Description

MILES CAAL
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"It's still magic even if you know how it's done."
It's still magic even if you know how it's done.- Terry Pratchett

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xxxxx|| Name || Miles Ian Caal
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xxxxx|| Nicknames || N/A
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xxxxx|| Gender || cismalexxxxx|| Age || 31xx
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xxxxx|| Sexuality || pansexual
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xxxxx|| Hex || CC0063xx
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xxxxx|| Height || 5'10"
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xxxxx|| Build || fit
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xxxxx|| Description || Miles is a handsome man, and he knows it. With a strong jaw, intense eyes, and a charming smile, he tends to be able to captivate people when he chooses. He keeps his naturally curly hair long enough to curl and cascade just down his forehead (someone told him once that it was dreamy, and he's kept it that way ever since), and he tends to keep just a touch of stubble on his face. Whether that is by design or because he has better things to do than be clean shaven is unknown. He dresses more for functionality than fashion; lots of pockets, fitted enough not to get in the way, but not so tight that he can't comfortably move. He doesn't really have separate wardrobes for work and everyday life, so he tends to always look the part of a tech engineer. When he needs to, he can throw on jeans and a sweater, but he doesn't remember the last time he wore shoes that weren't sneakers. He has no tattoos, no piercings, no notable scars.
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Miles is charming; with a smile, a well timed joke, and appropriate eye contact, he seems to be able to draw anyone in that he wants to. He’s honed this to make people more comfortable to have him literally tinkering around in their head. It’s mostly fake, however. Generally, in personal interactions, he is brief, to-the-point, a little blunt. He carefully guards his words, his secrets, and himself. He never speaks without considering his words, and is always careful not to reveal too much. He tends to try to deal with problems, and people, pragmatically, having decided when he was young not to hope for anything better than what he sees in front of him. He does have a bit of a bleeding heart, though. After his mother died because they didn't have the money to keep taking her to the doctor, he has a hard time turning down anyone who genuinely needs help. As tough as he tries to be, he can't help but remember how horrible that was.

His close friends know he's a softie through and through. He’s protective, quick to offer help, and asks only the questions he absolutely needs answers to. Before the last few years, he was boisterous, exuberant, he told bad jokes. The people who knew his heart knew that he had a good one; but his father's failings had made him feel like he had to guard himself closely. With strangers and acquaintances, though he's not one to pry, (he knows the value of secrets and privacy), he’s seemed to master the art of gentle questioning. He thinks it important to know at least a little about everyone he regularly interacts with, not to hold information against others, but so that he knows if and when he needs to cut ties and move on.

Though he does shine through on occasion, Miles has been a shell of his former self for a long time. He's anxious, paranoid, testy, cold, distant, rude. The revolution and the things he saw, the things he had to do, have only made it worse. It's as if he's less of a person every day.

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Even with the advanced fertility treatments available to them, it took Miles’ parents nearly five years to conceive a healthy, viable baby. So when Miles was born, he was absolutely spoiled to death. His mother doted on him, his father bought him anything he wanted. They loved him deeply, and told him often how glad they were to finally have him in their lives.

Under his grandfather’s leadership, Caal Industries was a remarkably honestly-run company, and the principals it was founded on earned them quite a bit of trust among people. But Miles’ father was more interested in seeing how quickly they could get products out, how much more money they could earn per quarter, and how they could increase their profit margins. At first, it all went remarkably well, and then a defective batch of adaptive tech went out. People got hurt, it caused an uproar. They sold the company to recoup the money they’d lost in the lawsuits, but initially didn’t change much about their lifestyle. They had plenty of money stashed away, they were fine for a time.

It happened pretty slowly. Miles’ mother’s friends stopped inviting her to their parties, and his father started drinking heavily. Miles noticed. Of course he noticed.

He was a brilliant kid. He got into nice schools because his grandfather donated a lot of money to them before he was born. He was tinkering with computers and technology as soon as he was old enough to properly access the interface. He learned a lot, and he learned quickly. People never seemed to be very surprised: his grandfather was a genius, Miles must have gotten it from him.

They lost their home and had to move when he was maybe ten or twelve, the memories start to blur together around that age. His parents were fighting. “You can’t take his college fund!” and “Well how are we supposed to live?” They sold his mother’s jewelry. His father couldn’t get a job. Wouldn’t get a job? His mother started getting sick, their money was all but gone, and by the time Miles was a teenager there was barely enough left to stay where they’d landed. Miles was able to get jobs here and there, he started out doing some back-alley tech repair, the occasional drug run, anything he could get his hands on. It was hard finding a reputable job with his family name, but he made it work, and he never told his mother that what he did was illegal. All that mattered was that they had food on the table, and she could afford her medicine.

He was seventeen when his mother got sick for the last time. One day, she was fine, then she had a headache, then a fever. She was dead in less than a week. What little savings they had were drained by the funeral, and Miles couldn’t afford to pay all the bills on what little money he made. The last conversation he had with his father was a bitter fight, and he hasn’t spoken to the man since. Doesn’t know where he is, says he doesn’t care.

