Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by sincere_and_silent, Sep 30, 2013.

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  1. ~~~ POST BIO and get it reviewed by me, then
    jump in​

    Hi, my name is Emma Grace. I'm twelve-years-old and I can see the future. I guess I'm writing this for when we die. In case anyone wants to read the mind of a twelve-year-old Mystic. So here it is. I've been traveling with Trent for a few months now. He still doesn't seem too fond of me, but he hasn't left me either. Actually, I've left him. Just once. When he wasn't understanding that if we didn't find the others, we would die. The most frustrating part is that I only see glimpses - never the full picture. I see the others, then they slowly disappear. The next thing I see is Trent and I dead. It's not pleasant, but I'm getting used to the graphic images. I'm beginning to get used to seeing my death. It's ever-changing, after all. Just knowing the future. Just hearing what could happen. Can change it.

    For example. I saw a vision of Trent winning sixty large at a hustle. This was one of the first Sights I received. I didn't know how it worked then. So I told him. He bet all of our money, and we lost. He had been too arrogant, too sure. So it changed the outcome. Now we're staying in this piece of crap motel where I saw us meeting one of the others that we have to find. I don't know why we have to, but we both prefer to keep breathing. So here we are. Trent is out stealing us some food while I'm supposed to stay behind and sit in the room. As if he didn't know all ready. I don't do as he says. And I don't stay behind. Plus, he isn't the most subtle, so he will need my help.

    Grabbing her backpack, Emma stood and left the room. Her journal lay open, resting on the end table by her twin bed. Trent's clothes lay strewn across his side of the room. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of her current mission. Food. The door swung open and she stepped outside. The sky was overcast and the air was cool. A light dusting of snow blanketed the ground. The sun was still low, still bringing morning to the New York City skyline. People were bustling about every which way. Some in rags, others holding signs begging for food or money. Though there were the lucky handful that looked well-dressed, heading to their jobs. "Something I'll never do," she thought.

    Just as she started out to find some food, she had a vision. Taking a step to the side, someone stumbled right where she had been standing. The guy looked surprised to see her right there, but flashed a grin and offered her one of the two white coffee cups in his hands.

    Emma accepted the cup from Trent. He was glad. She could be a tough one to crack, but she was with him now, so he had to do his best to keep her safe. And well fed. He walked into their motel room, passing by the young girl. Inside, he set a brown paper bag down and began to pull out fruits, vegetables, and some ready cooked meats. At the girl's surprised look, he responded, "What? I made a little bit of money while I was out." She rolled her eyes.

    Trent and Emma chowed down, indulging on their good fortune. It had been awhile since they had any good food. Trent was happy to have been able to use his gift to feed her. Sure it was wrong, but it was worth it to see the smile on her face. He leaned back onto his bed and closed his eyes for what seemed to only be a few minutes. However, as Emma shook him awake, it was all ready mid-afternoon.

    "What is it?" He was instantly alert.

    "I saw them. Or one of them. They'll be here."

    That was all it took. They both stepped outside and decided to sit on a bench near the motel. If they walked by, hopefully Emma would be able to identify them. Though she had told him she only saw them each for a few seconds. With any luck, maybe they would stay at the motel, then.
  2. Zora was making her way down the street. "Come on, hurry up or I'm going to leave you behind." She said to someone stumbling behind her. She was shivering, watching her breath she knew she had to find some place to get warm. Never wear a skirt in winter, she thought to herself. It was another day that her brother and her had to live on their own, trying to find ways to keep living. It was her who did most of the work, however. She usually used her abilities to con people into giving her things and so on. She also tried to keep Jake out of any of the illegal things she had been doing to get them the necessaries to live.

    "Will you wait up." Jake yelled to Zora. "I can't go that fast." He said to her. He almost slipped on a sheet of ice as he ran to her.

    "I'm freezing, we need to find a warm place to stay at." Zora said to her younger brother.

    "I told you to wear something warmer." He replied back

    "Whatever." She said.
  3. Zaigou was inside the Hotel. Waiting on a patient to come in. It wasn't something he particularly enjoyed doing, but it was good money, and technically he wasn't doing anything wrong. Sure, operating on people without a medical license, or medical facilities was technically illegal, but some people couldn't afford those things, and he didn't care for the strings attached to the stuff anyway. So he waited for his patient. They needed a new heart. It wasn't something he was terribly comfortable with, but he had the heart, taken from an old Chinese Black Market Exchange. He'd checked it out on delivery. It was in good shape, and he'd been guaranteed that it was clean of diseases.

