I'm drowning in stuff until the end of the month and behind everywhere, but... will manage a post eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later. Also damn, that's a juicy vision right there 👀 will think on those extra questions!
No one had answers to give. Not the students around Duncan, nor his own overworked brain. His mind was still reeling from the information dump it had been subjected to just a moment ago. Facsimiles, flashes of Asahi's feelings, his mind, his... true self. There was no time to process any of it. Duncan's head felt heavier than after a cram session the night before an exam; the only time he ever really studied.
Eventually Masato spoke, but all he did was bitch, so it didn't really count as answering, either. "I'm not freaking out!" Duncan shouted, freaking out.
Even still, he kept his arm extended for Asahi. He didn't actually expect the guy to draw literal blood from it, though. Just... power, or light, or life force, or-- whatever else he had that the two dying students did not. Something. Anything. Duncan's chest burned, and for a moment he hoped he could donate that, too; the familiar burn he'd felt that first night, when he'd Awakened. There'd been so much blood gushing out of him back then. Back when his stomach had--
He heard it first; the tearing of tissue, the rupturing of skin. Feeling came after, and it wasn't in the form of pain. He felt but a split of second of nausea before his stomach grew lighter, and then all he really felt was the wetness of his skin from all the blood splashing onto his lap.
"Huh?" Duncan didn't recognize his own voice. He never sounded that high-pitched, that confused, that much at a loss for any reaction at all.
He raised his hands slowly, eyes fixed on the liquid dripping between his fingers, down his arms, on grass that seemed to thirst for it. His blood, except not. This shit was golden.
Something moved in his peripheral vision, and once Duncan realized it was blades of grass, actively reaching towards the open wound, he recoiled like someone'd shot him in the face. He fell backwards on his ass and hands, pressing golden blood into the soil underneath his palms. Grass tickled his fingers as it licked them clean.
"What the fuck," someone said, and it might've as well been him.
"Bro, are you fucking serious?! Again?!" Duncan's voice was still a few octaves higher than usual. He pulled his hands away from the hungry grass, gaze flicking from one student to the next in search of answers. It was then that he realized they'd been joined by more people. Ayana was pressing a piece of cloth against the wound to try and stop the bleeding, but as much as he appreciated the thought, the feeling of something pressing against his open stomach, though not painful, made Duncan sick as hell.
"Ayana, it's cool, you don't gotta-- it doesn't hurt! I swear!" he protested, trying to push her hands away, only to have a brand new finger suddenly invade his personal space. It was fucking Shun, and she was definitely doing this on purpose, as some fucked up sort of revenge. She dipped her finger in and then-- put it in her mouth?!
Duncan reached to grab her by the wrist before she could go in for seconds, not really caring if he squeezed too hard. He'd yet to decide which combination of expletives to yell at her, when Asahi moved in next. Duncan felt like he was a whole-ass fucking buffet of a deer, fighting off a pack of hungry wolves.
Except Asahi didn't drop the liquid into his own mouth - he dropped it into Sasuke's. Duncan stopped struggling away from everyone for a moment to stare. His gaze fell on the grass, seemingly invigorated. Wait a fucking minute. It sounded totally crazy, but could it... actually work?
He remembered Haruko smoothing his brow, squeezing his arm, asking him to make Sasuke and Yuki better. He had to try, and he felt like this was his only shot. He had nothing else.
"... Move." Duncan brushed past the others and shook off the piece of cloth that had, by some miracle, not soaked through - or even gotten wet. He moved on his knees, both hands holding his stomach and its golden contents. Blood spilled past his fingers, but he managed to keep a bunch of it cupped in his palms. Once he reached Sasuke, his head now resting on Asahi's lap, Duncan leaned over the guy's open mouth. "Alright champ. Bottoms up."
With that, he pulled his hands away, letting the golden liquid splash onto Sasuke's face and pour down his throat. Because hey, it wasn't like it could make things any worse at this point, right?!
I was planning to, yea! Just been very hectic, sorry 'bout that :') But! If another person can only join if I give my spot, I don't mind giving it up to them; they can probs put it to better (and definitely faster) use!
Appearance: Noah stands at an average 5'9'', though his attitude alone adds a few inches to his perceived height. Failing that, so do his combat boots. He's lean and tan with sharp, narrow facial features, further accentuated by the many piercings and tattoos scattered throughout his body. The most visible one, a large, roaring dragon, runs the length of his back all the way up to his hairline. He has tattoo sleeves on both arms, and tribal tattoos on his knuckles. Noah's eyes are brown, though they are a peculiar shade that teeters on red - or maybe he's just wearing contacts and not telling anyone about it.
Noah's hair, jet black, is styled in a sidecut with a high ponytail at the back. As uncharacteristic as it sounds, Noah is pretty fussy about his appearance - especially his hair, and hates anyone touching it. He doesn't own a lot of different clothes, but the few pieces he does have tend to be kept neat and stylish, all grey, black and red. Notably, he also wears black nail polish and red eye makeup. He dares you to talk shit about it.
People tend to say that Noah's face has exactly two expressions: a deep scowl and a shit-eating grin. Those who know him the best know there's a third, elusive option of a smile, reserved only for situations that really call for it.
Personality: The first impression you get from Noah isn't wrong, exactly; he is just as difficult to approach and prone to anger as one would expect, with no patience for pleasantries and small talk - particularly the deceptive kind. He has a violent streak and a giant chip on his shoulder for most of the general public, with a tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and not stop to apologize for it. He is impatient, flippant and cocky, but much the same way a cat is; strutting around like he owns any given place, yet constantly on the lookout for things that might threaten whatever temporary peace he's clawed out for himself. He's fiercely and stubbornly independent, and has trouble accepting help.
