Children of the Gods

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Soul Breaker Sam, Aug 22, 2013.

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  1. After figuring out who their true parents are, these teens must help their parents by making sure Earth stays safe.
    Eva knew she was different... she knew she was no ordinary girl... she always loved to fight, it was like fighting was apart of her... she also loved to love. She knew she was extremly powerful, she just didnt know where she got it from. Eva was a strikingly beautiful girl. She had long, curly black hair, high cheek bones, full lips and bright blue eyes and cream colored skin. She knew she was pretty, all the guys in her villiage pant and follow after her... even some girls do it to. She just never made a huge deal about how pretty she was. It wasnt her nature.
    After much thinking under the sun she sighed, got up and went down the hill headcing to her house. She was DETERMINED to discover the truth!
    She swung the door open and her parents looked at her wide eyed. She looke at both of them with her arms crossed.
    "What is the matter sweety?" her mother asked, her voice filled with concern. She took a step toward Eva and Eva took astep back.
    "Tell me the truth..." Eva's voice was serious.
    Her mother and father sighed, realizing it was time she discovered the truth.
    "Sit down Eva-"
    "I'd rather stand." Eva interrupted.
    Her father walked up next to his wife and began the story, "You are adopted Eva... We found you up there." they pointed out the window at the highest mountain. Her father looked through a drawer and handed her a metal. "We found this wrapped around your neck." he said.
    Eva carressed the metal and outlined the symbol in the middle. The symbol had a heart with two swords at both of the sides. This is a gods symbol, she thought. Her hair fell in front of her face as she was looking at the medal and tucked her hair behind her ear. She looked at her parents with her blue eyes.
    "I have to go up to that mountain... thanks mom and dad I love you." she hugged both of her parents and ran up the mountain.
  2. The metallic tang of blood came to life on his tongue. It was sharp, and acidic, and he could feel it burning against the back of his throat.

    Aaron was sprawled across his bed, with his pocket knife lodged firmly through his tongue. Blood was rushing down his throat, hot and sticky. If he sat up, it would drip down his chin and across the front of his shirt. He wiggled the knife a little, and a fresh amount squirted back between his teeth. Aaron's toes curled in the sheets of his bed, knitting with the fabric. There were important nerves in his tongue, there were important veins. They were being severed quickly, one by one, and he felt nothing, no excruciating flood of pain. Aaron's brows were knitted at the brow; how could this be happening? This was a medical anomaly beyond any that he had ever seen. His lips twitched, and he began to draw the black out from his tongue. He ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth, slick with his fluids, but he could feel it nonetheless. There was a slit in his tongue now. But blood began to close it, sealing the slit so it felt nothing more than a forgotten tongue piercing. He began to slowly get up from his sprawled position on the bed, sitting up, with a gently tilted head - he wanted to be sure he didn't drown in his own blood from sitting up too hastily. It happened, apparently, in car-crashes. Victims sat up from toppled cars only to sever an artery that was being tug asunder, and then, they drowned; a horrible, spitting death. Aaron was not interested in such a fate. Not for himself. Not for anyone.

    He wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his grey sweater. It came back black and slick. He kept his mouth open, awkwardly drooling out blood, watching this fresh batch join the puddles already present on the floor. He carefully avoided the pools of the sanguine humor, although he trailed it in his wake. His sweater was becoming stained. The puddles began to merge together; like jello slid around in the a bowl. Aaron padded to the bathroom, and reached out for a maroon towel; a towel that had previously been white. Aaron wiped at his face, inspecting himself in his mirror. The acne around his chin had gotten worse; bacteria was building up from the moisture that occurred whenever he split his blood. He had taken to using his tongue as of late; it healed faster. When he had been using his upper arms and his back, they had bleed for weeks - but his tongue healed within the space of a day or two. Aaron set down the bloody pocket knife, letting it teeter precariously on the edge of what was formerly a porcelain white sink, but had since become a pale rose colour. He spit in the sink, looking at the amount that came out from his mouth. It was too much; he didn't even think that a tongue held that amount of blood. By all rights, the muscles and tendons in his tongue should be totally deflated, and it should hang there uselessly in his mouth. But no, there was a basin full of blood infront of him, and his tongue still twitched eagerly in his mouth.

