webboysurf

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Matrix - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Hope in Hell #2.058: Dragon

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_{Interaction(s): Himself}

Previously: Nothing Left to Give

Rory crashed into the wall of the hallway as he desperately flung himself forward in the hopes of finding any of his teammates alive. This was all a game… no, a test? That had to be it, if they wanted him to wear this getup. The halls were once again white, sterile, and empty. He immediately rushed left, sprinting with all the strength and speed he had honed while keeping his eyes up and scanning for any sign of… well, anyone, at this point. The hallway was unnaturally straight and long, with a single door swinging open near the end. Rory’s eyes focused in as he sprinted for it, sliding to a stop in front of it as he propped his arms up into the doorway to catch himself. His panting was loud and borderline feral, his shoulders hunched forward in anticipation of danger. The mask gleamed in the light, save for the single smear of blood near the eyes and the greek symbol emblazoned on the forehead.

It's a room not unlike a cell: cloaked in shadow with soft featherings of light bidden by the slivers in each panel of steel that reveal the darkness of the ocean yonder their constraints. Teasing glimpses of life in the deep void that mankind has barely trekked, therein lurked something better suited to the title of the unknown.

The misunderstood, the being that clamored through life as the harbinger of pain and rage.

Amma.

She had been fitted in cumbersome chains, looped around her delicate throat and more woven around her wrists and slight frame, the AR suit doing little to conceal her modesty where she had been attacked and beaten, the blemish of a vicious cut down her front now blackened and red, an angry swell of power that churned at her breast and lapped at the edges of reality. The world summoned to her anguish and the HZEs frothed with madness with silver flares of softened light coiling betwixt her and him.

Her lashes fluttered, eyes beholden to that gleaming mask defiled by blood, her lips peeled back over gleaming teeth awash in hated red as she moved, fingers arched as she crawled forward liken to a chained beast.

"Who are you." It was not an inquiry bated in confusion, but rather a demand, her usual cadence deepened into a feral husk of a whisper.

Rory remained silent for the moment as he stood his ground, one hand slipping into his robe to reach for the folded metal ball he had held on to. It was the closest facsimile he had to a weapon. His blue eyes remained fixed on Amma, trying desperately to scan her expression and appearance for any way to test if it was truly her. Of course, he had nothing to base his analysis on. She wasn’t brooding and quippy… but given her situation, he couldn’t exactly put it past her to be more prone to rage and intimidation. But Rory straightened his back as he looked down, slipping the metal ball out of his pocket and into his hand underneath his flowing robes.

“Rory,” he answered simply. His voice was still shaking from the adrenaline, and filled with a twinge of hesitation. “Are you… real?” His eyes remained open and unblinking as he watched her carefully. He could practically feel the buzzing energy of HZEs swarming. He hadn’t felt that from the simulation itself before… but the simulation had never tried to kill him and psychologically torture him before either. He didn’t understand the rules anymore, and instead opted to loom in the doorway. “You need to tell me if you’re real, Annabelle. I’m getting real sick of seeing fakes of us.”

“Rory…” She uttered, his name rolling through her lips and tongue, sliding off from the pout of her lip on a hiss of recognition. “Tyler.” Through the gloom her eyes tracked down his figure concealed by the robes, every flicker of lash peering deep, slow increments of her constricted pupils that speared through the entirety of his frame shadowed against the entryway.

“So, you wear a mask too.” Amma lurked, hands and knees, crawling and inching closer and closer with links of chain rattling in the dark. “Tears of blood, mark of Who, I wonder.” Her whispers purred away into shadow, broken and bleeding remarks shattered, her face and body warped and broken and bound. She finally stood to her full height, revealing the violence she had endured.

“Real. No.” Her head canted, black strands pooling over her blemished shoulders marked by the defiler whose talons had embedded deep. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Annabelle - another name to add to my flesh, another for the epitaph.” She holds up her inked and scarred hand, fingers splayed, and counts them down. “Five names, five summons, five meanings.”

She approached Rory carefully until the chains snapped and pulled taut, preventing her from moving any further, and there her eyes churned and wept, black marred down her cheeks and distinct against the bruises slowly beginning to darken and warp.

“What is your role to play here? Are you the knight to come put down the dragon? Do you come to me, now, to seek revenge for those I took away from you? Lorcán,” Amma purred around his name, lips pulled into a sliver of a smile. “Katja.. Maybe I’ll take Haven too. She wants so desperately to know me- asks so many questions.”

“Gil,” she breathed, lashes fanned low, lost in sudden memorium. “Harper. Aurora. Calli. Banjo.”

Everyone.

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Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Matrix - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Hope in Hell #2.042: You're No Good

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_{Interaction(s): Himself}

Previously: Nothing Left to Give

“Very good Rory, but there's more.”

Rory felt his blood run cold, turning from his own slumped figure and looking back towards where the table and chair once stood. He was met again with a dark void. He could feel his body feeling less stable, like he was on the verge of falling apart. Time was just about up. He looked to the gun, still feeling cold steel in his hands, and used his remaining time to crush the firearm in on itself. He pressed his hands together, the steel giving way and folding itself into a rough ball.

“What makes Rory Tyler tick? It’s not family.” Two gunshots echoed behind Rory from where his siblings had just been.

Rory felt his body rearrange himself. He felt lighter, falling to his knees. This wasn’t real. They weren’t real. He had to keep playing. He had to-

“Hopefully it’s not friendship.” The voice laughed viciously as a hologram of Lorcán electrocuting the doppelganger Rory played in front of the real man.

Rory’s eyes were locked on the hologram, it’s cold glow washing over his face and burning the image into his eyes. Lorcán’s expression was new… practically twisted. Rory couldn’t pull himself to look away. He swayed slightly, his nerves and sense of balance fried as his nervous system went into shock.

“Could it be a rivalry?” The voice asked again, the hologram showing Katja now covered in the blood and bodies of her parents.

Rory dropped a hand to the ground to steady himself, looking away once he registered what he was seeing. This was the game. Hurt them, push them to the brink. This was personal. He could tell that much. The why didn’t make sense. Who had they possibly pissed off? Why were they going after Blackjack? This couldn’t be-

“Or love?”

No no no no _{no no no no}

The winged girl on the table being ripped apart played in front of Rory, her screams originally foreign before Haven’s cries and protests were mixed in and eventually overwhelmed the recording.

Rory threw up.

His head throbbed, his fists clenched tight. His fingernails on his left hand dug into his skin until small beads of crimson dripped down the length of his palms. His mouth stung with the taste of bile, his head swimming. He couldn’t think, every fiber of his being desperate to move but his body proved uncooperative. He had to find her. He was tired of playing games. He shoved the metal ball into a pocket in his suit.

“Do you crave power? Recognition? Perhaps you want people to stop overlooking you?”

Rory shakily stood up, only to find himself on a small pedestal. In front of him was Blackjack, each member bound, gagged and a noose around their neck while they stood on a trap door. “Choose one to save, condemn the rest,” the voice instructed. A wheezing laughter filled the room. “Or open the pedestal and save them all, save us all.”

Rory’s gaze immediately locked with the winged figure in a hood. Tears streamed down his face. It wasn’t a choice. He fell forward, off the pedestal, and connected with the hard ground. His hands had barely cushioned his fall as he landed on his side. The throbbing pain was muddled as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, looking up towards his real family. This wasn’t a choice. Not for Rory, at least. He pushed himself onto his feet, a hand catching the pedestal for balance, as he positioned himself over it. He cautiously lifted the lid, only to be greeted by a pair of neatly folded black robes. Atop them sat a smiling mask, its forehead marked with the letter ‘Upsilon.'

Him.

It always came back to him.

Rory’s eyes studied the mask for a moment, as he could feel his vision righting itself. He looked up for a moment as his right hand lifted the mask into his bloodied left hand. His breathing was uneven, as he remembered the words from years ago. If he stood by his side, he could have anything. He felt the inside of the mask with his right hand, checking for anything toxic or sticky, before setting it aside and sliding on the robes. His left hand cradled the front of the mask, sliding it on over his head and leaving a bloody smear on the front. He lifted his hands, standing up taller as he wore Hyperion’s outfit. He looked up, towards the ceiling. He screamed, “You’ve made your point! You win! I’m in… You can have me. Killing them doesn’t help any of us.”

