vaguely goose shaped symbol and a shade of red that seems more emblematic of blood than the color of blood in the real world, but Ellis has no idea what any of it means. Ellis has begun to understand some of the eldritch information that bombards him, some repetition of forms that he has come to denote the concept of feelings of anger, the strange keening tones that seem to emanate from locked doors and windows, but practical use of most of this information eludes him.
Furthermore, the information presented to Ellis is distracting, his performance in school, on the practice field, and other areas has dropped as he tries to cope with the unbidden knowledge bombarding him at all time. If anything this interference is becoming more difficult for Ellis to cope with, a prospect that frightens him deeply.
Talents: In spite of his nerdy mein, Ellis is remarkably athletic. He enjoys skateboarding and soccer in particular, as well as his more extraordinary extracurriculars, and benefits from a certain degree of natural talent, all of which adds up to a degree of speed, strength, and stamina that exceeds the average lackadaisical teenager.
Ellis is well read, he enjoys his studies and has a deep fascination for the world around him. This plurality of interest, however, does not lend itself to intense focus upon a singular subject giving Ellis a broad, but sometimes shallow knowledge base. The only thing that Ellis is very well versed in is the occult legends, urban myths, and supernatural folklore of the mortal world. How accurate any of this information is, however, is suspect when presented to one privy to true supernatural perspectives.
Ellis has a very nice voice, an agreeable enough personality, and an inoffensive appearance. Ellis has found that most people seem to like him and trust what he has to say, willing to listen to him and take his side on a multitude of issues more often than he, frankly, thinks that they rightly should. Ellis is a terrible liar. Also he can play the double bass, cornet, and sing rather well.
Recent history: Ellis has always been a pretty normal kid, painfully so, in his opinion. His parents were always decent and divorced. His life was filled with the normal, subjectively spectacular experiences of most children. He never wanted for much nor was given any great advantage or luxury. The only thing about Ellis that was really atypical was his dissatisfaction with how typical his life seemed. Since as long as he could remember, Ellis has been fascinated with stories of the strange and the occult. Not particularly stories of fantasy, but rather, those tales, often dark, of where the supernatural ran abreast of mundane reality. Ghost stories, surrealist literature, paranormal conspiracies all fascinated a young Orion Ellis and that obsession continued long into the approach towards adulthood. His mother thought he would grow into a troubled teenager, painting his fingernails black, listening to angry music she didn’t understand, but he never did. His father worried that he might become a social outcast and unable to relate to his peers, but Ellis always got along alright. It wasn’t a fashion of lifestyle that Ellis was interested in, it was the purity of the ideas.
Ellis’ great grandfather always encouraged his interests, always finding some obscure tome of early american mythology, unpublished manuscript compilations of H.P. Lovecraft, curious little trinkets attached to some odd little traditions of Maine superstition, which he would give to Ellis when the family would annually visit. Ellis always loved visiting his grandfather. The old man was himself like the gifts he gave, old, mysterious, and just close enough to the uncanny that Ellis always had the sinking suspicion that the venerable ancient knew more than he would ever reveal. Almost a year ago, however, Ellis’ grandfather died unexpectedly, Ellis was heartbroken. Family came from all over North America for the funeral. Most came out of simple affection and familial obligation, though it didn’t hurt that Ellis’ grandfather was quite wealthy. This too was surprising, for as far as Ellis had ever known, the old man had lived alone in a small cabin in the northern reaches of Maine, almost anachronistic in it’s ausere and frugal accoutrements. But apparently the man owned a great deal of property, including vast stretches of the Maine wilderness. As the family worked out the will and details of dividing up the man’s possessions, Ellis found himself bequeathed a portion of the man’s property equal to that given to the other great grandchildren, but also a small package set aside shortly before the old man’s demise.
