Despite his mother's best efforts, nothing could have prepared Leonid for his first day at the Officers Academy. The moment he finally beheld the Irinduil Monastery up close, neck craning as his gaze traced its highest towers all the way to heavens, he was hit with the sheer impossibility of his mission. Sure, he'd managed to fool commoners and lesser nobles with his noble act well enough, and no doubt convinced a spy or two without even knowing it, but to pretend on holy ground, under the watchful eye of Yhirel - of God?
Afraid the weight of his fear might send him tumbling down the mountain path he'd just emerged from, Leon tried to remind himself that he did not believe in God, and that if Yhirel did not exist, he could not bust his cover.
The other nobles around him could, though, and that thought was only marginally less terrifying.
Come the introductory speech, Leon was still reeling. He'd picked a spot near the back, where he could see but not be seen, especially by the man giving the speech. Archbishop Augustine was disturbing. Not the way a starving rat eating another, equally starving rat was, but in an inhuman, otherworldly way. The man's face was too perfect, movement too fluid. At any point, if he were to just stop moving, he could have made for a fine marble statue.
Leon shifted his weight, gaze wandering the Monastery's walls in search for best places to scale it. You know, if need be.
By the time the speech was finally over, Leon had found twelve potential climbing spots, abandoned three of them, and almost tested out two. He'd also been reminded of his inability to remember names; a lack that had hardly been a bother on the streets, but turned out quite a handicap in his new home. He remembered the names of the Archbishop and the Princess at least, the latter who he'd only realized was present when her name was called. Was that really what she looked like? She wasn't anything like he'd imagined! Why didn't she look like she was made out of marble too? And who let her be that tall? And-- why was she his house leader of all things!?
The campus tour was a welcome break, up until Leonid realized who their guide was. Cursing their absent professor - whose name he had either not caught or been told - he settled to once again walking towards the back and keeping his gaze away from the Archbishop. It was easy enough a task; he was genuinely invested in trying to remember each and every area pointed out to him.
Leon was busily wondering if any of the plants in the garden were poisonous (doubtful) - and whether they could be made so with the right mixture of ingredients (possible), when the loud voice of one of his housemate's created a ripple among the Scarlet Foxes. One by one, they each piped up, first to - and Leon couldn't believe his ears - mess with the Princess of Galbia, and then to introduce themselves.
Did-- did nobles just do that? Mess with actual royalty? ... Huh. Maybe he could actually blend in better than he thought. Besides, some of the others were decidedly not nobility either, and as long as he stuck close enough to them for comparisons to be made, he'd be fine. Probably.
... Had that one girl been about to eat a flower, or was it just him?
Leon hadn't yet shaken the thought, when a man called Alphonse approached the flowerbed to let his pet - a wyvern? Albeit a tiny one - have a go at the nectar. Hm. The Sylmare heir's gaze travelled between the lizard and the blue-haired girl, and suddenly he felt the urge to figure out whether he'd misjudged the look in her eyes, or she really was thinking about gobbling a flower.
"Little fella's got good taste," Leon grinned as he leaned closer to the two, nodding his head towards the flower the wyvern was currently occupied with. "That right there's called the Vermilion Delight. Surprised they got it in abundance here, heard it's a real delicacy in some parts of the world. Supposedly puts honey to shame, and turns water into a treat with just a drop."
If anyone actually in the know heard him, they'd know it was all horseshit, of course. So, just in case, Leon raised his shoulders into a shrug and added a pre-emptive: "Or so I've been told."
Fellwing had been on the fence on whether she was glad Stargaze followed her or not, but she offered no such courtesy to the other three. Their presence, once she noticed it, was decidedly unwelcome. Why could they not go after Skobeloff? He was the one who wanted reinforcements in the first place!
"Do as you wish," Fellwing replied to Kyte, curt but not quite unkind, as she stared at another row of trees - that didn't much differ from the previous row. Flying... would make things easier, she supposed. "Look for the tallest trees, near the island's center."
Fellwing wasn't sure whether anyone would follow, and couldn't decide whether she was happy or disappointed that someone did. With a sigh that heaved her entire body, she glanced over her shoulder but did not chance slowing down. Upon seeing Stargaze, she gave a nod to signal she'd seen the white drake, then focused her sights back to the path ahead. It took all the mental prowess she had to try and navigate according to a vision that was already fading from memory, especially when the path she'd taken then had been a bird's. She couldn't wait to be able to fly in earnest.