"I'm glad you finally saw reason," A voice said from behind Rory as he was greeted by a blonde woman dressed in a shimmering gown. She towered over him, her chest at his eye level while long, blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. ”We can finally be together, we can be stronger together."

“We all can," Another female voice piped up as a familiar pair of wings dragged themselves along Rory's back flirtatiously before a third woman dropped from the ceiling, adjusting her black hair before smiling at Rory.

“As Hyperion, you can have anything or anyone you want." Mei sang sweetly to Rory, “Who are we to reject the savior of all Hyperhumans?"

“But we're not safe yet," The winged woman whispered in Rory's ear, “Interlopers masquerading as our friends still run in this maze. We need to stop them." She paused, the three women simultaneously turning to reveal a door. "Please, Hyperion, your utopia must come true. You need to stop the interlopers."

The tall blonde smiled wickedly, stating one last thing. “Starting with the interloper from the Foundation."

Rory turned his gaze back towards the three women… or rather, the cheap simulations. His mind was still recovering from its fog, but even disoriented he knew when he was being underestimated yet again. This is what they thought he wanted. But he steeled his jaw. He knew where he could find at least one of his teammates now. After that, he could improvise.

He quickly moved through the door, running with urgency as he looked for someone... anyone, really. It sounded like they were leading him towards Amma. She definitely wasn't his preferred ally in this… but at this point, he'd settle for even Tad.

"Do not fail us, Hyperion." The chorus of women called after Rory, "We'd hate to think of the consequences of a deceiver in place of a leader."

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

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_{Location: The Matrix - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Hope in Hell #2.029: Nothing Left to Give

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_{Interaction(s): Himself}

Previously: Rocket Man

As smoke burned his lungs, his new partner fought a creepy clone of another of his crushes, and his teammate screamed below him, Rory's eyes shifted down the towards the other side of the room that was farthest from the chaos. The metal grates creaked and groaned underneath his newfound mass. He didn't want to leave his team, but he wasn't going to be much use if he was charred or dead.

Rory pushed off with a powerful leap, bounding along the spots most supported by steel beams as he ran for his best approximation of an exit. He needed a way out, his stinging eyes full of tears and head pounding from the smoke.

As he continued to fight and push through the smoke, Rory stumbled into a new room. The air cleared, his breathing returning to normal before finding himself in a dark, empty room illuminated by a sole light hanging above a round table. The light reflected off something metallic as Rory's eyes wandered toward the object immediately recognizing it as his father's service weapon. He took a few steps towards the gun, feeling the familiar weight and coldness of the grip. He instinctively removed the magazine, seeing only the single bullet loaded. He set the mag down for a moment so he could pull back the slide, checking that it was empty. One bullet.

The sound of three lights snapping on illuminated the bodies of three more young adults, each with a sack over their head obscuring their identities but their muffled voices were familiar. Rory's heart jumped into his throat, his hands dropping the gun back onto the table as he started to run towards the figures. He knew it wasn't real... but there were parts of the brain he couldn't shut off. He stopped himself mid- sprint, rolling back onto his heels as his feet came close to a ledge. A chasm separated Rory from the figures.

Two were male, one was female.

"Choose one to die."

The haunting chorus returned, its whispers seemingly coming from all around Rory.

Rory looked back towards the metal table, his breathing more ragged as he felt his blood pressure rise. He shouldn't have left Haven alone. He should have helped Katja up. He should have known they were in danger immediately. He should have stopped Amma from running. He should-

NO... in through your nose, out through your mouth. This isn't real...

Rory took a few steps from the ledge, taking deep breaths as he stepped away from the chasm. He ignored the muffled pleas. They were just code anyways.

Ok... stop. Whoever hacked this is fucking with you. They could have just crushed us flat or fucked with the neural stuff... Saw rules... you play the game, you survive, right? Rory looked up to the sky for a timer. No timer... maybe it wasn't saw rules.

"Choose one to die."

The chorus of whispers was sickening, but Rory shuffled over to the table nonetheless. Firing a gun was one of the few things Cole had ever felt worthy of his time to pass on. A miserable attempt at a legacy. His hands felt natural sliding the magazine in, pulling back the slide to prime the last round. He cocked back the hammer with his thumb as he held the gun in both hands, left hand cradling his right.

His eyes glazed back over the three figures. He recognized the two on the ends by their outfits alone. They were always so bad at folding their own laundry. He tuned out their voices as he continued taking deep breaths. The middle one looked... wrong. He didn't look good in a suit. It seemed too constricting on him. Rory stepped up a few feet from the ledge, barrel of the gun aimed towards the ground in front of him. He paused as he looked between the three figures.

"Choose one to die."

Rory's mouth felt dry. It wasn't a choice. Not for him. It didn't matter if this was fake or real. He was their big brother, and a big brother would do anything for his siblings.

Even if it meant sacrifice.

Rory raised the gun towards the middle figure. He closed one eye, steadying his hands. He took a breath in through his nose, and then let the air seep out through his mouth as his finger squeezed the trigger.

Bang.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

| A Few Years Earlier |

Rory rested on the benches in the stadium, watching the Chimeras playing a Hyperball scrimmage match against each other. He was sipping on his hyper-aid, having overdone it earlier in the match. He tried his best to sit up straight, the wooziness of intoxication wearing off. His eyes remained trained on the upper goals, keeping a close eye on the defenders and strikers vying for a spot in the air. He looked down periodically at a set of index cards resting on his lap, sorting through his fellow athletes. He could always copy a flying ability, sure. But training them for a prolonged period was dangerous. And it left him open and vulnerable to those more skilled at flight than he was. The lack of vertical game was going to be a problem, both here and in the ARC.

Rory switched over to his index cards covering some of the first folks he met. Lorcán... Hot Shot. A jet of flame to launch him up could work. He'd have to keep that on the short list. Haven... wings. The body horror of that was enough to send a chill down Rory's spine. She made them look good, but they were not his vibe. She made them look-

Rory's eyes shifted up to look back at the field, to another one of the younger members on the Hyperball team. She cocked back the ball and launched it nearly halfway down the field, and into the clear and open goal. It was an impressive shot, and a remarkable show of muscle. Rory looked back down at his notes. Another one of the folks he met early on... Katja Kruger. Density Manipulation. He looked back to see Katja lift up another teammate in a bear hug during a wave of congratulations, and watched as she tossed the teammate up into the air slightly with ease before catching her again.

Wait a second...

Rory stood up, making his way towards the rest of the team after downing his hyper-aid. He scooped up his index cards, shoving them into his pocket as he jogged towards Katja to catch her before she got back to the locker room. "Kruger! I've got a new play idea... I call it the-"

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_{Location: The Matrix - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Hope in Hell #2.018: Rocket Man

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_{Interaction(s): Haven - @Skai, Katja - @Zoldyck, Doppelgangers - @Lord Wraith}

Previously: I Want to Run and Hide

As soon as the lights turned off, and Haven’s hand squeezed his with every ounce of strength she seemed to have, the absolute gravity of the situation dawned on him. In his defense… alternate versions of themselves as opponents? It felt like something that Blackjack would do: pit new Pacific Royal students against a simulation of senior hotshots. It was safer to assume Haven, Calli, and Amma were overreacting. It was becoming clear that this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the simulation that was programmed by Pacific Royal. The specific implications were lost on him, but he took the moment to squeeze Haven’s hand back. As his environment changed, Rory instinctively tried to take a step forward. The unexpected resistance from the tar-like substance drew his eyes down. The walls, the ceiling… everything on initial view screamed action set-piece.

“Hey, bro.”

Rory raised his gaze up towards the metal-grated ceiling, eyeing a pair of boots. He could see, faintly, the mop of orange hair and practically glowing eyes peering out from the dark figure. Rory’s mind raced at a million miles a second. How did Lorcán get all the way up there so quick? And where was everyone else?

“Run.”

