Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Archaic, Jul 8, 2016.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. .​

    ( ♔⋮ &THE CRY GOES OUT! ☆ ☆ ☆
    i`m headed straight for the castle xxthey`ve got the kingdom locked up xxi`m headed straight for the castle
    i`m headed straight for the castle xxthey`ve got the kingdom locked up xxi`m headed straight for the castle

    xxxxxx古い血液 █ █ WE`RE COMING FOR BLOOD
    ////////////////////xxx ////////////////////xxx ////////////////////xxx ////////////////////
    ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

    世界は魔法 . で震えます

    They say that Casters have been among us since the very beginning.

    Radiant beings graced with extraordinary powers, they were once prevalent in the wake of man's
    greatest civilizations and sojourned the Earth freely for thousands of years. These peculiar creatures
    held an innate bond with the various facets of the world around them, and performed fantastical feats no
    common human could ever hope to accomplish; the flowers bloomed through snow, the crippled
    beggars healed, the future unfolded just as it had been described. Where a Caster walked, the earth
    beneath him shifted; where he blinked, reality shivered.

    Casters dwelled without mystery in eras long past, where humans welcomed their abilities with joviality
    and the two coexisted in harmony. However, as with all the strange and arcane secrets of the world,
    paranoia began its slow descent upon humans. Accusations of witchcraft and demonic communications
    arose across Asian empires and African tribes first, then crept behind Europe and the later-settled
    Americas. Casters who fled their towns found themselves victim yet again in their new residences, and
    slowly but surely, a darkening age began to swallow and isolate those who wielded the world in one
    hand: villainous witches, filthy necromancers, heathens of the church who dared not walk in the light.
    At the height of this mass hysteria in the eighteenth century, they were captured by the hundred and
    tortured, lynched, tied to a stake and left to burn--the flames, it seemed, were the only remaining light
    in a world gone astray.

    The Order was born in such a time. A shining sanctuary that rose from where its brethren had fallen, it
    consisted of a league of Casters who had come to terms with the inevitable truth: the peace era between
    their kind and humans had ended, and any hope of revival had long since died, suffocated underneath the
    nameless graves that sprawled across the earth; a second skin of betrayal. Now, they could attempt to
    gather the broken pieces. Taking what little remained of the Caster populus, The Order promised
    something just precious enough to convince them to sign over a loyalty contract that would span the
    rest of their progeny and erase them from human records--a promise of tomorrow.

    All at once, the Casters were gone, and there was only ash.


    Situated in the wealthiest nation of the world and home to over eight million, New Jersey in the twenty-
    first century had never seen brighter days. Its residents lived and worked and died, a peaceable cycle of
    privilege oblivious to any turmoil beyond their white picket fences. There was little to fret about in their
    worlds--there had been little to fret about for years. However, in other worlds, the same sense of ignorance
    could not be afforded. Parallel to the mundane human realm lay the Caster society, regulated by the
    ever-thriving Order and inhabited by a significantly more modest magical population. In such a society, the
    air had begun to stir with the sense of something distinctly peculiar.

    Chimera were nothing new to the Caster community. Although a rare occurrence, their appearances in
    the world of the living was expected, and as such, kept very brief. All Casters had been taught since
    birth how to contend with these hellish creatures; when one dared to emerge from the gates of Tartarus,
    it scarcely caught the Order's attention. But in the wake of their negligence, troubles began to arise. An
    increasingly large wave of chimera suddenly began to arise all across the country. What was once a
    monthly occurrence grew into tiresome, almost weekly battles that left Casters injured, and many
    questions unanswered. Forced to intervene, the Order investigated what they perceived to be the root
    of this problem; what they uncovered was a debacle far greater than they could ever imagine.


    With the first Caster to openly challenge the Order's authority in generations on the loose, her elusive
    intentions dangerous in their secrecy and her amassed following growing by the day, it became
    immediately apparent Mercy Grey was a force to be reckoned with, and reckoned with very soon. The
    Order had sent out its most elite search parties, investigation teams, and militia officials after her, but
    to little effect and minimal progress. Backed into a corner and at their wit's end, the organization has
    been forced to reveal their ace: a cutthroat duo tasked with the investigation, research, and eventually
    arrest of Mercy Grey.

    //////////////////// xxx///////////////////xxx //////////////////// xxx////////////////////

    ███████ 世界は魔法 . で震えます


    Recognized as The Order’s golden boy, he is one of the brightest Casters of his age. With unprecedented
    Casting skills and a sharp intellect, he has worked extensively with the organization and is a high-
    ranking specialist despite his young age. In the face of dawning disaster, it has been personally
    requested of him by The Order to investigate and pursue the woman responsible for recent chimera
    attacks. He is particularly invested in this case, as he has a personal score to settle with the enemy.


    For years, he has rotted away in an obscure prison, kicking at his shackles and watching the passing
    days blur. In his prime, he was a Caster of tremendous power, dangerous and volatile enough to
    warrant a life sentence upon his fateful capture. Now, with the smell of something worrisome in the air,
    he has been allowed off his leash with the offer to aid The Order in putting a stop to a rogue in their
    ranks. In exchange for her head, he will receive something he’d long lost hope in obtaining: freedom.


    A fellow Caster with a Psyche affinity. She is trying to fully open the gates of Tartarus, which enables
    her to completely tap into dark magic and unleash a hellish army of chimera. She can control people
    through Word spells, even other Casters if they aren’t expecting it, but is significantly weaker in
    other forms of magic. That being said, the best way to defeat her would be to set up an ambush and
    limit her opportunities to speak. This is a difficult feat, since her favorite method of escape is to put
    civilians in harm's way.