"Is it not?" Fellwing retorted, distracted, as she tried to parse both her friend's question and the road. Even in her agitated state, she tried to watch her tone with the Orphan, if only a little. "He's older and wiser than us. There must be some merit to his words." She didn't sound entirely earnest, her disdain towards the older dragon audible in her tone. As Stargaze continued, Fellwing glanced at her from the corner of her eye, one brow furrowed, one quirked in curiosity.
"Tales of working together? Such as?" She tried to think, though not very hard; her head was too full of things already, and all she could remember were the tales told by her housemates - which certainly didn't involve cooperation. "Stargaze, we've no time for tales now. There should be a crooked tree somewhere here, nearby, and I know we need to take a left from it. We're drawing closer to danger by the minute. I'm fine, so please do make sure you are, as well. Watch out for yourself first."
Location: TIME Agency Hit Points: 12 | Sanity: 60 | Luck: 45 Mental State: Sane | Skill: n/a
Of all the vices, Alessa ranked tardiness among the worst.
Not the worst, certainly; she'd seen people commit enough heinous acts in her lifetime to know humans were capable of far worse things than showing up a few minutes late, but time was a precious thing and robbing others of it was indeed foul. In her line of work, a delay of even a minute could be the difference between life and death.
She doubted being delayed from a meeting with Mr. Peacock was a matter of life and death at this stage, but that didn't make her frustration any more palatable. Missing cases were time sensitive matters too, though considering the person in question was a man rich enough for her to remember his name, he must've either disappeared of his own volition, or be beyond saving. She knew how the families operated, after all, a little more intimately than she would have liked.
Still, if the meeting had already been held and the investigation started, Alessa knew they others wouldn't be missing much in her. Her expertise didn't lay in finding people as such, but rather ensuring their well-being after they were found or, come cases where madness was suspected, what caused it. Sometimes, she mostly just figured out the cause of death. Those were her least favourite cases.
The click of Alessa's heels picked up pace, to a point that people started giving her way. She was determined as a train, unmovable from her trajectory - until, very much unlike a train, she came to a sudden stop. The front door of TIME stood before her, faster than she'd expected. Alessa adjusted the bag on her shoulder, drew in a breath so as not to pant, then reached for the door, just as it swung open.
Behind it, she found familiar faces and the tail end of a conversation.
"Pardon me," for the interruption and the tardiness, though she didn't specify such out loud. "There was an urgent matter that kept me." Her brows furrowed at the memory. And here she'd thought she would have gotten some peace and quiet in her temporary Arkham residence. Word of illicit medical services travelled fast, it seemed.
"I'm more than happy to drive a part of the way to... well, wherever we might be heading. Though not without coffee, if the drive is to be long. And we all certainly know the importance of regular meals, do we not?" She took on a tone that made mockery of a lecture, then continued with a smile, holding open the door. "Do tell what I missed on the way."
Name: Alessa Bianchi Aliases: Lea, Ally, Allie Age: 25 Gender: Female Birthplace: Naples, Kingdom of Italy Residence: Boston Occupation: Nurse
Appearance and Physical attributes
⊰Strength⊱ 35
⊰Constitution⊱ 40
⊰Size⊱ 55
⊰Dexterity⊱ 60
⊰Appearance⊱ 55
⊰Hit Points⊱ 9
Physical description Height: 5'4'' Weight: One should never ask a lady that question Build: Average, some definition in her arms Eyes: Brown Hair: Dark chestnut brown Skin Tone: Fair Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A scar running across her left arm, seems to have been made by something sharp Personal Style: Classy, modest and feminine when given the choice, whatever best fits the occasion otherwise. Though she's a very clean person, she's notably not shaken by blood, dirt or grime. Saving lives can be messy, and dirty clothes can always be washed.
Sexuality: Bisexual, though unaware and closeted Relationship Status: Divorced
Personality: First impressions paint Alessa an ideal woman of her time; soft spoken and polite, dressed modestly, willing to engage in small talk and laugh at unfunny jokes to save another's face. However, the more time one spends with her, the easier it is to see that she's not quite as demure as one might expect. The first hint is her tendency to maintain eye contact to a relentless degree, particularly if a topic interests her. And while she doesn't need to be part of every decision made, she's also not afraid to share her opinion when she has one - especially pertaining to politics or medical care. She doesn't shy away from debates or disagreements, either; in fact, she relishes in them, and isn't above banter. You will not, however, ever catch her raising her voice or retorting to insults. She believes that in the battle of wits, the one to shout is the one to lose.
