- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- Online Availability
- 8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
- Writing Levels
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
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A modern retelling of the beloved classic, Cinderella by @Effervescent and Elle Joyner
She woke with a dizzying, anxious feeling - the sensation of her stomach flipping over like a beached fish, her head pounding and a raw metallic taste at the back of her throat. Mind swimming, she tried to remember what had happened, but could only vaguely recall the Gala... the blackout and those few minutes before, when she had been speaking to Ezreal.
It felt like a dream - a weird, unnerving dream that she hadn't fully come out of. There was a weight on her chest and squinting through the pain in her skull, she glanced down to see a heavy black vest had been secured to her torso. On the vest were several orange squares and a series of wires with attached to what looked to be an alarm clock panel in the center. She didn't need to be any sort of expert to know what it was. And she didn't need that reality to understand she wasn't dreaming.
There was no rationalizing it, no way of making it appear less than it was. She was strapped to a rather impressively designed explosive device and chances were it wasn't just intended to make a big mess of her - but had a bigger purpose...
Her eyes glossing over with tears, Ella looked up, looked around the warehouse, "Hello!?" She called out, her throat dry and scratchy, her mouth feeling as though she'd swallowed an entire bag of cotton swabs, some of which were still lodged in her esophagus, "Hello!? Is anyone there??"
Pinkard. Gabriel Pinkard had been there. She remembered now, seeing his face right before she'd passed out. He had been taking her picture, sending it to someone... to... to who? Why her? It surely went beyond an unsuccessful mugging attempt. Did it have something to do with Lionel? But why wait until now? And surely they didn't imagine they were going to get anything out of her stepfather... Blinking, she shifted, rattled her arms to little avail, against the zipties securing her to the chair, "Somebody help me!"
Her isolation was deliberate. Her cries for help reached out mutely to the streets surrounding the warehouse. The entire block was quiet at this hour still as night rolled past midnight. Pinkard was still antsy despite no longer being within visual range of the girl strapped to a bomb. He looked to his cohort who pursed his lips in annoyance to Eloise's calls. Ezreal perched himself on the ledge of one of the warehouse's fire exits, his heart pounding in his chest as he heard Ella call out for help.
Slowly, he inched closer to the nearest window to peer through. Crates were stacked upon each other almost as high as the ceiling. It was difficult to make out exactly where she was being held. But he didn't feel like he had the time to assess the whole situation. The possibility of it being a trap crossed his mind, but did not deter him from taking action. He entered the same way he did the week before. Nothing had changed since then, though there wasn't much of a reason for this group to rearrange the layout based on what he had overheard from the recordings. Guilt wracked his heart as he realized how sloppy he had been. This wasn't meant to get out of hand. He was just trying to rid the corruption that held his family in stasis. And now he threw his only true friend in the fray.
Just as he rounded the corner, he caught sight of Ella. She was bound by her wrists and ankles upon a chair in the middle of the warehouse. The bulk about her torso didn't register until he began his approach. Was it live? Was his mistake really worth such extremes? The sound of a metal door crashing into the far wall halted Ezreal's steps. He wanted to rush to Ella and wisk her away, but the footsteps grew closer. He instead retreated back behind a container to stay out of view.
Approaching Ella now was the handsome man from the gala. He no longer carried such a friendly air as he crouched in front of Eloise, his expression cool and thoughtful. "I do apologize for all of this," he said as he motioned to the vest. Within his hand was the detonator held casually in his grasp. "I don't really want you to come to harm. But you see, I need to teach your boyfriend a lesson. And I need to remind his parents who runs this city." He points to himself as he rises to a stand. "So unfortunately, we are here, waiting on his sorry !@#$%^&* to show."
Ella's eyes brightened a little, at the sight of the man from the gala when he stepped into view. It had seemed so innocent, then, but it made all the sense in the world. Bad guys didn't show up in hockey masks, wielding machetes. They wore suits and smiles and spoke like politicians. They made you feel safe and secure, then they struck when you least expected it, in a way that wasn't cartoonish or over the top, but in a way that was swift and conclusive. She wasn't as surprised then as she'd expected, though there was a level of shock she couldn't quite mask in her pale features. It was a quality of surprised that only intensified as the man opened his mouth to speak.
A brow quirked and slowly, Ella shook her head, her gaze defiant, if not a little forced, "...You shouldn't apologize for things you aren't sorry for." It wasn't the wisest course of action, she knew, offering sass when there was a good chance he had an itchy finger over the trigger. But the fact of the matter was, she was terrified. Terrified to the point of numbness, and the only possible combatant she could think of to hold herself together was a defense mechanism she'd employed for a good portion of her life. Of course, Lionel had never tried to kill her, and certainly not with such a colorful method.
There was some satisfaction in knowing that her intuition had been right - it was pretty obvious now that Ezreal was the one who had saved her from Pinkard in the alley, but it was satisfaction swiftly lost when she considered that if he did show... and she was sure they'd made it apparent to him what would happened if he didn't... they weren't going to offer him a medal and the key to the city. Try as she might, no amount of sass or sarcasm could keep the tears from stinging at her eyes, and no matter how many times she blinked at them or bit the inside of her cheek, the burning only worsened. She was sure she wasn't going to win the fight, but she was going to go out swinging.