Ellis doesn’t remember much after that. He had opened the small, brown paper package in the bathroom of the hotel the family was staying at, while his parents socialized with the rest of the relations in the reception room rented for the wake. The package had been small, squarish, almost like a book, but it was heavier than a book, and he remembered thinking that he felt like more than one object, bound together tightly by the paper and the thin string it was tied together with. He had opened the package and then Ellis still cannot remember what happened after that. The large gathering of distant relations dispersed, Ellis and his parents drove home, they didn’t talk much. Ellis didn’t have the package anymore, or whatever was inside of it. He could not remember what had happened to the package. His parents never asked. He didn’t know what had been in the package. He felt like he didn’t know much of anything anymore.
Three days after opening the package, the headaches started. Four days after that he started to see and hear and smell and taste and feel the Conveyance. It started slow at first, little flickers at the corners of his eyes, sub voce sounds he could only hear when he plugged his ears and concentrated, subtle flavors that made him wish unconsciously for a mint. But the sensations have grown in magnitude over the last several months. He went to a doctor for the headaches, the doctor posited a dietary imbalance. Ellis did not mention the other sensations. He hasn’t told anyone about them. He hoped they would go away. They have not. They have grown stronger. Ellis world is no longer mundane. He’s starting to wish it still was.Done made some of them there edits and such.
Made a guy. Hope you like him. He and people should be friends.
Name: Orion Ellis
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Personality: Cool is probably the best word to describe Ellis. No necessarily in the positive social adjective, though it often translates to peoples' opinion. Regardless of how others take it, however, Ellis is always cool. He seems to act with ease regardless of circumstance, always centered, always certain. Even in his most passionate moments, Ellis projects a sense of unerring poise and commitment. Of course, this does not always translate to his internal disposition and humor. In fact, Ellis takes considerable and increasing pains to project the image that he is painless, while the vagaries of the Conveyance eat away at his sense of reality and self and cast him adrift into what he is growing to fear might be most accurately be described as insanity.
Appearance: Ellis is a typical youth in many respects, preoccupied with his own sense of style while still conforming to the predilections of a particular subculture, in his case, Ellis exemplifies the archetype of the black, nerdy, hipster, with hand me down jeans, ironic t-shirts, and an aloof sensibility. Here is him trying to look cool.
Tether: Ellis’ mind is impregnated with a fragment of the Conveyance, the, or at least a, language of creation. The single note of phoneme has opened his understanding to truths beyond the mundane banality of reality, enabling him to perceive the supernatural with clarity in spite of his lack of natural talent. It also causes him unpleasant headaches.
Ability: Ellis’ connection with the Conveyance has allowed, or perhaps more accurately, forced him to perceive the underlying language of reality, able to see the interconnected code of existence. Consequently, Ellis is privy to information about the world around him that he otherwise could not, or should not be able to know, both mundane and supernal.
Unfortunately, the ability to perceive this information, which slithers into his mind unbidden, presented as notions of symbols alien to all human language, strange colors that cannot be seen by the human eye, and other more esoteric media still, is almost impossible for Ellis’ to translate into any meaningful way. He may know that the old grocer at the locale supermarket puts him in the mind of a strange, vaguely goose shaped symbol and a shade of red that seems more emblematic of blood than the color of blood in the real world, but Ellis has no idea what any of it means. Ellis has begun to understand some of the eldritch information that bombards him, some repetition of forms that he has come to denote the concept of feelings of anger, the strange keening tones that seem to emanate from locked doors and windows, but practical use of most of this information eludes him.
Furthermore, the information presented to Ellis is distracting, his performance in school, on the practice field, and other areas has dropped as he tries to cope with the unbidden knowledge bombarding him at all time. If anything this interference is becoming more difficult for Ellis to cope with, a prospect that frightens him deeply.
Talents: In spite of his nerdy mein, Ellis is remarkably athletic. He enjoys skateboarding and soccer in particular, as well as his more extraordinary extracurriculars, and benefits from a certain degree of natural talent, all of which adds up to a degree of speed, strength, and stamina that exceeds the average lackadaisical teenager.