The jet flames, the sudden heat, everything… it was enough to kick Rory into full gear. He eyed the grates above, the dark corridor in front of them, and then looked towards Haven and Katja. There wasn’t a lot of vertical space… and he knew they weren’t going to be able to run faster than the flames. Split second, though, Rory saw Katja’s eyes meet his. The grin on her face told him enough. Vertical was the way to go… and there was only one way Rory was getting up there. His gaze then shifted to Haven, who had a death grip on his hand. His words had a surprising confidence to them, a decisiveness reserved only for when he was on the field. Simulations would have to qualify for now. ”I’ll make a path… follow me up.”

Rory quickly pulled his hand away from Haven. He took a step next to Katja, immediately squatted and lifted his arms to protect his head.

Katja looked over at Haven for a second as Rory got into position. “Don’t worry about it Valkie, he’ll be fine. As will I. I’ll scale the walls to come after you guys. All you’ve gotta do is stay close to him and back him up, no matter what happens. But I think you’ve got that sorted already.” She gave a playful wink before finally turning to the pressing matter at hand.

Katja reached down to grab Rory by the collar of his A.R. suit. Picking him up with ease, as he felt about as heavy to her as a Hyperball would for an ordinary person. Katja then steadied herself as she stretched her free arm out in front of her, using her hand to estimate the distance between herself and the endzone. That being the exact spot anti-Lorcán’s boots were located on the overpass above.

Closing her fist as if to mark her target, Katja pulled her free arm down to generate just that extra bit of momentum for the one that held Rory as she used all the strength she deemed necessary to get him where he needed to go without risking him going into any of the dangerous machinery above. “Now!” She barked out as she executed the move that she and Rory had rehearsed so many times, tossing him up in the air with a throw that would’ve been the envy of many quarterbacks.

The surge always felt… unnatural. Warm. Alien. He could practically feel the space between muscle fibers knotting themselves together. He felt the weight of gravity pulling on him more than usual second by second. On the outside, he didn’t appear much different. Especially not as he had left Katja’s grip and hurdled through the air like a missile. Internally, despite the horror of the situation, there was a rush. The adrenaline that coursed through his system was a byproduct of his power. As much as he hated the aftermath, the endorphins made using his powers was intoxicating in its own ways.

Harder.

He kept his muscles straining, tightening the bonds between the muscles in his arms and shoulders and neck as he rocketed up towards the grate ceiling where the anti-Lorcán stood. As soon as he felt hard contact against his back, Rory lifted his head and spread out his arms. The metal grating barely stood a chance against the human cannonball. The section bent and broke, metal cracking and snapping against Rory’s upper back and arms.

The boots flew off of the grating before they suspended in mid air, hanging by a silk string as the figure who had once represented Lorcán now hung upside down angrily eying Rory.

"I thought you were taking me to the dance." She hissed venomously, firing webbing towards Rory in an effort to stick him to the ground.

"But no, that feathered floozy got to you first." Her tone was split between malice and sobbing as Mei swung herself up to the ceiling and stuck there.

"I thought you were one of the good ones, decent and honorable. A man of his words, but no, you're like all the rest. Just another dick that thinks with the small head between his shriveled up balls."

Rory’s heart sank as the words cut deep into his chest. He recognized her voice instantly. As he had rocketed through the grating at an angle, he ducked his shoulder into a roll and slid out of the way of Mei’s first web attack. His eyes shifted between the hanging Lorcán and the swinging Mei. His heart raced in his chest as he kept himself low to the ground, ready to spring forward at the next volley of attacks. His voice was loud, and his gaze harsh at his targets. They wanted to provoke him, and get him to slip up. He couldn’t resist talking back, just a little. Distraction worked on people… maybe it would work on the sim too. ”You don’t have to be mean just because you were too late with your moves, man… the real Mei would have hit that shot.”

“Of course I have to be mean, it’s the only thing that penetrates your thick skull, unlike Haven who is penetrated by anything that moves. Do you really think what you have is real? Wasn't it all a little too easy? Think, Rory! Think! She probably brings someone new home to roost each night. You were just easy, you were convenient. She doesn't actually care about you. You were today's worm and tomorrow she’ll fly away the second things get hard. Haven already has her bags packed in case she doesn't like how things go with the Foundation. Four years here means nothing to her, she’s always had one wing out the door, ready to run.”

That... that couldn't be true.

Rory's heart dropped, as he remained ready to pounce in a direction the second Mei made a move. He stared her down, his body language screaming that he was ready. A fist remained clenched, knees bent and one hand touching the grates. But the slightly agape mouth and wide eyes were enough of a sign that the words had gotten to him. He hated that it knew... and he wished he could just shove it down. But in that momentary instant, he couldn't help but feel it was true.

But it didn't matter if it was true or not.

Rory's mouth closed, he grit his teeth, and he never let his eyes leave Mei for a moment in the brief staredown. He would ask Haven about it later... but until then, no matter what, they had to live to talk about it.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Nathanael Gloucester

_{Interacting with: @ThatCharacter | Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Classroom}

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It seemed the circus was going to be a never-ending show.

Nathanael used to enjoy pleasantries like this, especially when they involved such levity. In the present day, however, such an embarrassing display of social unawareness and a lack of professional etiquette in all parties was enough for the cynicism to return to his mind. It was one thing to consider it a challenge to improve one's skills under an untrained leader. It was truly a full on road-block to learn under so many.

Of course, Jorah took no time to once again embarrass the Leicester Alliance. Nathanael's face formed a deep frown upon his introduction, a clear sign of his discontent. He flashed a look in Clarissa's direction, broadcasting clearly the strain he would be under to follow her desire in playing nice with someone so unbelievably frustrating. Of course, he was not particularly pleased to be playing icebreakers. It was always an awkward affair, in his mind. And full of unnecessary information. He knew who the majority of the people in this room were, by reputation alone. At least now he knew Jorah liked food, Auberon was a zealot, and Kellen did not like surprises. He wasn't sure how he would have survived without such crucial information.

Play nice... stirring the pot will make enemies, not allies.

Nathanael took a breath, lifting his head high and regaining his composure. They were just being friendly, not unlike he once was. Nor his father, even if it did not save him in the end. Nate lifted his gaze, noticing the break in introductions after Kellen. His eyes narrowed in on the man's expressions. It was hard to not piece together his nervousness. Nathanael took no hesitation in standing up as Kellen sat down, giving him a stoic nod. His gaze drifted among his classmates as he spoke plainly. "I am Nathanael Gloucester, heir of the Duchy of Gloucester." He paused for a beat, weighing his options. He had satisfied his basic requirements, but the last thing he wanted was another scolding from Clarissa. It was a waste of all their time. "I am quite fond of histories, and enjoy studying new sword forms." He gave a nod, his body instinctively beginning to sit down at his seat once again.

He did, somewhat unexpectedly, pause halfway. His calculated gaze lifted to settle on Kellen. The man was a bundle of nerves, but he was part of this unit. Nate stared at him as he spoke, his tone still plain and even as he offered, of all things, a joke. "I... am also not fond of surprises."

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Welcome one and all to the electrifying, steamy, Webby Awards for P.R.C.U. Commencement Chapter 1!

I will be your host for this evening, Web.

I wanted to take this time to highlight my totally superior, 100% correct opinions and share some of the love with y'all after such a delightful first chapter of the RP. These awards are not presented in any particular order.

The First Award we have this evening is the coveted Favorite Character award. This does not mean best... because, let's be real, it's Rothschild's world and we are just living in it. When I think Favorite Character, I think of a character and a writer that when I see they've posted, I am excited to read the post and see what's happening. It has a feel good nature, in my mind, but is not without drama or suspense. This award goes to the one and only Katja Kruger written by @Zoldyck. I told Zoldy not too long ago that I have really enjoyed the way this Katja has come into her own... and I've been, admittedly, a bit jealous. While Katja has her flaws and a dark past, she feels the most like the protagonist of this story in my mind. She is kind, empathetic, and always trying to lift everyone up. The natural conclusion of the first chapter seeing this character strength leave her vulnerable and broken in that explosive final post was... well, you can catch my opinions on that post later on.

