Storage Thread for Whatever



I EXIST TO LIVE, NOT LIVE TO EXIST



Student File


Nickname

Addy | Ad | Dri | Ghouly


Species
Angler Ghoul, a time of ghoul that hides its true form in that of a human body. Given away by beady red eyes and sharp teeth, getting too close always proves fatal. Thanks to being hidden within a small human husk, the inky mass that Adrian truly is constantly broils and rolls beneath the surface, leaving him quaking with a slight tremor and a limp in his step.

Sexuality
Adrian's main focus is food, at all times. He's ravenous, never feeling quite full enough. It leaves all else to the back of his mind, even potential partners, not that anyone is exactly scrambling to sleep with the angler ghoul. Thanks to his never-ending search for food, and the general populace's lack of interest, it left Adrian not only inexperienced, but rather non-preferential. He doesn't really care one way or another.

Gender Identity
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Physical Description
-height
Adrian is less than intimidating, at least in his human guise. It helps to stand at a meager five feet and five inches, limbs scrawny and face pale. His stature isn't by way of misfortune, oh no. Those of his kind must be small an innocent, or beautiful and curvy, always enticing in some way or form.

When he changes though, exploding into a mass of gnashing teeth and large bulbous eyes, he gains three feet, towering over even the tallest of humans. The fear that grows in their eyes only pads his hunger as his human form is swallowed by his true self. A messy conglomeration of black arms and legs push him along on an unnaturally hobbled pace.

-weight
Seemingly underweight, Adrian has a low BMI, coming in at a teeny 110 pounds. It gives a frailness to him that most people will pity, making the rare opportunity for hunting all the more fun. The looks on those humans faces when they finally see what he really is up close. It's his favorite thing.

Despite his 110 pound human form, his gelatinous glob of a self weighs very little. It allows for rapid movement, should his meal try and run from him. Light weight and with a gaggle of hands and feet scraping across the paved alleyways he lures his food into, Adrian is a lot faster than one would assume.

-eye color
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-hair color (if applicable)
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-other descriptions
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In purus dui, elementum vitae consequat vitae, vulputate non augue. Curabitur gravida eros eu lacinia lobortis. Curabitur vitae finibus augue. Integer nec nisi ut est volutpat varius vitae non lorem.

Dietary Needs: (what and how your creature feeds)
Ravenous is Adrian's middle name, always fiending for a bite to eat. There will never be a piece of meat that goes untouched by him. Being a ghoul, every part of a human is fair game, and usually require two of three fully grown one's to attempt at a satisfying meal. In order to do so, Adrian bursts from his faux form into a gelatinous blob of mouths and eyes, teeth gnashing as scraggly hands rip into the flesh of his prey.

Hearing his prey scream is the cherry on top of the wonderful bloodbath of a sundae that is feeding. It makes him shake just at the mere thought, hunger growing exponentially. There's just something so great about live prey, a delicacy not so readily available anymore.

Natural Habitat
Ghouls of any kind can usually be lurking around graveyards, mortuary's or even alleyways. The last is Adrian's preferred space, somewhere dark, cold, maybe even a little damp. He likes the closeness of things, feeling thoroughly secluded. He hates bright, loud things with a passion as it so harshly juxtaposes what he prefers to find himself in. Wherever there are a myriad of bodies or easy prey, you will be sure to find one of Adrian's kind lurking somewhere in the shadows, just ready to take a bite.

Scent
Adrian smells nothing like flowers and sugar, that's for sure. It's not exactly awful, though the hint of death lingers about him with, perhaps, a little something rotten. He is a ghoul after all now isn't he. As much as the ghoul does not care about his own natural scent, he does make a small, apathetic, attempt at some sort of socially acceptable smell via body wash and on the rarest of occasions, cologne.

Personality
Adiran is a morbid type of person, cynical jokes and improperly timed comments. There is an almost sociopathic lack of care for his fellow creatures, though that could stem from his near obsession with food. By nature the poor thing can never feel truly filled, a chronic need to feed itching the back of his mind. It leaves the ghoul on edge when he's gone more than a few hours at a time without something in his belly. Catching the ghould when he's hangry is nearly inevitable and quite....the experience. The longer Adrian goes without eating, the worse his symptoms get. He shakes, body begging to spring forwards to feed on anything...really....anything. There's a tasty looking morsel that sits in the seat in front of him during third period and there have been a few time he could almost taste him....

Strengths
stalking | eating | running | manipulation | cunning | book smart | reading people | observation | blending in

Weaknesses
listening | focus | humans (he's a hungry boy) | empathy | thinking through his words | kindness | making friends | relationships | sharing | history | opening up | standing out | getting along with others

History
wip





STATUS BAR

Location: N/A
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: N/A




 
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Name:
Joseop Devolt

Age:
19

Occupation:
Student

Gender:
Male

Appearance:
Joseop is exceedingly tall, standing at a whopping 6 ft 4 inches. He towers over most, if not all, of his classmates, but at least he never has to worry about not being able to see. He has soft pale skin, taking care to keep to a decent skin care regimen. Joseop isn't one to be vain, per say, but he does take pride in the way he looks. His hair is naturally a dark brown, though he does dye it black. The left side stays trimmed in a tapered fade, the right allowed to grow out, usually gelled back into a small quaff reminiscent of the cult classic Grease. Both arms are covered in a myriad of tattoos, some just for fun while others have a deeper meaning. He has a chest piece covering his pecs and a two-headed crow on the right side of his neck. On the left he has an intricate design of roses growing dow to the sleeve on his left arm. He usually wears black jeans, a dark colored shirt and a leather jacket, though he can dress up or down depending on the occasion.

Personality:
Joseop, despite his appearance, is actually quite the sweetheart. He loves to help people out when he can, often volunteering on Sunday's to those too old in his neighborhood to do their yard work. Not a lot of people would assume this though, as everyone in his school classed him as 'bad boy' years ago. At first he'd tried to fight against it, show people that he really was just a friendly giant, but it was too much work and barely payed off. So he stopped going the extra mile to prove himself, letting them think wha they want. He's quiet in school, offering little to no emotion when around classmates. He doesn't see the point in being anything but cold and cordial seeing as that's what they expect out of him anyhow. Though, when he gets home, he's allowed to relax, smile when he wants and often helps his dad around the house cracking jokes with one another.

History:
Joseop was born to two loving parents in the city. For the first three years of his life, things were good, average. There wasn't much different in his life compared to other kids his age, but soon things would turn rocky. He didn't understand it back then, and still found it hard to wrap his mind around, but his parents had simply....fallen out of love. There was no underlying infidelity or self-loathing that spurred it on. They didn't yearn for a different life, a better life, they just stopped yearning for each other. What he does remember of the time were hushed whispers and worried glances cast his way. Bless his parents, really, they tried to make it work, but there was no romantic chemistry and, when he turned seven, his parents decided that four long years of mediocrity was enough. They got a divorce and Joseop moved with his father just to the outside of the city he had called home. It was enough space to let his mother breathe, yet close enough that she could visit if she wanted.

And visit she did, a lot at first. It was almost like things hadn't changed, though in the coming years her visits became less and less frequent. He remembered feeling hurt when his mother couldn't come to see him, right around the time he started to hit puberty. Maybe she just hated teens? He had tried not to think about it, seeking solace in his classmates, but soon that changed too. The taller he grew, the less people were willing to talk to him. He was one of the first to grow out of his friends, his height becoming all that anyone would focus on. Joseop supposed his love of darker things started then, or possibly a bit previous. He'd worn leather jackets and black jeans before, but instead of being found cute, with his added height, he was found scary.

For a long time this pissed him off, and sure, he'd snap at a few people that let their gazes linger a little longer than they should, but he was harmless. It didn't help his case any, and soon he gave up. He gave in and started acting the way they expected him to act, though he didn't actually bully anyone. Those were just rumors spread by bored teens that had nothing better to do. As he grew older, Joseop learned to find amusement in what people could make up, and sometimes, if he was really bored, he'd mess with his classmates and watch them squirm in fear.

 
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Thaddeus












Name:
Thaddeus

Age:
Unknown
Physically appears to be 20-23

Occupation:
Unemployed

Species:
Voodoo Doll

Gender:
Male

Sexual Orientation:
TBD

Nationality:

Likes:
Sewing | Ice cream | Stars | Tv | Adventures | Learning | Music | Clothes/Shopping | Blue | Nature | Flowers | Animals

Dislikes:
The dark | Being alone | Small spaces | Yelling | Physical fighting | Anger | Heat | Loud noises | Dogs

Talents:
Stitching | Sewing | Cooking | Pick-pocketing | Running long distance

Fears:
Abandonment | Small spaces | Spiders

Personality:
Uneducated | Optimistic | Naive | Easily manipulated | Innocent | Eager | People pleaser | Relaxed | Patient | Understanding | Obedient | Loving | Loyal | Protective

Appearance:
Thaddeus is small, very much so, standing at a meager four feet and eleven inches, most everyone towers over him. His hair is soft, a blue-grey tone that tips darker or lighter depending on his location. It's usually messy and a bit unkept, dusting the bridge of his brow. His eyes are a warm brown, lips a soft peachy color and skin a warm dewy tone of olive. He's pretty, at least he's been told as much despite his preference for dark clothes

Kinks:
Thaddeus has no experience with sex and quite honestly, even the most overt flirtations go right over his head. All Kinks are TBD for now.

History:
Created by a vengeful witch, Thadd was crafted in the image of her ex-lover. Scorned and heart broken, she used the doll to enact her revenge on him. Though, once the anger past and her sweet revenge was in her hands, she found herself lonely. That's how the boy came to be given life by a spell formulated specifically for him. They were friends, at least that's what the doll believed, loyal to the woman until her last breath. Anyone who slighted her, hell even look at her wrong, met their end swiftly. Thaddeus was loyal and she was enamored.

When the witch passed, Thaddeus was left with nothing but the clothes she had sewn for him and a few practical house-keeping skills. With nothing but a small bag on his back, the doll set out into the world where he bounced from shelter to shelter. It was a cruel and unforgiving world, but Thaddeus was in awe of it, its people, its customs, nonetheless.

 

[color= #000000]JEREMY WESTON[/color]




[color= #000000]

Name
Jeremy Weston

Age
26

Occupation
Photographer

Personality
Sweet | Thoughtful | Outgoing | Passionate | Shy | Nervous | Loyal | Playful | Understanding | Good Listener | Helpful | Generous

Likes
Sweets | Sugar | Tea | Books | Photography | Camera's | Cuddling | Sweaters | Suits | Libraries | Rain | Astrology | Flowers | Gardening | His pet cat Whiskers | Writing | Bullet Journaling | Jazz music | Vanilla Ice Cream

Dislikes
Dark | Lies | Anger | Fighting | Loud Noises | Small Spaces | Hypocrites | Hurting Someone | Being Alone | Public Speaking | Oceans |
[/color]


 



Tyree Reinal





Name:
Tyree Malik Reinal

Nickname:
Ty | Ree | TyTy

Age:
Appears 20
Actually 357 years old

Gender:
Male

Sexual orientation:
Bisexual

Occupation:
Owner of Fortune 500

Nationality:
Korean | Japanese

Hair colour:
Black

Eye color:
Brown | Fiery orange when hungry

Height:
6ft 5in

Weight:
Body modifications:
Tattoos covering most of his body | Small gauges | Pierced brow - Left

Personality:
Charismatic | Cocky | Sarcastic | Playful | Flirt | Crass | Blunt | Loyal | Hard-headed | Easily bored | Shallow

Likes:
Sex | Alcohol | Coke | Weed | Loud music | Cute boys | Fashion | Teasing people | River's ass | Parties | Simon's ass | Massages | Shopping | Money | Gold things | Blood | Secrets | Taboo relationships | Tattoos | Piercings | Being rich | Fresh blood | Eunnae's [size= 3]ass[/size] Personality

Dislikes:
Self righteous people | Know-it-alls | homophobes | sweet food | Serious people | Cold blood | Blood packs | Religion

Talents:
Singing | Dancing | Plays several instruments | Speaks several languages | Sex | Persuasive

Fears:
Isolation | Falling in Love | Cockroaches (they're fucking disgusting okay)

Character Biography:
Tyree doesn't much like thinking about his past, not because it was particularly horrible, but because there wasn't much to gain from thinking about it. His turning had been an accident really, a rogue vampire feeding his gluttonous appetite by happenstance. You see, Ty and his mother lived on the edge of their tiny village. It wasn't exactly well liked that she had no man to claim her and her bastard son and so, in not so many words, they were cast out. They were left on their own, to defend against the creatures that prowled through the night. Housed in a shack at best, there was just enough space for a fireplace and a cot.

Ty had been out gathering wood for his aging mother, the fast approaching winter chilling him to the bone, rattling his mother's chest with aching coughs. The feeling in his toes had long since left him, lips blue and body half frozen as he trudged home only to find the door hanging limply on its hinges. His was lay crumpled on the floor, face pale with tears slowly freezing against her expressionless face. Above her something sat hunched, face buried in her neck. Startled, and rightfully so, the wood tumbled from Tyree's arms as fear gripped his heart. The clatter of wood against the ground had that creature's head snapping up to him. It's mouth was stained a brilliant red that glistened in the moonlight that filled the doorway.