    Although they are supposed to be sealed away in Tartarus, anomalies and escapees occasionally
    make an appearance in the human world. They are monsters who masquerade as humans, the cracks
    in their disguise visible only to magical entities. Low-level chimera are generally considered harmless
    and left to their own devices by The Order. On the other hand, high-level chimera require frequent
    intervention due to their powerful, bloodthirsty nature and tendency to attack Casters on sight.
    Recently, chimera sightings and interventions have climbed at an alarming rate for reasons still
    largely unknown.


    Rogue Casters who have been identified as Mercy’s followers and appointed masters of chimera.
    They all share a common hatred for humans, whom they blame for forcing them to live their lives in
    secrecy and assimilate into their world. They feel superior to humans because of their abilities, and
    yet are forbidden to establish a public magical culture.

    //////////////////// xxx///////////////////xxx //////////////////// xxx////////////////////

    ███████ 世界は魔法 . で震えます


    ( BANNER )





    #1 Archaic, Jul 8, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 15, 2016
  2. ( EXTRA SPACE )
  3. .​

    ( xxx .27 Y.O. ////// .MALE ////// .APRIL 2nd ////// .THE CONVICTxxx )

    xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWE HANG SIDE BY SIDE ▬▬
    xxxxxxdon’t you ever tame your demons! xxxdon’t you ever tame your demons! xxxdon’t you ever tame your demons!
    don’t you ever tame your demons! xxxdon’t you ever tame your demons! xxxdon’t you ever tame your demons!

    ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ x⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯x ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯


    Resourceful, Loyal, Straightforward |

    Irascible, Cynical, Sardonic |



    Pyrotechnics | Kieran has inherited through his father the trademark Westwood affinity of fire.
    Already a relatively skilled Caster, his additional gift for all forms of spell work involving the
    aforementioned element has only further strengthened the man’s repute of danger. Kieran’s affinity
    enables him to cast exothermic chemical spells that produce intense heat, light, sound or gas,
    showcasing the extremely physical and destructive nature of his powers.


    6’2” so he’s pretty tall, long af legs and limb in general LOL
    Muscular but not really buff, more lean/wiry, prison does that to ya
    Slightly overgrown black hair he keeps styled away from his face
    Super clear and warm brown eyes
    Framed with really thick lashes that make him look kind of pretty,
    An angular face with high cheekbones, a straight sloped nose and a tapered jaw
    A pronounced cupid’s bow with soft thin lips
    Pale skin that tans hella in the summer, a light smattering of freckles across his cheeks that he hates
    A large tattoo that covers his entire left shoulder and upper back depicting waves
    Some other smaller ones around his lower waist and forearms
    Usually smells like cigarettes or ash or gasoline, and if you really try, some underlying generic deodorant
    Dresses offensively casual: ripped jeans, white t-shirts, leather jackets, combat boots
    You’ll have to chase him down if you want to put him in a suit LOL

    Sophia Westwood | Mother | Kieran loves her, but does not feel close to her on any particular
    platform, emotionally or otherwise. Sophia never did truly step into her role as an involved mother,
    engaging herself in little of Kieran’s life beyond providing basic living necessities. The two have largely
    sustained a distant relationship over the years as a result, with Kieran feeling little more for her
    beyond an obligatory duty to care for her as her son. Their relationship has since worsened with
    Kieran’s arrest.

    Michael Westwood | Father | Kieran’s relationship with his father does not appear to extend much
    farther than that of his mother’s either, with an entire childhood’s worth of emotional neglect to fill the
    distance between them. However, unlike Sophia, Michael expresses a certain degree of regret over
    never having been able to connect with his children, too caught up in his work to once notice them grow
    from boys to men. Although it is clear Noah is the favored child, he has made efforts to develop some
    sort of relationship with Kieran, visiting him monthly with books and awkward, yet well-meaning
    attempts at conversation.

    Noah Westwood | Younger brother | Perhaps as a result of the minimal attention they received
    from their parents in youth, the Westwood brothers are exceptionally close. Despite outward
    appearances of total polarity, Noah and Kieran are surprisingly similar individuals who have never
    not gotten along well with one another. Had Kieran not loved Noah so fiercely, he might have felt
    envy for his younger brother; the young man is everything and has everything he has ever desired
    after. There is very little Kieran would not do for him.

    Renee George | Friend, lover | It could be argued that from the day they met, a piece of Kieran has
    always belonged to her. She and Noah have been married for four years and together for ten, but the
    two have shared countless intimate moments over the years, and to this day, maintain a tight bond that
    sits precariously on the line between friendship and romance. Renee and Noah’s premarital relationship
    was that of a tumultuous one, riddled with breakups and reunions, and in times when the couple were
    apart, Kieran found himself falling over and over into Renee’s bed by her beckoning. Although the
    arrangement ceased some years ago, after the both of them had matured considerably and Renee
    became engaged, Kieran still harbors some faint affection for the woman. She is sharp-witted,
    generous and unendingly gorgeous, and although Kieran knows she has never loved and has never
    been made to love anyone more than his brother, he yearns softly still.

    Joseph Dumas | Friend, cellmate | Kieran became acquaintanced with the man in his second
    year of imprisonment, after his holding cell was relocated down the hall across one “DUMAS,
    JOSEPH”. Ever since Kieran misread his surname for “dumbass” and laughed for the first time in
    thirteen months, the two have since grown to be good friends. Joseph, an illusion affinity
    Caster and ex-director of a magical underworld society, has seen enough in his lifetime to be
    completely unfazed by Kieran’s temper and destructive potential, something the latter is tacitly
    appreciative of.