For the Most Wholesome Character award, I think of a character who is precious. A sweet, sweet summer child who it is actively hard to dislike. Someone who bumbles through life without a care in the world, doesn't understand what is going on half the time, and who can somehow pull off pulling two wildly different women into his orbit. I am, of course, talking about none other than Lorcán Roth as written by @Lord Wraith. Rory and Lorcán have a disturbing amount of similarities in the way they bumble through life, but Lorcán's posts are much more fun to read. Surfer lingo, pratfalls, and sincere wonder and compassion really tie this character together in ways that make him shine. The Lorcán and Rory dynamic is very fun when it comes into play because they are both wholesome, but I feel like Lorcán edges out even my "Himbo with a Heart" by a sizable margin.

This next award can only be explained in a single sentence. If anything happens to Aurora Mitchell, I will kill everyone in this RP and then myself. Aurora, as written by @Melissa, was a tie in my mind for Most Wholesome Character. So I cheated and essentially made a duplicate category. I desperately, whole-heartedly care for Aurora's struggles and am deeply pained every time she retreats into herself. I think Aurora somehow feels the most real of all these characters to me, and I would die for her. If Lorcán and Amma break her heart or if she gets injured/killed off, I do not know if I would emotionally recover.

Take your fucking award, @Rockette. Best Breakout Character. I was so confident I was going to hate Amma Cahors. From personal experience, anyone who walks into a collaborative storytelling project with a character that is edgy and dark and doesn't want to interact with anyone, and I write them off. 99% of the time it doesn't work. I know, because I write those characters a lot. How dare you have the absolute talent to make Amma work? It makes me sick how much every Amma post has me at the edge of my seat. Take your award, but stick around cause you're getting another by the end of this.

Ok... got a little heated. But I like this energy. I get you have a family and responsibilities and a life, but I need more Gil Galahad @Roman. Of the four boys we have, I adore the nuance and depth that we've gotten from Gil so far. Gil is the Best Boy. I straight up do not understand him, and I think that's part of his charm. He is aloof, cool, but has deep emotional connections in his backstory. And I love what you've done with the three Gils. I didn't make it an actual award, but I loved your formatting in the early Gil posts during the beach scene. Stellar work. Get back to writing.

@Hound55... This award is not for Andrew "Banjo" Olyphant. This award is for you as a writer. You, my friend, are the Best Wildcard this side of the Guild. While others gave you a run for your money, everything about every post you write and every comment you make in the Discord throws me for a loop. To some, this may be seen as a negative. But boy do I love chaos. You are a crucial member of this RP, Banjo is the Joker in the deck of Blackjack, and every time we nearly make the same joke in the Discord I feel ten times my age. I expect Banjo to start Banjoing here before too long... Me and Rockette can't be the only ones stirring the pot this whole RP.

You know what's particularly funny? I do not know if Rory and the character at the center of this next award interacted at all in Chapter 1. They've been in the same scenes, we're finally collabing in Chapter 2, and they have the same best friend. There is a whimsee and depth to Harper Baxter's entrance into the RP that blew me away. @Qia, Harper's Intro was my personal vote for Best Solo post of the entire RP. But here, at the superior Webby Awards, you win Best Opening Post. I would use that post as an example, sentence by sentence, of how to introduce a character and lay out their entire personality without wasting any space. I knew who Harper was much quicker than I even knew who Rory was, and I already wrote him in a previous RP.

I am a slut for tropes done well. I know this might not be the award you were expecting or wanting, @PatientBean, but this is a sort of stealth "Favorite Moment" award in its own way. I spent my time last night just trying to recall, by memory, moments in this RP that stood out. Calliope de Leon's reaction to the opening ceremony was perhaps the first that came to mind when I tried to think about moments earlier in this RP. Of all the reactions to that first big plot twist, Calliope had my Favorite Reaction. It's a classic scene, and a classic trope. You wrote a great scene in a way that I could visualize perfectly. You have done an excellent job of building up and showing how mature and put together Calliope is, but the moment where she really got to unload and lose control for just a moment was so exciting. But... don't leave just yet. There's more for you coming.

When I read vore, I had a visceral reaction to every sentence. It kept getting worse, and worse, and I had to stop reading for a moment to give myself space to breath and process. @Rockette and @Zoldyck co-wrote my Favorite Post. I straight up could not decide what the Best Collab was before this post dropped. When it did, it was a bomb. I changed votes in several categories, but the first thing I did was list vore as the Best Collaboration. Katja and Amma are both so real and vulnerable in that scene, and it is heartbreaking to see their dynamic go so toxic... but it wasn't out of nowhere. It felt like a build-up. The seeds were planted, the tension rose. And in a sea of heartfelt, romantic scenes between the various love-birds... vore hit like a freight train and then backed up to run us over again. It shit on the idea of making the easy choice. I hate you both a little for making my heart hurt.

To take a swing in a completely different direction... This next award is for the Best Collab Partner I've had in this RP so far. I am sorry to everyone else, but this was always going to @Skai. I felt really bad I couldn't vote for Skai in any of the Best Collab posts, because writing the Raven scenes has been so much fun. Skai and I have been messaging each other for a couple weeks now about this RP while making plans and plots for Rory and Haven, and it has been such a blast. The amount of fun I have writing with Skai is admittedly why the Raven ship has set sail. I've written with a lot of folks, and it has been an absolute pleasure getting to work with Skai in this RP.

The last award I have is less of an award for what has been written so far, but more of a prediction. I am so very much looking forward to what comes next for this character. The Character to Watch for Chapter 2 and hopefully the rest of the RP, in my opinion, is Calliope as written by @PatientBean. Calliope and Banjo are an adorable couple, and while we have seen some cracks in her armor... she's been pretty well-put together so far. But given the events of vore and the plot twist going into Chapter 2... god I am so excited to see the mask slip for Calliope. I really like Bean's style of writing with Calli, and I think things are only going to get better from here.

Now... that is all I've got for you folks. I want to thank each and every one of you who have been riding along on this journey for your hard work and creativity. I appreciate the votes I have received for Rory in Chapter 1, I am deeply appreciative of the love and support. You are all really messing with my Imposter's Syndrome. The problem with running awards like this sometimes is votes feel so close. I wanted to do my own little awards to highlight some of my favorite moments and aspects of everyone's writing. I think we have a really good crew here, and I really want to keep building this story with you all. This is my way of saying Thank You, and I will be returning to being a little gremlin in the Discord now.

I love you all, have a wonderful night/morning/afternoon.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

"I got called in to work early. Hyperpsycho downtown... teleporter. Probably going to be gone a few days. I need you to take the bus this morning... or ee if your mom can drive you."

Cole Tyler finished straightening his tie in the downstairs bathroom, right across from the kitchen. Rory sat at the kitchen counter, finishing his protein shake and trying to parse together the last few questions of his homework. Cole didn't even look at him as he slid back into the kitchen, tossed Rory's half-finished glass into the sink, and plucked a briefcase and a thermos of coffee to head out the door.

"Ok dad... I love you." His words were weak and soft. Cole didn't even grunt in acknowledgement as he took a moment to walk towards the stairs. He called up them. "Honey, twins... Going to be a late night. I'll keep you updated. I love you!" He walked past Rory, briefcase slapping against the latter's back incidentally as Cole Tyler rushed out the garage door. It hurt.

As soon as he heard his father's car peel out of the driveway, a thundering roar of footsteps came rushing down the stairs. Will and Mary were young... middle school, maybe? They had already eaten and gotten dressed into their uniforms for some rich Catholic school downtown. Somewhere prestigious, and where he couldn't get in. Will gave him a smug look as he looked briefly towards Rory's homework, picking up a pencil and writing out a couple numbers and a letter. Rory shook his head. Letters didn't belong in math, just another prank from his little brother. Mary was engrossed in her phone, texting god knows who while posing for a brief selfie on her way out the door. Lastly, Julia Tyler entered into the kitchen. Her phone was nestled between her ear and shoulder as she grabbed her purse from the kitchen island. She flashed a dirty look at the dirty glass in the sink, before snapping at Rory and pointing to it wordlessly. Her face quickly shifted to a soft smile as her voice grew bubbly for the person on the phone. "Of course... yes, sir, I've just got to drop the kids off and I'll be right there... I read the file last night..."

"Hey, mom, uh... dad's already-" His voice was soft, defeated, awkward. It felt wrong.