The next few moments were a blur really, but Tyree remembered fear, nothing but raw unfiltered fear...and pain. The pain of losing his mother. The pain of teeth sinking into his flesh. The pain of knowing his life was cut too short too soon.

When morning came, Tyree was...confused. The sun made his skin itch, eyes ache and he crawled as fast as he could to the nearest patch of shade. His throat was dry, as if he'd been screaming all night, head aching as the memory's last night resurfaced. The memory of his mother made him dry heave, but he hadn't eaten enough in days to even muster up a drop of anything. That creature was gone too, why he left forever lost to the boy. Tyree never saw him again after that night, left to find out what he was when the thirst became too much.

He was the demon his village feared for years, decades passing as he hunted the very same woods that he had lost everything in, but soon the forest became bland, the village changed and Tyree was nothing but a scary story parents told to misbehaving children. Restless in the same woods he'd known for nearly a century, Tyree decided to travel. He had figured out what he was, knew that he had more than enough time to waste, and sitting alone in a forest for his next meal to wander in was just not the life that Tyree wanted to lead.

After wandering for a while, learning a myriad of things, Tyree landed in Britain where he now lives. The time between then and now of little consequence to him. It was a time filled with sex, drugs, feeding and liquor. Finding that he rather liked those things, Tyree happy drowns himself in them. It's not like he has anything to lose.

Extras:
Topping | Oral (Receiving) | Biting | Scratching | Slapping | Hair pulling | Rough sex | Public sex | Multiple orgasms | Edging | Orgasm denial | Dominating | Choking | Facials (giving) | Doggy style | Getting ridden | Bondage


 
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I EXIST TO LIVE, NOT LIVE TO EXIST

CHARACTER NAME
Hindu God Of Sensual Desire



Student File


Name

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Nickname
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Species
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Sexuality
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Gender Identity
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Physical Description
-height
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-weight
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-eye color
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-hair color (if applicable)
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-other descriptions
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Dietary Needs: (what and how your creature feeds)
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Natural Habitat
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Scent
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Personality
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Strengths
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Weaknesses
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STATUS BAR

Location: N/A
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: N/A




 
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Thaniel Weston
"Oh these? They're just....decorations!"

You're just imagining things
Basics

NAME:
Thaniel Weston

ID:
Warlock

AGE:
23

GENDER:
Male

ORIENTATION:
Pansexual, homoromantic

SPELLBOOK:
Crystal Magic
Save Travel Spells
Protection Spell
Study Spells
Health Potion
Good Fortune Ritual
Truth Spell
Lavendar Letters


FAMILIAR SPECIES:
Will be a dragon.

FAMILIAR INFO:
A beautiful dragon that captured his attention the moment they met. More will be discovered IC.
Just your average warlock
Appearance

Thaniel is slight by nature, always being mostly skin and bones. What muscle he does have is lightly defined, hair a smokey lavendar grey that often sat wild on his head and falling into his eyes. Thaniel prefers dark clothes, usually black, chokers and can almost always be paired with his favorite wide brim hat. When he turned seventeen he had his canines filed down to points resembling that of a vampire and has a small crescent moon tattooed on his inner right wrist. His ears are pierced, his tongue and he has a stud in his nose.

HAIR:
Smokey Grey

EYES:
Black

HEIGHT:
5'5"

You wouldn't understand
Personality

Studius | Obsessive | Easily addicted | Goofy | Sweet | Thoughtful | Naive | Easily Manipulated | Secretive | Loving | Loyal

KEY TRAITS:
Obsessive | Loyal | Naive

LIKES:
Black | cats | sugar/sweets | chokers | learning | dark | night time | taboo magic | pain | loud music | studying | tea | reading | painting | baths | incense | crystal magic

DISLIKES:
rules | light | morning | questions | bright colors | loud people | comments on his height | anything deemed 'mainstream'

It's not what you think
Interview

What is your family like? What are their names? How many siblings do you have?
I was orphaned as a child. I don't remember my birth parents but when I was ten Rowina adopted me. She was....less of a mother and more of a tutor but she was family yknow?

How did you meet your familiar? Are they an animal or a magical creature?
Well, I haven't met mine yet. No one's chosen me and well, Rowina was never fan of familiars. I've been busy with work so I really haven't had a chance to look into finding one.

How do you feel about trivies?
Rowina hated them, called them wastes of space. I'd like to think she's wrong but, well, what exactly do they do?

Where do you live and what do you live in?
I live in uptown Stonehaven, next to Wicked Coffee. It's Rowina's old loft but I can't get myself to leave.

What do you do for a living?
Well uh...that...that's complicated...eheheh...

What is the greatest hardship you've ever faced?
....When she left me. I...I still don't know why she left or where she went but, one day I woke up and she was just....gone.

What has been your happiest moment?
My first spellbook! Rowina gave it to me when I turned thirteen so I could start writing in my spells. I still have it actually! Its around here somewhere....

What are your pet peeves?
"Answer."

What do you fear?
I...I fear being abandoned and forgotten....I don't want it to happen again...





Baine
"You're an idiot, why do I even bother?"

Baby, be my lover
Basics

NAME:
Baine

GENDER:
Male

SPECIES:
Black Cat

MASTER:
Oran Gallagher - Warlock
Baby, be my friend
Appearance

Baine stand at a rather average 5 foot and 7 inches. Body lithe and lightly muscled, Baine is naturally light on his feet. Thick brows hang over bright golden eyes that hold boredom more often than not. Full lips always have something smart to say, ears holding two diamond studs, nose pierced on a whim one day. Skin is a deep bronze that's as smooth as butter as softer than silk.

HAIR:
Black, trimmed on the sides with wild curls left atop his head.

EYES:
Brown

HEIGHT:
5'7"
42239c009c6345a9fffe8a9664b887fb.jpg
Baby, be my slave
Personality

Aloof | Loyal | Playful | Bratty | Sensual | Manipulative | Stubborn | Button pusher | Emotional | Sassy | Snarky

KEY TRAITS:
Brat | Demanding | Sensual | Aloof | Loyal

LIKES:
Tuna | Quiet | Dark | Nightime | Stars | Oran | Blankets | Naps | Collars | Cream | Salmon | Pizza | Ear scratches | Belly rubs | Traveling | Cuddling | Sex | Liquor (is a lightweight)

DISLIKES:
Strangers | Babytalk | Loud noises | Sudden noises | Early morning | Milk | Sour things | Having his tail touched
And I'll love you til the end.
Interview

Do you like your master? How do they treat you?
Oran is okay I suppose. He treats me decently, though he has this strange thing about sex I just don't understand.. He stares at my ass a lot and thinks I don't notice. I notice.

How did you meet your master?
I saw him one day, he looked interesting so I tested him. Any moron can put out food but he seemed....happy about it. Hmm, I followed him around for a bit, saw how he reacted and he didn't seem to mind. Helped that he's hot, but when I chose him he smiled like he was the happiest guy on earth.....

How do you feel about trivies?
They give me food so they're not so bad. Not sure why people despise them when they're so harmless.

What is the greatest hardship you've ever faced?
The first Witch I chose rejected me. Perhaps I waited too long or I didn't read the signs right, but when I appeared to her, to choose her, she had a familiar with her, a snow owl that looked dumber than rocks but...whatever.

What has been your happiest moment?
When Oran accepted me. Say anything and you'll regret it.

What are your pet peeves?
People touching my tail | Strangers trying to pet me | dogs barking | loud people in the morning....the list goes on.

What do you fear?
.....Being abandoned.....Can we change the topic now?





Layland Parker
"What a sight for sore eyes.....Get it! Ahahaha"

Why so serious?
Basics

NAME:
Layland Michael Parker

ID:
Warlock

AGE:
20

GENDER:
Male

ORIENTATION:
Bisexual

SPELLBOOK:
Crystal Magic
Save Travel Spells
Protection Spell
Study Spells
Health Potion
Healing Rituals
Text to Speech Spell
Heightened Senses Spell


FAMILIAR SPECIES:
Layland has yet to choose, or be chosen by, a familiar and he's really in no rush to find one either.

FAMILIAR INFO:
TBD
Live a little!
Appearance

Layland stands at a full five foot nine inches, body well muscled from years of training. His skin is a soft brown, freckles decorating his face -- a feature that had once been a source of great insecurity. By now he has learned to embrace his speckled face, hair kept short, though clearly holding soft curls. He has a large smile that brightens his whole face with full pink lips and naturally elfish ears. He has a young face naturally, mostly do to his large eyes and soft jawline, but hey if he looks this good now that's only means good things for the future right?

HAIR:
Chocolate Brown

EYES:
Brown

HEIGHT:
5'9"

To live is to fight
Personality

Studius | Loyal | Talkative | Jokster | Serious | Thoughtful | Playful | Flirty | Intelligent | Righteous | Strong-willed | Brave

KEY TRAITS:
Talkative | Loyal | Goofy

LIKES:
Mornings | coffee | hiking | research | music | talking | naps | gardening | being outside | exercise | cooking

DISLIKES:
people assuming he can't help himself | being snuck up on | loud noises | strong smells | feeling useless | overly sweet things | RMC | how trivie's are treated | staying still | being alone | being forgotten

I'm blind not dead.
Interview

What is your family like? What are their names? How many siblings do you have?
I'm an orphan....technically. My mums died by the time I was fourteen and I went to live with ma Nan. She's something else that's for sure. Mum was a _____ in her teens, taught me that everyone deserves a fightin' chance. Mam met her durin that and well, the rest is history. She was a trivie, but she had a heart of gold. Mum and Nan kept her secret though, no one would understand. Mam got cancer when I turned eight, tried to fight it as long as she could. Mum did what she could but no amount of magic could save her. She died when I was ten and Mum disappeared when I turned fourteen. I think the RMC got her. They were never fans of her 'work'. Nan thinks they stole her, have her somewhere. I think they killed her. I still remember coming home from school that day....the house was-.....Nan's holding on to false hope.

How did you meet your familiar? Are they an animal or a magical creature?
I don't have one, but maybe one day. We'll see!.......Get it! Oh I crack myself up!

How do you feel about trivies?
Honestly? The way they're treated is disgusting. So what if they can't use magic. Personally I think we rely on it too much. Most think they're akin to animals, or lesser than us just because they can't wave a wand an make shit disappear. It's sad there's so few of 'em. One day I hope they'll get to live real lives instead of having to feel ashamed of who they are...

Where do you live and what do you live in?
I have a small apartment on Greene Street, but sometimes I like to stay at the bunker, visit the fam yknow.

What do you do for a living?
Nothing anymore...

What is the greatest hardship you've ever faced?
Well I'm sure my answer won't shock anyone. But I mean, losing your eyesight isn't exactly easy. Don't really realize how dependent you are on something until ya can't use it haha. It's been a learning curve that's for sure. The gang keeps sayin' I need a familiar, yknow, help me out around the house but I'd prefer to bond for real rather than out of my own convenience.

What has been your happiest moment?
Joining the FMP. For the first time I felt like I was actually makin' a difference. Sure its not by conventional means but their methods have shown results. The ends don't always justify the means but....sometimes they do....

What are your pet peeves?
People assuming I can't help myself. I'm blind not an invalid.

What do you fear?
Being useless. I may not see you but I can still help, yknow.....somehow.....





Makai
"I'd give my life just for a day by your side."

Hold my heart, it's beating for you anyway.
Basics

NAME:
Makai

GENDER:
Male

SPECIES:
Fennec Fox

MASTER:
Soon to be Leon "Gravedigger" O'Rielly

What if I can't forget you?
Appearance

Makai is tiny, even by human standards, at a pathetic four feet and barely grazing ten inches. He's thin with lithe but relatively unseen muscle. Despite his size he is strong and very fast. He has a mess of white wavy hair, large black eyes and very prominent ears -- much like his natural form. His skin is pale with a rosy hue to it, lips a dusty rose color often set in an unassuming smile.

HAIR:
Messy white waves, usually rather unkempt.

EYES:
Large black and doe-like

HEIGHT:
4'9 3/4"
64a324adef10279406eaa17362cfd79a.jpg
I'll burn your name into my throat.
Personality

Excitable | Obsessive | Protective | Jealous | Naive | Brash | Instinctual | Endearing | Loyal | Possessive | Animalistic

KEY TRAITS:
Obsessive | Animalistic | Brash

LIKES:
Cuddling | Eating | Napping | Running | Learning | Chattering | Playing | Outdoors | Meat | Blankets | Leon | Hunting | Digging holes | Toys

DISLIKES:
Strangers | Heat | Confinement | Loud noises | Owls | Hawks | Dogs | Creatures bigger than him | Hunters | Strangers getting close to Leon
I'll be the fire that'll catch you.
Interview

Do you like your master? How do they treat you?
We haven't met yet, not in person. But I've seen him out in the forests. I already know he'll be amazing!