    Simon Duvall | Partner | Although the two have only met briefly once or twice, and under heavy
    supervision at that, Kieran has heard enough about the esteemed Duvall Caster prodigy to know he
    doesn’t like the man. From what it sounds like, Simon is little more than a pampered boy scout who
    can memorize a couple of spells and look pretty casting them.


    Psyche Resistant | While Kieran’s records show he is, apparently, nothing short of an
    extraordinarily powerful Caster, the greatest

    Smoking | By eighteen, Kieran had already picked up the bad habit of instinctively reaching for a
    cigarette when in doubt. He doesn’t remember his first smoke, only sustaining a vague memory that it
    happened at one of the countless parties he’d attended back in high school and that it left a warm,
    satisfying feeling in the gut. He is not severely addicted, but does rely on a good smoke session to
    relieve the worst of his stress from time to time.

    Reading | Few people expect the Westwood convict to be an enthusiastic endorser of literature, but
    Kieran has always been fond of stories. The young man is far from scholarly, but does enjoy a wide
    variety of reading material, from fictional novels to news articles to historical autobiographies. Kieran
    has entertained the idea of pursuing a career in publishing or journalism on several occasions, but
    never seriously; someone of his temperament and legal record could never realistically find a stable
    professional niche in society.

    Body Temperature | Possibly as a peculiar side effect of his pyro affinity, Kieran’s regular body
    temperature is higher than most. As a result, he is noticeably warm to the touch, skin practically
    radiating heat in the deeper months of summertime.

    Brooklyn Accent | Born and raised in New York City, Kieran possesses a Brooklyn accent that has
    thinned slightly since his arrest, but is still very prominent to foreign ears.

    #3 Archaic, Jul 8, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 15, 2016
  4. (wip obviously. gotta figure out this mess smh)

    text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text
    ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
    text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text


    ( Simon Paul Duvall ) 一 ( 26 y.o. ) 一 ( Male )  ( The Prodigy )  ( October 8th )

    ███████ AFFINITY || PSYCHIC

    The mind itself is a treacherous thing of nature. While necessary in its most basic of functions, it indulges the most dangerous of feelings, such as hope. Love. And that burning hate known as resentment. It blinds you, allowing a person to view past events through the misguided lens of nostalgia. A fleeting smile becomes a broad grin; a disinterested glance suddenly transforms into an intense gaze, until the viewer begins to cultivate feelings for a romance that was never there. And it doesn’t stop there. The mind can be warped until it sees things that aren’t even there. True, the beholder may believe that what he is seeing is true. And perhaps when they are asleep at night, for one blissful moment, they really can believe that they are embracing a dead loved one. But then they are gasping awake in the bloom of day, struggling to separate dream from reality. Frightful, then, is the notion that a being can harness the psyche and use it as a tool, if they so pleased, with only a few whispered words.

    That being said, it is with good fortune that those able to cast psychic spells are rare, and those with a natural affinity for them are rarer still. There are currently two Caster households known to be quite proficient at psychic spells, or “charmspeak”. One is the Fitzgerald clan and the Duvall family, the latter being the most powerful of the two. History has favored this household in that they have managed to retain their strong, inherent psyche abilities despite marrying frequently outside of their affinity. Currently, Simon’s affinity, combined with his aptitude for learning spells, makes him the strongest Caster of his household. Unfortunately, most of this power goes unused. It is common knowledge that spells take a certain amount of energy to perform. Due to the fact psychic spells must overrule thoughts and actions of another person, they draw greater energy from the Caster, and are thus harder to perform. With practice, of course, this problem will be of no consequence, and Simon has practiced quite a bit on his friends and family (with their permission, of course).


    Pretentious – Intelligent

    Your typical smarty-pants, ridiculously knowledgeable individual. Is very a bit snooty, so every once in a while he’ll probably talk down to people. Whoops. It’s not his fault they’re plebs.

    Verbose – Ardent
    Somebody tell this kid to shut up, honestly. He goes off on more tangents than are possibly necessary, half of this stemming from he’s passionate about the subject at hand, the other coming from his genuine belief that the other party has no clue what he’s talking about, and needs it explained to them in great detail. Feel free to interrupt him.

    Confidential – Serene (No drama llama)

    Perhaps as a consequence of his own complicated beginnings, Simon finds that he has neither the time nor the stomach for any drama in any way, shape, or form. Blurb more about him avoiding drama at any cost, and not liking people in his business—nor does he want to hear anyone else’s business, for that matter.

    ███████ HISTORY || HISTORY


    The curious tale of Andrew Duvall and the eventual conception of his son.

    [Birth to Rebirth]

    From being raised by two tired, old people to taking on his very first pupil, Mercy.



    Frank and Agnes Duvall (grandparents)

    Two recently retired master Casters who are off partying in France. As soon as Simon moved out, they were like PEACE and disappeared aboard a cruise ship, laughing. wip

    Francesca Duvall (sister)


    Vanessa Thompson (sister)

    Part two of the infamous Duvall twin set. She was and still is the chief perpetrator of all the torment that they force Simon through, and Simon grows instantly suspicious about whatever kind acts she does for him. However, he can’t deny that through all of her teasing, she does care about him a great deal. Moments of transparent sisterly love are rare though, and the idea that she could love him is quickly thrown out the window as soon as he is entangled into yet another one of her games. Thankfully, Vanessa has been noticeably absent in recent times, due to her long-awaited marriage to her husband, Keith Thompson.