He was grateful that his grandfather had left him a college fund that his parents couldn’t touch, almost as if the man knew something like this would happen. Even after college, though, he couldn’t get a job doing what he wanted to do. The only thing he had any passion about was creating implantable technologies. He felt like if he could just do well, prove himself, that he could redeem himself and escape the looming shadow of his father’s mistakes. So he did it anyway.

Working out of an old workshop gave him a lot of freedom to work on what he wanted, and to help people. It was amazing to him, the amount of people that needed fine-tuning for their prosthetics or sanctioned adaptive tech that just couldn’t afford to go to a doctor. As tough as he tried to be, Miles couldn’t seem to turn anyone away if they really needed the help. People paid what they could, sometimes they traded. Miles always assured them that he thought it was fair, even when it wasn’t.

Everyone knew a revolution was coming long before it came. Miles always assumed he’d stay out of anything that might happen; he couldn’t stomach violence, and he wasn’t nearly influential enough to make any sort of difference. He was surprised when government agents showed up at his door. He didn’t have a lot of options; it boiled down to cooperate, or rot in prison (with the implication that they were very busy and may just forget about him once he was in a cell). Miles knew that what he did wasn’t legal: he was recreating existing technologies and selling them outside of the government regulations. He didn’t have a leg to stand on. So he cooperated.

The kind of implantable technologies they used weren't approved for use, and it became quickly evident that Miles was going to be a scapegoat if it went wrong. It did, occasionally. The soldiers suffered infections, headaches, psychological problems; but they worked well enough to give them an edge. The more Miles did, the deeper they dug his grave. After the revolution, he was worried about what was going to happen to him. It was easy enough to prove that he'd been coerced to work with the government, and he's been very cooperative, but he knows that it's unlikely anyone will ever trust him again.

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cs: phosphene - fc: Oscar Isaac - hex code: CC0063

So begins...

Miles Caal's Story

Seen 10 Times • Page 1 of 1

Setting

Scarmouth

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#2020-12-21 22:11:57, as written by partially-stars

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noah lawson
the medic - #879788 - outfit

i hear the voices when I'm dreaming
i can hear them say
carry on my wayward son
there'll be peace when you are done

The last thing Noah wanted to do after yet another long shift was go to some awards ceremony for “significant figures in the revolution.” He’d seen enough of the revolution in person and he didn’t particularly want to be reminded of it. But Gabriel had said that they’d invited representatives from the Emergency Department after their role in things, and so Noah had agreed to go. Apparently there was going to be free alcohol and free canapes, which was at least something.

It had been six months since the revolution ended, and things were being rebuilt. They had a new government that was already implementing sweeping changes. It wasn’t official yet, but word around the hospital was that in the next few weeks, the healthcare system was going to move over to publicly funded. Public housing had already been implemented and the number of homeless people on the streets was dropping rapidly by the day. The damage caused in the rioting and fighting was long gone, just a memory.

But it was a memory that was sticking in Noah’s head. The nightmares weren’t as intense as they had been in the initial aftermath, but they were still very much there. The scar on his stomach was healed, but there were mornings he awoke and for a few seconds, the pain was still there. When he walked down the street, he was waiting for an ambush, for an explosion, for anything. The entire group of emergency med residents had stopped going to bars after work because every time a glass shattered, they all flinched and almost launched back into action.

Thankfully, the awards ceremony didn’t seem to dwell on the actual fighting too much. It seemed to be more government focused, awarding and recognising those who had protected their communities throughout the fighting. Someone who had helped smuggle people out of the fighting, someone who had created safe spaces for their community... They were in what appeared to be the last few awards when they began describing a scenario that was uncomfortably familiar.

“The next award we’d like to present is to someone who was selfless and brave on the front lines. We are deeply grateful to all of the staff of Scarmouth’s Emergency Departments who put themselves in harm’s way to save lives and minimise loss of life. But this man drew attention for his actions after he was photographed treating the wounded, even as a government soldier had a gun pointed at his head. Stories from those who served on the front lines tell us this was not the first or only such of these incidents, and that this doctor fearlessly and selflessly treated the wounded indiscriminately. Tonight, we would like to recognise Dr. Noah Lawson of SUH for his bravery and thank him for his service with the Medic’s Hero award.”

Noah glanced over at Gabriel, and the man’s small smile gave away where all this had come from. All around him, people were applauding, some even getting to their feet. Noah just wanted to climb under the table and wait until the moment passed, but he couldn’t. He managed a smile as he stood up and made his way up to the stage, taking the statuette and shaking the presenter’s hand. And then one of them smiled and said, “Would you like to say a few words, Doctor?”

Noah could feel the blood drain from his face. He instinctively looked back towards Gabriel, whose smile had slipped slightly but who nodded, somewhat encouragingly. Noah swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he felt what had to be hundreds of eyes on him. He wanted to shake his head and run back to his seat or possibly just straight out of the room, but everyone was watching, waiting, waiting to see if he lived up to what they expected. He knew he wouldn’t, but he cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for this aw- w- w- for this recognition.” He started. He tried remembering every single bit of advice he’d been given on how to minimise it, but his head was blank. And anyway, the rising discomfort and anxiety in his chest as he saw people glance at each other at his stammering was going to completely counteract anything he tried. He kept it as brief, knowing it was probably too short, but he couldn’t get off the stage quickly enough. And then they moved on to some other award, and eyes were finally off him.