"Frankly, sir, whatever you think Ezreal or his parents did, I'm pretty sure you kidnapping me, holding me hostage in a creepy warehouse and trying to blow people up is much worse, so you're gonna have to forgive me if I'm not exactly feeling sorry for your predicament. All Ez did was stop some nutcase from mugging me... but if that bugs you so much, you already have my purse. Keep it... I don't think my lipstick is your shade, though."
The man produced a pistol from under his jacket, his body still knelt before Ella as he eyed the piece over in his hand. His other hand carried the detonator, his thumb lightly brushing over the cover to the button as he held it more to his side away from view. He shook his head in a thought, his calmness still present as he looked from his weapon to someone standing behind Ella.
"Did you mug her?" he asked the unseen person. There was a pause followed by the muttering of a no. The man the looked towards Pinkard standing some generous steps away from where the girl sat, his eyes fixated on the man's hand that held the detonator until he realized his eyes were on him. Pinkard pointed to himself and momentarily debated on answering truthfully. But the man seemed to already know, his lips pursing in mild disappointment as he turned away to look back at Ella.
"It would be him," he said, and then let out a soft gasp. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Jason, by the way. Jason Kevscoff. I run this city. Well, behind the scenes, really."
"He's over here!" The voice called out distantly and was followed by the sounds of shuffling feet in a pursuit. Kevscoff's gaze flecked up to the crates stacked behind Ella as the commotion continued. Three shots were fired, but it didn't seem to stop the chase. He sighed and looked over at Ella after a moment.
"Ezreal's a little predictable, would you agree?" Kevscoff asked rhetorically. He brought the barrel of his pistol up to her hair and used it to push back a lock. Two men entered into view with Ezreal tightly in their grasp, and Kevscoff looked over at the boy expectantly.
"You've got me," he said. "Just let her go."
"No," Kevscoff responded flatly. "I need to speak with her."
He waved them away as Ezreal struggled against them in protest. He clearly did not like the prospects of leaving Kevscoff alone with her. "Ella!" He kept calling her name until a door shut to drown out the silence. Kevscoff took in another breath before speaking again.
"So, Ella," he began nonchalantly. He spoke as though they were friends just at the midterm of their relationship. "Your father runs that restaurant...what was it... Good food, anyway. Do you have any aspirations? Something beyond being a waitress?"
The interrogation of his own men was a curious thing, and the knowledge that Pinkard had done what he'd done on his own accord hardly encouraging. It felt like something that could be used to her advantage... a wedge, driven between them, to shake up the crew. Unfortunately, she never got her chance. The man introduced himself, and as Ella opened her mouth to speak, she heard the cry.
There was no other way to interpret it. And there would be no need - seconds later, Ezreal appeared, carted unceremoniously into the meeting by two unappealing thugs. Heart giving a painful throb, Ella straightened as much as her binds would allow, "Ez!"
He'd come. He'd come, against all hope that he wouldn't. But then, it had been a fool's hope, hadn't it? Even if all she was was a friend, he wasn't going to let something terrible happen to her, to preserve himself. He was too good a man to do that... Predictable. That was the word for it, and she could've kissed him... if she could get out of her chains, "Oh, Ez..."
Tears stinging behind her eyes, she shook her head. They would never let her go. Not now... not after she had seen their faces, heard their names. He'd come, but it would do either of them little good, captive as they were. Oh, if he had just stayed away... As quickly as they'd dragged him in, Ez was tugged away and Ella watched, horrified in his wake while Jason turned his attention back to her, his words sounding hollow against the pounding beating in her head, "My... my father's restaurant..." Frowning, she swallowed and with a certain determination not to fall apart, met his gaze, as defiantly as she could manage through the tears, "Stepfather, but Mr. Kevscoff. If you're offering me a job, I think I'll pass. Besides, I don't quite think I have the credentials for common criminal thug."
@Effervescent
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✧ℰloise Sooȶ✧EIGHTEEN || AMERICAN || 5'4" || 110lbs
ℬiography ▐▐▐
[bg=#EAFEE2]Ella is the epitome of selflessness. Having been adopted at an early age, she was raised in a household where one was taught to think only of themselves, and little care was given to those in the world around them... or even in the same house as them. Despite this being her only lesson, Ella, born with a disposition of abject kindness, was certain the logic was flawed and to the utter frustration of her adoptive family, purposed in her heart to be as compassionate and giving as one could be. Because they could think of nothing more to do with her, Ella was put to work.
Perfectly content to be left alone to her chores, Ella never complained and even found some small delight in the tasks she was assigned to. This, however, further infuriated her step-father, who insisted there was something wrong with the girl and tried on multiple occasions to correct the problem at hand. Despite her mistreatment, Ella managed to maintain every ounce of goodness and gentleness she had been graced with, resigned that if she should be forced to live in her current state she would, to the best of her abilities, make the most of it. She took joy in the little things, pride in her work and strove to only ever see the goodness in the people around her.