Ellis is well read, he enjoys his studies and has a deep fascination for the world around him. This plurality of interest, however, does not lend itself to intense focus upon a singular subject giving Ellis a broad, but sometimes shallow knowledge base. The only thing that Ellis is very well versed in is the occult legends, urban myths, and supernatural folklore of the mortal world. How accurate any of this information is, however, is suspect when presented to one privy to true supernatural perspectives.
Ellis has a very nice voice, an agreeable enough personality, and an inoffensive appearance. Ellis has found that most people seem to like him and trust what he has to say, willing to listen to him and take his side on a multitude of issues more often than he, frankly, thinks that they rightly should. Ellis is a terrible liar. Also he can play the double bass, cornet, and sing rather well.
Recent history: Ellis has always been a pretty normal kid, painfully so, in his opinion. His parents were always decent and divorced. His life was filled with the normal, subjectively spectacular experiences of most children. He never wanted for much nor was given any great advantage or luxury. The only thing about Ellis that was really atypical was his dissatisfaction with how typical his life seemed. Since as long as he could remember, Ellis has been fascinated with stories of the strange and the occult. Not particularly stories of fantasy, but rather, those tales, often dark, of where the supernatural ran abreast of mundane reality. Ghost stories, surrealist literature, paranormal conspiracies all fascinated a young Orion Ellis and that obsession continued long into the approach towards adulthood. His mother thought he would grow into a troubled teenager, painting his fingernails black, listening to angry music she didn’t understand, but he never did. His father worried that he might become a social outcast and unable to relate to his peers, but Ellis always got along alright. It wasn’t a fashion of lifestyle that Ellis was interested in, it was the purity of the ideas.
Ellis’ great grandfather always encouraged his interests, always finding some obscure tome of early american mythology, unpublished manuscript compilations of H.P. Lovecraft, curious little trinkets attached to some odd little traditions of Maine superstition, which he would give to Ellis when the family would annually visit. Ellis always loved visiting his grandfather. The old man was himself like the gifts he gave, old, mysterious, and just close enough to the uncanny that Ellis always had the sinking suspicion that the venerable ancient knew more than he would ever reveal. Almost a year ago, however, Ellis’ grandfather died unexpectedly, Ellis was heartbroken. Family came from all over North America for the funeral. Most came out of simple affection and familial obligation, though it didn’t hurt that Ellis’ grandfather was quite wealthy. This too was surprising, for as far as Ellis had ever known, the old man had lived alone in a small cabin in the northern reaches of Maine, almost anachronistic in it’s ausere and frugal accoutrements. But apparently the man owned a great deal of property, including vast stretches of the Maine wilderness. As the family worked out the will and details of dividing up the man’s possessions, Ellis found himself bequeathed a portion of the man’s property equal to that given to the other great grandchildren, but also a small package set aside shortly before the old man’s demise.
Ellis doesn’t remember much after that. He had opened the small, brown paper package in the bathroom of the hotel the family was staying at, while his parents socialized with the rest of the relations in the reception room rented for the wake. The package had been small, squarish, almost like a book, but it was heavier than a book, and he remembered thinking that he felt like more than one object, bound together tightly by the paper and the thin string it was tied together with. He had opened the package and then Ellis still cannot remember what happened after that. The large gathering of distant relations dispersed, Ellis and his parents drove home, they didn’t talk much. Ellis didn’t have the package anymore, or whatever was inside of it. He could not remember what had happened to the package. His parents never asked. He didn’t know what had been in the package. He felt like he didn’t know much of anything anymore.
Three days after opening the package, the headaches started. Four days after that he started to see and hear and smell and taste and feel the Conveyance. It started slow at first, little flickers at the corners of his eyes, sub voce sounds he could only hear when he plugged his ears and concentrated, subtle flavors that made him wish unconsciously for a mint. But the sensations have grown in magnitude over the last several months. He went to a doctor for the headaches, the doctor posited a dietary imbalance. Ellis did not mention the other sensations. He hasn’t told anyone about them. He hoped they would go away. They have not. They have grown stronger. Ellis world is no longer mundane. He’s starting to wish it still was.