“Noah, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise there would be a speech-” Gabriel said as Noah made it back to the table.
“It’s f-fine,” Noah said, sitting back down. The statuette was clutched so tightly in his hand it was starting to dig in, and he released it, stretching his hand a few times. He could feel Gabriel watching him for a few seconds, but his attention eventually turned back to the stage. As they announced the final few awards, Noah was restless, unable to concentrate or focus on anything around them. As the awards wrapped up, the hosts invited everyone to mingle and have a few drinks and canapes in the adjoining bar. As everyone moved, rushing to the bar at the promise of free food and alcohol, Noah slipped away, saying something about the bathroom to Gabriel. The bathroom was quiet and calm, exactly what Noah wanted and needed. He wet his hands and ran them down his face. For the half a moment his eyes were closed, he saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, saw his hands coated in blood- was it his own or someone else’s? He shook himself out of it, almost physically. He dug in his pockets, fishing out the pills he knew he had. There was one almost heart-stopping moment where he couldn’t feel them- and then his hand closed around the bottle. He tipped two out and swallowed them dry, taking a deep breath. And then he stashed them back in his pocket and headed back out towards the bar.

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hatch williams
the mechanic- #400026 - outfit

i wasn't born yesterday
a bloodsport but I'm a saint
it's time to consider
there are no winners

Hatch hadn’t specifically received an invite to the awards ceremony, but an open invitation had been publicly issued for people to celebrate those who had been nominated and recognised. And the promise of free booze had been enough to lure Hatch into attending. And besides, she was curious to see the types of people who were getting recognised.

Choosing an outfit had taken her a while. She didn’t tend to get dressed up all that much and finding something she could actually stand wearing for a while was difficult. She’d contemplated a dress for a while, but nothing seemed right. And then she found the suit and everything fell into place. Roger looked confused for just a second as she stepped out of her room in heels and makeup. And then he jumped off the couch and ran towards the door.

“Not this evening, buddy.” He whined a little. “Trust me, buddy, I’d love to bring you, but don’t want to draw attention to myself. Not this evening. You look after the house for me, okay?”

By the time Hatch reached the hotel, she was fashionably late. She thought that she might have been out of luck with regards to getting a seat, but apparently the organisers had anticipated the demand as she was shown to a seat at the very back of the room. Her view of the stage was somewhat obscured, but that didn’t overly trouble her. She sat, her legs crossed, and watched the awards with some level of scepticism and interest.

They had an interesting range of awards for sure, and one thing that she noted was that the range of people that were being recognised was significantly broader than the old government would have recognised. There were people of all ages, all areas of the revolution, from all areas of the city. The focus seemed to be on bravery and loyalty, and things took a turn into the overly patriotic for Hatch. The speeches were at least kept brief and non-preachy. There were a few figures that she had heard mention of somewhere along the way, but none of them seemed to match what she imagined. One thing that struck her was the fact that none of them stood out. She'd walk past half of them in the street.

Eventually, the awards wrapped up, and Hatch followed the surge of people towards the bar. Her first priority was to get her hands on a glass of champagne, and then she turned to scan the room, seeing if there was anyone of interest to talk to. She new there had to be plenty, but scanning the room, nobody particularly stood out to her. She took a long sip of her champagne and stayed watching the room.

Setting

Scarmouth

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29.50 INK

#2021-01-01 22:14:13, as written by phosphene

every word has consequences.

outfitx|x#3B5998

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzevery silence, too.

Ryan had been to a few events like this: he used to cover them. You show up, take a couple pictures, do a little eavesdropping, write a piece about how good the speeches were and how happy you were for all the award recipients, and that was it. He learned pretty early on not to dress a certain way, or else you might be mistaken for the event staff, which was a hassle that he’d once preferred to avoid.

The past six months hadn’t been easy; Ryan wanted his life to go back to normal, but it had become increasingly obvious that wasn’t going to happen. Either no one wanted to deal with him at all, or they wanted more out of him than he wanted to give. So far he’d survived by selling some of his unused shots from the revolution- some of his shots had turned out to be a bit too artistic for rogue news websites. He would have preferred to go back to being unknown by everyone besides the sorts of people that actually cared about the sports and entertainment pieces published to the media streams.

He’d been invited to this event. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be there, or that he even deserved to be there. In his mind, he hadn’t done anything extraordinary; he’d done what anyone who had the nerve to call themself a journalist should have done, he told the truth. Apparently his work had helped catch the attention of the governments who’d sent aid to the revolution. The seemingly endless work he’d done in those long months had accomplished something, at least.