    "Hello Aaron." He enunciated his words with clarity to his grime-covered reflection. His tongue still worked. He could still form words. It was not as if he had many people to talk to, though. He asked his professor for extra-credit, he asked the lab supervisor where the scalpels were and the alcohol rubbing pads. Beyond those concerns, however, he usually communicated in seriously of positive and negative sounds: "Uh-huh" and "Nuh-uh." Aaron cleared his throat and spat in the sink again. Blood had bubbled up to the rim of the sink. He watched the whirlpool head down the drain, and he let out a deep sigh. He reached for his blood stained pocket-knife and began to clean it off with a paper towel and some soap - using the shower, instead of the sink. He figured that the sink would be clogged for ours. He mumbled to himself as he did, reintroduced to the novelty of talking, even if it was only to himself. "Maybe a subsect of hemophilia - but most die when their bodies don't produce. Mine does." He wiped across the edge of the knife, and then inspected his work with his colourless eyes. He nodded once, as if in affirmation. "Maybe Wiskott-Aldrich. I've had eczema." Aaron turned the switch off in the shower, watching the blood swirl down the drain.

    "Hello Aaron."

    Something was addressing him. He looked around, pale eyes scanning his bathroom. Nothing was there. There was nobody. He flicked his pocket knife outward, a precaution. He'd be useless if somebody jumped him. Despite everything, Aaron did not like violence. Perhaps, more accurately, he did not like confrontation. He padded carefully out of the bathroom and stared out across his room. Clothes and laundry were still safe in their teetering tower of greys and blacks. His shoes were by the foot of his bed, as he had left them. His sheets were tousled. He could see the indentation on the pillow from where his head had been. Pools of blood sat undisturbed on the carpet; as thick as oil, refusing to be absorbed by the fibers. His textbook sat floating on a TV-Tray in one of the larger pools, the one that manifested under his desk. He had cut his thumb while turning the pages of the text book and a flood had appeared. Now he was more experienced. Now he knew to run to the sink. His cactus from his parents sat sad and unattended on his windowsill; the closed blinds not letting any light in. The drawings that his sister sent him were still proudly tacked to the wall; she was going to be a great artist when she was older. But something was different about his room.

    There was a paper boat sitting in the pool next to his closet.

    Aaron carefully padded over to it, disturbed by its presence. He didn't even know how to fold an airplane. He couldn't have made the paper boat. There were words written on it, in what seemed to be ballpoint. The words read: "For Aaron Brumbaigh Palmer." There was something in the boat; a little black satchel - like the sort of thing that the Dungeons and Dragons geeks that played next door kept their dice in. He had seen them milling about the halls when he came home late from the lab. Could this have been one of those nerds playing a trick on him? Aaron grimaced, and reached out to pick up the little bag. It felt cold to the touch; despite the humid warmth emanating from the pools of blood on the ground. Inside, was a little silver medal, with a scrap of paper folded neatly around it. The medal was emblazoned with a symbol: A man's face, twisted and contorted; his hair looking like swirling snakes around his head. There was a blindfold across his face. Aaron shook his head. It meant nothing to him. The paper, however, had more meaning to it, or at least, a meaning that the mortician could understand: "Go to the Cascades. Blood will have blood."

    That was a Shakespeare quote, he thought to himself. He repeated the relevant phrase from Macbeth: "It will have blood, they say, blood will have blood." He had been into theatre in high-school. He had played the role of Siward, because they had to give him a part because he was a senior, and his acting wasn't so terrible that he couldn't be on stage. However, it was better that he had a minor part, for all involved. But he remembered the play. He remembered that quote. Blood will have blood. Blood. It seemed that perhaps, there was an answer in the Cascade Mountains outside of town. Maybe. Or maybe he just wanted to get out of the room, for a while. He had been cooped up here for a week, studying for finals. Just him, him and his blood. Maybe it was time to get out.