How did you meet your master?
I've seen him occasionally, but he doesn't see me, yet at least. I'm going to find him soon though! He'll take me as his familiar no matter what! I won't give up until he does. It's meant to be.

How do you feel about trivies?
What's that word mean?

What is the greatest hardship you've ever faced?
Everything is a struggle in the forest. You humans sure do complain about a lot huh. No predators hunting you, no fighting for food, you're always clothed and housed. No one eats your parents when you're a baby either! Must be nice....

What has been your happiest moment?
When I first saw him. He's so calm and tall!...and pretty....really pretty.

What are your pet peeves?
Fighting for food! I killed it! It's mine!

What do you fear?
.....I don't want to be rejected. I know I can be a good familiar! I just know it!

 
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Eiren Meyers

The silence was....awful, weighing down on the boy like a boulder upon his shoulders. Eiren tried to remember that Wyn was just quiet, that he was an....well he wasn't sure what he was but whatever he had been through was hard. Perhaps it had been a while since he'd last been human -- god did that sound weird. Whatever, the point was, the human was trying to rationalize the quiet acceptance Wyn had to the whole thing. He tried not to think he'd done something wrong, yet again, and tried to shake the fact that he was quite honestly scared for Derek's next surprise visit. He could be quite...protective. That's what Eiren would say at least when his friends would question why he called so much, why Eiren had to prove he was where he was, why he couldn't hang out with other males alone.....why he would look so scared every time Derek was around. There were so many things racing through the boys head now, hands rubbing over his thighs as he tried to expel his nervous energy. As much as Wyn was in his own head now, so was Eiren, popping up suddenly as sitting there quietly had just become too much for him.

"I...I-I'm gonna take a shower," Eiren announced, shuffling off to the bathroom to do just that. He ran the water hot, enjoying the burn that tingled against his flesh, eyes closing beneath the stream as the muscles in his body eased. He hated when Derek was around, at least this version of him. There was a time when Derek was sweet, when he was charming and vowed to protect Eiren from all the bad things in the world. There was a time when they were in love, when Eiren wasn't afraid and when he was sure that Derek loved him too. He liked to think Derek still loved him, that his jealous rages were simply his protective nature and that, perhaps, if he was quieter, if he didn't go out as often, if he wasn't so himself, that they would go away. Nothing seemed to revert Derek back to the man he had been and Eiren couldn't bring himself to pull away. On the times he tried he'd find him again, the man Derek used to be, or at least he'd have glimpses at him. It would give him hope but....hope only lasted so long.

By the time the shower ended, Eiren's skin was pink and his hair was damp. The towel was wrapped around his waist, catching the water that dripped down his form. Eyes turned to the fogged mirror, hand wiping away the condensation that coated it. His skin was pale and flushed, momentarily unmarred in the time that he'd been apart from his ex-....his boyfriend. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, turning away from the mirror as he left the bathroom to head to his room. Eiren changed quickly, tugging on his shirt for bed, shorts covering his lower half before he eased on out to the living room.

"H-Hey Wyn?" he called out softly, doing his best not to startle the poor thing. "If you'd like um...you can have my bed I can...I can sleep on the couch," he offered, the thought to share popped in his mind only to quickly wash away. It's not that he didn't want to, the thought of being curled up with the one thing...the one person that made him feel safe, was more than tempting, but he didn't want to make Wyn uncomfortable or to overstep his bounds. So he let that silly whim float away as quickly as it had floated in, fidgeting where he stood as he waited for an answer.



 
Thaniel Weston
"Oh these? They're just....decorations!"
You're just imagining things


Today was the day. He was gonna do it!

A smile pressed upon pale pink lips as Thaniel bustled around his co-owned shop. It had originally been his mentor's, next to a small family owned coffee shop a few blocks away. For a few years he ran it alone after she had gone, getting into business with a certain lavender-haired man he'd come to befriend not too long afterwards. It was by simple chance that they had run into each other that day, but Thaniel would remember it crystal clear forever. Tamryn was his first friend and it certainly helped that he dabbled within the same dark world that Thaniel had spent years of dedicated study to. It was rare to find another kindred spirit, let alone face to face. Dabbling within the dark arts was dangerous business, illegal business that could end with a loss of life on one or both sides. Thaniel didn't believe anything he was doing to be harmful, not really. As far as the RMC knew, he owned a quaint little shop that sold antiques and wares that 'emulated' the dark arts, but they claimed to be for show only nothing more. For the most part that was true of the stand alone, brick and mortar store. The real meat of the business was in the back, stored in boxes both here and in his home shipped off to buyers.

That was neither here nor there however as Thaniel looked over his small set up, and it was small. He had cleared the first center table in the shop to hold a small cake, a letter from himself and a set of keys to the shop, safe and register drawer. Bouncing excitedly on the tips of his toes, the young magician couldn't wait for his friend to arrive. He'd been thinking of asking her to join himself and Tamryn in their growing shop for some time now, besides, it meant he got to spend far more time with his best friend than he was already. Getting the courage up to ask however, had been something else entirely. Thaniel wasn't shy per say, but being close with others was still new and Seyun always made him.....giddy was the word perhaps. It was hard to explain but Thaniel knew he just really liked spending time with her and seeing her smile. He'd heard of her life at home, her twin and some girl named Veronica. It sounded awful and on several occasions Thaniel had offered to help -- though his help meant curse and apparently cursing family no matter how cruel they were to you were wrong. He didn't quite understand that but held back if only not to upset the sweet girl who, for some reason, enjoyed his presence in return.

Checking his phone, Thaniel took a deep breath as he checked the time. Good, he still had some time left, having sent a previous message. It was vague-ish, just that he needed her help with something and to meet him at the shop. Hopefully she'd be here soon, footsteps pacing back and forth as his heart fluttered. Thaniel knew she wanted to join them here, to be a part of the shop where they spent more than half of their time together, and yet, for some reason Thaniel couldn't quite put his finger on, he felt utterly nervous. He felt flighty as if he was too confined. He did have things to do after this, a supply run he wanted to go on --- and bring Seyun of course. Something about that didn't feel right though, that he was so anxious because he wanted to get his supplies. They weren't backstopped on orders or anything so he was truly in no rush and he truly was excited to offer this to Seyun....so why did he feel so drawn to getting out?

The chime of the bell burst through the shop as the door pressed open, warm spring air whooshing in. Pale grey hairs ruffled as Thaniel's attention snapped to the door. Eyes brightened at who he found, his very best friend waltzing through with her usual grace. "Seyun~!" Thaniel chirped, meeting her halfway for a tight embrace before pulling back for his hand to wind around her wrist. "I've got something for you," he spoke, guiding her to the table with her 'gifts' lay. "Go on, open it," he spoke, momentarily forgetting his anxious need to get out, to wander, as he handed over the neatly handwritten letter.

Seyun,

I've talked to Tamryn about it and we've agreed that you'd be the perfect person for the job. So, officially, I'd like to extend the offer to work here in our shop with us. You're my very best friend and there's no one else I'd trust more with the work we do here and to care for the shop just as much as Tamryn and I do. Here are the keys to the shop and if you'd like, the position is yours.

Your Best Friend Forever,

Thani <3

".....So....whatcha think?"

 

Makai
"I'd give my life just for a day by your side."

∾ Hold my heart, it's beating for you anyway. ∾


He’d seen him again, in the forest with the other humans. He never really knew why he was here, why any of them were here when the smell of death hung in the air, but at some point, he’d become quite fascinated with the human that would occasionally venture out into his world. Often times he would watched, tucked into the safety of a hollow fallen log, amazed by the man that had oddly enough caught his eye. His family did not understand his adoration, told him to beware of those strange creatures. They were loud and wild, ignoring the laws of nature and yet he heeded none of it. He wanted to see them, see him, regardless of what his family warned him about. That’s how he ended up on this road, padding along the city streets, ears flopped against his head to muffle the cacophony of sounds berating them.

It was hard to focus, things moving too fast, sounds too loud and too many people to keep things straight. He’d really gotten in over his head, doing his best to focus on the scent he had committed to memory and was currently tracking. Bending nose to the ground, he checked for that familiar smell before trotting off to his left. Where he was going, he had no idea, but he knew wherever he wound up his human would be there. That’s all that mattered to the little fox, body easily missed as he slipped through strange clear doors and into and odd box of a place. Ears lifting, he waited for that familiar voice, tail wagging as he caught it.

Clawed paws clacked against tiled floors as he bounced towards the second level. The scent grew stronger as he forced himself to the landing, panting as he trotted down the hall. The ground was oddly slick and it was quite cold here. It felt unnatural but his discomfort was pushed aside as he poked his small head into and open room. Large black eyes passed over the space before realizing his precious human wasn’t there. So the search was continued, the soft clicking of claws echoing as the fennec fox peaked into room after room until he found him.

Admittedly, he was starting to think that he’d never find him, whimpering as he slunk towards the final room at the end of the hall. His spirits were low and resolve waning as black eyes lifted to glance about. When they landed on him, he did not believe it, starting for a long moment before a chirp of joy burst from his small body. Without thinking he ran forwards, voice high pitched as he squealed and ran excitedly about the legs of the humans chair. Calming enough to pause, the tiny creature began to hop towards the humans lap, squealing in eagerness to be closer.

He’d found him!

He actually found him!!
 
Layland Parker
"What a sight for sore eyes.....Get it! Ahahaha"

❖ Why so serious? ❖


The sounds of chattering were nothing but annoying background as eyes danced about the glass cages that filled the underground warehouse. For once Layland was glad his vision was compromised as it made it hard, practically impossible, to see the pained faces of innocent men and women trapped behind plexiglass and displayed like animals. It was hard not to let his disgust show as his stomach twisted with every proud word their tour guide spewed. When Dani had first relayed the tale of the rumored trivie zoo, the ‘retired’ FMP member knew what he had to do. There was no way that he could let this sit, wait for Devyn’s permission and plan a proper ambush on the bunker. He needed to act now, hard and fast, and so he enlisted one friend reckless enough to go along with this. A certain Irish mess of a man chose to be his wingman for this possibly suicidal mission.

“Scale of one to a hundred, how mad do you think Baine and Ciaran are gonna be?” Layland chuckled softly as he whispered towards his friend. Knowing his own familiar as he had, Layland knew the feline wouldn’t be too happy at all with what he was about to begin. It’s why he hadn’t told him — giving some ambiguous explanation and hoped he wasn’t questioned too harshly. The last mission he had gone on he’d come back nearly completely blind — his right eye lost its vision while the left only saw a fraction of what it should. Going on another wasn’t exactly the plan but it was too late to stop now. They were here and Layland had no intentions of backing out now. He couldn't leave these people here, trapped and suffering while he sat pretty in his groups bunker pretending like he was making a difference by doing so. Layland had the power to help, to do exactly what the FMP had been created to do. He would do it.

Hanging back, Layland wasn’t noticed when he stopped following the group, rounding the center cages to his right as he turned to the first he came in contact with. He could barely see inside as he flashed a knowing smile. They wouldn’t have much time for this, right hand lifting to feel along the cool surface of glass. There was a lock somewhere, smile growing as he felt it. Whispering softly to himself, Layland felt the power tingle along his arm and flow through his fingertips. The lock clicked and with a slight tug the glass opened. Glancing towards Oran, Layland jerked his — signaling him to keep an eye out. Layland easily much help in that department.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m getting you out of here,” a gentle promise to the blurry figure before him. He saw someone short, young-looking and the small hesitant hand that fell into his own confirmed that they were but a child. Heart sinking, Layland lifted them from their cage and set them to his side, his smile as kind as ever. “Stay quiet okay. I’m gonna get everyone out. Wanna help?” He asked, the nod thankfully seen. “Great. Find the locks on the cages and point them out for me?” He asked, voice soft as to keep their work a secret for as long as possible. Another silent smile and the two went to work. Lock after lock was opened, and trivie after trivie was freed.

Coming to the last cage, a small hand on his arm caused Layland to pause. Turning to the young child at his side, a brow lifted in silent question. He couldn’t see the worry cross young features but he did note the shift in body language — something he was growing increasingly good at. “He doesn’t much like magic sir,” a nervous voice whispered. Clearly the child was worried, seemingly more for Layland than the man in the cage.

“It’s okay. Where’s the lock?” Layland asked, a small hand guiding the warlock’s hand. Just like all the others, the lock opened easily and the door swung open. A hand reached out, offering a chance at freedom should he be trusted. “I hear you don’t much like people like me and that’s alright. But we don’t have much time to get out,” clear and to the point, there was little time to waste with flowery words. They needed to hurry before his absence was noted and he was searched for and his cover was blown.

 
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All That Glitters, Isn't Gold

city gif.gif
- Welcome to Zip City -

Welcome to Zip City, a bustling metropolis built on what remained of Los Angeles. Buildings were stacked vertically in tall, towering buildings. Houses sat on top of shops that sat on top of stores that sat on top of offices. Things were slotted where they could fit, growing in number, haphazard in the way they were placed, the closer to the ground one was. The tops of the city were pristine, all fresh metal and clean lines. That high in the sky, bridges took the place of roads, air trams were the main source of transport and many had long forgotten just what earth truly looked like. They were closer to the heavens than the ground, so much so that it felt if one reached out with enough heart, they could pluck the stars from the sky. The sun shone down during the day, glistening against the chrome steps and glass walls. There was more to the city than just clean glass and pretty lines though.