Ryan knew many of the people who were receiving awards: he’d taken their pictures, heard their stories, in one case his pictures had brought major attention to them in the first place. Ryan genuinely felt bad for Noah; while he couldn’t begin to understand what it was like, he did know how uncomfortable being put on the spot could be. How you never forgot the way the other children mocked you when your ears turned red, your eyes welled with tears, and you couldn’t spit out the words no matter how badly you wanted to. Some people refused their awards, and Ryan could understand their reasonings. He felt very much the same, in some ways. When called up to receive his own award, Ryan looked visibly uncomfortable. All those eyes on him made him wish he could run and hide; he stared wistfully at a fire escape, wondering if he could make it out before someone stopped him to ask if he was okay. He also considered using the moment as a platform to speak up about how disappointed he’d been in journalism in Scarmouth, how so many people should be ashamed, and how little faith he truly had in the new leadership.

Instead, he graciously accepted the award. “This is very nice... I’ll try to make sure my cat doesn’t break it.” Someone chuckled. Ryan hadn’t meant to make a joke. He grew a little more uncomfortable, and it struck him that this was the first award he’d ever received for his work. He wasn’t sure this was what he wanted to be known for. He wasn’t sure he ever really wanted to make a name for himself in the first place. He also knew he probably needed to say something else, “I, uh…” Why was it so hot? Was he speaking too quickly? He was speaking too quickly. “I did nothing more than what I felt I had to do, but thank you.”

Once all the awards were finally distributed, Ryan, like everyone else, made a beeline for the bar. Being the homebody he was, he never got out much, and he didn’t really know what to ask for. He wound up with some fruity monstrosity- tasted pretty good, though. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself, but he saw Noah and made his way over. “Hello,” He said, and after a beat, “It's nice to see you again.” Ryan had never just attended an event like this, and Noah was the person in the room he felt most comfortable with at that moment. Whether this was a good or bad thing had yet to be seen.

he seems to feel his own worth,

outfitx|x#CC0063

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzand the greatness of his fall.

When you’re given a chance to integrate back into society- especially after a particularly bloody (and successful!) uprising- you take it. Attending a stuffy awards ceremony for the very people you’d once actively worked against seemed like a strange decision, but Miles knew he wasn’t that important. Not really. So he went to the award ceremony. These were the heroes of the revolution, and ultimately they weren’t all that impressive. (Well, aside from Damien. Sure, he turned down the award, but good for him.) Nobody seemed larger than life, several seemed like they would rather be anywhere else. Something about seeing it all laid out in front of him like that made him feel like perhaps he hadn’t done enough.

He thought about just leaving after the awards were given out, but there was something about fancy party food that was impossible to pass up. The free booze wasn’t really his thing, but Miles had never let himself feel ashamed for sipping a diet coke at a party before, and he wasn’t about to start now. As it were, he was pretty content to sit back for a time. There was plenty to take in, after all. Sad as it may have been, Miles knew that if life had played out how it was “supposed” to, he’d be very used to events like these. And probably in prison. Sometimes things really do work out, in the end.

Two things happened: first, Miles spotted Magnolia, and considered walking over to say hello. Then Camilla Rhodes approached Magnolia. An interesting mixture of dread and anxiety filled Miles’ stomach, and he immediately knew that there was no way he was going to go anywhere near that if he could help it. Cam was likely to be on her best behavior, but Miles was sure nothing good would come of it.

Second, someone came and took the empty seat next to his. Now, in years past, this wouldn’t have bothered Miles in the slightest. Now? He was in a room full of people, and though he knew he could leave whenever he wanted, he was beginning to feel a little trapped. He didn’t know if this would pass, if he would ever get used to being free again. He shot Scott a look that pretty accurately communicated his thoughts: ‘what do you want?’

Pretty quickly, though, Miles thought he understood: Scott wanted to sit down with someone nobody here would be looking for. If you look busy enough, people will leave you alone. It’s true at work, parties, the grocery store. So he smiled; bright, brilliant, and genuine enough that most people wouldn’t question it. “I think I would rather be at the lab right now, but you know how I live to disappoint.” He leaned over so he could speak lower and still be heard, “We’re all adjusting, aren’t we?” Other than that, he mostly dodged the question of how he’d been: the past year of his life had been a nightmare followed by some kind of listless twilight. Things were starting to look up for him now, but it wasn’t hard to guess that Miles had had a rough go at life, lately.

He shrugged, settling back into his seat, “But enough about me,” He said, as if he had actually said anything personal or noteworthy, ”What about yourself?”

Setting

Scarmouth

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#2021-01-05 07:23:11, as written by leisurelyatwar

song x xxx outfit x xxx hex #F08080

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When Magnolia heard the pop star’s voice, her chest clenched with anticipation of her wrath. Though the heiress was no stranger to being disliked just for who she was - she wasn’t sure how much more she would be able to politely endure. Kindness had never been Camilla’s agenda, though maybe she’d just wanted to get close enough to see if Magnolia was crying. She made no attempt of smiling at Camilla’s joke that Magnolia would one day be able to stop the attacks on her by retaliating herself - as if Magnolia ever had the option of self-defense.

“And to think, you wouldn’t have gotten a drink splashed in your face if your father was alive and our-, his side had won. This ceremony would still be happening, Sophie’s Valentine….” Camilla’s words faded out after that, Magnolia repeating those same five words over and over to herself.