Julia snapped her fingers again, placing a single finger up to her lips. She was on the phone, it was about work. She knew he knew not to interrupt her. "Uh, huh... Alright, see you soon." Will and Mary were already in the car, buckled, and Julie was opening the garage door. She hung up the phone, sliding it into her pocket, and placed one hand on the door. "Whatever it is, Rory, ask your father. I'm going to be late to work." Her shift in tone, and the exhaustion in her voice sunk the boy's shoulders. She quickly shut the door behind her, leaving Rory alone in the house. He looked down at his homework, trying to make sense of Will's writing for what only felt like a second. He shoved his notebook into his bag, and walked over to rinse out the glass before shoving it onto the top rack of the dishwasher. His chest felt heavy as he turned the corner and opened the front door. Outside, he saw the bus going down the street in the opposite direction. The weight in his chest grew heavier.

---

"What the fuck, Rory, are you kidding me?" Rory's mother's face was contorted with barely concealed rage as he sat frozen at the kitchen table. She was not a tall woman, but in this moment towered over him. He felt his cheeks grow hot, his chest heavy, his breathing painful and labored. Julia slammed a hand against the kitchen table. "Look at me! What in the Hell were you thinking?"

Rory paused, eyes glancing up towards her, but only for a moment. Even the glance was enough to nearly send him over the edge. He swallowed hard, teeth clenched to keep his emotions from seeping out of his pores. _{"I tried to ask you-"}

"Oh, it's my fault you missed the bus, Rory!? You're in high school! Was I supposed to hold your hand and walk you to the bus stop?!" She paused for a moment, staring at him expectantly. Rory stared at the table. Julia took a few steps away, taking a deep breath as she held back more insults. She turned back. "Even if you missed the bus... you couldn't text Tom and see if his mom could drive you? Or Kareem? Or did you just not care?" Her question was rhetorical. Rory didn't bother answering, or justifying. He hadn't spoken to Tom since he found out he was a Hype. And Kareem had moved the last summer to Vancouver. But he knew if he said that, she would just ask why he didn't ask any of his other friends. And he didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't have anyone else.

Julia sighed, sitting down across from Rory at the table. Her voice softened slightly, the anger subsiding to a cold disappointment. "You're getting too old for this, Rory. Your father and I are very busy. We're trying so hard to give you and your brother and your sister the best life we can. And it hurts us when you can't even do the bare minimum, Rory..." She paused, her gaze seeming to stare almost through him. He almost instinctively looked up to meet that gaze. "Let's put it this way... do you know what happens when you don't play your position?"

"The team suffers." The response was automatic. She didn't watch enough of his games to ever be specific with her analogies.

"Your team is your family, Rory... and you're making them suffer."

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Southern Plateau - Dundas Island, Pacific Ocean}

Hope in Hell #2.003: I Want to Run and Hide

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Haven - @Skai}

Previously: Feathers on the Court

Rory blinked himself awake, taking a moment to decipher dream from reality. Was it a dream? Or felt more coherent... more like a memory. But he couldn't place the specifics. That almost made it worse.

The second sensation Rory noticed as he stretched his arms were the soft fingertips of Haven interlocked in his own, gently slipping out of his grasp before he fully processed they were there. His brow furrowed, as he parsed through the memories he had. She was more clothed now, and lying in her own sleeping bag next to him. He felt a small wave of embarrassment as he looked over his naked form. Was it all just a dream? No... no, he had the same thought the night before. What they shared was real, quite real. A small smile crept on his face. She had held on to him as they slept. His heart surged at the thought.

Of course, it lasted only a moment. He didn't place much stock in his dreams... but the one the night before felt foreboding. He didn't even notice the irony as he quietly slipped from his sleeping bag, sliding on a fresh pair of boxers and shorts. He picked up his shoes, draped a t-shirt over his shoulder and walked towards the tent flap, his finger hovering near the zipper. But he stopped himself from opening it, looking over his shoulder to Haven's slumbering form. She looked borderline angelic, the way her ruffled wings were tucked in tight next to her and her hair was out of sorts.

No... no. Not this time.

Rory sighed, setting his shoes down and tossing his shirt on top of his duffel bag. He laid out on top of his sleeping bag, curling up next to Haven as he draped a hand over her side, being as careful as possible to avoid touching her wings. He nestled himself up next to her as close as possible, resting his head into her outstretched arm. He closed his eyes, and focused on the sound of their breath and the sensation of being so close. A smile spread across his lips as he let himself relax.

The sound of Rory's movements had begun to wake Haven from her sleep long before Rory laid down. Her wings shifted behind her, gathering closer to her body. They grazed his arm, unaware that it was that close to them. Her eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sight of Rory's smile and his face so close to hers. She felt the weight of his arm on her waist and the feeling of his skin against her feathers. To her surprise, she didn't immediately flinch at the touch. Yet her wings still slowly recoiled, keeping inches away from human contact as they'd grown used to doing. Maybe one day she'd learn to trust another's touch in such a sensitive spot. If there was one person she could think of that she'd allow to get close enough, it would be Rory.

Being careful not to move a muscle in the arm Rory laid against, Haven leaned her head forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. She smiled at him as she returned her head to it's spot on the sleeping bag. She could tell he was awake by his breathing, but she worried that speaking too soon would mess with the peaceful silence they remained in. Plus, that blissful look on his face was everything to her. She'd never seen him look so carefree.

A jolt shot up Rory's arm and into his spine the second he felt feathers graze his skin. He knew how big of a deal even such a small gesture was, coming from her. His eyes lazily opened, and he nodded as he saw Haven's wings recoil from his hand. The warmth of her kiss caused him to lean forward longingly, planting his own kiss on her cheek as he nestled himself even closer. He moved his hand off her waist and lifted it to her other cheek, guiding her head so he could look into her eyes. His voice was soft, borderline dreamlike still as it was clear he was still in the process of waking up. "Good Morning... sleep well?" There was a soft cheekiness as he wiggled his eyebrows to accentuate his question.

There was a silent thank you in her eyes as she looked into his, but her wide grin was answer enough to his question. "I haven't slept so comfortably next to someone in a long time." She began as her hand lifted to take his into hers. She intertwined their fingers between them. "How did you sleep?"

He paused, his smile fading slightly. He wouldn't be technically lying if he just said he slept well. Hell, it was a wonderful night of rest. And the only issue with his slumber was outside of her control. There was no need to ruin a good thing. He looked over her face, the smile naturally widening as he just nodded. "I slept... I really like falling asleep like this and waking up next to you." It was blunt dodge, but not at all untrue.

Rory looked up towards the top of the tent. It wasn't too bright outside yet... it was clearly early. Conditioning barred him from sleeping in even after a night like that. He turned his gaze back to Haven, his happy grin slowly replaced with a smirk. "It's still early... we've got a while before breakfast or the Trials..."

Haven noticed the smirk on his face, the double meaning behind his words sending a pink hue to her cheeks. "We should warm up with a run, before we warm up that way." Plus, she had picked up on the subtle way his smile dropped. It seemed like he had something else on his mind that troubled him. There was also something she wanted to ask him when they weren't tangled up together. "The run will clear our minds and get the endorphins running."

Rory playfully sighed at Haven's suggestion. He didn't want to leave this spot by her side, even if he knew they would have to move eventually. His smile widened a little, though. He didn't usually have company on his morning runs. He had always thought he caught a glimpse of Haven in the sky some mornings, and the thought of being able to share in a morning routine felt reassuring. This would be different. "Fine... a little less hot, but it's probably for the best." He let go of Haven's hand and quickly lifted himself up. He offered a hand to his partner to help her up.

Haven grinned as she looked up at him. She slid her hand into his and squeezed before letting his strength pull her to her feet. "Thanks."

"You should turn around while I change, or we won't make it out of the tent." She teased him as she turned towards her duffle bag. She knelt down in front of it to pull out a running set from inside. As she stood, she glanced over her wings to raise her eyebrows at him. "I mean it, Rory. You can see it again later tonight."