You see, Zip City has as many layers as it did buildings. As with most things, there was more than what appeared on the surface. With each body that milled about the never ending crowds, from the highest penthouse to the lowest hovel tucked into the many dark corners of the Coms, each person had a story to tell. Each person had a heart, a dream, a pain, a path. They all weaved in and out, passing by like a whisper on the wind, unaware of the life that flitted by so easily at their side. Ignorant of the world around them, each soul was trapped in the drum of their day to day life, left drifting beside one another without every truly intersecting.

+ Look Beneath The Surface +


From top to bottom, the differences in class and wealth is visible. The highest points of the city are shiny, metallic -- screaming of the wealth of the affluent households that resided there. They were doused in modern technology, the latest in biomechanics advancements, boasting the brightest, the most educated, the wealthiest. The further down you went the more things began to change. Beautiful architecture grew lazy as you descended. The glowing glass and shining chrome grew dim and dull until eventually fading to exposed brick and scuttling roaches. On the ground things were set in a completely different world, a world unwanted and unseen, swept beneath the rug and long forgotten.

The Cloud District
The wealthiest of them lived in The Cloud District. Far from its legal title, the name was coined by the locals as their homes sat snuggly between the white puffs of ice crystals. Lowe castes chose the term 'Privys', far from an endearing nickname. At the top of everything, their large penthouses overlook the entirety of Zip City. On overcast days, the tallest of buildings can't be seen from below. They are quite literally in the clouds. Most dream to be one of them, to have everything you've ever wished for at the tips of your fingers. With access to all of the latest fashion and technology, there isn't much that Privys really have to want for. Houses are cleaned by mechanical maids, and food is delivered quite literally on a silver platter. Their homes are lavish and large, the air bridges between them pristine. It's almost like stepping into a different world. Everything is absolutely immaculate.

For many, it's a lifelong goal to climb into the clouds.

The Mezzanine District
Mezzos, as they like to call themselves, are, as the name implies -- in the middle. They aren't the richest, but they certainly aren't the poorest. They are the worker bees, the business women, the boys hunched over desks in the call centers - perhaps even a secretary, if they could find a position that wasn't already automated by some AI. There are far more Mezzos than there are Privys, as is the way of things. How else can the 1% keep their fortunes if everyone has a slice? Most Mezzos are content with their placement in life, though many strive to reach the top, to climb higher on the social ladder in order to grab a taste of that high life -- even if only for a second. More often than not, however, they underestimate how just how slippery a slope ascension is, and end up falling far more often than they fly.

Morning time is the busiest for Mezzos, when you see their world truly come to life. As everyone rushes to their jobs, to a friend's house, or just to say hello to the friendly shop keeper, their walkways fill with buzzing sounds of commute and the trams hum with their departures and arrivals. A mix of old and new, stairs ascended, criss crossing among platforms to create streets that they traveled daily. At night, it is quiet, with only the occasional hum of a stereo able to be heard through someone's open window. Most often described as quaint, the Mezzos are almost in a world all their own. They don't go without, but there is always a yearning for more.


The Terran District
Much different than those that floated among the clouds, the Terran District was loud, bustling and dangerous. Bathed in the glow of neon lights, there was never a second in the day that light did not shine. The rushing of footsteps and the honking of horns and the shouts of passerby created the symphony of life on the long forgotten earth. Trapped in the ways of old, if you were born in the Coms there was no way out. They lived in the old homes, the original stacks -- long forgotten by the Privy's that sat among the clouds in their cushy little homes with their automated maids and silver screens. In the Coms it was real. Life was gritty, rough and unforgiving. That wasn't to say it was all hell. The locals looked out for one another, the sense of community was strong. It took a village to raise a child and a village the Coms had become.

Loyalty lay with the neighborhood, certain lines one just didn't cross. They knew which streets to stop, which corners to turn away from. These were the unspoken rules here. They didn't go up and the ones at the top didn't come down. They were abandoned here, left to their own devices, a completely different world to the one circulating above them. Sometimes it was a wonder they were even within the same city, let alone only a few stories above them. Resentment brewed on the ground as ignorance swirled at the top.

Drugs and violence reigned supreme here. The police were rarely called any more, most issues settled by trading blows or with the bang of gun. Almost completely self governed, it was best to associate yourself with a group and keep to them and them alone. The only one's 'safe' from it all were the elderly, the people there from the beginning who had earned their right to a peaceful existence. They had long since paid their dues.


The Terran District, aka the Coms is where the main part of this rp will be taking place. This doesn't mean that characters can't be a Mezzo or a Privy and venture up or down. In fact, I encourage making characters from all sections of Zip, but do be aware that the main part of the 'action' will be set within the Coms.

 

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- Step Into The Hideaway -



The Hideaway, a creation of a lonely boy in his early teens that had no place to go nor person wanting him found. Much like its creator, the Hideaway was nothing at its inception. It didn't have a name, a face, a purpose. As much as he was lost, the Hideaway had found him. It was a moment in his life that he wouldn't soon forget. The night had been dark, the hard patter of rain splattering against worn streets. Rats scurried beneath dumpsters as the most unfortunate were soaked to the bone. It had been a complete accident, stumbling upon this place. He'd climbed several old fire escapes, hopped one or two roofs before slipping through one of the many broken windows into his salvation. It was a large warehouse, one on the edge and long forgotten. It was dark and had the slight scent of mold beginning to grow, but it was clear not a soul had touched the place since it had first closed. That was the night the Hideaway was born. That was the night Djinn found his home.

Once a way to keep himself dry, The Hideaway is now home to a myriad of different people. Orphans, passerby, roamers, fugitives (and many more) all filled its numerous halls. If you need a place to stay, these doors are open. Previously an old unused warehouse, it took days to clean. Dusitng out the cobwebs, boarding up broken windows and scrubbing the one's that remained clean. The lower level was massive -- quickly deemed the common area before there was a single thing in it. A large staircase led up to the second level where old labs, storage closets, and break rooms were slowly, one by one, converted into bedrooms. With each new occupant, a new room was born. Pieced together with whatever they could find, mattresses were either given, boosted, or on the very rare occasion, bought. Decorations were often hand made and whatever electronics were kept stashed in each room were procured in ways Djinn didn't ask. The rooms were crafted by the soul that inhabited it, made to last for as long as they wished, until they were up and out and moving on to their next adventure.


Industrial in design, the bare pipes and bars of the warehouse still stood out here and there. Djinn was no contractor, only able to do so much with his limited knowledge and profound amounts of guess work. The Hideaway is a hodgepodge of boosted materials, hand-crafted artifacts and other nicknacks. Often a sea of chaos, objects are piled high in nearly every corner -- cardboard boxes, old gadgets, computer parts, clothes. You name it, they've got it and if you wanted it you could have it.

The Hideaway was a sanctuary, a step out of the bustling world outside of its doors. Anger, resentment, violence, they reigned supreme out on the those dark city streets. They surrounded the inhabitant of the Coms like a blanket, reaching in to suffocate and drag them down in the abyss until they could no longer see the light. It was easy to get swept up into the sea, to drown in its current. The Hideaway was your bouey, your anchor to something akin to stability. It was immovable object in the way of the unstoppable force that was life in the Coms. It was created by a scared, lonely little boy that had nowhere to go.

It was warm. It was safe. It was home.
 
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  • All That Glitters, Isn't Gold

    city gif.gif
    - Welcome to Zip City -

    Welcome to Zip City, a bustling metropolis built on what remained of Los Angeles. Buildings were stacked vertically in tall, towering buildings. Houses sat on top of shops that sat on top of stores that sat on top of offices. Things were slotted where they could fit, growing in number, haphazard in the way they were placed, the closer to the ground one was. The tops of the city were pristine, all fresh metal and clean lines. That high in the sky, bridges took the place of roads, air trams were the main source of transport and many had long forgotten just what earth truly looked like. They were closer to the heavens than the ground, so much so that it felt if one reached out with enough heart, they could pluck the stars from the sky. The sun shone down during the day, glistening against the chrome steps and glass walls. There was more to the city than just clean glass and pretty lines though.

    You see, Zip City has as many layers as it did buildings. As with most things, there was more than what appeared on the surface. With each body that milled about the never ending crowds, from the highest penthouse to the lowest hovel tucked into the many dark corners of the Coms, each person had a story to tell. Each person had a heart, a dream, a pain, a path. They all weaved in and out, passing by like a whisper on the wind, unaware of the life that flitted by so easily at their side. Ignorant of the world around them, each soul was trapped in the drum of their day to day life, left drifting beside one another without every truly intersecting.

    + Look Beneath The Surface +


    From top to bottom, the differences in class and wealth is visible. The highest points of the city are shiny, metallic -- screaming of the wealth of the affluent households that resided there. They were doused in modern technology, the latest in biomechanics advancements, boasting the brightest, the most educated, the wealthiest. The further down you went the more things began to change. Beautiful architecture grew lazy as you descended. The glowing glass and shining chrome grew dim and dull until eventually fading to exposed brick and scuttling roaches. On the ground things were set in a completely different world, a world unwanted and unseen, swept beneath the rug and long forgotten.

    The Cloud District
    The wealthiest of them lived in The Cloud District. Far from its legal title, the name was coined by the locals as their homes sat snuggly between the white puffs of ice crystals. Lowe castes chose the term 'Privys', far from an endearing nickname. At the top of everything, their large penthouses overlook the entirety of Zip City. On overcast days, the tallest of buildings can't be seen from below. They are quite literally in the clouds. Most dream to be one of them, to have everything you've ever wished for at the tips of your fingers. With access to all of the latest fashion and technology, there isn't much that Privys really have to want for. Houses are cleaned by mechanical maids, and food is delivered quite literally on a silver platter. Their homes are lavish and large, the air bridges between them pristine. It's almost like stepping into a different world. Everything is absolutely immaculate.

    For many, it's a lifelong goal to climb into the clouds.

    The Mezzanine District
    Mezzos, as they like to call themselves, are, as the name implies -- in the middle. They aren't the richest, but they certainly aren't the poorest. They are the worker bees, the business women, the boys hunched over desks in the call centers - perhaps even a secretary, if they could find a position that wasn't already automated by some AI. There are far more Mezzos than there are Privys, as is the way of things. How else can the 1% keep their fortunes if everyone has a slice? Most Mezzos are content with their placement in life, though many strive to reach the top, to climb higher on the social ladder in order to grab a taste of that high life -- even if only for a second. More often than not, however, they underestimate how just how slippery a slope ascension is, and end up falling far more often than they fly.

    Morning time is the busiest for Mezzos, when you see their world truly come to life. As everyone rushes to their jobs, to a friend's house, or just to say hello to the friendly shop keeper, their walkways fill with buzzing sounds of commute and the trams hum with their departures and arrivals. A mix of old and new, stairs ascended, criss crossing among platforms to create streets that they traveled daily. At night, it is quiet, with only the occasional hum of a stereo able to be heard through someone's open window. Most often described as quaint, the Mezzos are almost in a world all their own. They don't go without, but there is always a yearning for more.


    The Terran District
    Much different than those that floated among the clouds, the Terran District was loud, bustling and dangerous. Bathed in the glow of neon lights, there was never a second in the day that light did not shine. The rushing of footsteps and the honking of horns and the shouts of passerby created the symphony of life on the long forgotten earth. Trapped in the ways of old, if you were born in the Coms there was no way out. They lived in the old homes, the original stacks -- long forgotten by the Privy's that sat among the clouds in their cushy little homes with their automated maids and silver screens. In the Coms it was real. Life was gritty, rough and unforgiving. That wasn't to say it was all hell. The locals looked out for one another, the sense of community was strong. It took a village to raise a child and a village the Coms had become.

    Loyalty lay with the neighborhood, certain lines one just didn't cross. They knew which streets to stop, which corners to turn away from. These were the unspoken rules here. They didn't go up and the ones at the top didn't come down. They were abandoned here, left to their own devices, a completely different world to the one circulating above them. Sometimes it was a wonder they were even within the same city, let alone only a few stories above them. Resentment brewed on the ground as ignorance swirled at the top.

    Drugs and violence reigned supreme here. The police were rarely called any more, most issues settled by trading blows or with the bang of gun. Almost completely self governed, it was best to associate yourself with a group and keep to them and them alone. The only one's 'safe' from it all were the elderly, the people there from the beginning who had earned their right to a peaceful existence. They had long since paid their dues.


    The Terran District, aka the Coms is where the main part of this rp will be taking place. This doesn't mean that characters can't be a Mezzo or a Privy and venture up or down. In fact, I encourage making characters from all sections of Zip, but do be aware that the main part of the 'action' will be set within the Coms.