Tether: Ellis’ mind is impregnated with a fragment of the Conveyance, the, or at least a, language of creation. The single note of phoneme has opened his understanding to truths beyond the mundane banality of reality, enabling him to perceive the supernatural with clarity in spite of his lack of natural talent. It also causes him unpleasant headaches.
Ability: Ellis’ connection with the Conveyance has allowed, or perhaps more accurately, forced him to perceive the underlying language of reality, able to see the interconnected code of existence. Consequently, Ellis is privy to information about the world around him that he otherwise could not, or should not be able to know, both mundane and supernal.
Unfortunately, the ability to perceive this information, which slithers into his mind unbidden, presented as notions of symbols alien to all human language, strange colors that cannot be seen by the human eye, and other more esoteric media still, is almost impossible for Ellis’ to translate into any meaningful way. He may know that the old grocer at the locale supermarket puts him in the mind of a strange, vaguely goose shaped symbol and a shade of red that seems more emblematic of blood than the color of blood in the real world, but Ellis has no idea what any of it means. Ellis has begun to understand some of the eldritch information that bombards him, some repetition of forms that he has come to denote the concept of feelings of anger, the strange keening tones that seem to emanate from locked doors and windows, but practical use of most of this information eludes him.
Furthermore, the information presented to Ellis is distracting, his performance in school, on the practice field, and other areas has dropped as he tries to cope with the unbidden knowledge bombarding him at all time. If anything this interference is becoming more difficult for Ellis to cope with, a prospect that frightens him deeply.
Talents: In spite of his nerdy mein, Ellis is remarkably athletic. He enjoys skateboarding and soccer in particular, as well as his more extraordinary extracurriculars, and benefits from a certain degree of natural talent, all of which adds up to a degree of speed, strength, and stamina that exceeds the average lackadaisical teenager.
Ellis is well read, he enjoys his studies and has a deep fascination for the world around him. This plurality of interest, however, does not lend itself to intense focus upon a singular subject giving Ellis a broad, but sometimes shallow knowledge base. The only thing that Ellis is very well versed in is the occult legends, urban myths, and supernatural folklore of the mortal world. How accurate any of this information is, however, is suspect when presented to one privy to true supernatural perspectives.
Ellis has a very nice voice, an agreeable enough personality, and an inoffensive appearance. Ellis has found that most people seem to like him and trust what he has to say, willing to listen to him and take his side on a multitude of issues more often than he, frankly, thinks that they rightly should. Ellis is a terrible liar. Also he can play the double bass, cornet, and sing rather well.
Recent history: Ellis has always been a pretty normal kid, painfully so, in his opinion. His parents were always decent and divorced. His life was filled with the normal, subjectively spectacular experiences of most children. He never wanted for much nor was given any great advantage or luxury. The only thing about Ellis that was really atypical was his dissatisfaction with how typical his life seemed. Since as long as he could remember, Ellis has been fascinated with stories of the strange and the occult. Not particularly stories of fantasy, but rather, those tales, often dark, of where the supernatural ran abreast of mundane reality. Ghost stories, surrealist literature, paranormal conspiracies all fascinated a young Orion Ellis and that obsession continued long into the approach towards adulthood. His mother thought he would grow into a troubled teenager, painting his fingernails black, listening to angry music she didn’t understand, but he never did. His father worried that he might become a social outcast and unable to relate to his peers, but Ellis always got along alright. It wasn’t a fashion of lifestyle that Ellis was interested in, it was the purity of the ideas.