Alessa has dedicated her life to medicine, wishing not only to study and apply it, but be there to bring it forward in leaps, particularly when it comes to mental health. She's ambitious and stubborn, far more interested in helping people than upholding laws, rules or regulations that serve to hurt them, and she will never turn down someone needing her aid - often at the cost of her own well-being, even. She dislikes violence, even in self-defense, and is far more likely to talk and reason herself out of a difficult situation than anything else. This, despite been gifted a gun by her father's old associates. With that said, she doesn't have a death wish, and she is not one to roll over and die if push does ever come to shove again.
Habits:
Speaks very fast when agitated
Looks people in the eye when talking
Tends to talk with her hands to a distracting degree - to counteract this, she tries to purposefully keep her hands to herself as much as possible, often folded
Hobbies: Reading, jogging, swimming Greatest fear: Hurting someone in her care - e.g. a patient Likes:
Reading
Swimming
Strong coffee
Rain
Homemade food
Learning
Sewing
Debates
Dislikes:
Being talked down to
Violence
Tardiness
Alcohol
Big dogs
Lack of hygiene
Being idle
Prejudice
Cards On The Table
Skills
Accounting - 05%
Anthropology - 01%
Appraise - 05%
Archaeology - 01%
Art/Craft - 05%
Charm - 15%
Climb - 20%
Credit rating - 9%
Cthulhu Mythos - 00%
Disguise - 05%
Dodge - 65%
Drive auto - 20%
Electrical Repair - 10%
Fast Talk - 05%
Fighting (Brawl): Knives - 31%
Firearms (Handgun) - 20%
Firearms (Rifle/Shotgun) - 25%
First Aid - 70%
History - 05%
Intimidate - 15%
Jump - 20%
Language (Other): Italian - 25%
Language (Own) - 65%
Law - 05%
Library Use - 20%
Listen - 40%
Locksmith - 01%
Mechanical Repair - 10%
Medicine - 70%
Natural World - 10%
Navigate - 10%
Occult - 05%
Operate Heavy Machinery - 01%
Persuade - 55%
Pilot - 01%
Psychology - 65%
Psychoanalysis - 65%
Ride - 05%
Science: Biology - 20%
Sleight of hand - 10%
Spot Hidden - 50%
Stealth - 20%
Survival - 10%
Swim - 35%
Track - 10%
Weapons and Combat
Damage Bonus: +0 Build: +0 Dodge: 65
Weapons:
Unarmed: 31 - 6 - Damage (1d3) - Range (N/A) - Attacks (1) - Ammo (N/A) - Malfunction (N/A)
Scalpel: 31 - 6 - Damage (1d4) - Range (N/A) - Attacks (1) - Ammo (N/A) - Malfunction (N/A)
Syringe: 31 - 6 - Damage (1d4) - Range (N/A) - Attacks (1) - Ammo (N/A) - Malfunction (N/A)
What Is On Your Person:
Clothing - dress, heels, gloves, hat, undergarments, socks
Wallet with US cash, ID, small mirror, make up, notebook and pen
First aid kit - with its usual contents
Surgical tools - syringes, gauze, scalpel, etc. though she doesn't advertise them.
Medication - pain killers, relaxants, sedatives, etc. ditto the above, she should not be walking around with this after all
Jewelry - earrings and a necklace
Book on the anatomy of the human brain
Sewing kit
An old, worn postcard
Address book
Residence:
Research papers
Medical books
A stack of postcards and letters
.32 Revolver - which she has never used
Ammo for the above
Bicycle
Research papers on the topic of mental health
Spare medical supplies
Fancy Italian wine she was gifted years ago
A lot of house plants
History
What brought you to the detective agency, and why are you still there: Alessa has never fancied herself a detective, but it was the talk of unexplained bouts of madness and strange behaviour that caught her interest - both professionally, in her pursuit to understand the human mind, and personally, to perhaps finally find out what happened to her father.
Life before current day: Though Alessa was born in Naples, she has no memories of the city. She was but a toddler when her parents uprooted their family and moved across the world to the United States in search for a better life. They were faced with many new opportunities, but also many new challenges, and in the end her father ended up partaking in some less-than-legal activities to help support their new lifestyle. Growing up, Alessa was unaware of such things, and her parents liked to keep it that way. Her father's work, both the legal and illegal ones, necessitated travel, and so he was away for long periods of time. Despite that, Alessa was always her father's girl, and loved nothing more than to see him come home with gifts, stories and hugs in tow.