What many don't know however, is that few of his vices are deliberate, and that he's fully aware of his shortcomings - even working on fixing them, little by little. It's not that he doesn't apologize after a rude comment because he doesn't care, it's because he knows he'd just make things worse if he tried. It's not that he wants to get mad, but it's just so damn easy. Much easier than trying to express himself through words. That shit's embarrassing, and if there's something Noah hates, it's being embarrassed.
Luckily, he's had better luck fixing his problems when around his friends - the ones that actually matter to him. Passionate about things he cares about and loyal to those he feels have deserved it, Noah's a somewhat decent person around his own. With them, many of his extremes mellow out; the fire that so readily burns strangers to a crisp turns into a more pleasant smoulder. Unfortunately for them, being close to Noah and making him feel more at ease also means they're prime targets for him to mess with. But only for him to mess with; any outsider trying to start shit with his gang better be ready to pay.
History: It likely comes as no surprise that such a turbulent youth would have a turbulent past to match. Having lost his mother at birth, Noah spent most of his childhood in the care of various relatives. His father, until the man's grief for his wife turned into anger towards the boy who'd "taken her from him"; his grandparents, until they were too old to look after a troublemaking child; an aunt, until she grew too frustrated at the teenager who seemed intent on breaking every rule ever made just for the hell of it, and wanted him out of her house. Noah didn't even wait for her to stop screaming before he slammed the door behind him, never to return.
He went in an out of foster homes afterwards, and after being arrested for assault - fuck it, he was just defending a friend! - he eventually ended up dropping out of high school. A fact he claims doesn't bother him, but he's never been good at lying. Unfortunately, he hasn't stayed out of trouble since despite his best efforts.
Still, not finishing high school with his friends doesn't mean he can't share one last camping trip with them before they all go out there and live the way he never could. His various "homes" never made him feel like he belonged, but his tight-knit group of friends always did. Noah couldn't choose his family, but he could choose his friends - and he's pretty damn sure picking this lot was the only good decision he ever made.
Or would ever make.
Magic
Magical Form: Upon transformation, the most notable change is Noah's hair: not only does it turn a deep, bright red at the roots, it flares up and bursts into flames. The ambiguous red of his eyes likewise turns bright, sometimes even overtaking his sclera when he uses his magic enough. His skin turns more ashen, and he dons a black suit with dragon motifs.
Weapon: An ornate pistol of red and black (instead of the white in the picture). The fiery bullets it shoots explode upon impact.
Abilities: Though not a terribly versatile element, Noah's fire magic is good at what it's designed for: destruction. He can create and manipulate flames at will, provided there is enough oxygen to burn, as well as ignite things and cause explosions; including small ones to propel himself forward at immense speeds. He is also capable of heating and melting things with a touch; the longer he remains in contact with a surface, the hotter it gets. He's impervious to the heat and smoke his abilities generate, and so are his magical form's clothes (thankfully). As a side effect, after first receiving his magic, Noah is always very warm to the touch, even when untransformed.
Companion
Name: Muk (short for Dotori-muk, since Noah claims they have the same consistency).
Appearance: Muk takes the form of a tiny, dark red dragon about the size (and flexibility) of a cat.
Personality: Once a powerful, ambitious sorcerer capable of transforming into a mighty dragon, Muk retains little of his original personality. Cursed while in his dragon form, his human mind has slowly deteriorated, leaving him more an intelligent beast than an evil sorcerer. With that said, his ambition to take over the world and devour all in his path hasn't dwindled; it's just a lot harder to accomplish in his current body. As such, he's had to settle on devouring each and every edible (and sometimes inedible) substance in his path, so he might grow big and strong once more.
Duncan wasn't sure whether the words ever left him. He didn't even have time to properly startle at the weird, glowing threads emerging from Asahi's fingertips, before one slipped under his skin and forced his entire body into a shudder. It was a violent shudder, part-disgust, part something so powerful it left Duncan gasping for breath. He didn't have words for it, but it wasn't entirely foreign. He'd felt bits of it before, at home, back then, then at that other time, and when she'd--
His memories changed, twisted, until he no longer recognized them. No one he knew featured in them, and he soon understood why: they weren't his own. But the feelings they stirred felt as if they were. His heart was pounding, waves upon waves of nausea blocking his throat. He couldn't breathe. Was this what Asahi was feeling? That Asahi? Right now?!
Then he saw the light, flickering at the end of a tunnel of torment, both figurative and not. Facsimile? Duncan couldn't even pronounce that shit! He didn't know where the word came from, much less why he understood what it meant. The pink, silken thread. Tsubaki wasn't fine by chance, she was fine because of him - because of Asahi. Sasuke would be too, and so would Yuki. If only--
The real world returned like a slap, leaving Duncan reeling. He was still gasping for breath when he heard Asahi speak in that annoying, sassy way he tended to. There was no way the dude was feeling all of those horrible things right now, if he could still mouth off. Ugh.
"Shut up, damnit," Duncan whined, breath shaky, one hand on the ground in an attempt to steady himself. "I'm trying to think here! If we all got these fac-- facs... fuck..." he gave up on pronouncing the word before he even truly tried, "light things cause we're Awakened, can't we just..."
Duncan, face still twisted from shared agony, turned to Asahi as if expecting him to know whether the idea was shit or not. "I don't know, give some of that light to him? Or-- or Awaken him? Can the threads you got transfer light? Cause I got plenty! Plenty of whatever to give, so just-- take it." He offered his arm again, like he was about to donate blood.
Duncan understood more than he had a moment ago, and yet he still felt as if he understood nothing. He was ready to break the rules of facsimiles and the Awakened and whatever else in an attempt to save Sasuke and Yuki - but first he had to know what the hell the rules were.