Ellis’ great grandfather always encouraged his interests, always finding some obscure tome of early american mythology, unpublished manuscript compilations of H.P. Lovecraft, curious little trinkets attached to some odd little traditions of Maine superstition, which he would give to Ellis when the family would annually visit. Ellis always loved visiting his grandfather. The old man was himself like the gifts he gave, old, mysterious, and just close enough to the uncanny that Ellis always had the sinking suspicion that the venerable ancient knew more than he would ever reveal. Almost a year ago, however, Ellis’ grandfather died unexpectedly, Ellis was heartbroken. Family came from all over North America for the funeral. Most came out of simple affection and familial obligation, though it didn’t hurt that Ellis’ grandfather was quite wealthy. This too was surprising, for as far as Ellis had ever known, the old man had lived alone in a small cabin in the northern reaches of Maine, almost anachronistic in it’s ausere and frugal accoutrements. But apparently the man owned a great deal of property, including vast stretches of the Maine wilderness. As the family worked out the will and details of dividing up the man’s possessions, Ellis found himself bequeathed a portion of the man’s property equal to that given to the other great grandchildren, but also a small package set aside shortly before the old man’s demise.
Ellis doesn’t remember much after that. He had opened the small, brown paper package in the bathroom of the hotel the family was staying at, while his parents socialized with the rest of the relations in the reception room rented for the wake. The package had been small, squarish, almost like a book, but it was heavier than a book, and he remembered thinking that he felt like more than one object, bound together tightly by the paper and the thin string it was tied together with. He had opened the package and then Ellis still cannot remember what happened after that. The large gathering of distant relations dispersed, Ellis and his parents drove home, they didn’t talk much. Ellis didn’t have the package anymore, or whatever was inside of it. He could not remember what had happened to the package. His parents never asked. He didn’t know what had been in the package. He felt like he didn’t know much of anything anymore.
Three days after opening the package, the headaches started. Four days after that he started to see and hear and smell and taste and feel the Conveyance. It started slow at first, little flickers at the corners of his eyes, sub voce sounds he could only hear when he plugged his ears and concentrated, subtle flavors that made him wish unconsciously for a mint. But the sensations have grown in magnitude over the last several months. He went to a doctor for the headaches, the doctor posited a dietary imbalance. Ellis did not mention the other sensations. He hasn’t told anyone about them. He hoped they would go away. They have not. They have grown stronger. Ellis world is no longer mundane. He’s starting to wish it still was.
Feast and Famine
Remi struck like tragedy. Simple. Tragedy usually wasn't complex. It was a little thing; a clot that doesn't flow, brake pads that are just a little too worn, fear and a little bit of lead. Unexpectedly. A tragedy rarely heralds itself with pomp and circumstance. It comes over telephone wire and lettertype as easily as take-out orders and bank statements. With a force. Tragedy could hurt in a manner and with a depth that could break you in ways you didn't know possible.
Remi struck like tragedy. The beast never saw him coming. Maybe it was the way he smelled. The taste of him. He could not tell. His senses were filled with the essence of these xenomorphs. Much of him cloaked in their lifesblood. Perhaps it was merely distracted by the spirits he could taste coming off of Roy. It also couldn't have good peripheral vision given its ocular placement. Whatever the reason, the beast never saw him coming. He hit the Prime dead in it's flank, his shoulder driving into it's gelatinous mass. The force of his impact rippled across the flesh of the beast, resounding like a thunder crack. More importantly, it nearly overturned the beast. It reeled, leg spines scrabbling at the air as it experienced a rare change in balance. Remi dropped to the ground before it could right itself, rushing beneath the xeno. There was no part of Remiel's training that dictated or advised him on how to engage these types of Xeno in unarmed combat, so what followed, Remi had to make up himself.