    Of course that didn't mean anything if the patient wasn't actually a patient. There'd been quite a few tries on his life as of late, and a few tried to kill him by posing as people in need of his aid. He avoided killing people when possible, but there were some things that were unavoidable as a man in his position. He'd wanted to leave that life behind him. He enjoyed it too much. Killing people came too easily for him. So he went back to surgery. It was safe. Mostly anyway.

    It was almost time. Zaigou stood up and checked on the heart in it's ice box. An organ could only handle being on ice for so long, and this one had been on ice for longer than he'd like. He expected that he could get it up and pumping, but he didn't like to take chances. As he closed the lid he heard a knock on the door. A little early, but not that unusual. Still, best to be safe he'd always said. He silently stashed the box with the heart under the sink and approached the door. If it was anybody but who he was waiting for, things would be kind of awkward, but if it was someone trying to kill him, he'd have to be even more careful.

    He pressed his ear to the wall outside of the door, listening through it as well as he could. He didn't hear any voices, which was a good sign. He leaned over carefully looking through the little peephole. The guy looked non threatening enough. Zaigou reached for the door handle, and as soon as he began turning the handle, bullets went through the wood, narrowly missing him. Zaigou let go of the handle and remained silent. Waiting for his would-be assassin to come through. Sure enough the man pushed the door open to check on his kill. Zaigou cut the muscle around his shoulders as he walked by, effectively rendering the arms useless while also causing excruciating pain to the main.

    The man began to scream and Zaigou promptly punched him in the throat, collapsing his windpipe temporarily. "You know, I really wish you'd just come for the heart transplant. That heart was quite expensive, and now it's going to go to waste. Such selfishness." He said coldly, tying the man down and resealing his arms. This was all rather quickly done. Zaigou had had everything prepped for the surgery, and the man in his weakened state couldn't put up too much of a fight. A few seconds after he'd been tied up, the man managed to take in a breath with a loud gasp. "Good, I was afraid I'd used too much force."

    "Fuck you you fucking bastard. Just kill me already." The man growled, straining against the bonds that held him.

    Zaigou just smiled "Kill you? My my, why would I do such a thing, it's not like you tried killing me, is it?" He asked, dragging a finger along the man's arm, cutting into it as he moved. "No, see I want some answers, and you're going to give them to me, isn't that right?"

    The man's face contorted in pain "Fuck you!" He shouted, attempting to thrash out. The restraints held him tightly though, and there was no way for him to get the momentum he needed to get free.

    "It's not a big thing I'm asking Mr... Oh it doesn't matter what your name is. I only want your employers name. After that I'll set you free. So come, be reasonable, would you?" Zaigou asked as he continued tracing his finger along the man's shoulder. The bonds connecting to his bones began breaking down and the man let out a scream. Zaigou promptly hit the man in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "A name." He commanded.

    "I... I don't have a name... Fuck... I don't know... They just called themselves The Company... Stop fucking cutting me." He whimpered, too much in pain to fight back anymore.

    Zaigou turned away from him "The Company huh..." He sighed. They'd caught up to him again then. Smiling once more, he turned around to face the intruder. "Alright, well I did say I'd set you free, didn't I?" He asked. "Well, I'm nothing if not a man of my word. I remember hearing once, Death is a Release, not a Punishment." He told the man before cutting his throat deeply. The blood drained out of his body quickly and Zaigou closed the wounds up, mopped up the blood, and bagged up the body, careful not to leave finger prints. From there, he attached a rope loosely to the body, tossed it out the window and let it swing into the apartment window below him. A sharp pull and the rope dislodged itself from the bag and he pulled it back up. He'd been careful to get a room facing an alleyway, and was even luckier to have the apartment building with a floor that had been closed off for renovations. The body would be discovered within a few days, but there'd be no one to claim where it had come from.

    With a sigh, Zaigou took a shower, put on some clean clothing, and headed out the door, giving a sad backwards glance at the heart under the sink. It wasn't any good any longer, but the sink's disposal system would take care of it when he got back. For now he needed something to eat. Zaigou locked the door behind him, and then made his way to the ground floor and then out, his mind set on that restaurant nearby. Chinese food sounded good to him.
  4. Zora took her younger brother by the hand, so he would stop lagging behind, and went into the nearest building she could find. It happened to be a restaurant. Perfect, Zora thought, we could get food here as well as warm up. She walked in, letting the warm heating system blow the heat on her. It felt so good on her that is made her smile a bit. She took Jake to a table, who never spoke any complains about getting food considering his stomach was growling. He sat down across from her and began to look at the menu. Zora herself picked one up. Shortly after a man came to the table to ask their orders.