From a very young age, Alessa was always interested in medicine, so becoming a nurse was her third dream, after becoming a princess and then a model. By the time she was a teenager, the first two were all but forgotten. But it wasn't until a few years ago in fact, that she became interested in mental health in particular. It started with her father's sudden disappearance. He was gone for the better part of a week, and once he was finally found, he was acting strange. He claimed he'd seen a monster - and worse yet, it could still see him. It was here, in fact, with him. In his mind. It was during this time that her father's connections to organized crime came to light to her.
No doctor could make sense of what was wrong with him, and the methods they used - though widely accepted - seemed inhumane to Alessa. She watched her father receive no help, and ended up tending to him herself, to the best of her ability. Sadly, it wasn't enough. His mental deterioration was followed by a physical one, and eventually, he withered away. Alessa was overcome by intense grief and regret for her powerlessness, and decided no other patient should ever suffer what he had. She started to study the human mind intensely, challenging many a common-held belief. So ambitious and so outspoken she was in her research, that she ended up angering some big names in the field, and that, combined with lack of funding and the barriers put in place by societal expectations, made applying for medical school impossible.
But she wasn't willing to give up. She wanted to learn more, of medicine, or mental health, and was rigorous in self-study. Eventually, she ended up involved in the world her father once dealt in; organized crime. Or rather, tending to the people involved in such a life, even when no one else would treat them. She didn't condone their actions, but they cared little if she didn't have a license, and needed help besides. She worked as a back-alley doctor for a few years, though not without incident. Most notably, she once had to defend herself from a patient's unruly loved one to the point of needing to fight. What exactly happened is unknown, as she disappeared after, and refuses to speak of the incident even now.
Your belief in/encounters with the supernatural: Though Alessa has not personally encountered anything supernatural, her father used to speak of such things on his sickbed. In fact, his mental troubles began ever since he supposedly saw something not of this world. Alessa knows the things a troubled mind can conjure, but having treated her father for a long time and researched the topic at length, she isn't entirely sure everything he said was mere lunacy...
Ideology/Belief:
"I should let no one else tell me what I can or cannot be."
Significant people: Her mother. Though they often argue and haven't been in touch for a while, they only have each other now. One of these days, Alessa will call her. Meaningful location: Her father's grave in Chicago; she visits when she's able. Treasured possessions: Postcards from Italy, sent by her father and her relatives there.
Extras
Character Quote: "An apple a day might keep the doctor away, but nothing deters a nurse. Now let me see that injury." Theme Song: tbd Anything Else: Alessa is left-handed, but has learnt to use her right one due to necessity.
Duncan went through a lifetime of emotions in what must've been a matter of seconds. First he thought he was going to die, then that he couldn't, and then that he already had. In the struggle that followed his landing, his world shrunk until there was no space for anyone or anything but him and his opponent. First it struggled under him, trashing in his grip, smashing Duncan's guts against his chest so violently he thought they might fly out through his back next. Then he realized he was the one underneath, and that breathing was really fucking difficult.
But at least he was still breathing. And he would keep breathing longer than this goddamn bear. That was all that mattered; he just had to hold on longer than it did. That was the final thought going through his mind, before no more thoughts could form. Instinctively, he opened his mouth into a shout, but it had no room to leave his chest. Everything felt like fire. His nose and mouth were filled with the reek of blood.
The next he knew, the beast had stopped struggling. Duncan's eyes fluttered open, and all he saw was more blood. His face was covered in it - but so was the monster's, its skull broken and bleeding. Duncan craned his neck, head spinning, eyes unable to focus. He saw Asahi, split into three identical faces somewhere at the end of a quickly collapsing tunnel of light. Even in his hazy state, Duncan realized the other had saved him. But by the time that thought made it to his conscious mind, it had already transformed; Asahi had helped him. And goddamn was Duncan glad he had.
The wolfbear was heavy on the athlete's torn torso, but it didn't move. It was dead, and he wasn't. He'd won.
Ever so slowly, Duncan raised his hand, a blood-covered thumb extended in Asahi's general direction. His eyes closed and lips parted to reveal a grin, pools of blood collecting between his teeth.
Took the chance to respond with an (attempt at an) attack, cause Emma herself can't dodge/block and also she'd probs die if she ate like, any attack, oop. Hope that works.