Remi grabbed two of the leg spines as the beast righted itself. Twisting them torturously inward in a way that would break the bones, if this beast had anything resembling a skeleton that connected them. Driving the spine in and up he punched them into the relative softness of the beasts underbelly. Skewering it with its own weight on its own limbs. The beast undulated in pain, Remi could feel it's musculature writhing, trying to retract in on itself and escape the pain and hurt he was inflicting on it. Remi had no intention of giving it the chance. With a snarl he levered the bulk of the beast into the air. His arms burned, not from the strain of muscle, but from the pressure of the Spectators stampeding through his veins. They were panicked and mobbing. He fed the beasts pain into them. His own pain. All the rage of emotion that he drank from the air with such thirst. His arms extended upwards, and for an instant, the massive xeno was dead-lifted above Remi's head, writhing in pain and anger and confusion. Remi's fingers dug into the gouges he's bored, rending the creatures skin, ripping at the bleeding flesh within, more of the creatures ichor pouring over his straining shoulders and puddling beneath him. Remi's arms shuddered with effort, he hadn't strength enough to maintain his grip on the beast. He turned and hurled the xeno across the field, the leviathan tumbling over end crushing more of it's lesser brood under it's bulk, clothing it's surface as much as Remi in the blood of it's kind before crashing into another of it's kin with a wet smack. Remi's arms dropped limb before him, his back hunched with effort. His breath came fast and ragged. Remi slowly straightened, he brought his breathing under control.
He drew the back of his arm across his sweating brow, succeeding only in smearing more of the alien ichor over his forehead. He was suffused with the beasts' essence. He could feel it seeping into him, swirling into the hole at the bottom of his being. But even drowning in the xenos' spiritual flotsam, Remi could taste more in the air than the beasts. He could taste Aaron, his confidence to the point of arrogance, masking so much turmoil. He could taste Magdalena, the searing coals of pain in her that she tried to smother with purpose. He could taste Kim, his dicotomous, alchemical schizophrenia of a mind. He could taste Roy, his spirit fractured with lose and glued with fatalistic frenzy. He could taste Olivia, her desperation to stay aloft the chaos and mayhem. He could taste Emily, filled with a fire that forged her thoughts to glass. He could taste himself, a mouthful of the keenest spice of all. Hunger.
Just a taste. Not enough to know. Not enough to savor. He tasted words in his mouth. Words had had not heard but jogged in his throat. Remi turned to Royce.
"Roy my boy!" His arm flashing outwards, extending to the massed bodies of the xenomorphs, living or otherwise. "We have such a cornucopia of a feast prepared for us! You can't be full after just one bite!" Remi's breath shuddered again, he seemed to be breathing in more than he ever breathed out. His eyes seemed to suck in the light. He licked the blood off of his bottom lip. He looked feverish and the air seemed to have dropped a couple degrees.
Remi smiled in a way that looked like he was about to go for someone's throat.
Emily dyes her hair! How scandalous, Remi wants nothing to do with her now.
[b]A lie, A loss[\b]
[ii]QQ(/i)
Remi-mad: How could you Emi-bearopolis! I trusted you! How could you do this to me!
Emi-liar: I- I just thought it looked cute! Why is this such a big de-
Remi-crazy: It does look cute! How can I ever trust anything cute again! *picks up a basket of puppies*
I bet these aren't even real puppies! They're probably poisonous, horned toads!
*Throws basket of puppies over the edge of the skyscraper they are standing on the roof of*
Emi-sad: Nooo!!! My collection of poisonous, horned toads disguised as puppies! *cries*
Remi-sad: Do you see Emi-bangersandmashbananaboatbear! Do you see what you make me do! *cries*
...I told you it would all end in tears.
[b]A lie, A loss[\b]
[ii]QQ(/i)
Remi-mad: How could you Emi-bearopolis! I trusted you! How could you do this to me!
Emi-liar: I- I just thought it looked cute! Why is this such a big de-
Remi-crazy: It does look cute! How can I ever trust anything cute again! *picks up a basket of puppies*
I bet these aren't even real puppies! They're probably poisonous, horned toads!
*Throws basket of puppies over the edge of the skyscraper they are standing on the roof of*
Emi-sad: Nooo!!! My collection of poisonous, horned toads disguised as puppies! *cries*
Remi-sad: Do you see Emi-bangersandmashbananaboatbear! Do you see what you make me do! *cries*
...I told you it would all end in tears.