He hated that she was right. The slight blush in his cheeks from staring at hers as she dug through her bag was a dead enough give away. "I'll be outside. Trying not to think about you chang-" He didn't finish the thought, cutting himself off abruptly as he shook his head. He reached down to grab his shoes, fresh socks already stuffed inside. He opened up the tent flap and stepped outside. He took a moment to stretch out his arms, which were still sore from the day before. He was going to need a rest day when this was all said and done. Maybe he could-

She said tonight.

Rory's blush grew brighter, and he cleared his throat softly. He snapped his fingers , clapped his hands... anything to get the energy out. He felt suddenly restless. This was a thing, now. They were really a thing. He grinned like an idiot as he sat on the ground and pulled on his socks, followed by his shoes.

Haven's laughter followed Rory out of the tent. She decided to change quickly, in case he changed his mind. There was a broad smile on her face as she pulled on the fresh shorts and sports bra. She could hear him outside. His movements had her feeling quite restless, too. Until something dawned on her that made her whole body flush.

"Rory... Can you hear me from out there?" She asked as she tugged on a loose tank. Her wings carefully slipped through the opening on the sides.

"Yeah... what's up?" Rory called out over his shoulder, choosing to remain a little softer in tone. He knew about her hearing, and didn't feel like disturbing the rest of the team's beauty rest as he basked in the dawn's glow.

There was a moment of silence from within the tent as Haven quickly pulled on her socks and shoes. Then the slow sound of a zipper being undone behind him. Haven emerged from within the tent, her feathers ruffled behind her and a flush on her cheeks as she gave him a look that was as amused as it was embarrassed. "We, uh..." She stepped up to him, her voice low as she got on her tip toes to speak into his ear. "We didn't sound-proof the tent last night."

Rory's brows raised in confusion for a moment. They weren't really required to sound proof the tents, it was usually just a little easier to help people fall asleep. After their night together, he didn't really care about noise-

The realization hit him like a brick wall. His cheeks grew hot as he turned to face Haven. But after a moment, he felt a small laugh boil up in his throat. He covered his mouth with his hand, giggling softly for a second. When he regained his composure, he placed a hand on Haven's shoulder, smiling down at her. "Well... on the bright side, I don't think we have to tell anyone about us." His smile was warm and sincere. In this moment, he didn't particularly care. The embarrassment would come with a certain loud-mouthed Aussie later, that was guaranteed. "We'll just have to be careful about noise next time, yeah? Don't want to make anyone too jealous this early in the game." He was confident, and remained unaware of the double meaning in his words.

The two shared red cheeks for a moment, until Rory began to giggle. The sound of it was worth the embarrassment. Haven beamed up at him as he mentioned telling people about "us". She shook her head, her eyes darting around the camp. "Next time we won't be surrounded by tents, thank the heavens."

She took his hand from her shoulder and began to tug him along. "Let's get going before the others come out. I don't know if I can face them right now." Rory should be the only one to see her blush like this, anyways. As much as she urged him to continue, the glint in her eyes revealed that she wasn't ashamed of their noise. She was proud of it in fact. That wasn't something the others also needed to overhear, though.

Rory smiled a goofy grin as he let Haven drag him towards the edge of the camp. He noticed that glint in her eye... or more notably, the lack of shame or embarrassment he might expect. Once they broke the tent line, nearing the closest forest path, Rory broke from Haven's grasp and started jogging past her, turning around briefly to wink at her as he did so. He kept a reasonable pace, not pushing himself as hard as he might usually. He enjoyed the stark morning air as he ran, making sure to slow or speed up to keep up with Haven. It felt... odd, to no longer be alone during his usual time of solitude. But it was a welcome change. He couldn't help but smile as the two jogged through the forest trails of the Southern Plateau. Rory slowed to a stop after a half hour of jogging, keeping his breath slow and steady as he took the stop as an opportunity to stretch his arms. He kept his gaze on Haven, soft smile on his lips. "How ya feeling, Wings?"

Haven took the opportunity to stretch out her wings. She'd been running with them tight against her back to avoid any drag they'd cause open. Once she'd furled them again, she began to stretch her legs against a nearby log. She smirked in Rory's direction at the nickname. Her voice and breathing was as even as when they had begun their routine. "Great, but I'm not sure why you're holding back for me. The view was awesome when you were in front of me, though." She teased before her smirk softened. "It's nice to run with someone for a change."

She finished her stretches, moving to approach him. her head felt much clearer now, so hopefully he felt the same. "Can I... ask you a question? About last night?" Her hand reached for his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We both want this to be more than what we're used to, but I want to know how you feel about something before we continue." There was a small pause before she managed the words. Her tone was even, not a hint of anger or jealousy held in it. Yet it was obvious that she was nervous to say them.

"I know that Mei had asked you to the dance on the beach. So, I'm not upset that you've agreed to go with her. I'm glad you made up, actually." She tilted her head to the side, her lips thinning for a moment before asking the question. "Do you think any feelings you may have for her will affect... us?"

Rory's heart sank as Haven mentioned the dance. She must have heard, somehow, that he was supposed to go to the dance with Mei. He wasn't sure who could have possibly told her. But, more than anything, her final question stung the most. He instinctively pulled his hand away from Haven's, eyes narrowing as he looked her over. The question was a fair one, and it hurt more as he hesitated. His feelings for Mei were mostly physical... but she was less the concern, in his mind. There was someone else who came to mind.

"I don't think you have to worry, Haven." His tone was somber as he turned away, arms folded up over his bare chest. "I don't have the same connection with Mei. I don't feel the way I feel with you with anyone else. Some things are similar, a lot are different. But this is something else." He paused. He felt that same crushing anxiety from earlier build in his chest. Haven didn't ask about Katja... but it felt wrong to not say anything.

But if he did say something, would she want to stick around?

"The feelings I have for Mei aren't going to get in the way of us, Barnes. I know I'm an-" Something caught in his throat. A word. The same word his brother used often for him. The same word his father used. Rory grit his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment. He released the tension just enough to continue. "You don't have to worry about anyone else." He squeezed his arms tighter, as if desperately trying to hold himself together. He couldn't look at her. He was already keeping secrets, and it was day one.

Like father, like son.

Haven felt her muscles bunching up as Rory looked her over with narrowed eyes. It was like she'd hit him. And after all of her experiences, her instincts were telling her that he might hit her back. She knew he wouldn't. So as he turned from her, her body relaxed. Then his words found their mark in her chest.

First guilt ran its course. She felt like she shouldn't have asked. But that was ridiculous. She needed to know. Aurora had told her to be careful with her heart, and this was what she was doing to keep it safe. Then he cut himself off, and the soft part of Haven's heart yearned to reach out for him again. It soon became obvious that he was holding something back. Did it have to do with the invisible weight on his shoulders, or was there more that he didn't want to say to her? Was she okay only knowing half of the truth?

Haven slowly approached him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his back. His heart was thunderous in his chest and she could feel the tension in his own muscles. She clasped her hands together in front of him to make sure he wouldn't pull away again. "It's okay, Rory... I trust you." She said softly, her eyes fixated on the sky above them. "I know you'll tell me what's eating at you when you're ready."

The second Haven held him, the weight in his chest grew tighter. She knew he was holding something back. She trusted him, when he was the one keeping secrets. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders hunching forward as he deflated. He didn't care if this was going to ruin things anymore. "I confessed to Katja yesterday." His words felt like poison, but his tone remained somber. "It was more like she found out, when I asked for advice about you. She doesn't feel the same about me..." He paused. Haven's arms wrapped around him... it wasn't as overwhelming as Katja's hug. But the latter did the same thing when he pulled away the previous night.

He didn't want to know what that meant.

"I don't want to fuck things up with you, Haven. I'm in, I'm on your team and I'm not looking to get traded. But things between me and Kat are... complicated, now. I think. But she's important to me, and we're both Chimeras and compete often. But I don't want to wake up next to her." The words came flooding out. He didn't have time to think or parse them. He lifted his hands up to Haven's wrapped around his waist, gripping her hands in his but not daring to move them. "I want things to work with us. I don't intend on letting anyone get between us, but I know this is a lot. And I wouldn't blame you for walking away, Feathers." He let go of Haven's hands, his arms falling back to his sides.