    Aaron pocketed the medal and the note. He considered leaving his pocket knife behind; but it was too exhilarating to see his blood flow. Too fascinating. He couldn't go long without seeing red, so he pocketed that too. He retrieved his bike from his closet, a mountain bike from the early 90s that had been his fathers, and began to walk it out from the room. As he did, he left a thin strip of red in his wake - his tires had slipped into one of the pools. He snuck out from the room, and stole into the empty air of Oregon. He began to pedal, down the streets, out of the house - heading to the Cascade mountain range. Something was there, even if it just was the wonder of nature. But it was something that he needed to see.
  3. Xanthia stared at her reflection. She wore a black jacket and the hood was pulled over her head. The red t-shirt peeked from underneath and her black jeans seemed to fade behind the jacket. Her white tennis shoes contrasted the entire outfit. She sighed. A sudden call from downstairs took her attention.
    “Van, come down here please.” Her mother’s soft voice drifted up the stairs. Xanthia put her hands in her pockets and started down the stairs to find her parents on the couch, holding a metal box. “Sweetie..We should tell you..”
    Her father took the box, putting it in Xanthia’s hands. “You’re not our child..we adopted you.”
    Xanthia wasn’t surprised. She picked up the box, opening it. Inside sat a golden medal with two swords, the blades pointing through a moon. She slid it around her neck. “The Gods…”
    Her parents nodded.
    Xanthia looked up. “I’ve got to go.”
    “We know sweetheart.” Her mother answered, standing up. Both her parents hugged her tightly. “Good luck Xanthia.”

    She nodded, hugging them awkwardly before walking out of the house, stretching and taking a deep breath. She hated the sun, but she figured it was best to start now. She started at a slow run down the street, heading for the mountains in the distance.
  4. Once Eva finally made it at the top it. She was happy she was wearing something that she could climb and run in. She was wearing a bright blue midriff shirt, black shorts and blue sneakers. She sighed, put on the silver medal and looked around... to her amazment somebody else arrived on top of the mountain shortly after her... it was Van. She looks a little like me,she thought. She walked up closer to her, "Excuse me. Who are you?"
  5. Xanthia stopped as she heard a voice. She turned, glancing at the girl. Wow..she's like me..only..more a day person.. "Xanthia, but my friends call me Van. You are?" She asked, biting back a stern tone. She didn't mean to be rude. "And what are you doing here?" Her voice softened slightly and she felt a tad better, but talking to a stranger didn't help her. The medal gleamed on her chest, but she zipped her jacket up, covering it and pulling her hood slightly to be sure it stayed.
  6. It took Aaron some time to reach the mountain, and by the time that he did; the rain was coming hard and fast. It always rained in Oregon. Aaron's family was from California - the southern part where there was always sunshine and smog, stretching across the horizon like some oily ghost. His hands were hurting as he clenched his bike's hands; the cuts on his fingers were being peeled open. Bandages - even the primitive ones with happy cartoon creatures, managed to contain his boiling blood; it was as if his blood knew that it was meant to be contained, and for the time being, obliged to Aaron's intention. His humours kept him warm through the sleet and rain that was thundering down from the heavens. Aaron had always run cold as a child, his temperature always shied a few degrees away from where it should have been, something that worried his parents to no-end. Now, it felt as if there was forever a fire in him, forever a fever. He had taken his temperature almost obsessively when he started noticing his hemophiliac tendencies. 103°, always. He had been 103° for weeks, now, but he hadn't felt anything else; no vomitting, no cramps, no unusual weariness. He spent more time in his bed, yes. But in bed, he spent that time cutting open his tongue and seeing what came out.

    Aaron swerved across the streets, his bike wheels spinning with water. There were no cars on the road. He didn't know why he expected there to be cars, nobody ever came to Eugene, except for schooling. And it was the middle of summer - he had just stayed on for a summer term. But it was still the free-way. There were other places in the world, there were other towns beyond Eugene. Ashland, Salem, Spingfield - they existed, and there was nobody going to them. He turned at one of the green roadsides, which proclaimed, " HWY 126: Next Right ". He tilted his bike, heading towards the exit. The Cascade mountains. He'd never been. Grace had always wanted to go camping one weekend, and he had heard his nerdy next-door-neighbors loudly proclaiming that they would be going next week for a LARP, and that he should come with them. But Grace was gone, and there were pools of blood on the floor. His neighbors were friendly, but he couldn't imagine what he would do with them. He couldn't imagine doing anything with anyone, not since the blood. Who knows what sort of diseases he was carrying? Mortuary Science majors were the most likely to catch diseases and infections, the most likely to be given some long-dead diseases that should not effect the living. Out of all the other sciences, Aaron chose the one that had the highest death toll, other than perhaps, physics. Aaron knew that. He knew that because of Grace - his friend, his only friend. But Grace was gone.