  • There's No Place Like Home
    sillhouette.jpg
    - Step Into The Hideaway -



    The Hideaway, a creation of a lonely boy in his early teens that had no place to go nor person wanting him found. Much like its creator, the Hideaway was nothing at its inception. It didn't have a name, a face, a purpose. As much as he was lost, the Hideaway had found him. It was a moment in his life that he wouldn't soon forget. The night had been dark, the hard patter of rain splattering against worn streets. Rats scurried beneath dumpsters as the most unfortunate were soaked to the bone. It had been a complete accident, stumbling upon this place. He'd climbed several old fire escapes, hopped one or two roofs before slipping through one of the many broken windows into his salvation. It was a large warehouse, one on the edge and long forgotten. It was dark and had the slight scent of mold beginning to grow, but it was clear not a soul had touched the place since it had first closed. That was the night the Hideaway was born. That was the night Djinn found his home.

    Once a way to keep himself dry, The Hideaway is now home to a myriad of different people. Orphans, passerby, roamers, fugitives (and many more) all filled its numerous halls. If you need a place to stay, these doors are open. Previously an old unused warehouse, it took days to clean. Dusitng out the cobwebs, boarding up broken windows and scrubbing the one's that remained clean. The lower level was massive -- quickly deemed the common area before there was a single thing in it. A large staircase led up to the second level where old labs, storage closets, and break rooms were slowly, one by one, converted into bedrooms. With each new occupant, a new room was born. Pieced together with whatever they could find, mattresses were either given, boosted, or on the very rare occasion, bought. Decorations were often hand made and whatever electronics were kept stashed in each room were procured in ways Djinn didn't ask. The rooms were crafted by the soul that inhabited it, made to last for as long as they wished, until they were up and out and moving on to their next adventure.


    Industrial in design, the bare pipes and bars of the warehouse still stood out here and there. Djinn was no contractor, only able to do so much with his limited knowledge and profound amounts of guess work. The Hideaway is a hodgepodge of boosted materials, hand-crafted artifacts and other nicknacks. Often a sea of chaos, objects are piled high in nearly every corner -- cardboard boxes, old gadgets, computer parts, clothes. You name it, they've got it and if you wanted it you could have it.

    The Hideaway was a sanctuary, a step out of the bustling world outside of its doors. Anger, resentment, violence, they reigned supreme out on the those dark city streets. They surrounded the inhabitant of the Coms like a blanket, reaching in to suffocate and drag them down in the abyss until they could no longer see the light. It was easy to get swept up into the sea, to drown in its current. The Hideaway was your bouey, your anchor to something akin to stability. It was immovable object in the way of the unstoppable force that was life in the Coms. It was created by a scared, lonely little boy that had nowhere to go.

    It was warm. It was safe. It was home.


  • city gif night.gif

    HOW TO JOIN:
    If you are interested in this rp just comment here. I am looking for about 5-6 players and I will be checking out writing styles to make sure everyone gels together nicely. You can either dm me a writing sample, link me to a post you're comfortable sharing, or post it under a spoiler here, whichever you feel most comfortable with. I will be choosing those 5-6 players from those that have shown interest.

    POSTING LENGTH AND SPEED:
    One post a week. This is a multi-paragraph roleplay which means I expect, coherent, comprehensible writing with a 2 paragraph minimum per post. If you have more than one character that is at least 2 paragraphs per character, per week. If something is going on irl that's no big deal, please notify me and/or your IC partners so we can work around that and keep the ball rolling. I'll do my best to keep track of this. I know life gets crazy and sometimes we just forget, but do be aware that after the first 2 missed posts (a miss is counting as 5 days late) you will given a warning and after the 3rd you'll be asked to leave.

    While I do understand that writing is a hobby and we're all doing this for fun, when engaging in group rp's you're committing to the rules stated here. If it becomes too hard or you overestimated the time it takes, please let me know. It happens to the best of us and I promise I'm understanding. Just pretty pretty please do not ghost for the hell of it. It sucks for everyone involved.

    FACECLAIMS:
    Real faceclaims only please.

    MATURE CONTENT:
    All mature content will be either hidden under a spoiler tab IC. It can be a back and forth IC under spoilers with a NSFW warning or played privately and posted as one masterpost, again under spoiler with a NSFW warning. The choice is yours between you and your partner(s) and whether or not you want others to be able to read it.

    Due to the nature of this rp, no characters under the age of 18 will be accepted as main characters. They can be npc's and reoccuring characters to round out your char's life/interactions, but no underage main chars, please and thank you.

    RAPE/COERCION/DUBCON IS NOT PERMITTED IN THIS RP
    Keep your rape fantasies to yourself. I do not care about your opinion on this. If I see it you will be removed without consultation.

    NO GODMODDING:
    This really shouldn't need an explanation but I digress. Do NOT under any circumstance, move, control, or otherwise manipulate another players character without their consent. It's not cool.

    CHARACTER LIMIT:
    There is a character limit of 4. In my experience I've found this is the sweet spot. Most people can handle four, or less that's cool too, and still be able to balance out posts in a timely manner. There is no limit on the number of NPC's though. Have as many filler, reoccurring and non reoccurring characters as your heart desires.

    PLOT CANDIES/IDEAS:
    If you have an idea that you'd like to contribute to steer the rp as a whole PLEASE share. I love plotting and I'm sure all of you do too, but if its something that's going to affect the group as a whole I do ask to be made aware. Smaller plot candies b/t your individual characters should be discussed amongst those involved and don't need to involve me at all. Go wild with that shit.

    IF you have any questions, please feel free to ask!
 
☾ Jasper Read S I 3☾

Empath



Location: Mikasa’s - Mossy Spot

Interactions: Mikasa | Milan | Alois

Mentions: N/A


It was early, far too much so for Jasper and yet, there she lay, wide awake as the sun cast over herself and the pale form draped across her chest. Mikasa’s chest rose and fell steadily, the quietness of morning weighing on Jasper. What should have been peaceful was uncomfortable but she couldn’t bring herself to leave either. It’s not like she was in any rush to return to her ‘school’. In fact, the thought of never returning was a recurring flicker in the back of her mind every time she stepped out of its walls. It would be easy, really. She was already out, a bus or train ticket and she would be able to be as far as she wanted from those detestable four walls and over bearing security. Each time she thought of it, her heart would flutter in her chest with the want to go and never return.


The buzz of her phone on the ground had her head turning, silver orbs narrowing in curiosity. There was only one person awake at this ungodly hour that would ever dream of bothering her. Quietly, and with practiced ease, Jasper slipped from beneath the brunette curled against her, sheets falling away to leave her bare as she padded towards discarded jeans. Fishing for her phone, the screen lit as she lifted it, finding a familiar name shining back at her. Milan’s usual simple, yet sweet, good morning message staring back at her. Lips involuntarily curled into a half smirk, eyes rolling at her friend. They were an odd pair, certainly a construct of fate if you believed in that sort of thing.


“Jaz?” The groggy mumble of a sleep-thick voice had the girl glancing over her shoulder. Mikasa rubbed at her tired eyes as she propped herself up on her arm. Her long dark hair was wild, sun glinting off of tangled strands in the early morning. “You leavin’ now?” A soft whine, Mikasa didn’t want the girl to go, not so soon. Pleading eyes flickered up to meet Jasper’s own mercury gaze, silently willing her to crawl back into bed with her. “You can’t stay?”


Pants sliding up slim thighs, Jasper took her time to answer as she fastened them around her waist. Mikasa and her both knew the answer to that question and yet the girl insisted on asking each and every time. It had gotten old long ago and yet they continued to play this game. “You know the answer to that Kasa,” Jasper spoke, cold and apathetic as she felt the cool chill of disappointment crawl up her spine. It was written across Mikasa’s face as it fell with a soft pout. Jasper paid it no mind, fastening her bra back into place and grabbing her phone and jacket from the floor. Fingers combed through her hair, working out the larger knots to give it some sense of formality.


“When will you be back,” Mikasa piped up, her heart forcing Jasper’s to flutter with the same naive innocence.


Jasper turned, gaze sweeping over Mikasa as she sat up in her bed, hair a mess and sheets rumpled around her waist. The bed looked inviting, the sun lighting it with its warm rays and as she stared, there was a calmness in the air that Jasper never got within the walls of Mosshurst. She could stay, she probably should stay...


“Dunno. See you around,” she spoke, ignoring the way her stomach twisted with disappointment and the weight of heartache stole the breath from her lungs. God she hated this, heavy steps weighted by the boots laced around her feet led her outside, the immediate relief washing over her as she all but fell against the side of the brick building. Maybe it was her own fault, going back to Mikasa time and time again, knowing it would end in the same, suffocating way. She was close, and she was familiar, and with just the right amount of liquor she was comfort as well.


“Jesus Christ,” Jasper groaned, mopping a gloved hand down her face as she pushed away the last remnants of Mikasa’s emotions from her mind. “Too early for this shit,” and with that she pushed off the wall, jacket tied around her waist and hands in her pockets, to head down the street. Jasper was still taking her good ole time heading back to campus, steps slow and feet dragging. If it wasn’t for one particular person that stayed within its walls, maybe she would have left long ago.


It took longer than it should have to return, not that Jasper was in any particular rush to be fair. Trudging towards the front doors, her calm demeanor slowly turned sour. Expression apathetic, she came to a stop at the door, the guards stationed there stepping forward to check her over. Three of them, unnecessary if you asked her, patted her down and checked her pockets, even her hair -- which earned a dangerous glare.


“What are these?” One of them asked, all three tensing as they rounded to find scratches along Jaspers back.


“Scratches,” she answered, annoyed as her eyes rolled.


“How did they occur?” he barked back, hand settled on the baton at his belt, jerking as Jasper glanced over her shoulder.


Turning slowly, their eyes met and she could feel the overwhelming sense of dread filling the men around her. Good. “I fucked the shit out of a girl last night and she needed something to hold on to. Not surprised you aren’t familiar,” a smirk formed as she looked down the bridge of her nose at the guard, wanting him to do something, to retaliate, as his face flushed with angry embarrassment.


Humming to herself, Jasper turned, soaking in the echo of the guard’s angry flush as she stepped inside. The air was cool in doors, contrasting to the blanketed warmth of the day. It brushed her bare skin as she moved through the empty halls. There was never any urgency to the way that Jasper moved -- fluid and lax.


The scent of coffee and fresh bread was strong as Jasper stepped into the cafe, taking an involuntary breath as she sighed. She didn’t hesitate to make a straight line towards the counter, gaze finding several familiar faces. “Sup Milly.....demon,” she greeted in her usual drawl, eyes cutting to the red head behind the counter. Despite her words, her eyes shone with amusement, a glance only those who she let within her walls could properly detect. Sliding into a stool, her body melted into the seat, eyes closing for a moment. There was no true sense of relaxation, the whisper of anxiousness, trepidation, joy, frustration, determination, etc, constantly berated her consciousness. Silver orbs fluttered open as she sat up, arms folded against the cool stone, chin propping within her palm. “Can I get the usual?” a medium coffee with caramel, cream and sugar -- surprisingly sweet for someone of Jasper’s.....temperament.


[ @Jenamos ]

 
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⊗ Baine Gallagher ⊗

Name:

Baine Gallagher

Nickname:

Cupid | Casanova -- no he does not respond to these

Date of birth:

Date Unknown | Liverpool, England

Age:

23

Zodiac:

Unknown

Gender:

Cis Male

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Power:

Desire Manipulation

User can sense and manipulate the desire of others.

Desire Augmentation

The user can amplify the desires in others, increasing the targets needs/obsessions/desires up to point where victim will stop at nothing to try to get whatever they desire for, even being willing to hurt themselves to get it.

Desire Confession

The ability to overwhelmingly compel another to confess their deepest desires to the user.

Desire Negation

The ability to negate or suppress any given desire in others.

Desire Inducement

The ability to influence desires held by another person.

Limitations:


➤ Must have physical contact in order to manipulate another person's desires.

➤ To get someone to confess, he has to 'trigger' it by asking some form of "What do you desire most?"

➤ Cannot make someone desire something outside of their moral alignment.

➤ The stronger someone is mentally the harder they are to read/influence/manipulate.

➤ Once the desire is fulfilled the effects of his manipulation dissipate.

Appearance:

Baine is a tall, lanky individual with sinewy muscle and a deep mocha tone. His jaw is sharp, eyes large and knowing with a broad nose and full lips. His eyebrows are thick and expressive, hair often a mess of wild curls that he does his best to maintain. His posture is confident, as Baine is prone to standing tall, but is often quite relaxed. Shoulders are squared and head held high, but his hands are usually shoved in his jeans or jacket pockets.

Hair:

Wild dark brown -- almost black, curls. The back and sides taper down into a well kept fade.

Eyes:

Dark brown, almost black.

Height:

5'10

Build:

Baine is tall, with lean sinewy muscle. He has a swimmer's build with broad shoulders and defined abs.