So here we come to the big reveal. I expect some of the choices might seem obvious to some of you. Others might seem more obtuse. What follows is a list of each character, their song selection, and then, as an added twist, a tentative scene title for the moment in the character's life over which the motif would play.
Perhaps I was not clear enough on this prospect, in part intentionally, but not every song is meant to be related to the characters exact moment and method of demise. Rather, each is emblematic of their final ends. Some are meant to be big, dramatic, sacrificial ends, like the man for whom the music minute was named, for others, more low key and introspective, hypothetical moments were inspired.
But I digress, in no particular order...
Boromir Music Lineup
Magdalena, Sizarr - Boarding Time: Smolder
Kimberly, Murder By Death - Lost River: State of Nature
Thael, Florence + The Machine - What The Water Gave Me: The Turn and the Point
Fredrick, The Thermals - How We Fade: Roustabout
Aaron, The Killers - All These Things That I've Done: Karma Red
Royce, Cosmo Jarvis - Love This: The House that Built
Emily, The National - Exile Vilify: Stars and Dust
Samuel, Hot Chip - Boy From School: Casting Off
Jynette, Beirut - Gulag Orkestar: The Carousel
Sophia, Priory - Red Sun: Reflections in Glass
Elizabeth, Woodkid - Iron: A Taste of Copper
Katherine, Modest Mouse - Missed The Boat: Mud in Our Scuffs
Remiel, Bloc Party - The Pioneers: Sun and Sunder
Olivia, Ramona Falls - Proof: Splitting Adam
So there you have it. My playlist for each of the major characters and the jams that accompany them into the obfuscation.
The new game, if you choose to play it, is to try and suss out what I was thinking for each character's scene. Remember that not every scene is necessarily the moment of the character's demise, just reflective of their ends.
Then, with your permissions, I may eventually get around to trying to write the little vignettes eventually.
Anyway, that's all I got for now.
Post forthcoming.
Perhaps I was not clear enough on this prospect, in part intentionally, but not every song is meant to be related to the characters exact moment and method of demise. Rather, each is emblematic of their final ends. Some are meant to be big, dramatic, sacrificial ends, like the man for whom the music minute was named, for others, more low key and introspective, hypothetical moments were inspired.
But I digress, in no particular order...
Boromir Music Lineup
Magdalena, Sizarr - Boarding Time: Smolder
Kimberly, Murder By Death - Lost River: State of Nature
Thael, Florence + The Machine - What The Water Gave Me: The Turn and the Point
Fredrick, The Thermals - How We Fade: Roustabout
Aaron, The Killers - All These Things That I've Done: Karma Red
Royce, Cosmo Jarvis - Love This: The House that Built
Emily, The National - Exile Vilify: Stars and Dust
Samuel, Hot Chip - Boy From School: Casting Off
Jynette, Beirut - Gulag Orkestar: The Carousel
Sophia, Priory - Red Sun: Reflections in Glass
Elizabeth, Woodkid - Iron: A Taste of Copper
Katherine, Modest Mouse - Missed The Boat: Mud in Our Scuffs
Remiel, Bloc Party - The Pioneers: Sun and Sunder
Olivia, Ramona Falls - Proof: Splitting Adam
So there you have it. My playlist for each of the major characters and the jams that accompany them into the obfuscation.
The new game, if you choose to play it, is to try and suss out what I was thinking for each character's scene. Remember that not every scene is necessarily the moment of the character's demise, just reflective of their ends.
Then, with your permissions, I may eventually get around to trying to write the little vignettes eventually.
Anyway, that's all I got for now.
Post forthcoming.
Oh god yes, Kate Beckinsale is unreasonably attractive, and I'm not one who usually has a thing for accents, but damn does she not rock the sexy, British intonations.
I like Matt Damon too, he's like a big cuddly teddy bear.
But back to why anyone cares at all when I post right? Boromir.
I had this last song picked out as one of the first but the more and more I try to settle on it, the harder it is. So, instead...
Boromir Song Challenge
Go to the link, listen to a bunch of Ramona Falls songs, and when you're done, tell me which one you like best for the final funky funerary melody.