    "Uh, I'll have...." Jake continued as he ordered his food. His sister had told him to get something that will last them a little while, they might not get another chance to eat. Zora followed her own recommendation and order something substantial.

    "I'm so full." Jake said as he pushed away the now empty dishes and rested his head onto the table.

    "Good, that's all we're getting for a little while. If we stay in one place they will find us." She answered him. It wasn't long after their short conversation that Jake had decided to get some rest while still in the warmth, it was a good idea but Zora just couldn't seem to sleep. She had her head down but was surveying the place to find the best way that she wouldn't have to pay for the food. Who was she going to push? Well, she knew she would have to work on the waiter. He was the one who knew they were there but she wanted to make sure no one else realized that they were there. She wanted to get out without any hassle. She made a sigh and kept her head down letting her younger brother rest. They did need it after all, and besides it was freezing outside. She couldn't go out there just yet. She had finally just gotten warm.
  5. "There!" squealed Emma, slapping Trent's arm with her free hand. The coffee he had given her was plenty bland, but it did the job. She was awake and alert. "He's one of them from my vision." She leaned over his lap and jerked his coffee out of his hand. "Let's go." Then, she tossed the cups in a trash can nearby before starting off to follow the guy.

    Trent just stared at his empty hand for a moment. "Hey, I wasn't done with that." He stood and began to follow the young girl. She was certainly demanding. Then again, he would be too if it might lead to getting his memory back. So they followed the man. They almost lost him once, but Emma had been able to pick up an image of where he was.

  6. When Jake woke up, Zora thought it would be best to leave the restaurant. "Come on Jake. Let's get going." She said to him.

    "Alright." He said back and put his coat back on after he stood. When the waiter came with the bill, Zora pushed him to think that they already paid it. Her pupils enlarged, making her eyes look almost all black. However, they were not all black. She still needed to get better. After the waiter believe what she implanted into his head, her and Jake headed out of the restaurant back into the cold.

    "Geez. I can't wait until it gets warmer." Zora complained.
  7. As Zaigou approached the building, he couldn't escape the nagging feeling of being followed. It was of course logical that he have that feeling. He had just killed someone after all. There was a certain adrenaline rush that always followed a fresh kill. Of course, he doubted The Company would send multiple people after him in one night. They'd wait until they were sure that their previous assassin had failed. Didn't have to pay out as much that way.

    Besides, he wasn't that high on their list of valued targets. Surgeons were according to them, a low quality type of Mystic. He didn't mind that though. It made his life easier when he wasn't seen as a risk. Still, that feeling of being followed never left him. With a sigh, Zaigou brushed passed some kids, apologising as he headed into the restaurant. He found himself a small booth in the corner and set about getting food from the buffet. It wasn't top quality chinese food, but it worked well enough, so he didn't complain.
  8. Nearing the restaurant, Trent gave a heavily annoyed sigh. "But we just ate!"

    Emma elbowed him in the side, ignoring his yelp of exaggerated pain. "Trent! Those two are from my vi--" She paused as a passerby turned to look at her, probably wondering what she could possibly say. "-- From my Vivaldi lessons." Trent turned to look at her, obviously baffled by her statement.

    "Vivaldi? You do--Oof!" Another elbow in the side. "Oh, those lessons." He grabbed at his side, feigning injured to no avail. Emma rolled her eyes, wondering how on earth she had decided it was a good idea to stay with him. If it weren't for her vision, she would have left. He flashed his famous mischievous grin toward her before starting forward again. Well, maybe she would have stayed with him.

    "You taking the Chinese or the streets?" Trent asked lowly.

    "You're lazy," was her only reply. He knew what that meant. He was getting the guy they had been following and Emma would take the kids. She was probably better for it anyway, considering they seemed to be close in age. Closer than he was, at least. He headed into the restaurant to search for the guy. Hopefully he hadn't lost him all ready. Emma would most definitely jab a pencil in his eye. Or worse. That girl sure did have a temper. There he was. Trent tossed a roll of money at the cashier as he walked past.