    She had blonde hair, and a ready smile. She had green-blue eyes that flickered mischieviously. She liked to wear her hair into two split braids, or wear it long down her back. In the summer, she wore denim shorts and band shirts from things like Pity Sex and Brave Bird. Her sneakers were keds that her mother had died in. In the winter, she wore knitted hats and scarves she made with one of Aaron's nerdy neighbors; her cheeks always flushed rosy in the cold air. Grace was self conscious about that. She hated her pink complexion. She preferred the yellows and greys of a corpse on a slab. She wrote a blog, the URL name was Glabella, named after the ridge between the forehead and start of the nose. The slight depression. Glabella was filled with roses, anatomical drawings and civil war soldiers. The icon for her blog was a polaroid picture of her with an arm around a smiling boy with clear skin and bright, colourless grey eyes. Behind them was a magnificent rose garden; Portland wasn't called the Rose City for no reason. The blog, and the picture, had disappeared when she was let out of the hospital. They took away her roses, her anatomical drawings, and civil war soldiers. There was only a short audio file. She only said a few words: "The Glabella is a slight depression between the eyebrows and the bridge of the nose. The Nasion is distinctly depressed." Her voice sounded filled with drugs, and filled with sorrow. Aaron had checked the site obsessively for days on ends, ever hour and hour. He'd texted her. There was never any reply. Now, on the first few days of the month, he'd check the blog, just to see if there had been an update from her, some indication of life. But Grace was gone.

    Aaron pounded on the pedals as the first hill came, his teeth grinding against one another. There was still the lingering taste of blood in his mouth. Then he realized something. The sun was shining. The rain had stopped. That wasn't supposed to happen for another few weeks. He looked up at the sky. It was robin's egg blue, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Aaron blinked, and looking around. He was further in the mountains than he thought. He glanced down at his bike pedals, leaning awkwardly with one foot to stop his bike's charge forward. There wasn't a road anymore. There was grass. There were flowers, trodden and tangled up in his bike. Their petals began to droop. Aaron tilted his head, and slid off of his bike, setting it gently against the ground. He looked around. This was a clearing on the side of the mountain - there were woods and forest to his side. He felt like there should be picnic tables, or a firepit; something to indicate that this was a camping area. But there was nothing. He looked out from the mountain's edge. There were flat plots of lands - with no city or buildings in sight. Shouldn't be? He couldn't have gone more than a few miles. He wasn't out of site of the city, and while Eugene was remote, it wasn't isolated. There weren't even any clouds hanging low. It was perfect, pristine, untouched.

    Then there was a sound. A rustling sound and then, muffled voices. What? What was that? Aaron turned, and began to move into the woods, his pocket knife held out, blade first. You could never be too careful. There was a real problem with vagrants in Eugene ; and sometimes, they were violent. With a knife out, stumbling through briars and thorns, Aaron was tossed into another clearing; a clearing with light, and two, silohuetted figures.

    With a knife in hand, and specks of blood still on his face, he came across two girls.

    They looked nearly identical, both with long, dark hair, and bright blue eyes. One was dressed conservatively, the other showed a lot of flesh. They were both quite unblemished. They were pretty, both of them, but one of them was clearly glamourous, and used to being seen as such. The other was more subdued in her appearance; but both were too pretty to be real. They were manufactured, some combination of the right lighting and creams made from dead people. Aaron stammered out some words, lowering his knife, but only an inch, and now both hands were on the blade. His voice was raspy, and shaky: "Who the fuck are you?"