Personality:

Snarky | Manipulative | Selfish | Protective | Deceitful | Lacks Empathy | Sarcastic | Trouble Maker

Likes:

➤ Parties
➤ Sleeping in
➤The City
➤ The Stars
➤ Movies
➤ Physical intimacy
➤ Drinking
➤ Playing with people


Dislikes:

➤Conflict
➤ Being ignored
➤ Being alone
➤ Authority
➤ Accountability
➤ Vulnerability


Background:

TRIGGER WARNING: Underage prostitution | Child abuse | Underage drinking
Not one to openly discuss, nor dwell, on the past, Baine can't tell you how nor why he ended up where he did. It was just how life was for as long as he could remember. If he tried hard enough, he could conjure up the blurry faces of what he supposed were a man and a woman screaming at one another about something....about him. It wasn't much of a reach to figure out he was a mistake, if he wasn't -- if he was wanted -- he would have been at home with his family instead of on the streets, scavenging for food in whatever dumpster his young self could scramble into.

It was on one of these dumpster dives that he was approached by a man, much older than himself. He introduced himself as Eric -- no last name and promised money, food and shelter. What was a young orphan to do? Baine was hungry -- starving; slowly dying in some gutter no one would look twice at when he washed away. Baine didn't want to die in obscurity, so he took the olive branch offered to him unaware of just what he was delving into.

He should have known better, or so he thinks now at least. A young boy with a sweet face, that man used him until there was nothing left. Quite literally beaten into submission, Baine was first broken before he was remolded into Eric's perfect weapon. Eric used him until Baine was a shell of who he should have been, obedient to his every command. Any deviation was cut down with harsh words and a harder fist. Baine was his doll, offered up to whatever greedy hands wanted to toy with it -- for a price of course, there was always a price with Eric.

Baine wanted nothing more than to get out, to run, but with nowhere to go, he stayed. He stayed and he played the game, sneaking in through side doors and back entrances of hotels, laying in back alley's and sliding into passenger seats in the dark. It was all he knew, morning and night, moving from bed to bed, car park to car park. He watched the money exchange hands with dull eyes and duller senses. He barely even felt the hands on him anyways, sequestering himself away into a different part of his mind until it was over -- a world where he was normal. Maybe he had a parent, even two if he was a lucky. There was a dog, that corny little wrap around porch, and his mom would ask him if he wanted lemonade on a hot day....

-----

Baine doesn't know just when his powers manifested. There wasn't some big catalyst where all of a sudden he could do this cool new thing. It was slow to build, something he noticed as time went by. If he touched his john's and asked what they wanted, they would tell him. It would spill out no matter how much he watched them struggle with it. When Eric learned of his powers, Baine became his new favorite possession. They went everywhere together, Practically tied at the hip. Baine could get men and women alike to ache for anything and in this business, aching for him was key. Of course his abilities lended towards other....aspects of Eric's 'career' of which Baine assisted with or face yet another angry fist. Choice was only a pretense after all....

Life was monotonous, though Baine would admit with his newfound powers he felt a little more in control. He still was made to lay with even the most undesirable of pigs. He did, however, get out of back alley's and empty lots, upgrading to seedy bars and raunchy underground clubs. The clientele were no more attractive than before, but at least he got a few free drinks out of it, right? There was one particular bar near the coast that became Baine's preferred haunt. The patrons were less than appealing most days but their pockets were always charitable. It was at that bare that he met the one person that would change his life forever.

Oran Gallagher.

Same age. Same height. Same wild soul. On vacation with his father, he'd snuck out for a wee bit of fun. Maybe it was his accent, so out of place in a bar full of brits, or maybe it was his eyes, or maybe it was his rowdy nature; whatever it was, Baine was drawn in like moth to flame. They were quick to bond. It's not like Baine knew many, if anyone, his own age. It was like he'd found the other half of himself. Of course he wasn't quite so honest about who, or what, he was. He was smart enough to keep that to himself. But as time went on, and Baine spent more of his time with Oran and less of it 'working', they moved from bar boys to brothers in no time flat.

It didn't take long for Eric to catch on. His cash was dwindling and he'd gotten a few complaints about his patrons 'favorite boy' being mia. Needless to say the man didn't take too kindly to Baine skipping out on his duties. His punishment was severe for that -- busted ribs and bruised face. Baine wasn't let out for nearly a week, keen eye trained on him until his bruises were healed and he could work again. He had no idea how long Oran was in town for, but he'd service a client or two for free if they took him to the bar he'd first met the blonde for a few hours. At the least he wanted to tell him goodbye.

A goodbye turned into an offer, an offer that scared Baine to his very core. Sneaking out to see Oran had been bad enough but leaving, that was a whole new bear to poke. Pleading eyes and heartfelt promises eventually won out however and Baine found himself leaving everything he'd ever known behind to climb aboard a plane with people he barely new to enter a country he knew only the name of.

Extra:


➤ Aggressively abstains from emotional vulnerability

➤ Has four parents and an adopted brother

➤ Severe commitment issues

➤ Speaks English and Gaelige fluently

➤ Neither his first nor his last name are his given name. Baine was given to him by Eric and he took Oran's last name when he was adopted.

➤ Moved to Ireland when he was sixteen.

Always loved music. Has a secret wish to start a music career.
 
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✩ Jimson Tan SP4✩
Astral Projection

Location: Rooftop /// Interactions: Jessie /// Mentions: Liam | Avery | Crystal

The game was simple, almost too simple in fact and if Jimson was sober he would have been bored with it before it even started. Perhaps not though.... The way his lips had yet to cease tingling from the feeling of Jessie's own still warmed his belly. Regardless of its simplicity, Jimson was always the type to figure out the mechanics easily. It just so happened that this games mechanics were learned within the first turn or so. The idea came shortly after a rather tall, sour faced brunette had landed on him. At first Jimson had thought it was Jessie who would receive the kiss -- something that made his stomach twist inside of him for reasons unknown. When lips met his cheek, leaving him with flushed cheeks and wide brown eyes, he realized what he could do. Jimson stared at the bottle for a while after that, fingers absently toying with Jessie's decorated ones. He twisted the rings that sat upon their fingers, traced invisible patterns along their palm as the game continued. Several more people kissed, most notably a blonde girl and some brunette boy he wasn't familiar with.

Was it rude to stare at something so....vulgar wasn't the right word, but Jimson knew it was something that was better suited for private. Then again, wasn't that the point of such a game? Regardless, his eyes were trained on them, the way their lips moved and their bodies seemed to slot together so easily. Desire burned within the blonde's belly, lips parted in a silent gasp as the kiss ended. He wanted that. Jimson wanted that desperately, eyes shifting up to glance at his own brunette. Jessie's lips had been warm and soft and oh the thing they did with their tongue at the end? Jimson was practically mewling at the memory. Teeth worried his bottom lip as he watched the bottle spin again, eagerly anticipating his turn. It landed on another brunette, this time someone that Jimson recognized.

His name was Avery and he reminded the boy of sunshine. He was always happy and despite how terrible Jimson was with people, he always made him feel accepted. He was very nice. The kiss those two had though, Jimson watched with rapt attention. It started out soft, gentle could have described it easily, but as the seconds ticked by it turned from innocent to something....darker. Heat flooded Jimson's face as he watched, oddly in tune with how people were reacting. If he remembered anything come morning, he could quite easily blame the heat settling between his legs on the liquor, a hiccuped moan vibrating his chest as he watched teeth graze bottom lip. He wanted this so badly. Fingers squeezed Jessie's hand, thighs rubbing together in a subconscious effort to ease the ache between them. He wanted his turn. He needed it.

Jimson nearly jumped when he realized the bottle was finally his again, half falling to his hands and knees to crawl to it. With a flick of his wrist he spun it, settling back against Jessie as it whirled in the middle of the circle. He didn't need to watch to know where it was going to land, nuzzling into the curve of his newfound infatuation's neck. Onyx orbs closed, body lax as Jimson pushed his soul forwards with practiced ease. The world was different like this, drunk and detached. It took him longer than it should have to orient himself, watching as the bottle began to slow. With an unseen hand, Jimson nudged the bottle at a steady pace, easing it to a stop just before the two of them. Pleased with himself, his soul giggled -- the sound going unheard by those on the physical plane.

Eyes fluttered open as Jimson sat up, gazing at the bedazzled bottle for a moment. It worked.... Eyes flickered towards Jessie, lips curling into a shy grin. He would get to feel their lips on his own. It made his heart lurch in his chest and stomach swarm with butterflies. Left hand lifting, Jimson traced the shape of Jessie's jaw as he closed the distance between them. Fingers curled into brown locs at the nape of the other's neck, breath warm as he caressed the skin there. "Can you kiss me like she kissed him?" the request was quiet and rather innocent in nature. Jimson just wanted to feel what he saw and he wanted Jessie to make him feel it. "Please Jessie," he purred the words in a gentle whisper as lips hovered just a breath away. "It feels so good when you kiss me," words dipping into a bastard child of a moan and a whimper, onyx eyes trained on lips he craved more than anything.


 
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☾ Jasper Read SI3☾
Empath

Location: Roof /// Interactions: Milan | NPC Alois /// Mentions: Eddy | Avery | Liam | Crystal | Jimson | Jessie

The world was wavy inside of Jasper's mind, too much liquor and not enough self control. She was happy though, tucked against Milan's side. Her head was on his shoulder, hand on his thigh as she watched the bottle spin over and over. It was almost making her dizzy before it would stop and some drunk tonsil hockey was played. A gentle giggle rose from her, tonsil hockey. God why that of all phrases? It was so fourth grade and yet the words had crawled their way from some deep recess of her mind. It was like that sometimes, those things we want to keep buried in the darkest, deepest recesses of our unconscious. They had a way of crawling to the surface while intoxicated. Jasper was just lucky that she was having a good night with good people. Attention shifted from the game to the man at her side, chin on his shoulder now as she sat a bit straighter. She'd loathe to admit she couldn't help but smile, free hand reaching to turn Milan's face to her.

Thumb caressed freckled cheek as she simply gazed at him. It was rare that Jasper would fall into sentimentalism when drunk, then again, Milan had an aura about him, one that found the gentleness still within such an abrasive person and pulled it to the surface. "You are so handsome you know that," she cooed gently, adoration clear in those silver eyes of hers. Jasper's smile was gentle, thumb tracing Milan's down the slope of his jawline only to press against his bottom lip. It was soft beneath her touch, softer than she would have thought -- and oh did she think.. The game faded into the background long ago, then again that was apt to happen around Milan drunk or sober. He was her whole world, and in that moment it really never felt more tru-

"Hey lovebirds! You gonna fuck or ya gonna play the game?!" a girl giggled, though abruptly stopped when she realized a certain pair of silver eyes were trained directly on her.

"And if we are, what business is that of yours?" Jasper questioned with shocking clarity considering she was three sheets to the wind. "Fucking bitch," she grumbled quietly, reluctantly peeling herself from Mailan and once more crawling towards the bottle. Needless to say her skirt did not readjust itself in the time between turns, barely concealing the black lace that lay beneath. The bottle spun easily, Jasper sitting back to watch where it landed. Slowing, it crept to a stop just past the brunette at her side leaving her blinking owlishly. There was a weight in her chest, a curling in her stomach that she couldn't quite place. Jasper didn't have time to figure it out either as a familiar voice pulled a Cheshire grin from her lips.

"You son of a bitch," she mused, turning to Alois who mirrored her own smirk. Jasper nearly rolled her eyes but was too distracted by the lips on her own. What was meant to be something playful ended up a battle of wills. Neither one wanted to succeed control, tongue's curling as lips moved in greedy fashion. It wasn't until absolutely necessary that Jasper relented, tugging on Alois's bottom lip with a harsh nip leaving them both breathless. There was still challenge sparking between their eyes, a mutual humor in the entire situation. "Not bad Shortcake," she mused to her friend before sitting back down. To be honest she was rather pleased with herself, leaning back on open palms as more turns were taken.

Avery, the big lug, kissed a boy Jasper recognized from the coffee shop. To be honest she was surprised he was even playing. She had been so sure the guy was dating the angry looking imp at his side. Judging from the looks of things, maybe he did to because he did not look pleased. Well that was interesting for sure. The bottle was taken by Crystal, the girl far too annoyed at a simple game to be normal. If she wanted someone to make out with all she had to do was ask, it's not like she was ugly. Whatever. Her pornographic tongue fucking was less than entertaining and more so annoying.

Whoever that kid was that Crystal just orally assaulted with her tongue got Avery and the look on Eddy's face has Jasper giggling. "Oh he's mad," she whispered to Milan, watching the events unfold. To be honest Jasper was impressed. She didn't think little sweet Avery had that in him. The way he took control over that kiss was something she would have previously imagined the energetic guy incapable of. It was actually kind of hot. When it was over Jasper was speechless, watching him walk back to his seat with a little grin on his face. "Wow." Up next was Jimson, Mia's kid, and Jasper had half a mind to call her friend over to bear witness to her kid finally growing up. The way he was looking at the guy he was currently perched on...well, Jasper knew what they were going to get into later that's for sure.

A few more turns were had, Jasper drifting closer to Milan until she once more had her head on his shoulder. When the bottle came to her again she was reluctant to move. Milan was just so damn warm she was loathe to move honestly. But she did, sitting up with a sigh, leaning forwards to grasp the bottle and spin. She plopped back to Milan's side, barely even paying the bottle any attention until it ceased moving. When it did it took a few seconds to connect the dots.