    Watching from afar, Trent decided to take a seat at a table to keep an eye on the man. He had no idea what he would do now. He had to think of some way to convince the guy to come with him and meet Emma. Then... Then what? Wait for another of her visions? They weren't even sure why they needed the others. Well, when you don't know what to do. Eat. Trent stood and walked a few paces to the buffet where he grabbed a plate full of rolls and butter. Then he proceeded to sit down, shoveling his mouth full of warm, melting rolls slathered in the sweet nectar of honey butter.

    Emma knew it was a long shot, but she decided to do things head on. She walked calmly, surely, up to the two kids. "Hello." She attempted a smile.
  9. Jake smiled at the girl who approached them. "Hey." He blushed a bit, she was cute."I'm Jake."

    Zora stopped walking as she heard a voice, she turned to the girl. "Uh, hi. Is there something you want?" She asked. She noticed Jake and rolled her eyes. He obviously thought the girl was cute. "Are you lost or something because I don't know where anything is here. We are just passing by."
  10. There it was again. That feeling of being watched. Zaigou casually carried his food over to his booth and gave a quick glance over the restaurant's current occupants. Only two caught his eye. And Old Chinese Man that was casually pretending not to pay attention to him, and a guy that looked to be around his own age that was also trying to do the same, although much less successfully. He couldn't tell if they were together, or if it was even related. He ate his food silently, although he kept his hands ready to perform 'Surgery' at a moments notice should things go south.
  11. "Emma," the young girl replied to the feverish-looking boy. Turning her attention to the ringleader of the two, she decided to do the only thing she could think of to get them off the streets. Her face became quite serious as she glanced around quickly, waiting for an opening between passersby. It came quickly. "I know what you are. What you can do. They're on your tail." Beginning to edge closer and closer to an alley, she continued, "If you want to get them off your scent, follow me." Then she darted down the alley, turning right, then darting down another alley.

    This was taking too long. Trent finished his food before he stood and walked directly over to the man he had been watching. "We need to talk." Not bothering to see the guy's reaction, he sat down across from him. "Trent," he said and grinned. The busser came over to take some plates away.
  12. Zora and Jake both were surprised. How did she know? Before Zora could answer anything the girl ran off. "Let's go." Zora said and grabbed her brothers hand.

    "We're going to follow her. What if it's a trick or something. You always said to be careful." He replied to her. "I don't think she could be bad but still." He started thinking about it. She was too nice and abrupt to be anyone against them. She had to be someone who would help.

    Zora continued down the alleyway until she saw Emma again. "Will you wait up! What is the meaning of all thing?" She questioned the girl.
  13. The Company was on the precipice of perfection, a dawning of a new age in the midst of a war-torn world. Terra Pangaea was not their first, but she possessed the most potential of her peers. She was one among the handful which didn't succumb to expiration shortly after the administration of the drug, nor did she suffer what The Company deemed physical or mental abnormalities. She became the perfect weapon in turning the tides of battle, endowed with the ability to physically manipulate the geographical structure of the environment, build and break down regions,which proved her an invaluable ally to the highest bidder. Her handlers were an unscrupulous lot, exploiting her powers for wealth and fame untold. The chemical cocktail caused for Terra to relinquish her free will, the details of her former existence deleted in an instant by a Wiper. The others would rebel or protest in some manner, some became unrelenting in their inquiries regarding fragmented recollections that resulted in a ceaseless conflict of their minds. Others afflicted with various defects were lumped into a category of undesirables, and were destroyed. Terra Pangaea was a beauteous, shimmering beacon of hope, her superhuman traits a foundation of which The Company could erect all of their aspirations upon.

    Terra Pangaea's toes wriggled in the soil which was hidden by knee length grasses, wheat colored mane stirring in the soft breeze. She wasn't permitted to outdoor excursions as a form of payment or reward, but instead The Company encouraged a tiring practice of her art. She cradled the very world in her palm, but her abilities affected shaping the outer shell itself into definable boundries. Transforming landscapes by the various shifting of the uppermost mantle, this yielded uncharted and foreign territories to be discovered and claimed by eager settlers. The slender female whom was ruddied with the staining of clay upon an already sooty canvas, grains of sand disturbed by the gentle gusts would unearth the glinting flint which decorated her dermis. Her very flesh reflected the promise of prosperity to mankind, and the fruits of agricultural wealth.