  7. Eva smiled warmly at the girl, "I am Eva. Nice to meet you." she noticed the medal flash before Van could cover it. She glanced at it then looked back at Van, "You have one as well?"
    'Who the fuck are you?" Eva heard a raspy voice say. Immidiatly Eva took a fighting stance and looked at the guy.... this was all out of instinct. She has trained ever since she was a toddler. The blade of the knife flashed when the moonlight hit it. She looked between the man and the knife.
    "Who the fuck are we... who the fuck are you?" she asked. Her eyes made contact with his.
  8. Xanthia nodded and her question before her hands curled into fists at the man's words. She did not speak, but sighed, stepping away from the two. She wanted to fight, but there were more important things. "Hey. We don't need to fight." She forced herself to say in a demeaning voice. She hated the words 'not' or 'don't' in the same sentence as 'fight', but they shouldn't yet, if neccassary.
    #8 Jae- The nonexistant, Aug 23, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 23, 2013
  9. Eva sighed, she knew Nav was right... and she hated that. She put her fists down and looked at the man in the eyes. "I am Eva..."
  10. Aaron slowly began to lower the knife, holding it between his hands. His colourless eyes flickered over the two girls. One was aggressive, Eva, the other, whose name he did not know, was passive. The truth was that he couldn't have done anything ; he was useless in a fight. Confrontation was not something he craved, in his own very passive way. His hands tensed on the knife, and his bandages made the rubbery sound of bandaids crinkling. He bowed his head, and began to pull the blade of the knife back into the body of his pocket-knife. He shoved the knife into the pocket of his his jeans, where it made an awkward bulge, just like his wallet did, in the space that his narrow hips occupied. His hands stayed in his pockets, balling around the wallet, phone, and the body of the pocket knife that were stowed in there.His pale eyes shot to the girl he didn't know (Van ) , studying her. She wasn't as smoothed out as the other one, in appearance; she had a sort of middle-school beauty to her, while the other should be chaperoning old male move stars who have seen better days.

    Aaron cleared his throat, trying to get his words to stop shaking. He hadn't spoken to anybody in such a long time; not with original words. Usually he had them written on little post-it notes, and he practiced saying them. His hands were trembling in his pockets, mercifully hidden deep within his jeans. His words came out muffled and unclear. "I'm Aaron." As soon as he said it, he realized how stupid it was. Why would he have given his real name? Identical twin women in horror movies were always dangerous - and he had been told to come here via a message on a paper boat floating in a pool of blood. Had these girls set up the message? How could they? There weren't in his room. He would have noticed that. Wouldn't he? He had noticed the boat, and that was a far smaller thing. His heart was pounding in his chest. Each beat reminded him of his mistake. Stu-pid. Stu-pid. Stu-pid. Bah-dum. Bah-Dum. Bah-Dum.

    The shadows were wrong. They were too long, too blue, not warm undertones of purple and yellow. Aaron stared up at the sky. Suddenly, it was night. There was the moon, shining down on all of them. Stars clustered around it - there were no clouds, just sprinkles of salt in the black tablecloth of night. How could it be night? It had been mid-afternoon when he had arrived, not moments ago. Was time wrong? Was he wrong? Maybe it wasn't night at all, and he was just confused. But how could a bright blue sky become so dark, and a golden sun become so pale. His fingers itched. He felt the urge to start peeling them. But he couldn't. Not in-front of these girls. What if he bled? What if his blood leaked out and wouldn't stop? They'd drag him to the hospital, the very thing he had been trying to avoid. But the girls. Back to the girls. Why were they here?

    Aaron narrowed his eyes, and took a step forward. His brows furrowed as he subconsciously dragged his hands from his pockets, and began to tug at the tips of his fingers. He seemed to be working the brightly coloured bandaids off of his hands without even realizing it. It was comforting, though, and his hands were no longer shaking. He was expected to talk. It was his turn in the conversation. He croaked out, in his raspy, dry voice: "Nice to meet you. Now, why the fuck are you here?"
  11. Ruya had always known. It was hard not to, with his adoptive parents being so stupid, so thick, so humane. Unlike Ruya. But, like with most things, Ruya had kept his knowledge secret, and acted as if he knew nothing. If anybody tried to hint at it, he'd smile at them with an a blank, face. Behind the sweet facade of his face though, turmoil and hatred brewed. Nobody knew darkness like he did, yet nobody knew that, because nobody knew lies like he did either. So Ruya had played the game, as a dragon in lamb's clothing.