Then. at long last, I can reveal who the songs were picked for, and eventually get around to how each one goes down in the cavernous chasm that is my brainspace.
And just for fun,
Some More Remi Facts:
Remi takes heavily after his father in looks, who is of this world's equivalent of being of Ashkenazi decent. His mother is from this world's equivalent of Peru, though she is ethnically of mostly Chinese decent.
They met when Remi's father, Albert, was in the Peru-equivalent for some post-doctoral linguistic anthropological work. One of Albert's local friends, after work, told him about and took him to the home of Remi's mother, Marisa, who ran a small eatery out of the first floor. Remi was enamored with the food, and. as he eventually became a regular customer, the woman. They grew close and when Albert returned to his homeland, Marisa came with him.
By the time Remi was born, his father was out of academia, making his living as a freelance translator in the town (wherever these wacky kids grew up) they lived in, while his mother owned her owned a small restaurant that was low-key but of international renown. She was in the process of finding a publisher for her first cookbook when the great cataclysm occurred.
His parents both were eager to share their vocational loves with Remi which lead to his fondness for cooking as well as the fact that Remi is a polyglot. At Oakridge he continued his linguistic education as an academic merit. He is fluent in the equivalents of English, Hebrew (reading only), Spanish, and Cantonese as well as being well-practiced but not entirely fluent in German and French, while knowing a smattering of Yiddish, Quechua, and Yoruba.
Remi was not actually raised to be particularly religious. In spite of that, or, indeed, perhaps because of it, he is quietly spiritual, and come to be of a Reform Judaism denomination. He does not advertise his faith, though some of his friends are probably aware. He is currently non-practicing.
Remi's middle name is Javier, after his maternal grandfather. His second middle name, Anthony, is after a movie character his parents liked.
I like Matt Damon too, he's like a big cuddly teddy bear.
But back to why anyone cares at all when I post right? Boromir.
I had this last song picked out as one of the first but the more and more I try to settle on it, the harder it is. So, instead...
Boromir Song Challenge
Go to the link, listen to a bunch of Ramona Falls songs, and when you're done, tell me which one you like best for the final funky funerary melody.
Then. at long last, I can reveal who the songs were picked for, and eventually get around to how each one goes down in the cavernous chasm that is my brainspace.
And just for fun,
Some More Remi Facts:
Remi takes heavily after his father in looks, who is of this world's equivalent of being of Ashkenazi decent. His mother is from this world's equivalent of Peru, though she is ethnically of mostly Chinese decent.
They met when Remi's father, Albert, was in the Peru-equivalent for some post-doctoral linguistic anthropological work. One of Albert's local friends, after work, told him about and took him to the home of Remi's mother, Marisa, who ran a small eatery out of the first floor. Remi was enamored with the food, and. as he eventually became a regular customer, the woman. They grew close and when Albert returned to his homeland, Marisa came with him.
By the time Remi was born, his father was out of academia, making his living as a freelance translator in the town (wherever these wacky kids grew up) they lived in, while his mother owned her owned a small restaurant that was low-key but of international renown. She was in the process of finding a publisher for her first cookbook when the great cataclysm occurred.
His parents both were eager to share their vocational loves with Remi which lead to his fondness for cooking as well as the fact that Remi is a polyglot. At Oakridge he continued his linguistic education as an academic merit. He is fluent in the equivalents of English, Hebrew (reading only), Spanish, and Cantonese as well as being well-practiced but not entirely fluent in German and French, while knowing a smattering of Yiddish, Quechua, and Yoruba.
Remi was not actually raised to be particularly religious. In spite of that, or, indeed, perhaps because of it, he is quietly spiritual, and come to be of a Reform Judaism denomination. He does not advertise his faith, though some of his friends are probably aware. He is currently non-practicing.
Remi's middle name is Javier, after his maternal grandfather. His second middle name, Anthony, is after a movie character his parents liked.
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