Emma watched with unabashed curiosity as the unicyclist's torso was torn open, blood and chunks of flesh spilling onto the stage in copious amounts. It looked like theater blood to her, a little too bright under the blare of the spotlight. Briefly, she wondered what internal organs the creature had; whether a heart beat in its chest, whether it needed lungs to breathe. At the very least, all it needed to move was its wheel, the screech of it loud and ear-piercing. It sounded like a warning, the whistle of an incoming train, and she was stuck in the middle of the tracks.
Aware of her own limits, Emma knew she wouldn't be able to outrun it if she tried - and neither could her shadowy friend, though it certainly did try. It howled, a sound that echoed from a thousand throats at once, as it tried to chase after the threat. It was no use; the unicyclist was fast, almost impossibly so, and the longer her canine lingered in the light, the more it shrunk. But that was alright. For no matter how fast the elephant-headed man may have been, there was one shadow it could never outrun.
Its own.
In the harsh light of the projector, the shadow the unicyclist cast was long and dark, features stretched almost beyond recognition. Like a snake, it slithered upwards where the floor met the wall.
Emma liked snakes.
And so, the shadow suddenly shifted. Not with the motion of the unicyclist, but with the power of vitas. It peeled itself off the wall and floor, stretched body dangling as its own wheel, startlingly silent, spun fast to carry it towards the original to crash straight into it. Upon impact, the shadow's elongated body would attempt to wrap tightly around the bloodied creature and wrestle it to the floor, to squeeze, to constrict, until nothing was left but blood and guts. The shadow's trunk, attached to its own, elephant-like head, bent unnaturally upwards. The trunk had fangs, a jaw that dislodged, and a forked tongue that slipped out to taste the air with a hiss.
A little ways away, Emma took a few steps back towards the darkness that awaited at the stage's edges.
G'luck with the essay! Gonna also post in the next few days, have had the entirety of the post in my mind for ages, just been caught up with other stuff.
The confrontation with the Unicorns seemed so far away that it might as well have happened on another continent. Every bit of the viera's attention was reserved for the king and his knights. Any one of them could turn out a zealous fool, eager to please his king by opening fire at a perceived dissident. None of them did. Well-behaved, these pups.
The viera could've sworn he caught a threat of a frown on the king's face, though it was gone by the time he spoke. His tone was calm, placating, and in its formality, devoid of sympathy for the fallen. Leifur would have preferred the humanity of a frown, of anger. This... was all so very practiced; flattery and excuses, wrapped up in empty promises, all to say that he had, in fact, been entirely unprepared for the occasion.
The king truly was but a boy - and quick to try and shift responsibility to another, Leifur noted, as Leonhart directed the group's attention to his cousin. The king must've known his trust was a burden most heavy for a knight.
"Keep your guards, we can do without," Leifur spat as he turned to leave, one ear already turned to listen in on the conversation starting a little ways ahead. Something about a leader. Before letting up his glare, however, he added: "I should hope that along with the birds and the bread, what you'll offer us in the morrow is all you've gathered of tonight's attack. Their means, motive, something, anything, before we set out to risk life and limb for your cause."
Were the Valheimians truly so hellbent on stopping anyone from retrieving the Light? Surely one of them must've talked, or at the very least let slip something in a moment of anger or fear. Or so he hoped.
The conversation Leifur arrived to was indeed one of leadership. Izayoi nominated Galahad. More trust, more responsibility, piled onto someone so young - if, so far, capable. But then, looking at their group, they didn't exactly have an abundance of options.
Zeidgram seemed to think otherwise. In a move that raised the viera's brow, the mage nominated Arton. Not the worst choice to be sure, but still a peculiar one. Leifur couldn't imagine it came from an unbiased mind. What was the man planning?
"However fond of him you are, he lacks the experience and authority. A fine soldier does not equal a fine leader," Leifur stated outright, arms crossed upon approach. "This is not a game, mage. You've offered no grounds for your support of him, or for your disdain towards Galahad. And it isn't for a lack of love for words. Whatever happened to the prose?"
He shook his head, certainly not waiting for an answer. "I concur with Izayoi. Until he gives me reason to think otherwise, I'm in support of the lordling."
And if he ever did prove to be lacking, it wouldn't be the first time Leifur disobeyed authority.
Majoraa
wanderingwolf
Snowdrops
Crimson Flame
Abstract Proxy
Guardian Angel Haruki
The World
BrokenPromise
Digizel
TheMushroomLord