    Andrew Duvall (father)

    The banished member of the Duvall house who also happens to be Simon’s father. Andrew was conspicuously absent the majority of Simon’s youth, albeit not voluntarily (please refer to the Foreword). However, he didn’t stay out of touch. About once every month, Simon would receive a postcard from different cities all over the world. Some had notes on them, some were blank, and some weren’t even addressed specifically to him. Still, Simon knew that they were from his father, and that alone kept their familial relationship going. When Andrew was allowed to come back around Simon’s 19th birthday, he visited him regularly whenever he was in town. Although they are close, Simon has yet to come out to him about being gay, as he knows the old man’s heart is stuck on getting grandchildren. He is unaware that his father already knows, and is patiently waiting for Simon to confess to it himself.

    Kelly Sheridan (mother)

    Simon doesn’t know much about her. Besides the story of his own conception, and a few jaded comments here and there from his grandparents, the woman has been presented as a complete mystery to him. He has no pictures or mementos of her, no keepsake that he can fondly link to her. He attempted, once, to seek her out, but his grandparents made it very clear to him that she wanted nothing to do with him, which for the moment seemed true. Still, Simon would like to meet her just once, if only to see how much of himself lies within his own mother.


    Amy Schnidt-Wagner

    The unlikeliest of friends for Simon. Around fifth grade—a time where cruelty of children rose to its peak—Amy Schnidt arrived at Simon’s school. Her last name’s unfortunate similarity to the word “shit” made her a quick target for bullying, and Simon has many memories of her sitting hunched in the corner of the cafeteria, shoulders stiff as the boys teased her with various names. More out of pity than anything, Simon became her friend in the summer of 6th grade, and surprisingly, the two were inseparable after that. Amy turned out to be an unexpectedly good listener, and Simon found himself confiding more and more in her, even his early ongoing battles with his homosexuality. He never realized that during this entire friendship, she was in fact growing romantic feelings for him. Things came to a head some time ago the night before Amy’s wedding, when she had attempted to kiss him in the seclusion of her car. Simon was able to quickly resolve the matter, but not without some consequences. Things are more strained between them than they ever have been before, now that Simon is aware that his best friend wants to take it to the next level, and is not at all dissuaded by his fervent no. The only true victim in this mess is her husband, Tom, a quiet individual who has absolutely no idea that his shy new wife is thinking of another in their intimate moments.

    George O’Keefe

    It was the summer of his 21st year when Simon met the strange individual known simply to most as Cupid, an infamous matchmaker who was quickly making his debut among the single women of New Jersey. He ran into him one night at a popular club, where Cupid was quick to buy him a drink. The two hit it off immediately. The man was average-looking at best; however, Simon found himself drawn in by Cupid’s enigmatic nature. Ordinarily, he would have never thought to sleep with a stranger. But it was late, it’d been a stressful year, and as the alcohol morphed Cupid’s smile into a thing of beauty, Simon thought that perhaps he’d earned a night of letting loose. Except it didn’t end with that night. Cupid—later he would learn that his real name was George—travels quite a bit for his job. When he is in town, he makes a point of visiting Simon. The routine is the same every time: a few drinks, a posh hotel room in the city, and a night entangled in each other’s arms. While George has had several other lovers, neither party has any expectations of this relationship getting anywhere close to serious. Both understand that if either of them finds a significant other, their nightly appointments will be over.

    Kieran Westwood

    Only a fool would reside in the Caster community and be ignorant of who the Westwoods are. Much like the Duvall family, the Westwood house dates their lineage back to the very first appearance of Casters in human society, making them one of the most ancient family lines in history. That, and their impressive display of pyrotechnic strength, makes them a powerful force to contend with. This was the basic knowledge Simon had about them; really, it was all he, or anyone for that matter, needed to know. But soon he learned more than he bargained for when the Order paired him with the Westwood’s youngest heir, Kieran, in order to hunt down Mercy and her followers. Blurb about what a hotheaded, dangerous punk this is, and simon’s worried he’s gonna get shanked.

    Mercy Grey

    Simon’s former pupil who stabbed him in the back. She pretended to be this goody two-shoes student who just wanted to learn healing spells, but as soon as he let his guard down she stole his family spellbooks and burned his house down with him in it. She really hates him for some reason lol no idea why.


    Very dainty looking. Prim, posh, with defined cheekbones naturally tinted pink, and a lean, angular jaw. His nose is indented on both sides along the septum until it ends in a round point at the tip. If you look closely, you will notice that his nose veers slightly to the right, courtesy of a biking expedition gone wrong. Eyes are a shock of blue, eyebrows slender and formed into a straight line. Very often these eyebrows are raised in one of Simon’s famous “oh really” looks. Hair is usually kept neat and is the color of rust. Skin color is pale; typical ginger boy issues. Height: 5’10. Is thin-boned, like his mother and sisters. Apparel: sweaters, flannel shirts underneath, jeans, etc etc. Typical hipster wear. Always wears this fancy watch that he got from his father—via mail of course lel—on his right wrist.


    random facts hereeeee
    #4 Kuno, Jul 9, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 14, 2016
    • Love Love x 1

  5. [​IMG]
    ██████████████ 世界は魔法 . で震えます


    ( DATE & TIME )

    It is a quiet Tuesday on the first of October. A clock indicates the time is approximately 7:47 AM.

    ( LOCATION )

    A Starbucks cafe sits in the suburban town of Short Hills, New Jersey. It is only a block away from the
    local high school. With Halloween fast approaching, the cafe has appropriately decorated itself in
    seasonal knickknacks--miniature witch figurines sit by the register, smiling cartoon skeletons and ghosts
    hang from the walls, and the air smells distinctly of pumpkin spice. Business is not terribly busy today;
    the tables are sparsely occupied and the establishment is pleasantly quiet save for occasional lulls of
    conversation. An elderly man sits alone near the back, serene and seemingly engrossed in an novel.
    A young couple, possibly university students, share earbuds and a laptop, attempting to complete their
    homework but far too giggly to make any actual progress. A businesswoman waits impatiently in
    line behind three indecisive high schoolers to order.