If your father was alive.

Her glass threatened to give under her tightened grip. It was like Camilla had triggered sleep mode, only the core functions left running but nothing really processing. It was the only way to keep the image of her father gurgling his last breath out of her thoughts. Taking the embroidered handkerchief with a look of confusion, she could see Camilla’s lips move but her mind was already elsewhere - her psyche going into survival mode.

As fast as she had come, she left - leaving behind a path of destruction and an embroidered piece of fine linen. Magnolia left seething in Camilla’s wake. She clenched the cloth before throwing it aside in anger. Her thoughts came rushing in all at once, all the things she wished she could have said - processing Camilla’s words belatedly. Wincing, she raised a hand to her temples feeling the oncoming signs of a stress headache.

‘If you only knew why he’s not alive anymore.’ She thought to herself, wishing she could ever say the words aloud. Accidentally slamming down her now empty glass harder than she intended, Magnolia offered the bartender an apologetic expression - but they were too preoccupied making drinks to even notice.

A half empty bottle of wine left on the other end of Magnolia’s eye. It was an open bar but she was well past the time of waiting between each drink. She went to walk around to grab the bottle discretely and detour to the bathroom - a familiar profile causing her to pause.

Of course Magnolia had known there was a possibility that Miles would show but she was surprised all the same to see him. She almost smiled, forgetting for a moment the disaster that was the last seven minutes. Obscured by the crowd, she couldn’t see who he was talking to - if he’d come with someone, maybe. He gave them a big smile before leaning in, Magnolia inching along the edge of the crowd trying to peek through the windows between the people to make out who was holding Miles’ attention.

‘What are you doing?’ Magnolia shook her head at herself, huffing under her breath. Insecurity was a new emotion for her, quickly thrown from the veil of adoration into being one of the most detested free people of the State. It was enough to give anyone a bit whiplash.

Plan A it was then.

Magnolia made sure no one was looking when she snuck an arm around to grab the wine. She scuttled into the bathroom making sure to hold the bottle low to obscure it along the length of her leg. There were a couple people washing their hands and adjusting their makeup in the mirror when she walked in, quickly locking herself in one of the stalls. The cork had been haphazardly pushed back into the bottle, Magnolia ripping it out and throwing it at the ground before drinking straight from the bottle. Groaning in frustration because she couldn’t scream, she angrily tapped at her PCU dialing Samar’s number. When it went to voicemail, she turned on holo so that he’d get the full visual of her misery sitting on the toilet drinking wine straight from the bottle.

“Hey, Samar.” Magnolia sighed heavily, then taking a long drink. She could hear the two who’d been at the mirror leave, emboldening her to fully submit to her self-pity. “So, in case you are thinking about bailing on me - I have locked myself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine. I am not coming out either until you arrive, or until I need more alcohol.”

She considered telling him about someone throwing a drink at her, but decided instead she’d rather save it to guilt him with later in case he did end up bailing. “No one will even know you were ever here, it’s so crowded and people are drinking it’ll be like a frat house within the hour. Message me when you’re here, please - okay? Byee.”

Taking another long drink as she signed off, Magnolia slumped against the wall behind her. She had spent plenty of events just getting drunk in the bathroom before, those nights had rarely ended with grace. Maybe if she just stayed here for a while, she could make one last round in the room and just head home. No one would blame her, though the press would be sure to spin it into something if she was caught by them on the way out.

Admittedly, sneaking in an exiled radical to be her drinking buddy wasn’t the best plan. She and Samar both had their crosses to bear but both of them were worthy of praise, of celebration. Besides, most of these people knew their debts to Samar - what they owed him. He deserved his moment in the light, even if it was stolen.

Magnolia sat there for what felt like a while, or rather until the wine was finished. She used the toilet paper to dab at what remained of the drink on her dress, frowning when the residue of the drink left a shadow. As materialistic as it made her feel, she didn’t have much left from her life before. Not that she wanted to cling to those things, but she wasn’t quite ready to let go. She peeped out of the stall to double check she was alone, then quickly tossing out the now empty bottle. Using a combination of soap, water, paper towels and a hand dryer - she managed to wash out the stain. Wiping herself down with the moistened towelettes, she could still feel a bit of the residue of the drink on her skin but at least she was no longer sticky.

“Alright now, little dove.” She said to herself in the mirror, mimicking her mother’s tone and intonation. “You are a Wrenley. You will carry your head high, never let them see you falter.”

Repeating the words back to herself, they sounded wrong. It was the same speech her mother gave her every time Magnolia dared to express self-doubt. What pride was there anymore in a name so befouled? She gripped the sink as she leaned in closer to the mirror, examining her eyes intently - checking for weaknesses in her expression. Caught in her own reflection, she nearly jumped out her skin when she heard the creak of the door open. Shrinking into her own shadow, she blended into the wall behind her. The two stumbling into the bathroom didn’t even notice her, giggling as they followed one another into one of the stalls. Magnolia sighed with relief, leaning back against the wall.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Setting

Scarmouth

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#2021-02-02 23:16:10, as written by phosphene

he seems to feel his own worth,

outfitx|x#CC0063

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzand the greatness of his fall.