.....It had landed on Milan.

Silver orbs trailed from glass to boy and back again, a gentle huff of a laugh leaving her as her inebriated mind put the pieces together. "Oh well would ya look at that?" Jasper mused, grinning up with a knowing smise at her friend. She wasn't going to make this easy for him though, moving swiftly to press a peck to Milan's lips -- so unlike the kisses she'd shared with others. "There," she spoke, though could barely contain herself with the look on his face. Of course she wasn't about to leave it at just that, fingers curling into that mass of curls and pulling Milan to her mouth. She was more gentle with him than Alois and Hero, though that didn't equate to a lack of passion. The moment their lips met her breath hitched, electricity sparking through her veins.

Milan's lips were perfect. They were warm and soft and supple and fuck, Jasper never wanted to kiss another person again. Eyes closed as her tongue easily worked its way between those lips and oh my fuck did he taste like heaven. Somehow they moved, the way they sat side by side just wasn't enough. Hands cupped both freckled cheeks as lips and tongue moved eagerly together, focused on tasting every inch of the boy in her grasp. Legs straddled as slim waist, gentle moans muffled by warm lips. Somewhere in the back of her consciousness Jasper heard a voice, middle finger rising in instinctive response before both hands curled into chocolate curls. She could do this all day, lips tracing smooth jaw, fingers tugging demanding to expose a long neck to a greedy mouth. Fuck the crowd, Jasper cared little about witnesses as she marked Milan as hers.

Hips rolled in a slow rhythm, teeth and tongue suckling deep purple into tanned flesh. Only when she was satisfied with her work did the empath relent, tongue tracing its way back along the male's throat, nipping at his jaw to settle a warm kiss against a supple mouth. This kiss was slower than the others, gentler, but it held the promise of more to come, and oh did Jasper want more. "Let's leave,"[/COLOR her words whispered against kiss-reddened lips.


 

  • All That Glitters, Isn't Gold

    - Welcome to Arcadia -


    Welcome to Arcadia, a bustling metropolis built on what remained of Los Angeles. The tops of the city are pristine, all fresh metal and clean lines. That high in the sky, bridges take the place of roads, air trams are the main source of transport and many had long forgotten just what earth truly looked like. They are closer to the heavens than the ground, so much so that it feels as if one would reach out with enough heart, they can pluck the stars from the sky. The sun shines down during the day, glistening against the chrome steps and glass walls. There was more to the city than just clean glass and pretty lines though.

    There is an underbelly to the glitz and glamour. Buildings are stacked vertically in tall, towering buildings. Houses sit on top of shops that sit on top of stores that sit on top of offices. Things are slotted where they could fit, growing in number, haphazard in the way they were placed, the closer to the ground one was. You see, Arcadia has as many layers as it does buildings. As with most things, there is more than what appears on the surface. With each body that mills about the never ending crowds, from the highest penthouse to the lowest hovel tucked into the many dark corners of the Coms, each person has a story to tell. Each person has a heart, a dream, a pain, a path. They all weave in and out, passing by like a whisper on the wind, unaware of the life that flits by so easily at their side. Ignorant of the world around them, each soul is trapped in the drum of their day to day life, left drifting beside one another without every truly intersecting.

    + Look Beneath The Surface +

    From top to bottom, the differences in class and wealth is visible. The highest points of the city are shiny, metallic -- telling of the wealth the affluent households hoard to themselves. They are doused in modern technology, the latest in biomechanic advancements, boasting the brightest, the most educated. The further down you go, the more things begin to change. Beautiful architecture grows lazy as you descended. The glowing glass and shining chrome grow dim and dull until, eventually, it fades into exposed brick and scuttling roaches. On the ground things are set in a completely different world, a world unwanted and unseen, swept beneath the rug and long forgotten. There crime runs rampant, an afterthought to most as they go through their day's, nonethewiser to the debauchery below.

    It's okay though, because for some, the darkness is an escape. It's a step away from the world they know, where they can shed their skin and dawn a new mask, a new name, a new life. One's man trash is another man's treasure after all....




    THE ZION DISTRICT
    The wealthiest among them reside within the Zion District. Lower castes have taken to calling them 'Privys', far from an endearing nickname. On top of everything, their large penthouses overlook the entirety of Arcadia and even into the blank expanse beyond. On overcast days, the tallest of buildings can't be seen from below. They are quite literally in the clouds. Most dream to be one of them, to have everything they could have ever wished for at the tips of their fingers. With access to all of the latest fashion and technology, there isn't much that Privys really have to want for. Houses are cleaned by mechanical maids and food is delivered quite literally on a silver platter. Their homes are lavish and large, the air bridges between them pristine. It's almost like stepping into a different world. Everything is absolutely immaculate.

    For many, it's a lifelong goal to climb into the clouds. The money is old, generations of developed wealth on the backs of others. Owners of Fortune 500's, Department heads and Government officials make up most of the people in the Zion District . Everyone knows everyone and secrets are often kept by a stack of cash -- and will be happily given for just the same price. Despite its pristine appearance and jaw dropping architecture.....all that glitters isn't gold....

    THE MEZZANINE DISTRICT

    Mezzos, as they like to call themselves, are, as the name implies -- in the middle. They aren't the richest, but they certainly aren't the poorest. They are the worker bees, the business women, the boys hunched over desks in the call centers - perhaps even a secretary, if they could find a position that wasn't already automated by some AI. There are far more Mezzos than there are Privys, as is the way of things. How else can the 1% keep their fortunes if everyone has a slice? Most Mezzos are content with their placement in life, though many strive to reach the top, to climb higher on the social ladder in order to grab a taste of that high life -- even if only for a second. More often than not, however, they underestimate just how slippery a slope ascension is, and end up falling far more often than they fly.

    Morning time is the busiest for Mezzos, when you see their world truly come to life. As everyone rushes to their jobs, to a friend's house, or just to say hello to the friendly shopkeeper, their walkways fill with buzzing sounds of commute and the trams hum with their departures and arrivals. A mix of old and new, stairs ascended, criss crossing among platforms to create streets that they traveled daily. At night, it is quiet, with only the occasional hum of a stereo able to be heard through someone's open window. Most often described as quaint, the Mezzos are almost in a world all their own. They don't go without, but there is always a yearning for more.


    THE TERRAN DISTRICT

    Much different than those that floated among the clouds, the Terran District is just as it's name alludes -- what's left of old Los Angeles. The only part of Arcadia actually touching Earth's surface, Terran is loud, bustling and dangerous. Bathed in the glow of neon lights, there is never a second in the day that light dies not shine, though the sun is hardly seen. The rushing of footsteps and the honking of horns and the shouting of passerby created the symphony of life. Trapped in the ways of old, if you were born in the Coms there was no way out. They lived in the old homes, the original stacks -- long forgotten by the Privy's that sat among the clouds in their cushy little homes with their automated maids and silver screens. In the Coms it’s real. Life is a gritty, rough and unforgiving thing. That isn’t to say it’s all hell. The locals look out for one another, the sense of community is strong among them. It takes a village to raise a child and a village the Coms has become.

    Loyalty lay with the neighborhood, certain lines one just doesn’t cross. They know which streets to stop, which corners to turn away from. These are the unspoken rules here. They don’t go up and the ones at the top don’t come down. They’re abandoned, left to their own devices, a completely different world to the one circulating above them. Sometimes it’s a wonder they’re even in the same city, let alone only a few stories above them. Resentment is brewing on the ground as ignorance swirled at the top.

    Drugs and violence reign supreme here. The police are rarely called any more, most issues settled by trading blows or with the bang of gun. Almost completely self governed, it is best to associate yourself with a group and keep to them and them alone. The only one's 'safe' from it all are the elderly, the people there from the beginning who had earned their right to a peaceful existence. They have long since paid their dues.


    This Roleplay is about exploring the underground Queer counterculture scene. If you are not okay with majority LGBTQIA+ chars being created here, then this is not the roleplay for you. If you are here for the queer then power to you, lets fuck some shit up BAYBEEEEE.



  • HISTORY

    We Won't Hide In Darkness


    For centuries, they've had to hide in the shadows, lurking in the dark. It was safer that way, the elders of each determined to uphold the ways of old. It's not that they were weaker, or more vulnerable than the humans that roamed the earth. It was the opposite in fact. It was just so easy to take over. The element of surprise was to be savored. The less the humans new, the better, the easier it was to feed. But as time passed, those born into darkness wanted a taste of the light. They wanted a taste and they were intent on taking it.

    This led to the War of _______. Creatures of all walks of life were tired of hiding. They wanted to exist as they were, no fear of repercussions -- from the outside world or otherwise. They were slow to out themselves at first, but one by one the movement picked up force. With change came fear and with fear came anger. The ruling government called for a mobilization of humans, to take up arms and 'beat back these demons'. The violence was swift to wash over the world; protests in America inspiring uprisings in other countries.

    It's been nearly two centuries since then. Cities were rebuilt and systems reformed and humans were no longer at the top.


  • This Is Who We Are

    We Are Not The Same



    TATTOOS & BODY MODIFICATIONS
    Tattoos and body modifications are seen as a sign of wealth here. The more intricate the piece or the mod, the more money it takes; therefore, the idea that the more modifications a person has to their bodies, the wealthier they are is rather logical. Walking around cloud, you'll see people of various shapes with mechanical arms, pointed ears, filed teeth and -- above all else, covered in tattoos. The most basic form of modifications are tattoos, an ancient practice that has yet to die out. It's a revered talent.

    This also makes it easier to point out the lower caste's. Bare skin means you're either an actual prepubescent child, or from Terran. Terran's can barely rub two pennies together, let alone paint themselves in ink. That doesn't mean you don't have a few back alley artists, but they're few and far between. Why work in the poorest caste there is when they could be making bags of money in Mezzo or hell, if they get popular enough, Zion!




    SOULMATE INITIATIVE
    Overseen by the Department of Families, the Soulmate Initiative has been a long standing practice within ______. It’s poetic, isn't it? Knowing that there is someone out there destined for you? Created for you? Despite their many differences, the people of _______ all have one commonality. Regardless of class or tier, everyone has a soulmate, a match, hiding in the crowd of faces, waiting to be found. At birth, every child born in _____ is given a small tattoo at the back of their right ankle-- small but distinct-- and as they move into adulthood, each person is expected to search, meet, and marry their pre-destined match. They’re out there, ready and waiting after all.

    The seeking is part of the joy-- the pining, the waiting, the hunt. While many find their soulmates early, however, the Department of Families is perfectly willing to help individuals find their match through accelerated means. It’s their prerogative, after all. It just may cost you, though.


    THE SPINSTERS

    Ever wonder why soulmates are always heterosexual, always from the same caste? Why sometimes soulmates don’t get along, or even hate one another? Why sometimes one’s soulmate is gone long before they even go looking? Why soulmates exist at all? Well you’re not the first, and certainly not alone. It’s a question that burns many and ignored by all, save a select few.

    The Spinsters, a subset of people collected by their common rejection of the status quo. Caste, color, gender, orientation -- none of it matters to them. Ranging from young to old, the Spinsters accept anyone and everyone as long as they’re willing to live their most authentic life.


    RELIGION

    Arcadia itself is an atheist, secular state. Religion does not exist and is not practiced in your average household. Focus is on the personal and practical, logic meaning more than faith. Everyone is a cog in the machine, expected to function perfectly in order to keep the whole of Arcadia running at its best. Announcements, flyers and various other forms of propaganda is issued to an overwhelming degree in order to keep morale high -- or so they claim.

    That does not mean no one has delved into religious practices. If done so, it's a quiet, personal practice not shared to many. More easily accessed through the Terran District, one can find several occult shops tucked away in back corners. The most widely practiced faith is Wicca -- harnessing the earth's energy to will change amongst one’s self. There is a reverence for the earth, for life and, in a city where there’s no way up, there is some solace in knowing that doesn’t mean there’s no way out.



    Top Religions in Arcadia:
    Wicca:
    They believe in the Goddess, respect nature, and hold both polytheistic and pantheistic views. Most Wiccans accept the so-called Wiccan Rede, an ethical code that states “If it harm none, do what you will.”

    Hoodoo:
    is African-American folk magic. It consists mainly of African folkloric practices and beliefs with a significant blend of American Indian botanical knowledge and European folklore.

    Paganism:
    Any polytheistic religion. There are various pagan practitioners in Arcadia ranging from ancient Celtic beliefs, to ancient Egyptian.


    THE ARTS

    The arts are a frivolous practice in most people's eyes. Media is heavily monitored as to keep the ideals that the government wishes alive. Most 'celebrities' payed their way into their position and the movies, television shows and music that comes from them are heavily edited and overseen by a council before publishing. The arts are not entirely pushed out of common practice, however, having a passion for such things is not common, nor cultivated. The fine arts have all nearly died out, lest you can find a rogue painter somewhere in the fray of Terran. Reading and writing are practically obsolete. No new books have been published in years and having a love of words on paper will have you stared at quite openly. Everything is digitized and various authors have long since faded from human memory.