    ( WEATHER )

    The temperature is 54°F. Outside, the morning sky is clear and colorless. A cool draft tumbles through
    the door and into the cafe with the arrival of every customer. It has rained recently--the air is crisp
    and pleasantly cool, though a soft, permeating dampness suggests there will be more storms to
    come. Puddles have collected across the pavement, and umbrellas hang from the wrists of passing
    strangers. The day is distinctly autumn.


    Two young men are seated across from one another in a Starbucks cafe. They are at a table by the
    window; aside from their drinks, a peculiar collection of map, folders, and other curious files sit between
    the two. They appear to be conversing quietly, but the atmosphere is remarkably uncomfortable--
    enough so that the barista up front has peered up from her phone to study them several times. She's
    never seen them before and they have been here for a little more than thirty minutes, but by the way
    they're acting, it's starting to feel like several years. She vaguely wonders if they are uni students,
    when they're going to leave, whether she should slip them her number, and if so, which one; they both
    look equally intimidating, but for entirely different reasons.

    Unbeknown to her, the duo are Simon Duvall and Kieran Westwood, powerful Casters currently employed
    under the Order and meant to investigate a case regarding the mass resurgence of chimera. Currently,
    intel snuffed out from a purist has suggested a planned chimera attack will occur in Short Hills, New
    Jersey on October first, at approximately 8:15 AM. The duo has been situated near the predicted site
    and are currently waiting out the event. The Order has requested of them to dispel the chimera, make
    sure all human civilians are unharmed, and capture the chimera's master to bring in for questioning.

    #5 Archaic, Jul 15, 2016
    Last edited: Jul 15, 2016
  6. [​IMG]

    His surroundings could not have been more serene. In the early hours of day, the small town of Short Hills was slowly coming to life. With the day’s occurrences still to be determined, the handful of customers trickling in and out of the shop were more relaxed than Simon had seen people in a while. Perhaps it was the quiet still of that gray, autumn morning. Or, more accurately, this was simply the immediate result of coffee addicts getting their morning fix. Simon had never been a fan of coffee, preferring the sweetness of tea over the bitter acridness that lied in coffee, no matter how much sugar was added. Yet even he knew that some people needed it just to function. As if to illustrate his point, an unkempt woman who looked half-asleep entered the café, barely aware of the students brushing past her. Simon watched her for a bit, as she tried unsuccessfully to count out her change to the cashier. There was something so heart-achingly normal about the entire exchange that eventually he was forced to look away. Normalcy was a luxury that he could not afford to have. Normalcy was a skin that Casters put on daily around humans, yet shed the moment they left their sight. To be so blissfully ignorant of the dangers right under their noses was something Simon would never understand and, quite frankly, was a bit envious of. The young man’s eyes drifted to the window on his right. Outside, a handful of high schoolers walked past on their way to school. Across the street, two old women chatted while waiting at the bus stop. A slim young woman jogged down the block, her face morphing into a smirk when one of the high schoolers cat-calls at her. Common sights and sounds for suburbia life. Simon sighed softly. Ignorance was bliss, indeed. Little did they knew that Short Hills was moments away from being transformed into a battleground.
    He wasn’t made for war. That much he knew with an absolute certainty. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that war simply wasn’t made for him. Bloodiness aside, the laborious task of hunting down, killing, and disposing of his enemies left little to be desired. It’s not that he wasn’t capable of fighting. His magical prowess was a sight to behold; he knew this because he been told this frequently. But it had never given him much pleasure to fight others. Not even chimera, as annoying as those little bastards were. Which is why it was with great coercion that the Order was able to gain his assistance with hunting down the leader of the purists. Even then, he’d been unwilling to fight, up until the night Mercy had burned his home to cinders.
    “Can I get that for you?”
    Someone was speaking to him. Blinking slowly, Simon looked up into the smiling face of a Starbucks employee. It took Simon an embarrassingly long moment to realize that the “that” she was referring to was in fact the empty mug on his table. Wordlessly, he passed it to her. He was definitely out of it today. One of the reasons why lay in the problem at hand: taking down the chimera and finding its master, a task that Simon wasn’t entirely sure they could pull off with no complications. Yet the other, more worrying issue that occupied his thoughts, the one thing he’d been trying to distract himself from for the past thirty minutes, was the somberly-dressed man seated across from him. Kieran Westwood: eldest son of the Westwood clan, a powerful pyrotechnic, an ex-con, and inexplicably, Simon’s new partner. Looking at him then, Simon was reminded rather abruptly of their previous meetings. All had been brief; all of them had been through a wall of glass. While the Order had already determined that they would be partnered, they were rather hesitant to have their golden boy meet in person with someone so “volatile”—their words, not his. So as you can imagine, this did lovely things to his nerves. Not to mention the whole tale of why Kieran was sentenced to prison in the first place. Briefly, Simon’s gaze flickered down to his associate’s hands. Even then, he could almost see the flames flickering restlessly beneath Kieran’s fingertips, ready to blaze forward at a moment’s notice. What would happen, he wondered, if that force was suddenly directed at him? Simon’s eyes drifted down to his own hands, studying the grooved pattern weaving its way between his fingers. Even though his healer had done her best, some burn scars still remained following his fight with Mercy. The damage, he was told, had been far too extensive for her to completely restore his hands. Which was fine by him. They served as a good reminder to him to be always be on his guard, especially around someone like Kieran. Awe-inspiring as they were, the destructive force of Mercy’s flames was nothing compared to those of the man seated before him.
    Deep breaths, Simon. It wasn’t like the man was going to burn him alive right then and there. Eyeing the various papers scattered across the table, he was suddenly reminded of a question that had been bugging him since the moment he got the mission. While the Order had made sure to tell Simon some key information about the purists, they had a knack for leaving certain individuals in the dark. Kieran would be no exception.
    “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now,” Simon finally said, keeping his gaze level with Kieran’s, “but what exactly did the Order tell you about Mercy Grey? Or about the purists in general, really.”
  7. [​IMG]