Haven had never thought that Katja and Rory could be an item. If anything she'd seen them as siblings. Always teasing, talking game, and wrestling. Well... the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. And he had confessed to her, and she didn't feel the same. There was solace in that, although it still made her heart hurt to think that he had confessed to another girl hours before they confessed to each other.

He didn't want to wake up next to Katja. He was on her team, all in. Those words were the only thing that kept her close to him. The only reason she didn't turn around to take off into the sky. He wouldn't blame her for walking away? She'd blame herself, if she left the man she was falling for behind.

"I'm not going anywhere, Rory." She turned to press her forehead into his back. "Things are complicated now, but I think we can work through it."

She squeezed his waist before moving away to step in front of him. "We have to be honest with each other if we want this to work, yeah? Just, don't call me Barnes again unless you're upset with me." She attempted a humorous smile to lighten the situation.

Rory nodded solemnly as he listened. He knew this wasn't what either of them wanted for their first day together. He didn't expect any of this to get so deep. Haven's joke helped a little, fishing out a small grin from his lips and a nod. He had plenty of names to call her... and her first name was a beautiful enough sound for when he needed to be serious. But, he also knew an invitation to ease the tension. "I suppose I can do that. Just don't get upset with me for being a bird-brain, ok?" His smile was weak, but still warm.

He really needed to get his shit together, for her sake.

Haven playfully smacked his arm. "Of course not. I should know you have trouble with words by now, anyways." She teased back with a grin.

"Ready to get going again, then? I won't take it easy on you this time."

Rory smiled, taking one final chance to lift up his knees and stretch his legs. He took one final breath. Stop overthinking. You mess up when you get in your head. He let the thoughts slip from his head, focusing on Haven. He flashed a grin. "Ok, ok... enjoy the view."

With that, he immediately took off, breaking into a brisk jog. He flashed a cocky grin over his shoulder, a playful challenge.

The gloves were off.

Haven marveled at the muscles in his back as they glistened in the early sunlight. The earlier confusion wore off quickly. With a grin, Haven jolted into action. Her legs made catching up to him a quick and easy effort. She tapped his shoulder with her hand as she overtook him. Her expression as amused as it was flirtatious. She slowed up just as she made it five feet ahead of him. Soon she was running next to him as they continued back to the campsite.

---

^{| Later, at the Trials}

Rory was silent, closing his eyes as he finished adjusting his A.R. suit. Ritual was important before a big match... and he needed to show off for Will and Mary. Even if only one of them would even potentially appreciate it. He gave two slaps to his chest, a ritual he had picked up in high school while wrestling. It helped him to stimulate some blood flow and get things pumping... or at least, that's what he told himself. A placebo was only good if you never bothered to check it's accuracy. As the doors closed behind them, Rory couldn't help but let a smirk cross his face. He was ready.

Then... black screen. Red text. Sterile halls, empty classrooms, psych-ward-aesthetic with half-empty syringes. He felt his brow knit together as he stared at it all in confusion. The chanting voices were a creepy touch... and really sold the vibe. Rory's face lost some of its tension as he looked things over. Lorc and Amma were taking things a bit seriously... he didn't take either of them for the scared type. But, he knew enough about the Trials to know that a maze was always a given. His hand instinctively reached behind him, towards Haven. Was Haven the type to be scared by haunted houses? He raised an eyebrow as he inspected some of the finer elements of the simulation. Amma ran off, like an amateur. They would have to find her later. In the meantime, Rory spoke up.

"Hey, uh... I'm always down for a themed haunted house, but this seems like a bit much. I would have went with something more, like, action movie... less horror movie, you know?" He almost instinctively felt a look or two draw his way, and he held his free hand up in defense. "Hey, just trying to give notes, ok?"

As per usual... Rory was not on the same page.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Nathanael Gloucester

_{Interacting with: @Achronum @Obscene Symphony | Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Golden Deer Classroom}

---

Nathanael's gaze sharpened as Isolde was dragged closer by Oskar. Given the latter's behavior, and their raport with Jorah, he was going to be another annoyance to deal with on a regular basis. But as Nate focused on Isolde, something didn't add up. He stared down the bridge of his nose at her, and she... did nothing. No, not exactly nothing. She was shaking like a leaf. He raised a single eyebrow as he lowered his head, staring st her straight on. She wasn't belligerent or indignant... she was afraid. Isolde Ordelia, daughter and heir to the traitorous snake known as Duke Ordelia, was afraid of the young son of the man her father murdered. This... wasn't right. He averted his gaze of her as she turned to flee.

Nate's mood soured, but not towards further contempt. The pressure in his chest spiked. Honorable men didn't make others quake in fear. That was reserved for monsters. Monsters like the one who killed his father in cold blood.

Isolation had not been kind to Nathanael. It certainly did not make him kind.

Jorah's sudden contact made the blood rush to Nathanael's head. He recoiled, clearly startled and borderline fearful. He had let his guard down for a moment. He took a half step backwards. Jorah had taken it as a jest... or at least, that's the way he chose to play his cards. A respectable choice, that let them both walk away with minimal damage. Of course, as Nate's gaze crossed over his fellow students, it was clear that damage had already been done. His face remained blank, nearly vacant as he kept the tightness in his chest under wraps.

This was fine. People were a distraction anyways. Besides, the more they hated him, the less they would hold back on him.

Of course, Clarissa's words were thinly veiled. To others, her words were not unreasonable: he would, most likely, by the first of those present to take the title of Duke and serve on the roundtable. It would make sense for the two to speak. But he knew her well enough: she wanted to know if he was going to be a liability. Or, perhaps more directly, she wished to correct his behavior before he sullied her reputation. He couldn't blame her.

Nathanael gave Clarissa a short nod, beckoning towards the door after grabbing his materials. "Of course... I understand. I will follow your lead."

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Nathanael Gloucester

_{Interacting with: @Achronum @Obscene Symphony | Location: Garreg Mach Monastery - Golden Deer Classroom}

---

To call the pomp and circumstance of the first day of classes a waste of time would be to underestimate just how fruitless the whole endeavor was. Rituals, ego trips, and introductions for those too lazy or incompetent to parse together who was of importance. If it weren't such a bad look and he was sure the headache of private meetings and admonishments would not outweigh the time saved, he would have spent the day beginning to pour through the library's historical records to at least provide some semblance of stimulation. Instead, Nathanael remained stoic and quiet through the sermon and through Professor Kalonic's introduction, no matter how brief the latter and how droning the former felt. He thumbed at a small book he kept on his desk, fighting the urge to open it and begin pouring through the texts so he at least wasn't wasting this time. He kept himself in check, though, and remained sitting unnaturally upright in his chair.

Of course, he found the prank painfully imbecilic, yet not at all surprising. If these were the best and brightest to have graduated from Garreg Mach in recent years, that said little for his confidence they would be able to provide him with anything he couldn't find at a festival for infants. It was becoming clear that the best this academy would offer are tests of patience, which while valuable was certainly less than the price of admission. It seemed fitting the Church of Seiros would run a scam like this: leeches often did suck at the blood of more capable creatures.

As Euphemia fled to have a loud fit of rage, Nathanael's eyes briefly scanned everyone present. There were a few faces he recognized from roundtable meetings, others more obvious by reputation or careful research. The most surprising presence was one that he kept within his eyeline at all times: Isolde Ordelia. She was only a year older than him... must have been eleven when her father ruined both of their lives. Not that hers could be so bad, if she ended up in the same place he was. She certainly had farther to fall still, then. He would find the time to scheme something special for her... perhaps the sermons, since sleeping or missing them would tarnish the great Gloucester name. His gaze lingered on her for a short time, the little emotion he acknowledged squeezing his chest with pain... or perhaps anxiety. It was hard to tell these days, it all blended together for Nathanael.

Of course, there were two of more import in the classroom with him... one by merit, and one certainly by his father's machinations. Clarissa's suggestion of doing introductions was reasonable... not his preferred use of time, but acceptable. She wore authority like her own skin, and held a confidence and determination that he admired. Melding their differences together were inspiring words, even if they lacked a defined meaning. His father, once, espoused the strength of the Leicester Alliance in similar terms. His belief was that there was strength in a diversity of thought, steel, and action... and that it was this that kept them free from their neighbors. This belief did not bear much weight to scrutiny... for there was little strength in the diversity of thought and steel that pierced his father's heart over half a decade earlier. He would have to keep Clarissa von Edmund from such a fate, if she were to lead the Alliance, but knew better than to try and point the faults in her words.