    Her terracotta colored lips curved upward in a smile, as per instructed by the leader of the institution, the fingertips of her left hand manipulated the airy material which had encased the ghostly globe in a protective barrier and she beheld the lands evolving further, angry fissures adorning the earthen crust as if the it had suffered wounds. Upon each footfall, she felt the soil respond, writhing and quaking beneath the soles of her feet. Her spirit had been bound to a body altered to their whim, that which was beckoned to wake by the marrying of soft lips, the gift of breath departing from the mouth of one of her puppeteers to inflate her flaccid lungs. The drug itself wasn't responsible in surrendering her soul to the welcoming embrace of the afterlife, but the methods of torture her dainty form had to endure in attempts to subdue her were culpable, however none would assume the blame and chocked it up to 'an almost, unfortunate fatality due to accidental means.' She possessed aesthetic imperfections which were the visible scarring of the foreign liquid that which coursed through her veins. Her eyes were a strange mingling of green and silver, a ringlet of gold encircling both irises. A countenance annointed with Mother Nature's tears, she carried the stigma of being rebirthed a creature of man's desire to play God, Pangaea bore upon her visage some rather peculiar markings, clay colored inks painted upon her skin.

    Erected at the average height for a feminine counterpart to the male of the species, the contouring of her figure was but a silhouette beneath the bulky, drab robes which seemed to undulate like placid waters that were lightly animated by the breeze. Pangaea was the only subject to give unto The Company unwavering fealty, her ability to rationalize and function like a human being under constant vigilance and edification. However intelligent she was, she was restricted from displaying any cognizance of her own, and emotion did not reside within her vessel. Twin orbs fixated upon the clouds, she rose her free hand as to shield her eyes from the harsh light the sun produce.

    She would be known as Terra Pangaea, a name modeled after a super continent rendering itself into individual landscapes. Those which belonged to the faction that created her boasted of how the moniker was most befitting of one whom governed so much influence over the soil. "Terra Pangaea; case number six. This individual shows much promise in her capabilities. She displays remarkable power over the earth, which would only benefit further from our guidance. She is a pliable vessel, displaying no hesitance to the fruition to our orders. The details to her identity previous of our care shall be sealed away in the records, never to be unearthed again. She requires no knowledge of her former life, nor of the events unfolding in the outside world. We must keep her ignorant of her role in militant propaganda, only revealing tidbits of information pertaining to the exemplary completion of her mission. Divulging the entire truth about her involvement in World War two will only serve as a hinderance to The Company."
    #13 Daniella_Belli, Oct 11, 2013
    Last edited: Oct 11, 2013

  14. Ah, the bittersweet taste of a cigarette. It had been a while since Marcus had a smoke, but given recent events he felt it a suitable reaction. Besides, he was out in an alley where nobody else could be harmed by his second-hand smoke. Marcus sighed; no matter how he tried to justify it, there was no good reason for him to be smoking at all, yet he continued, taking another puff on the white and gold-colored stick. "So this is my life, huh? Sneaking smokes in a back alley while some mad scientists try to capture me?" he mused, holding the cigarette in his right hand between two fingers as he leaned against the back of a building, left hand in pocket. Slowly exhaling, Marcus watched the smoke furl up out of his mouth and nose, and stared up into the sky. It was a beautiful menagerie of blues, golds, and oranges: the herald of a sunrise. He continued on like this for a while, looking at the sky and taking short drags on his cigarette, until he was down to the butt. Flicking it onto the street and crushing it with the heel of his shoe, Marcus pushed off against the building with a bit of a grunt, slipping his right hand into his other pocket to complete the vision of a carefree young man. Looking around, Marcus turned to start walking towards the local bar when he heard the sounds of quick, light footsteps. Somebody was running, and by the sounds of it that somebody was young, possibly a girl. Sensing trouble, Marcus stepped back into the shadow of the building he was smoking under, and closed his eyes. Pressing himself against the building, he seemed to melt into it; he had merged with the building's shadow, and after opening his eyes, he could see everything clearly again, albeit in a bit of a hazy black and white.