  • HOW TO JOIN:
    If you are interested in this rp just comment here. I am looking for about 8-10 players and I will be checking out writing styles to make sure everyone gels together nicely. You can either dm me a writing sample or link me to a post you're comfortable sharing. Once accepted, you will be given the discord link where the ooc discussion will be held.

    POSTING LENGTH AND SPEED:
    One post a week. This is a multi-paragraph roleplay which means I expect coherent, comprehensible writing with a 2 paragraph minimum per post. If you have more than one character that means at least 2 paragraphs per character, per week. If something is going on irl that's no big deal, please notify me and/or your IC partners so we can work around that and keep the ball rolling. I'll do my best to keep track of this. I know life gets crazy and sometimes we just forget, but do be aware that after the first 2 missed posts (a miss is counting as 5 days late) you will be given a warning and after the 3rd you'll be asked to leave.

    While I do understand that writing is a hobby and we're all doing this for fun, when engaging in group rp's you're committing to the rules stated here. If it becomes too hard or you overestimated the time it takes, please let me know. It happens to the best of us and I promise I'm understanding. Just pretty pretty please do not ghost for the hell of it. It sucks for everyone involved.

    FACECLAIMS:
    Real face claims only please.

    MATURE CONTENT:
    All mature content will be either hidden under a spoiler tab IC. It can be a back and forth IC under spoilers with a NSFW warning or played privately and posted as one master post, again under spoiler with a NSFW warning. The choice is yours between you and your partner(s) and whether or not you want others to be able to read it.

    Due to the nature of this rp, no characters under the age of 18 will be accepted as main characters. They can be npc's and recurring characters to round out your char's life/interactions, but no underage main chars, please and thank you.

    RAPE/NONCON/DUBCON IS NOT PERMITTED IN THIS RP
    Keep your rape fantasies to yourself. I do not care about your opinion on this. If I see it you will be removed without warning.

    NO GODMODDING:
    This really shouldn't need an explanation but I digress. Do NOT under any circumstance, move, control, or otherwise manipulate another players character without their consent. It's not cool.


    PLOT CANDIES/IDEAS:
    If you have an idea that you'd like to contribute to steer the rp as a whole PLEASE share. I love plotting and I'm sure all of you do too, but if it's something that's going to affect the group as a whole I do ask to be made aware. Smaller plot candies b/t your individual characters should be discussed amongst those involved and don't need to involve me at all. Go wild with that shit.

    DIVERSITY:
    This rp is about queer counterculture. If you are not comfortable with this, please leave. I encourage, and strongly suggest, that all players explore racial, sexual and romantic diversity amongst their characters. There are various aspects of queerness to explore! Your char can fall anywhere on the sexual/romantic spectrum that you choose, but please be respectful to your fellow players as well as the community’s that you are representing.

    IF you have any questions, please feel free to ask!
 
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  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: MiharuAya
ZANDER ATKINSON

Location: Britain - Maine | Interactions: NPC Bartender - NPC Cab driver - Remington - Benji - Ashley | Mentions: Paksu




The sun is bright, way too bright, streaming through the drapes that barely shade the large window. Zander stirs from heavy slumber, hand lifting to block the harsh rays that burn closed lids. "Jesus fuck," he slurs the words in a sleep-graveled voice, breathing a deep sigh of exhaustion. The world blinks hard into existence, bright blue eyes hazy from fatigue and the lingering traces of last nights debauchery. The room is white, far too white to be his own, confusion lacing through the gaps that too much tequila had left behind. "Time is i'?" Zander groans to himself. A large palm creeps blindly along the nearby bedside table, lifting the digital alarm clock to his bleary eyes. His sigh is deep as the time of 8:00 AM glares back at him in angry red letters.

Well fuck him.

Zander peels himself out of warm sheets, shivering at the cool morning air that decides now is the most opportune fucking time to wrap around him. He plucks discarded clothing from the ground, fumbling here and there. Okay, maybe he's not as sober as he once thought. Cool. He doesn't spare a glance back at the blonde he's walking away from. He doesn't remember his name so there's no reason to try and see his face.

The outside is warmer, sun beaming down -- still a little too bright. Hands shove into the pockets of tight fitting jeans, sneakers scraping pavement at the brunette tucks his head and hurries home. It's quiet when he steps inside, too quiet. A pattering of tiny feet can be heard if you strain your ears, Zander's attention lifting from the ground as a cherub's face toddler comes rushing at him.

"Da! Da!" her voice is as sweet as sugar as she squeals her greeting. Her movements are choppy and uncoordinated but they convey a certain pure excitement that always makes Zander's heart flutter. His jaw tenses as she stops in front of him, her giggles fading out as she does as well. Hands shake where they grip the door handle and he feels as if he's moments away from shattering.

He shoves it down like a bad dream, breath ragged as he draws it into burning lungs. Had he been holding his breath all this time? He doesn't dwell on it, door slamming shut behind him as long legs stride towards his kitchen. There's the tinkling of glass before he's swallowing gulps of burning liquor. It eases the ache in his chest and quells the trembling of his fingers -- even if only temporary.

"You're going to be late dear," the voice is apathetic...mocking, from behind him. Zander doesn't need to turn around to know he'll find a callous grin marring a once beautiful face. "Or are you too busy drowning your pathetic little self in another liquor bottle?"

"Bugger off," Zander rasps, swallowing the last of the drink he's poured. The glass hits the counter with a sharp 'clink', steps uneven as he steps through the conjured memory that refuses to let him go. His phone is on the bed, apparently he'd left it there before going out. There's several missed calls and notifications of a flight that he isn't' going to make. He'll just catch the next one.

Fingers tap out Remy's number, there have been one too many drunk nights where he's had to fumble with some stupid payphone until he'd gotten it right. He doesn't talk about those night.....if he can remember them at least. The ringing is obnoxious in his ear, trill and hammering against his last damn nerve. Zander almost hangs up, opting to text his response, when he hears the others voice.

"Oi, mornin, love," he drawls the words so easily. Remy had, in his steadily annoying way of his, made sure Zander was, at the absolute least, packed for this trip. Zander wasn't even going to go. Damn the nightmares to hell, they weren't the first and they wouldn't be the last, but one casual mention of 'odd dreams' and Remy had somehow convinced him to go to the address that kept swirling around their minds. Maybe this was a sign he should just stay. "So....M'not gonna make 'a fligh'," he starts, already flinching at the oddly gentle way Remy threatens. It's like being angrily complimented. "Bu'!." Zander is quick to cut him off. "I'll ge' onna nex' one, yeah? S'okay whichu, love?" he muses, catching himself grinning to himself.

The smile falls fast, the heat of embarrassment warming his face. At least there's no witnesses around. "Yeh, yeh. I'll be there," Zander sighs, head falling back as eyes close. Remy's voice is sweet. Even though he knows he's being yelled at, Zander can't help the need to suppress a chuckle. It's like being yelled at by a puppy. "Well I promised didn' I?" he scoffs. Eyes scan the room, sure that he has everything before stepping out. He clicks his tongue in response to Remy's retort. "At was a monf ago! When ya gonna stop 'oldin 'at ova me 'ead?" he all but whines. "I'll be 'ere. I swear."



"Last call for Flight number 256, London, UK to Maine, USA. Repeat, this is last call for Flight number 256, London, UK to Maine, USA." The voice is trill across the speakers, swimming through Zander's sluggish mind. The honeyed whiskey in his cup swirls in a mesmerizing pattern before its downed with a hearty grimace. "At shit neva ge's good," he grumbled to himself. Slipping from the stool where he sits, the world is quick to teeter before his very eyes. Maybe he drank a little too much, knuckles white from the grip needed to steady himself.

"Oi, ya gonna pay fer those!" a gruff voice barks from behind him. Zander turns swaying on his feet as he eyes the burly bartender that frowns right back at the drunk. Zander's expression is blank for several long seconds as he processes just what in the hell is going on. The pieces are slow to fall into place, the light bulb damn near visible as it lights above his head. "Oh yeh. My bad, bruv. 'Ere, lemme grab some cash, yeah?" he slurs terribly, warmth beginning to burn within his chest. Fingertips heat with that familiar buzz of magic as fingertips press together. Zander breathes deep, all but his index finger and thumb lacing together. On an exhale they circle inwards, pressing out into a triangle. "Oh...my bad," Zander chuckles with a grin, hands fiddling with his pockets. He finds his wallet, counting out the cash to cover his tab and slides it over. "Sorry bout that, bruv," he schmoozes easily with that charming boyish smile of his. The hall keeps teetering as Zander walks, luggage dragged along behind him. Jesus, what the fuck did Remy put in this thing? He huffs as he gets to the gate, ignoring the look of concern that the stewardess's give him at his arrival.

The seats are stiff and immovable, the belt a little too tight and Zander just a little too tall for such cramped quarters. He's out like a light before take off, lightly snoring with his head resting against the window to his left.



His head is swimming, the gentle rocking of the cab rolling along the dark woodland road not doing Zander any favors. The trees grow thicker and with it, the sky darker. The memories of dreams......nightmares more like, begin to trickle into his weary mind. The flash of something in the corner of his eye sets Zander on edge. Fingers are quick to twist the cap from a small bottle, tipping it back and letting the liquor wash down his throat. He doesn't know if its real or a figment of his mind come to life. What Zander does know, is that the alcohol makes it go away and that's all he needs. The empty plastic mini bottle drops to the floor of the cab, forehead resting against the cool glass of the window. He can feel the memories creeping, seeping along the waves of alcohol washing over his body.

They've haunted him for weeks now, the images of the forest flashing by, the heavy weight of burning breath aching in his lungs. The fear tingles the back of Zander's neck as he feels the gaze boring into him. His heart pounds heavily within his chest, lips parting with a small gasp as piercing blue orbs snapped open. "You go'a be fuckin shi'in me, bruv!" Zander hisses, cradling his right wrist to his chest. It aches, the deep purple fingerprints staining his skin pulsing as if freshly made. "You li'le cunt," he grumbles to himself. It takes little time to figure that the bruise has something to do with this location. It's old, quite old, and has yet to even begin to heal. Still it throbs anew the moment he gets closer to his destination? Yeah, whoever this prick is, he definitely exudes big cunt energy.

Zander sits up just as they break through the trees, sun obscured by rain clouds that have collected across the sky. The pitter patter of fat droplets splash against the glass of the cab but Zander's too busy all but falling totally falling out of the cab to notice until its too late. The driver curses at him, words he's only half hearing as he fumbles with his bags. "Oh bugger off, twat," Zander spits, stumbling towards the cabin. He has several yards to walk before he's actually able to make out the figures standing there, though his attention is really only searching for one in particular.

There's a car with an idling engine and no blonde in sight. Lips purse as blue eyes squint, knowing Remington just has to be there. His flight was earlier than Zanders by at least an hour. Thank god for the buzzing effects of alchol. Zander brazenly marches towards the car, bags left the several feet away where he'd been standing just moments ago. Fingers wrap around the handle and with a swift yank and the clicking of a lock, there Remington sits.

"Oi," Zander's usual boisterous tone turns gentle as he comes within reach. Fingers wind around a slim wrist, pulling Remy away from whoever he was sitting next to -- not that Zander noticed to be honest. His eyes are olive, Zander's lips pursing with a heavy sigh. The hand on Remy's wrist moves to his chin, refusing to let the blonde look away just yet. His thumb traces the curve beneath pink lips. "Sorry fer bein' late, love. Promise it won' 'appen again," he smirks, but Zander's eyes are gentle. Fingers brush through soft curls before curling around the back of the shorter's neck and tugging him forwards.

Now on any usual day, Zander isn't this brazen. However, this wasn't just any usual day. He'd been on a flight for god knows how long, cramped in some shitty cab and yelled at by some half cocked bartender. The softness of Remy's lips on his own was like walking into a warm bath after a long day away, like curling into a warm bed. Kissing Remy was like coming home and Zander was nothing if not greedy. Maybe he's being dramatic. Zander doesn't really care. No, no. He's too busy licking his way into Remy's mouth and pressing him against the cool window of the car he'd been in.

Only when his lungs ache for air does Zander succeed. The kisses slow to a stop, nose nuzzling against Remy's cheek. "Forgive me?" Zander smirks as he pulls away, standing straight once more. Only then does Zander notice that there had been a conversation happening before he'd pulled Remy away. Oops? To be honest Zander doesn't care all that much. He peeks into the still open door and nods to the man in greeting, blue eyes sliding along his frame. He's very blatantly sizing him up, not that he's gearing for a fight per say, but he has a self-admitted protective streak when it comes to the idiot currently tucked against him.

Zander's fingers trace along Remy's hips where they stand, waiting on whoever the fuck called them to this hell hole, B-list horror movie wannabe of a cabin. He only briefly notes the surrounding faces, though Zander stiffens when an unexpectedly familiar face comes into view. "Bloody 'ell....." His breath catches in his throat and suddenly the only thing his brain can focus on is that face and those brown eyes. ".......Ash?"
 
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