    Kieran glanced down at his coffee with muted distaste, eyes narrowed and mouth twitching, then abruptly looked away to scowl out the window adjacent to where he sat instead. His agitation did not, in fact, have anything to do with the unoffending coffee--it was actually quite good, rich and smooth and a satisfying balance between sweet and bitter. Among the things he'd missed most, coffee was high up on the list. Rather, it was the circumstances surrounding this particular cup of coffee that had been writhing about under his skin all morning. He didn't doubt the Order's promise to him--the Caster government had an extensive history of political bargainings behind the curtain, not to mention a solid reputation among underworld clients such as himself. As much of a threat as he was to them, they wouldn't tarnish that reputation for the sake of containing him if he did, indeed, carry out his end of the deal. At the end of the day, Kieran understood better than anyone that the Order operated on a basis of convenience, and favored whichever evil better benefitted their agendas. That being said, this entire ordeal still felt like salt on an open wound. In exchange for his illicit freedom, he'd more or less willingly tied a collar around his neck and handed the leash to the Order. The thought alone left a sour taste in his mouth. A waitress approached Kieran's table, smile shiny and makeup immaculate. She looked from the empty coffee cup on the table to the man sitting opposite of Kieran, before inquiring cheerily, "Can I get that for you?"

    It seemed her overcompensating politeness had gone to waste. Simon Duvall, currently staring out the window and looking completely out of it, decidedly hadn't heard her. Kieran watched wordlessly as she repeated the question, her smile endless in forbearance yet. This time, he blinked slowly, shocks of blue flashing, and turned to face her as if in a daze. It took another painful two seconds for the waitress's words (she was still smiling, Kieran noted, a little incredulous) to make sense of themselves past whatever daydream hazing his brain. Finally, he gave a small nod and passed the cup to her. She looked over at Kieran briefly, but upon seeing his own still quarter-full cup (and his expression, probably), turned to cater to another table. He watched her leave for only a second before flicking his irate gaze to Simon, perhaps for the first time this morning. He was, of course, dressed to the nines. Kieran had fought tooth and nail with the Order to keep their suits away from him--just this morning, it took an hour alone of cursing and vicious bargaining to be allowed to step out in jeans and his old combat boots--but Simon must have willingly slid into whatever dress code mapped out for him. Probably slid right into his own collar, too, Kieran thought sardonically, only to realize the man had been born into that collar. God. He couldn't decide if he felt pity or fury.

    Simon Duvall was the Order's golden boy and all-around beloved Caster prodigy. This was news to approximately no one in Caster circles. However, the meritorious titles he held carried a disproportionately larger weight than his appearance did--he was a small and thin-boned man, with neatly styled hair, a slightly crooked nose, and drawn eyebrows. There was an unassuming reticence about him, and from where he sat against the window, with the gray morning light washing his skin of color and something otherworldly in his eyes, he was far from what Kieran had envisioned in his cell months ago. Of course, Kieran knew better than to write him off as incompetent--not completely, anyway. He thought very little of Order Casters in general, but as a small and soft as Simon looked at first glance, Kieran was hard-pressed to find him entirely benign. His reputation was of little concern--reputation was a groundless liar. Instead, it was the intellectual glint in his eyes that made him wary. It was said that Psyche affinities could be identified simply by their gaze, and Kieran was inclined to believe it after meeting Simon. He studied people in a way that suggested he could piece through skin. It made Kieran distinctly want to avert his gaze, which he'd been doing unconsciously for about thirty minutes now. Now, however, it seemed the two had reached the inevitable end of their silence.

    "I've been meaning to ask you this for a while," Simon said. Kieran's eyes snapped to meet his, ignoring the quiet alarm shuttering in his chest. "But what exactly did the Order tell you about Mercy Grey? Or about the purists in general, really.”

    Kieran engineered a blasé, if not perfectly bored look, and leveled it onto Simon's equally stoic stare. He was silent for a few seconds, before finally blinking away and making a vague gesture with his hand. "Crazy bitch set your house on fire and stole all your mind-reading secrets. Now I'm supposed to kick her secret club's ass while you wave your wand and the crowds cheer.

    "I was wondering when you were gonna stop pretending to be mute," he added, with a touch more mockery. "Your coffee was starting to get cold." His Brooklyn accent was coming out, making coffee sound like kwofee.
  8. [​IMG]

    Something told Simon that Kieran had a distinct dislike for him. Before, in their meetings preceding this, Simon had never noticed; or more accurately, he hadn’t had time to notice. Their days with the Order had been a flurry of plotting out Mercy’s movements. In the brief moments that Simon had looked at Kieran, he could only pen the man’s sullen demeanor as righteous anger at being involved in this whole mess. This was one thing, he thought, that they shared in common. But now, as blazing brown eyes met with blue, Simon realized that he’d been hopelessly naïve. He felt his own eyebrows furrowing as Kieran gazed at him with a face devoid of emotion, and as Simon began to question why the hell he’d bothered to open his mouth, Kieran spoke.

    “Crazy bitch set your house on fire and stole all your mind-reading secrets.” Unmoved. That’s how Kieran seemed as he responded in a flat tone, waving his hand as if to sweep away the event itself. “Now I’m supposed to kick her secret club’s ass while you wave your wand and the crowds cheer.” Then, since apparently simply answering him would be too kind, he listened as Kieran added tauntingly, “I was wondering when you were gonna stop pretending to be mute. Your coffee was starting to get cold.”