    Marcus' suspicions proved true as a young-looking girl bounded around the corner, shortly followed by an older girl and a boy who appeared slightly older than the first girl. "Strange crowd." he mused to himself. He figured it would be better to just wait it out than to appear out of nowhere; people tended to do harsh things when surprised.
  15. "You're definitely not with The Company." Zaigou remarked, sitting back. "So Trent, what is it you want from me?" He asked, keeping an eye on the old man, not relaxing his hand. While a Company man would've just attempted to kill him, that didn't mean that they wouldn't use an innocent to distract him. In fact, that would be very much like them. "Also, do me a favour and don't make any sudden movements, would you?"
  16. "The Company envisions great things of you. Do you really think you can elude their capture? I think not."Dolora took a menacing step forward, further closing in the space between them. It's a shame, really. You could have blossomed into something greater than you are. Now you shall be but a ruined bloom adrift in the wind, your petals plucked like the wings off of flies and scattered to the four corners. I shall give you a chance to spare your wretched soul. Do you accept resignation of your life to The Company, or will you continue to foolishly entertain the notion that you could escape their clutches?" Her violet orbs deepening in hue as she gazed down upon the stark contrast of her signature bouquet of white roses which seemed perpetually bound to her grasp. "It would be unwise to refuse me a second time.." Dolora was wholly aware of the presence which stood incognito in the shadows, however unknowing the one she was victimizing had been of the third party. (Display your power...) She received the mental cue that time and time again had signaled her to enforce her views upon others accompanied with an allotment of a moderate amount of pain. An ominous whisper of wind rustled the achromatic strands which then fell about the contours of ghostly pale face perfectly. Her pallor an exquisite match to the color of her hair, it became difficult to discern the separation of both parts of her anatomy. "...Like the wings off of flies..." She repeated as if in a trance.

    The dark-skinned, waif of a girl suddenly felt as though she was engulfed in flames, falling to her knees as if in an act of surrendering to the rapture of an imaginary immolation. Her blood roiling, her flesh began to cook from the inside out. Her arms lifting toward the heavens in a pose of supplication, twin rivulets of tears trailing down her cheeks as her her onyx gaze searched the gathering clouds as in seeking the face of a benevolent creator. A God whom would bestow mercy upon her, simultaneously chastising the wicked female which wrought these horrible sensations upon her. Dolora observed quietly, not even a ripple of emotion upon her tranquil visage. She harbored not an ounce of guilt or remorse for her crimes, for such an ideology had been omitted from her discipline. Dolora was culled from what The Company deemed 'chaff' long ago, as she was but seven years of age. She existed in solitude, where nothing could blemish this innocent canvas as she began her journey into their indoctrination. As she left the years of her adolescence behind, Dolora emerged from the crystallis something new, foreign morals ingrained into her memory. There was an unmistakable sulfurous tinge to the air, her gaze finally resting upon the girl's charred frame. "I made an oopsie." She uttered in a manufactured tone, turning her expressionless face in the direction of the stagnant penumbra that concealed a member of the ever-vigilant conglomeration. "She had no desire to join us anyway." A seemingly disembodied response was pitched toward her. She tossed one more glance to the body, and shrugged.


    As some nameless lass fell prey to the power of a psychic assassin, Doriyn made her way toward a local pub as she per ordered by her superiors. As she entered, the mingling smells of food and drink appealed to her palette, but she had a schedule to keep that did not permit time for her to satiate hunger and thirst. Even those wholly engrossed in discussion or enthralled by the modern day distractions of televisions and cellular phones turned to behold her as she stepped across the threshold. Her very being seemed but an explosion of extravagant hues, the strands of her shoulder length hair was pigmented with all the colors of the wind to perfectly frame her beauteous visage. She had a fair canvas that was unblemished by sunspots and scars, but upon it there was an intricate design of gold, ascending her right breast like veins that would cross her ample bosom to connect to a meticulously detailed heart, hidden by the crimson bodice of her garb. The adornments she wore would appear to be a permanent part of the masterpiece that stepped in from the wave of cold that was blowing throughout the town, the paints upon her skin not fading or threading in the presence of rain water which struck it moments ago.

    There was a whisper of virgin pink to her lips and eyelids, that would accentuate the jade orbs which observed the camaraderie of the folks becoming tainted in the act of consuming their various alcoholic beverages that seemed ever flowing. She realized that intoxication would cause for squabbling over what seemed the most trivial of things, friendships to become severed in eruptions of anger and jealousy. Doriyn made her way past the patrons whom were engaged in staring at her, possessing an airy grace upon the floorboards with each step. Her unusually bright raiment had brought a splash of color to the rather drearily assembled establishment, which seemed to consist of a mass of wood that had been hammered together in haste to make a cube.