    Ruya was only in the remote mountain town because his 'parents', Thomas and Jane, had ran out of places to move. They were always moving, since where-ever they went, Ruya was rejected. It was impossible to say why you didn't like Ruya- he acted nice enough, plus he was very smart and polite. There was something in his eyes though, a miniscule glitter, showing that he wasn't as he seemed. His 'parents', ever hopeful, tried to involve him in social activities, tried to find one place, with just one person, who would accept him. Their search hadn't been successful though. That's why they'd brought him back here, the place they'd found him. On the day they'd picked Ruya up off the mountain top, they'd been saying their last good-byes to Oregon, before they'd moved to the city. Long since had they learnt the city was the worst place to be with Ruya. Sidewalks cleared when he was around, and not even the police could do anything about it, since the only person there was a innocent, teenage boy. Finally, with nowhere left to go, they decided to take Ruya back to the place where it had all begun.


    "Ruya, we need to talk-" Thomas began.
    "I know," Ruya stated flatly, bored after 19 years of acting.
    "Well, the thing is-" Jane started.
    "Your not my real parents," Ruya finished.
    "Yes, and-" Thomas added, pointlessly.
    "My parents are Greek God's/Goddess' who left me on a mountain, blah blah blah," Ruya interrupted once more.
    "Also-" Jane tried, determined to find a sentence Ruya couldn't finish.
    "You have a medal for me," Ruya declared, triumphantly, "Look, the only thing I don't know is how you two came to know the Greek stuff."
    Handing Ruya the medal, Thomas sighed, "Neither do we."
    "I thought not," Ruya affirmed, snatching the medal from Thomas, "Well, I'm off now." Ruya waltzed towards the door, shoving the medal in his pocket. It was only as he slipped through the door, he dismissively called out "Thanks for pretending to be my parents, I guess." It wasn't much, but the simple thanks gave his parents something to pin their hopes on.

    Once Ruya was a fair way down the street, he took the medal out of his pocket. He hadn't wanted to ruin his cool leaving scene, so he'd waited to get this far to look at the medal, despite his eagerness to look at it. Sure, he'd seen it before, but not properly. When Ruya had found it hidden at the back of his 'dad's' wardrobe, inside a glass case, it had been impossible to see what was on the medal- whenever he'd looked at it, the pictures had began to move, changing into formless globs, then faded away seconds later. Now that it was in his hand though, Ruya felt he'd be able to see it properly, and the curiosity to find out the truth was killing him. Hurriedly, opened his cold, clenched fist, to see the medal in its true glory.

    The medal was as beautiful as Ruya had expected, in a mysterious way. It glimmered a clear white, a white with almost figure-like shadows dancing across it, even in the light of a nearby lamp post. A mixture of elevations and indentations formed a strangely enchanting scene. Within a solid triangle were three poppies: the one in the bottom left of the triangle seemed not quite right in a way, as if it wasn't properly formed; the one on the bottom left, however, was strong and firm, with decay fringing its edges, as if they were trying to spread disease; the final poppy, inside the top corner of the triangle, was smaller than the other two, and it was being choked by thorns. It was only upon even closer inspection, that Ruya could see a pair of tiny wings, protruding from the top of the last poppy.

    After taking time to observe the medal, Ruya eventually hung it around his neck. What he was supposed to do now Ruya wasn't sure of, but a gut instinct told him to head to the mountains. And when your parents are Gods, instinct is pretty trustworthy. As Ruya headed towards the mountains, a true smile appeared on Ruya's face for the first time in his life.
    #11 E-Claire, Aug 23, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 23, 2013
  12. Eva crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at Aaron... she could sense he was nervous...
    "Your not very socialable are you?" she smiled warmly. Then she sighed and told her story to both Van and Aaron, then she showed them her medal.
  13. Aaron listened to her story in a daze. Gods. Greek gods, of all things. He had been raised in a moderately Lutheran household. They went to church on the holidays, but never with any regularity. He had never paid much attention to their Pastor, and had concealed comic books inside the Bible instead, when he was young. When he got older and his sister was born, he had entertained her with silly faces and mocking gestures behind the pew. They had never fought, he and his sister. That was the way of older siblings, the way of siblings that were thirteen years apart. Eva must have been an only child. Her whole demeanor reeked of never having to share a space with another person. She had been clearly pampered and well loved; probably had scores of friends back home, and boyfriends. Maybe girlfriends - but he doubted that she was the type for such things. He could be wrong. He'd been wrong about that sort of thing before.