Of course... then there was Jorah von Riegan. His presence at the academy alone would be a disgrace, if he did not have a personality befitting the faculty meant to lead them. He certainly had to be their usual crop of candidate, and perhaps his stunning incompetence was such a brilliant display that they had chosen him to be the leader for the Golden Deer house. It certainly wasn't be merit of skill, qualities of leadership, or ability to take anything seriously. Was the only criteria being able to ride a horse? If so, Jorah's desire to "ride" must have certainly proceeded him and been sufficient requirement. But no, even Nathanael was well aware of what must have happened: the meddling seat-warmer Jorah called father was trying to teach his son a lesson at the expense of every other worthy heir in the Alliance who was there to get things done. A worthy tithe to the Church of Seiros was probably enough, or was the von Riegan charm of begging for handouts appealing enough? He didn't care to know for certain, it would only be more painful to know the particulars. He certainly didn't want to know if he could think of Jorah less.

Oh, but apparently he could, for Jorah was capable of speech.

His attempt at appearing imposing, standing atop a desk to make himself taller and peer down at them all, left Nathanael craning his neck upwards. Jorah was at least self-aware enough to admit that he was merely a sideshow at the Roundtable meetings, which had won a modicum of trust in favor in the conspiracy that Jorah's reputation was exaggerated. The innuendo and order to party had wiped that away quickly. With Jorah's introduction out of the way, Nathanael stood from his seat and began to walk to the front of the class so he could slip out the door and leave for a mid-day stroll. There was a chance he could make it to the library before the next sermon. He passed behind Jorah, close enough to hear his words. “Not bad for my first decree, eh? Maybe authority suits me after all."

Nathanael's pace slowed to a stop, the words bouncing in his head and shaking up what coherence there was left. He certainly misheard... there was not a chance that the joke of the class believed he held authority. Nathanael's cold gaze shifted towards Jorah, the words escaping his mouth in a whisper just loud enough for Jorah and Clarissa to hear. "Authority suits you like a cold bath to a cat." His gaze remained fixed as he paused, a flash of confusion crossing his face. No... his usual sarcasm was absent. Gone was his sickly sweet condescension, tucked away behind prettier words he didn't mean. Nathanael's eyes drifted towards Clarissa, his brain taking a half moment to catch up. This was unnatural, a compulsion of some sort... one he would not make again so recklessly. Nathanael cleared his throat, turning to the rest of the students in the class. He needed to distract, and pretend the words were never spoken. He just needed something suitable... more words to hide behind.

An introduction. And an opportunity to garner sympathy should Jorah escalate things.

"In the spirit of introductions... I am Nathanael Gloucester, heir to..." Nathanael paused, his flat words lingering as his gaze shifted to Isolde. He looked down afterwards, pausing for a calculated two seconds, before continuing. "... heir to the late Duke Gloucester. I look forward to learning with you all." He gave a small, stiff bow to his classmates before returning to his seat awkwardly.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

Nathanael Gloucester | Minor Crest of Gloucester

"Your form is sloppy. You can do better than that."

Name

Nathanael Cornwall Gloucester

Age

16 _{Born the 13th of the Ethereal Moon.}

Country of Origin

Leicester Alliance

Social Standing

Noble of House Gloucester

Crest

Minor Crest of Gloucester
_{The Crest of Gloucester grants its bearer a heightened sense of visual perception, being able to see a bit farther and a bit easier in the dark. This does not help him notice things he would otherwise ignore.}

Starting Class

Myrmidon

Weapon of Choice

Sword

Strengths

Sword, Reason

Weaknesses

Lance, Faith

Starting Spell

Fire

Personality

Nathanael is a far cry from the boy he once was. Following the death of his father, Nathanael has turned quiet and calculating. He keeps his cards and his feelings close to the chest, as best he can. What you can pry out of him, however, is a deep academic fascination with battle and a flat understanding of honor and duty. He is obsessed with appearing to be honorable, though it's unclear if this is just an act. Regardless, Nathanael is not the loudest voice on the battlefield, and avoids flashy displays on the battlefield. He is efficient, if nothing else: anything further would make him too much of a target.

While far more political than other students in the Golden Deer, Nathanael tries to be amicable to all. Unfortunately, he is a bit socially stiff, and has a bad habit of saying what he really thinks over a flattering lie (perhaps a byproduct of Clarissa's crest?). For some, though, this is a blessing: most of Nathanael's comments are about form and technique, after all. For the rest, it's always easy to see where you stand with him. He views everyone who's made it to the academy as formidable enough to be worthy of attention... if only so they can be used later. He is a hard worker, and is often the first to rise and last to bed. Whether this stems from his hard work ethic or a paranoia of being stabbed while he sleeps is unknown. The most unnerving thing about Nathanael, though, is his cold and observant stare that seems to look through those he is watching.

History

As a child, Nathanael was a happy and boisterous child. He was deeply curious, always asking questions and wandering and reading as soon as he knew how. There was little he had no interest in. He wanted to know the names of all the birds that visited the estate, the names and purpose of all the flowers in the garden, the name of every knight at the Archduke's estate and their careers. He even yearned to study magic, swordsmanship, honor, politics, the art, and philosophy. The Archduke, due to love or obligation, indulged his son's interests.

That is, until Duke Gloucester was murdered in a mock battle by Duke Ordelia.

As the dust settled, the young Nathanael was whisked away into hiding, away from the public eye, by his tutor (Falstaff) and knights loyal to House Gloucester. In hiding from view at his familial estate, Nathanael retreated inwards. He was young, and in his most formative years, as he dove everything he had into training with his father's weapon: the sword. Nathanael spent his days training, studying, watching others duel, before picking up the sword himself again and running drills. He poured over detailed accounts of wars long past, tactical histories, and even training manuals covering various sword forms. He was never going to end up like his father did, that was for certain.

In the interim, Nathanael's family stepped in to keep the Duchy running. His mother, Countess Valentina Gloucester née Phlegethon, has taken over her husband's responsibilities. His uncle, Duke Archibald Gloucester, has stood by her side and done his best to assist with maintaining the villages bordering Hyrm. It took a couple years for Nathanael to re-emerge in the public sphere, noticeably changed and far more reserved than he once was. His face, once full of wonder and joy, has hardened into a stoic mask. He has attended the last few roundtable meetings, taking dutiful notes and watching with a cautious stare.

Of course, rumors have abounded around the heir apparent to the Duchy of Gloucester. Some whisper that he has been plotting for revenge against House Ordelia, seeking to burn the entire family to the ground. Whispers and rumors surrounding Nathanael's recent private tutoring in simple fire magic has certainly given weight to such a thought, even if it was the last on the list of Nathanael's tasks. He's been far too busy: within the last year, he had managed to secure an agreement from his mother and uncle that he could attend the Garrag Mach's Officers Academy as soon as he was of age. He has spent the time since making sure he was ready, mentally and physically. The last time a Gloucester had participated in a mock battle had gone poorly... he had a reputation to make up for.

Of course, the timing seems a bit... calculated. Attending the Officers Academy as soon as possible, when a fiery upstart from House Edmund was set to attend... not to mention the former heiress to House Ordelia, the betrothed to the Adrestian Empire, the bastard of House Blaiddyd, and a fresh heir to House Galatea. Nathanael has seen the writing on the wall: the winds are changing. He plans to ride those winds wherever they lead... or wherever he can guide them.

Uniform Alterations

Nathanael's uniform bears more prominent gold epaulets covering his shoulders, and his dress coat bears coattails similar to those worn by Lorenz. Gloucester fashion never goes out of style.

Trivia

• Nathanael is the only child of the former Duke of Gloucester, and is cousin to Celeste Florencia Gloucester.
• Nathanael's uniform bears epaulettes across the shoulders, a personal modification he has made
• Nathanael is partial to roasted duck with a citrus sauce, nestled over a bed of asparagus.