Miles could handle idle conversation. Did he enjoy it? No. But it suited him for the time. He was content to share vapid thoughts and make useless comments for the sake of appearing invisible. But the night was quickly devolving, and eventually Miles felt his patience for the event growing thin. He could see the appeal of it all, but it was very clear that he didn’t belong there. Not really. So in time he decided to take his leave of Scott, citing a desire to get home. Not a lie, but maybe a little too convenient of an excuse.

He thought he might attempt to say something to Magnolia before he left; both because he enjoyed her company, and he didn’t want to hear about how she’d seen him at the event and wished he would have stopped to say hello. But she was still talking to Camilla, or talking to her again. It didn’t look friendly, but it wasn’t his business or his problem. He knew how it could be with Cam, but he tried to keep his distance. Being around Camilla Rhodes wasn’t good for him; she had this way of worming herself in just enough that he couldn’t fully get over her.

He missed what prompted it, but he didn’t miss Cam slapping Magnolia across the face. He briefly looked around; was Cam here with someone? Magnolia certainly had someone to look out for her, and it wasn’t long before he stepped in. Miles briefly considered the fact that Cam didn’t want a real relationship with him, so she didn’t need him coming to her rescue.

Then she started falling.

Well, was pushed, to be accurate. Miles started in that direction the moment the man’s hands touched Cam’s shoulders, and picked up the pace when he saw her start to go down. Whether it was intentional or not didn’t really matter to him. He shouldered his way past a few people, shot a pointed look at the man who’d pushed Cam, and crouched down beside her. “Camilla,” His voice was gentle, even. If he was worried, it didn’t show in his tone. “You hit your head?” As he asked, he put a finger under her chin, gently guiding her to look him in the eye. When she shook her head no, he helped her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist while she regained her balance.

Then he let go of Cam and, with all the authority of someone who wasn’t half a foot shorter than the guy, pointed at the man with Magnolia and- very eloquently- said, “What the hell?!” He glanced in Magnolia’s direction, a complicated mixture of emotions bubbling up in his chest.

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#2021-04-06 06:21:58, as written by Ivisbo

Samar had stopped caring about his image long before he’d planted his first bomb. For the most part, he’d earned the looks of distaste, disgust, and ire directed at him, the name Chopra standing for brutal and harsh. His uncle had once explained it well- that sacrificing your name and honor for the good of a cause was enough if you let it be.

But Nola had done nothing to deserve this bullshit except be born under a bad name. While Chopra stood for something others would rather not look at, Wrenley was an easy villain. A target for the smoldering hatred of thousands to be directed at, a scapegoat now that the real bad guy was dead. Samar would scream the names of all the people he’d killed if it would stop the city from looking at Nola a second more.

When Miles finally looked at her, it felt like an afterthought. Any traces of concern in his expression weren’t for her, they were for Camilla - or so said the voice in the back of her head. Magnolia dropped her hand from her face, making sure Miles would be able to see the lingering hot red mark on her face, hurt evident in her expression. Magnolia had been outright slapped, and now because Camilla drunkenly tripped over a chair when Samar pushed her back that made her the victim.

Samar should have punched Cam. He’d wanted to, whether it was the burning fire of whiskey igniting his anger or just the very real hatred he felt for those like her. Camilla was a stain, the reason Samar still had a hard time moving past the rebellion, the kind of person that made him wonder if they had really accomplished anything. He smirked down at her fallen form, brushing his hands on the new suit Nola had acquired him like Camillas grime had rubbed off on him. He turned back to Nola and gave her a once over, not one to ask stupid questions like ‘are you okay?’ even if he was worried. She could handle a slap- she could handle way more then that- but he wasn’t sure she could handle the mortification of all eyes on her.

“What the hell?!” Suddenly there was a man in his face, angry and broiling and somewhat familiar in a way that he couldn’t place. Samar turned back around and made a face at him, equally confused why he’d be defending Camilla and why he thought he stood a chance against Scarmouths number one anarchist.

“Back off. Don’t be that dude that defends the angry bitch” Samar rolled his eyes and cast a scathing look over the shorter mans shoulder towards Camilla

When Miles saw Magnolia’s face, an interesting combination of shame and embarrassment hit him square in the chest. Magnolia had become a real friend to Miles, and the fact that it looked like he’d sided with Cam- who he promised himself he’d stay away from- over her when he knew this whole thing was undoubtedly Camilla’s fault, and it clearly hurt Magnolia… Miles didn’t know how to respond to that.

Luckily he didn’t have to, as the man who’d pushed Camilla was engaging him now. A part of him wished he’d stayed home: cleaning up the messes people make when they’re drunk was something he thought he’d left back at his father’s house. Another part of him wished he’d stayed out of this mess, but whatever he felt towards Magnolia, and whatever he still felt towards Camilla meant that he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that. Either way, some of the fire had died down in him. He knew two things here: this guy was a lot bigger than him, and a lot of people were staring. Preferably, he’d like to get through this without any further incident, but he’d settle for getting the attention away from Camilla- and Magnolia- if that’s what it came to.