    How had Eva even guessed that her parents were not her real parents? Greek gods weren't well known, not outside of books of myth and legends, books that had long since been rejected for heartier fare. But then, it occurred to him. A young, beautiful girl who was an only child, likely didn't believe that anybody understood her... It reminded him of something else. Grace was showing him her blog. She had typed in a wrong link at first, as habit. This was a livejournal account. Aaron had one too, back when he was fourteen - around the same era that Grace's dated from. Her theme was black, a contrast to the strawberry shortcake tones of Glabella. The blog title had a sharp, heavily serifed font - it reminded Aaron of German posters from World War One - and proclaimed loudly: All You Need is Blood. She had covered up her computer screen with her fingers and blushed furiously. Grace then explained that she had been going through that phase, right after middle-school, where all she wore were illfitting shirts from Hot Topic, and baggy jeans. He remembered saying that he couldn't imagine her going through that phase. She had laughed and then blushed more. She had elaborated that she had wanted to change her name to Esther, because even in her most contrived, she still loved novelties like the woman from the Bible, but added that she had thought she was a witch, and that her parents were trying to wan her witch powers by making her do her homework. Her real parents, she explained, were powerful sorcerers from a land far away. She had then smiled and redirected him to Glabella. Aaron had decided then and there that he had to be friends with her; this honest, charming girl from Seattle. The whole experience of All You Need is Blood was reminiscent of this moment, of this Esther - Eva, and her parents who were not witches, but were instead, gods. Greek gods, from far away. Eva might lack the black jeans and the shirts with skulls and daggers, but there was some similarity.

    But Eva had a medal. A similar medallion to the one that Aaron bore, hidden deep within a pocket of the oversized cable knit sweater. It was so cold, it felt like it was burning through his pocket. He had no explaination for that. Maybe there was a cult or something - something that abducted students and did horrible things to them, and these medallions were just a way to lure them here. Maybe Eva was crazy, and because she was a young, beautiful girl who was an only child, who likely didn't believe that anybody understood her, she had come up with this insane story about Gods. His hand reached deep into his pocket, tugging out his pocket knife once more. He flicked the blade open, and glanced around the moonlit clearing. If they had been lured here, he wasn't going to be caught without a weapon. It wasn't as if, he was going to be able to do anything. It was a small knife. He hated conflict. If things got bad, though, he figured he could slit his wrists and drown the mountain side in blood, potentially suffocating his attacker, preventing him from abducting anymore people. His voice rasped out: "Do you have any idea how -insane- that sounds?" He shook his head vigourously. "I shouldn't have come here, and neither should you. This is a set up, or some shit...." He trailed off, glaring at the bushes and trees as a cool night breeze ruffled through them.

  14. Eva sighed, "Fine whatever I never asked you to believe me... I don't really give a damn..." she turned around to face Van, "Van... I saw that medal... May I see it please?" suddenly the sky got cloudy and the air grew heavy. She looked at Van with pleading eyes.
  15. Thoroughly soaked, ergo annoyed, Ruya was trekking up the pleasant mountainside. Undeniably, the mountain was a beautiful place, filled with flowers, and greenery: itt seemed the type of place picnic'ers and caravan'ers ((I think it's an apostrophe to show the missing go)) would come, if there was more commercialism. But there wasn't enough money around the Cascade Mountains to make anybody try and make it into a holiday business area. So Ruya was appreciating he peaceful walk up the mountainside, until he heard the disruptive voices of fellow humans. "Oh great," Ruya thought, "Confrontation."

    "I shouldn't have come here, and neither should you. This is a set up, or some shit...." A male voice warned.
    Soon a sweet, feminine voice replied, "Fine, whatever, I never asked you to believe me... I don't really give a damn...Van... I saw that medal... May I see it please?" Following that, clouds filled the sky once more, and the air was heavy. Ruya wasn't sure he wanted to become part of the conversation, it sounded a bit... freaky. The word medal drew Ruya in though, like a bee to pollen. Ruya had waited most of his life to properly receive the medal, and now, on the very same day, after walking to a place that felt instinctively right, somebody mentioned a medal- it was practically impossible to be a coincidence.