    The edifice was worn with age, but the wood effectively stood against the weather, there was nothing in particular for the eye to catch. In the midst of rowdy men she saw a delicate flower, one of such allurement that poets would become inspired to weave words that one would use to serenade her. Doriyn deduced that this was the newcomer she was to recruit.
    #16 Daniella_Belli, Oct 11, 2013
    Last edited: Oct 11, 2013
  17. The morning was frantic. Noisy. People rushing every which way, traffic jams and incessant car horns that tried to cure it. Just another day in New York City. Jericho took a drink from the mug of coffee he had ordered from the little shop. He had no need for the caffeine, no; his heightened senses took care of that for him. Coffee had a distinct taste and aroma, and Jericho took part in one of the most common modern-day rituals with a bit of misplaced nostalgia. A time, a life, that he could have led. A life he could have grown into. The Company had other plans for him, though; plans that Jericho agreed with and wanted for himself. They were to make him a super-soldier. A force to be reckoned with, someone of the caliber of action movie heroes. And they did just that. The man himself doesn't know exactly why he decided to go along with it, he just knows that what he agreed to was exactly what he was made for. The Company has this notion of "collecting" the Mystics of the world. Grooming them, changing them. Changing them into something like Jericho. The Company wants to own and control every last one of the Mystics, and for good reason. It's only natural to try and reclaim what you've lost. To the Company, the renegade Mystics are like misbehaving children, running away from mommy and daddy in the middle of the parking lot. Only this parking lot is much larger and full of other people, places, and things. Makes the job that much harder, but that's what Jericho is for. The product of years of Company testing, conditioning, and discipline: Jericho Steele, codenamed "Spectre" because for all anyone knows, the old Jericho died that day. The kid who picked fights with the neighbors and hunted down those who gave him shit. Well, maybe he's still like that. Only difference is that now he's picking fights with his brothers and sisters, the Mystics, and hunting down the ones that give the Company trouble. Not much different from his old life, but you won't see Jericho complaining.

    Finishing the coffee, Jericho dropped a tip for the waitress and stood up, not even bothering to hide his blade from the public. Yeah, Jericho didn't have much in the way of subtlety; the shop patrons were glaring daggers at him the entire time. Except for the ones who didn't care, or thought it was cool, or just wanted to ignore him and pretend he didn't exist. That's right; keep thinking the Spectre won't come for you, and you'll find yourself in an early grave. Jericho walked out of the shop, his gait long and loose. He wasn't a man to be fucked with. From the shades he wore to the sword he carred, everyone knew if you crossed this man, then the Spectre would be at your doorstep before nightfall. Jericho wasn't cold-blooded, or even a killer, but he did what had to be done to finish the job. If that meant silencing people who'd get in his way, then so be it. The alleyways of New York were dangerous to the untrained, but to Jericho they were full of kids with delusions of toughness. A nuisance, flies to be swatted into the ground. Jericho knew that the alleys were the best hiding places, and where better to lose an attacker in the bustling city of New York? Jericho knew; he lived here once himself, after all. He strode down the sidewalk, seemingly without a purpose. To the masses, he was just another man on the street. A man with a sword, but in this day and age who can fault a guy for keeping protected? Though, Jericho knew what he was put in this city to do, and he knew where his rendezvous would be. In the alleys, doing the exact same thing he was tasked with doing. As he meandered through the streets, he slowed to a stop at the entrance to one of the alleys New York was so famous for. Jericho took a whiff of the air; the average person wouldn't be able to smell what he did, but in his years of training he had been able to hone his senses far beyond the capabilities of a normal man. Mystic powers, Jericho learned, had a distinct fragrance when used. That just made finding who he was looking for all that much easier. Stepping into the alley, Jericho navigated the side street casually before coming to a stop at a junction. If the smell of the power wasn't enough to alert him, then the odor of sulfur definitely would have. Stepping around the corner, hand in his pocket, Jericho saw exactly who he was looking for. White hair, slender frame, and the scorched remains of one who defied her. This was definitely Dolora, and Jericho's instructions were to meet with her.

    He took one look at the charred remains of the poor girl and shook his head. "Some poor fools are always tryin' to ice skate uphill." He said, his voice just rough enough to feel powerful, yet smooth enough to feel precise. "Dunno why they try to resist. They know we can drop 'em with a look, so what they hope to gain by fightin' back beats the hell outta me." He looked over at Dolora, then shrugged a bit. "You ready?"

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