    And there it was. Kieran Westwood summarized in just the entirety of those four sentences. Silent for a moment, Simon found his thoughts drifting back to their past conversations—if you could call them that. Perhaps it wasn’t Simon specifically that Kieran disliked; maybe it was simply the fact that he, being favored by the Order, represented them, and thus was a suitable target for his own pent-up anger. Or maybe he was just being naïve again. God, everything about this situation made his head hurt. Looking back at his companion, Simon roved his eyes over the man’s face, begging the answers to lie somewhere in there. But of course, there was nothing. Kieran’s face was as impassive as stone, betraying nothing. Simon sighed softly.

    “Tea,” He finally said when the silence dragged on too long. “I’m more of a tea man myself. Coffee just isn’t for me.” Why he felt the need to share this with a man who couldn’t give less of a damn was anyone’s guess. But the tense silence they shared was beginning to drive Simon crazy, and he would say anything to drive it away. Reflecting on Kieran’s past words (minus that childish taunt), Simon thought best on how to respond.

    “As far as that whole Mercy business goes, I’m surprised they told you so much. The Order has good intentions, but they’re certainly a secretive bunch.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted to the window. A bus was pulling in across the way. Watching the passengers as they disembarked, Simon continued with, “But you know, they haven’t really told me much either, aside from this first case and whatnot. I wonder…” His words drifted off into silence as the bus moved on, exposing the handful of pedestrians ambling down the block. Among them, only two individuals—a teenage boy and an older man—stood completely still. Simon peered closer at them. They were talking; rather, they were arguing, if he was reading the teen’s wild gesticulations right. Still, they seemed like a normal bunch. Simon was beginning to turn away when a faint shimmer in the corner of his eye made him snap his attention back to the two. They were walking now, but something was off about the older man. Every once in a while, his figure would waver ever so slightly, and he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no; by the time the duo had reached the end of his line of vision, the older man looked back towards the café. And in that one instant, the face of a man faded into that of something so beastly and grotesque, and every muscle in Simon’s body stiffened.

    Chimera. “They’re here,” He breathed. Unconsciously, he began to rise out of his seat. “Over by the school. That kid and the older guy.” He glanced briefly at his watch. 8:00. They were early. Shooting a look at Kieran, he wondered if perhaps they should split up. But there was no time to decide, not when their target was slipping away. “Let’s go,” Simon tossed over his shoulder as he hurried towards the door.
  9. [​IMG]

    After an uncomfortable silence, Simon finally said, "Tea. I'm more of a tea man myself. Coffee just isn't for me."

    Kieran stared at him, taking care to keep his face expressionless, though he felt the faintest trace of incredulity. That was what he chose to respond to? It was the most peaceable, civilized, and boring response imaginable, probably. The same adjectives also happened to perfectly describe the man himself, so Kieran shouldn't have been surprised. After another brief silence, Simon plowed through with as much sophistication as he could muster. “As far as that whole Mercy business goes, I’m surprised they told you so much," he said. "The Order has good intentions, but they’re certainly a secretive bunch.”

    Understatement of the century, Kieran thought, mouth flicking up in a humorless smile. In the daylight of the Caster society, the Order was a shining beacon of order and justice, a league of righteous protectors who ensured the safety of its people. The Order appeared to be filled with people just like Simon Duvall--young, brilliant, mindlessly dedicated to the prosperity of their world--but Kieran knew better. He had lived in the darkest corners of the Order for the past seven years, and he knew better than anyone that the system was a far cry from its flawless front. Kieran opted to remain quiet, and Simon continued. His eyes has drifted to gaze out the window. “But you know, they haven’t really told me much either, aside from this first case and whatnot. I wonder…”

    It took a moment for Kieran to realized he'd trailed off. Simon was already a soft-spoken man, and it was difficult to tell whether he'd finished speaking or was simply pausing. Kieran watched the man for a few seconds longer, eyebrows raising in expectation. Irritation rose as the quiet dragged on. "You wonder," Kieran finally insisted, but Simon didn't hear him. He looked like he was off in a world of his own. "Hey--"

    “They’re here,” he suddenly said. Kieran didn't miss the stiffening of his limbs, the way his shoulders squared up like he was going into a fight. Kieran turned sharply to follow Simon's gaze. “Over by the school. That kid and the older guy.”

    Kieran saw. He hesitated, but only for a moment; the flash of scales and something distinctly inhumane in the older man's face was so faint, it could have been a trick of the light. Kieran glanced back to Simon; he was already standing up, gaze turning up from his watch to regard Kieran. Something in his eyes told Kieran he knew what he was doing--a quiet, yet strong sort of authoritative determination that suggested familiarity, sensibility, and pragmatism. It was the first time he'd seen Simon like this; he was remarkably less uninteresting now. “Let’s go,” Simon said, already headed towards the door, and Kieran grinned for the first time since meeting him. As he stood up to trail behind Simon, a shock of heat crackled beneath his fingertips, a raw burn he hadn't felt since he was arrested and put on sedatives.

    Kieran's long, fast strides were quick to level with Simon's as they left Starbucks and began down the sidewalk. Before the man could spout out his overstuffed attack plan, Kieran did it for him. "You get the teeny bopper, cast your wand or whatever the fuck, but the chimera's mine," he said, still smiling, voice sharp and eyes viciously bright. He kept his gaze on the freaky duo, about a street ahead of them, as he spoke. "Don't die either, pretty boy, I need your talented mouth to memory manipulate the crowds once I'm done with this shithead. HEY SHITHEAD."