    That was why Ruya ended up walking over to the crazy group, which was radiating negativity. As usual, he did in his most angelic way, with a serene smile, and normally paced steps, which concealed his fear and excitement. "Medal?" Ruya questioned, "You wouldn't happen to mean a medal like this would you?" Ruya held up his white medallion in his left hand, fairly sure the answer would be yes. What Ruya was truly excited about was not the answer, but what was on the other medal, or even medals.
  16. Eva looked at the guy with her bright blue eyes then looked at the medal, "YES!!! LIKE THAT!" she thought for a moment, "Wait... so we ALL have medals?!"
    #16 Soul Breaker Sam, Aug 23, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 23, 2013
  17. Xanthia nodded, hesitantly pulling out her medal, slipping it over her head, and managing not to knock her hood off. "And yes, I believe we all do have medals." She added before glancing at Aaron. "I am Xanthia, call me Van." She said in monotone. She crossed her arms tightly, looking over at the newcomer, Ruya. "And you're name is?" She just wanted to get up the mountain and find out why they were there. She felt a little better now that it was night. She looked up at the stars, hiding the faintest of a smile before looking back at the group.
  18. Eva caught the medal and took a good look at it... she gasped took off he her medal and compaed the two... they both had swords on their medal. Once the two medals came in contact with one another they began to shake in her hand and turn a bright blue color. Out of shock she dropped them on the ground. Suddenly the Earth began shake. Suddenly lightening struck in between the two identical girl and a heavy fog blinded everyones vision.
    Once the fog cleared up there was a man... the first thing Eva noticed was his height... he was at least 7ft! He looked extremly buff had a strong jaw a serious expression... He had black curly hair and brown eyes. Woah... Eva thought. The man looked like he was in his early 30s
    #18 Soul Breaker Sam, Aug 23, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 23, 2013
  19. Aaron hadn't shown his medal yet. He didn't want to bring it out. The others were pleasant - from the snatches that he caught of them, flashing in the light. They were mild sigils and designs. His made him feel sick, a rolling sensation in his stomach. The face on his sigil was screaming and contorted, filled with an inexpressible pain, though its eyes were shrouded. Aaron couldn't think of any greek god that fit that profile. There was Zeus, Hera, Poseidon and Hestia. Dionysus and Ares, Hephaestus and Aphrodite. Apollo and Artemis, and Hermes. None of them fit the description of a god that would have the face of horror itself, a face that was blinded, on a medal. It seemed more like an effort to frighten Aaron than some divine messenger, and it was doing its job. It was starting to hurt. His pocket felt like it was pressed up against an iceberg; sharp and cold. The medal.

    He switched his knife to his other hand, still holding it up. It was pointed to the new member of their strange group - another guy. He had white hair; looked like purple based hair dye. He'd seen it before; one of the girls in his Pathology class had hair like that, one week. The next week it was solid purple. The week of finals, he'd seen her in the lab. Her hair was the colour of freshly spilt blood, that warm, stark red. He knew that colour above all others. Maybe this guy was the one who lured them here. He was closer to Aaron's age; he could tell that. At least he had learned the name of two out of three members of his group. That was 66.6% percent. He was still failing, but he was close to a low C. Xanthia. Who named their child Xanthia? It sounded like a prescription drug. It sounded like something you knocked out girls at parties with. Well. If you were a real scumbag, it was something you knocked out girls at parties with. But then he remembered Grace's story of Esther. A fake name. This was all starting to make a lot more sense. His free hand shoved into his sweater pocket, and produced his medal, which he held face down, obscuring the symbol that was emblazoned across it. The silver of the medal flashed in the dim moonlight. Clouds were coming. It had gotten darker, and the shadows were stretching.

    "You're not buying into this crazy shit, are you?" Aaron glanced at each of them in turn, his colourless eyes darting between each and every one of them. His fingers were curled hard against the edge of the medallion - the body of the pocket knife. His bandages were peeling on his hands. fluttering from his knuckles. He wanted to itch at his cuticles so badly. There was a buzz in his ears. "Somebody's just trying to trick us. Succeding, too."
    And then, lightning struck.
  20. Xanthia stared at the medals. "What are you-" Her sentence was cut short by the lightning and she ducked, staying low. "What did you do?!" she said loudly through the fog, backing into a rock and staying still. "And what's going on?" Her tone wasn't worried, but slightly angered. Now she couldn't see the stars, and she was on some strange mountain and some girl she just met has her medal, the only connection to her past. She sighed. "And Aaron, shut your mouth. The least we can do is beat up whoever is trying to trick us if your theory is true." She growled.
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