“Listen,” Miles said, knowing he was cemented as “that dude” no matter what he did, “I get it, okay. Cam’s a bitch. You’re drunk. But you’re acting like a fucking barbarian.” He shot Magnolia a look, as if to ask “who is this asshole?”

Magnolia wanted to look anywhere but at Miles but the heat of the stared around them had her gaze fixate on him. Angling herself towards them, hoping to obstruct any camera angle trying to snap this moment. She had dragged Samar there on the promise that he’d go unnoticed then went ahead and caused a whole scene with Samar left made out to be the bad guy. The adrenaline had finally burnt through the last bit of alcohol, color flushing to her cheeks.

“Samar didn’t do anything,” Magnolia stepped forward in between them, her tone pleading. “He was just trying to defend me, Camilla tripped over the chair by accident.”

Samar glanced around at the gathered crowd, a little too aware of their eyes on him. Nola’s words were sweet, but it was clear from everyone's expression who had been painted the bad guy already.

“Nol, we should go” He grumbled slowly, reaching a hand forward for her arm. Magnolia glanced back briefly, then back to Miles. For a moment it looked like might say something, but then her eyes drifted back to Camilla over his shoulder looking all too satisfied with herself and the scene she was able to just put on. Nola sighed, doing her best not to shake her head and laugh only discernible to those in their immediate vicinity.

“I gotta…” She tapped her temple as if she’d just remembered something before gesturing over her shoulder.

Samar? Miles knew that name, and he knew it well. “Wait,” His words were half a whisper as he reached out for Magnolia, grasping at her hand. But he looked past her, studying the mountains and valleys of Samar’s face. He was taller now, but of course he was taller. It had been a long time since they’d really seen each other. “I-” What was he doing?

He dropped Magnolia’s hand. “I’m sorry, I,”

whyareyoulikethisyoualwaysdothewrongthingyouthinkyou’rehelpinganyone?you’rejustinthewayyoualwaysdothisyou’realwayslikethisyoushouldjustmindyourownbusiness nobodyhereneedsyoutheycanhandlethingsthemselves

Miles smiled, big and bright and fake, “Right.”

Samar stared right back at the man, caught between his cocky act and confusion. As soon as Nolas hand was dropped he tugged her back, murmured a fast “We’re leaving” and spun them back into the crowd. It wasn’t dense enough that they could disappear like they wanted to, but people parted easily enough around them for Samar and Nola to make a beeline for the entrance.

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#2021-04-10 18:08:22, as written by partially-stars

noah lawson.

hex: #879788. outfit: here.

xxxi hear the voices when I'm dreaming
xxxi can hear them say
xxxcarry on my wayward son
xxxthere'll be peace when you are done.

Noah had met his fair share of unpleasant people in his time. When you worked in emergency medicine, it wasn't uncommon to get screamed at because you told them that their precious darling daughter had a hangover instead of meningitis, or because you dared to leave them waiting for a few hours. It was easy to brush that kind of nastiness off. Emergency departments brought out the worst in people. People were in pain, or scared for their loved ones, or just scared in general.

But there was absolutely nothing that could excuse the unpleasant and downright nasty attitude of Camilla Rhodes. Her response to him just made him raise an eyebrow in disdain. Truth be told, there was plenty he could have said to her in that moment, but he wasn't confident he could get it out without stammering, and he would be damned if he gave her that ammunition. He glanced away awkwardly, taking a mouthful out of his drink as she leaned in to Ryan, whispering something before kissing him on the cheek; a gesture that seemed so contradictory to what she'd been saying beforehand. Noah might have commented on it to Ryan, might have tried to turn it into a joke or something. He'd only gotten as far as shooting Ryan a sympathetic look before Magnolia appeared, and things began to take a turn for the worst.

Everybody was staring at Magnolia and Camilla. Which meant, by extension, everyone was also staring at Noah and Ryan. If the tension of being that close to the argument wasn't troubling enough, the tension of having everyone staring at them was only worsening things. He was about to try and make a run for it and drag Ryan with him for fear they would be dragged into the argument as well when Camilla threw the first slap. That should have been the perfect opportunity to get away, but something made him stay. Somebody's going to end up getting hurt before tonight is out.

He'd expected the girls to start fighting, perhaps, or for the alcohol to get the better of one of them, resulting in a twisted ankle. He had not expected Samar to physically shove Camilla away from Magnolia, causing Camilla to stumble over a chair and hit the ground, her elbow colliding with something on the way down. Noah was already assessing the situation. She didn't hit her head, at least, which took urgency away from the situation. He flagged down a waiter. "First aid kit, now. And some ice," he instructed. He knew better than to try and get involved in that situation when Samar and the other man- Miles, wasn't it?- were yelling at each other. Cam was stable and could wait. If a brawl broke out between the two men, Noah knew it probably wouldn't end as cleanly. The minute Samar and Nola left, Noah knelt beside Camilla, examining her elbow as best he could without touching it.