    Multiple heads turned (Kieran found this hilarious), and sure enough, amongst them was the old man and child. The two stilled, and as if in a horror film, slowly turned back to regard Kieran in perfect synchronicity. If the flash of grotesque features across the man's face hadn't given it away to Kieran first, the cold, knowing snarl on the boy's face certainly would have.

    "Now we're goddamn talking," Kieran said, and the streetlamp next to the chimera exploded.
    • Love Love x 1
  10. [​IMG]

    In all honesty, Simon was working blind. His calm façade may have exuded a knowing confidence in his movements, but just one look at the flittered thoughts that flew across his mind would beg otherwise. Capture the targets. Question them. Leave no trace. The Order had repeated those commands over and over in last night’s meeting. The more Simon thought about it, the more ridiculous he thought them to be. Impossible, even. Not to mention that through all this, he'd have to keep an eye on his flame-fingered friend here. Tugging nervously at his collar, he noticed with barest interest that Kieran had already gotten up to follow him. As they burst out into the cool, autumn day, Kieran was quick to catch up to him. Simon could not hide the surprise on his face. Was the pouting period over? He was afraid that he’d have to drag his partner—virulent swearing and callous taunts included—every step of the way. Yet here he was, walking so fast down the sidewalk that now Simon was the one struggling to keep up. Interesting. It was nice to see that if anything from the man could be counted on, it was his willingness to fight. Shifting his eyes to the chimera and the young boy, he watched as they curved neatly around a fountain. Wherever they intended to go, it seemed to be in the direction of the local park. Simon looked beyond them, to the tree canopy that dotted the horizon. It would take some time to get there, but if they could herd the two there, the chances of onlookers seeing what they shouldn’t dropped drastically. Which meant less magic expended by him.

    “Kieran-” Simon began, turning to his partner. His eyes alighted on his figure, then his face. At the sight of this, Simon was suddenly rendered speechless. Two words echoed throughout his stilled thoughts; good lord.

    “You get the teeny bopper, cast your wand or whatever the fuck, but the chimera’s mine.” And accompanied with this line, a broad smile that arrested the heavens and beamed with an otherworldly brilliance down onto Simon’s face. His every feature was transformed by it. Even his eyes shone with a renewed, burning intensity that made Simon never want to look away. Good lord. Gorgeous, gorgeous, his thoughts repeated in rhythm with his stuttering heart. Had he ever seen him smile before? No, now that he thought about it. The sudden appearance of it had caught Simon off-guard. As he oriented himself, Kieran continued with more of that taunting language that he was beginning to associate with just the man’s personality. So he wanted the chimera. Fine by him. Fighting chimera was already a gruesome task, but no Caster had ever attempted to capture one alive. Better to leave that up to the raw force lying in Kieran’s hands –a symbol which had Simon’s thoughts drifting to other things.

    “Don’t die either, pretty boy.” Simon focused his attention back on the taller man. Although he was speaking to him, his companion kept his eyes firmly trained on the duo ahead of them. “I need your talented mouth to memory manipulate the crowds once I’m done with this shithead.” Oh, talented mouth indeed. Before his mind could once again go to unseemly things, Kieran abruptly shouted, “HEY SHITHEAD!” His words broke against the stale silence of morning. Several pedestrians spun around—which begged serious questions about who they were personality-wise. But the target pair—the chimera and his keeper—did not hesitate to turn and face them. It was then that finally, at long last, Simon Duvall realized just exactly what Kieran was planning to do. “…memory manipulate the crowd once I’m done with this shithead.” Keywords: once I’m done. Oh, hell no.

    “Kieran, wait!” Simon objected, but it was too late; a streetlamp burst some feet above the chimera, showering him in glass. Oh, wonderful. It was too late to disguise the explosion as anything else; the handful of people clustered about had already seen it, and were looking around for the source. One of their eyes alighted on Kieran. Crap. In a flurry of words, Simon constructed a simple illusion spell over both him and Kieran. Then, he approached the small gaggle of onlookers, hoping he would sound as official as he looked.

    “Nothing to worry about, folks,” He told them in a casual tone. In their eyes, he could see his own illusion reflected in them; a young police officer and his partner, both donned in a dapper black uniform and cap. “Just a prank probably. We’ll catch who’s responsible.” He watched as the slight panic in their eyes faded into slight curiosity; it was just a stupid prank by some teen. Nothing to be concerned about. At his urging, they drifted away back to whatever they’d been doing before, one woman gingerly stretching out her calf before taking off once more into a jog. In the meantime, their two persons of interest had remained uncharacteristically still, eyes locked onto the two Casters. Now that Simon was closer, he could hardly call the purist a young man; a boy would be more precise, judging from his budding acne and childish sneer. What was someone so young doing in Mercy’s organization? His eyes flicking from one person to the other, Simon braced himself for whatever move they made next. It was plausible they would try and fight them there. If so, Simon’s neat-little cop trick wouldn’t cut it. Most likely they were there to cause as much destruction as possible. The appearance of two Casters would change nothing. Abruptly, the chimera and boy exchanged an unreadable look. Simon settled more deeply into his posture, readying himself for the attack that was sure to come.

    Except it never came. In a spontaneous burst of movement, both parties split from one another down opposing sides of the sidewalk, moving so fast it took Simon a moment to process what was happening. In the next, he was running as well.

    “Don’t make a mess!” was all he could remember to yell to Kieran. A last-minute admonition that he hoped to God his partner would follow. With that, he took off after the boy, a Psyche spell already resting on his lips.

    And so the hunt began.
    #10 Kuno, Aug 29, 2016
    Last edited: Sep 19, 2016
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.