When Ella was very young, her father passed away. What little she knew of the man, she knew without a doubt he was a good man, for she saw how it destroyed her mother to lose him. Still, despite the depth of their love it was not long before Ella's mother remarried. It was a whirlwind romance... the thing of fairytales and for Ella's mother is was an escape from the tragedy... from the heartbreak. It wasn't long before it became evident that Ella, however, did not fit into her new family, the consequence of which manifested more and more as time went on and her two step-sisters grew.
More staff than valued daughter, Ella nevertheless settled into her home life with a fluid poise, accepting her position with grace and dignity. Things took a turn for the worse when Ella's mother was stricken with a swift acting cancer and passed within a year of diagnosis. Eventually, when she was old enough and it was clear that Ella would not be broken by her mistreatment at home, she was sent to work at The Royal Palace Hotel, managed by her step-father, taking a position as a server in the hotel's restaurant. Contrary to her step-father's intentions, the position was a blessing... Left to her own devices, freed from the ever watchful, ever spiteful eye of her mother, Ella thrived... a beacon of unrepressed light in an otherwise dismal city.[/bg]
✧ ɆzrealAurelⅈus✧NINETEEN || AMERICAN || 5'10" || 162lbs
ℬiography ▐▐▐
[bg=#EAFEE2] Ezreal has often been referred to as a charmer of sorts. Most of the time his charm is unintentional, and has often felt when he actually tries to be charming he falls quite short of the definition. He is a courteous man, often putting others before himself. The pressure and fame of his family and fortune weighs upon him, and the stress and pressure of having to keep up a good image has whittled down his self-esteem. A lot of concern goes into preserving his family's reputation, which makes him go through bouts of reclusiveness to insure he doesn't cause a black spot upon his family's name when he feels self-destructive.
The life he was forced to live for the past ten years has taken its toll as he nears the end of his teenage years. He has a desire to help others and make others lives better, and feels that no one should be forced to live their entire lives in the same circumstance as they were born. Any charity event his mother hosts, he strives to have an active roll. Instead of taking on work, since he already has enough money provided by his parents, he contributes a lot of his time in volunteer work. Ezreal likes to keep his life as private as possible, and luckily for him his parents respect this wish. While he is out, he will maintain a "golden boy" presence, and appear happy, lively, and social to keep up appearances. Behind the scenes is a very sad and lonely boy of 19. His loneliness is a choice, however. He found it too difficult to maintain his outward appearance and also open up to someone wholly. His sadness stems from wanting more than the material, but feeling that he can never have it.
Ezreal was born into wealth. His father inherited everything his grandfather founded making Ezreal the next heir to the multibillion dollar enterprise. Almost every major business building in the city is owned by the Aurelius family. Those who know of them by name know how many jobs they have supplied to the locals, and thus it gave his father the edge in his political campaigns throughout the years. Like every wealthy individuals with no real celebrity clout, it is hit or miss as to whether or not people would know their faces. His parents' faces are more well known than his.
Sometimes this is a saving grace for Ezreal, especially when people don't even know the association between the name Aurelius and the city. Still, there are those who do know he is the son of the mayor, and thus there is a certain level of pressure to keep up a positive appearance to the public. Who knows who is watching and reporting? For the most part, his childhood was a great one. He got everything he ever wanted, elaborate birthday parties, and surrounded himself with friends. It wasn't until high school that the pressure of appearances was formally placed on him by his parents as they expressed their concerns with his school friends. Because he was a child and did not know he could act differently, he began to wean himself slowly from his friends and adorned a mask of happiness.
Those he pushed away were likely hurt, but it was never enough to taint the Aurelius name. Towards the end of high school, life felt very unfulfilling for the teenager. He longed to be able to help others, but also to be true to himself, and express himself how he wanted to. After overhearing his father in a hushed dispute with his mother about Kevscoff and some vague trouble, he took up the romantic notion of vigilantism, though without the violence. For the most part it was taking to the streets incognito, supplying the police with anonymous tips on any criminal activity he may see while having minimal interference.
His first case was finding the pickpocket that stole his wallet while he was riding the subway. Since his family owned a large portion of the city, it wasn't too difficult to track the pickpocket through the cameras along the outside of the buildings. After several days of talking with various security guards, bell hops, and personelle, Ezreal eventually tracked down the pickpocket's home and figured out a way to gain entry while he was away by using his minimal clout and supposed charm. Inside the pickpocket's apartment was not only his wallet, emptied, but a few others. He gathered what he found and quietly returned each found wallet to their respective owners. He quickly learned that people assumed he was the pickpocket, and eventually had to return the stolen items in secret as well.
On occasion, he has found himself interfering with situations before the police arrive, though he has always made sure his face is covered by using a hoodie and bandanna combination. The cliche of his hobby doesn't bother him, though he wishes he could do something more official than vigilantism. But because he is heir to the family fortune, he feels he cannot pursue a career in law to any degree.[/bg]
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