The waiter had left the first aid kit and a bucket of ice beside him, with the forethought to leave a towel with the ice. Noah wrapped a handful of ice up in the towel and pressed it to her elbow. "Hold that there," he instructed. "I don't think you've broken anything, but I can't say for sure without an x-ray. It's probably worth checking it out, but I'm not going to force you to come to the hospital if you don't want to," he said. He glanced at Miles in the hope he might have some sway in encouraging her, but not feeling particularly optimistic.

hatch williams.

hex: #400026. outfit: here.

xxxi wasn't born yesterday
xxxa bloodsport but I'm a saint
xxxit's time to consider
xxxthere are no winners

Hatch had discovered that almost everyone else at the party was incredibly boring. She had, at least, convinced two council members to bring their cars in to her, but she wasn't even sure their business was worth the effort of playing nice. She was getting ready to leave when shouting from across the room caught her attention. Well, it was better than idle conversation, she told herself as she wandered over. And then she spotted who was involved. A wry smile settled on her face as she leaned against a table a short distance away, watching as things unfolded.

Camilla seemed to have met her match in Magnolia, it seemed. The two of them were equally angry and equally intoxicated, and it was amusing to watch. She knew Cam would win, of course. Cam would refuse to let anything go until she felt like she'd won, even if the other person never actually admitted defeat. But watching Magnolia put up a fight was at least worth it. At least, until Samar stepped in. Two against one seemed unfair, especially when the extra person was Samar. She wished she could have said she was disappointed when he decided to brutally shove her to the ground, but she wasn't.

She began to make her way over to Camilla, but Miles got there first. Hatch had never seen him quite so protective over anyone, and she raised an eyebrow. Something about that didn't sit quite right with her. The doctor was checking her out now, and said something about bringing Camilla to the hospital. "I can drive you, if you want. This party is boring anyway," she offered, keeping her tone light.

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#2021-04-18 01:39:07, as written by phosphene

every word has consequences.

outfitx|x#3B5998

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzevery silence, too.

Ryan wasn’t stupid, of course all of this was about the articles he’d written on Camilla’s band. None of it was personal, he just didn’t think it was right to let them get away with such blatant propaganda. Maybe that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t do it any different. But when she insinuated that he would lie in his stories, he felt much more defensive. It didn’t take a genius to analyze the lyrics Sophie’s Valentine put out, and claiming he was lying about any of it was just her wounded pride trying to take him down with her.

“Wouldn’t want some false information to spread and someone end up being hurt by it.”

And after saying that, Camilla had the nerve to kiss his cheek. A mixture of the unwanted contact and her words sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine, and for the briefest of moments, a disgusted crossed his face. ”Is that a threat, Camilla, or a cry for help?” He asked flatly, softly, trying not to draw any more attention to them.

Then Magnolia Wrenly came, presumably, to his rescue, and Ryan immediately wished she hadn’t. He did, however, step back as the two women started arguing, trying to stay as far out of it as he could. Nola was kind, but Ryan only got the feeling that things weren’t going to end well from there. He glanced at Noah, almost as if to ask if they should be getting out of there when two things happened in quick succession: Nola splashed her drink on Cam, and Ryan pulled up the camera function on his PCU, which he got to start filming right as Camilla slapped Magnolia.

Ryan hadn’t really noticed Samar before he came barreling in towards Camilla, but he did know this wasn’t good for his image.

Miles Caal got involved. Ryan didn’t know him, but he knew enough about him to know that this was an interesting development. Ryan had stayed up to date with all the news that had come out about people who’d worked for the government during the revolution, and Miles had insisted the entire time that he didn’t have a choice in what he did (though much of what he’d done didn’t hit the news, just the results), and he seemed genuinely repentant. Ryan wasn’t sure if Miles looked like the kind of man who was sorry to have done the wrong thing, or the kind of man who was only sorry because he wound up on the wrong side.

At any rate, he didn’t really seem to help in the current situation, but it defused itself, nonetheless.

Nola and Samar left, probably for the better, then Noah was looking over Camilla, and Miles had (halfheartedly) turned to check back in with Cam. Ryan wasn’t about to interject on Camilla’s possibly-necessary medical care, but he did offer a sideways glance at Miles, interested in seeing how the man who’d so quickly run to her aid would react.

”You should probably go, Cam.” Ryan didn’t think Miles looked all there, ”Hatch ‘n the doctors’ll take good care of you.”

Miles seemed to notice that Ryan was staring at him, then, and turned to look at him. ”Cam do that?” He asked, referring to the wine staining Ryan’s shirt. Ryan nodded. ”Hm.” Miles nodded, himself, and without ceremony looked at Hatch, said, ”You know how to reach me if anyone needs me.” And then turned to leave.

Weird guy.

Ryan scratched his head, ”Do you have any stuff you need someone to get for you, Camilla? A coat or something?” He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of helping her, but he wasn’t heartless either, and he didn’t want to leave the woman high and dry while she was drunk and hurting.

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#2021-04-18 18:13:27, as written by Caille

Blake Langston.
#603670Surprisingly Blake had stayed out of most conversations, or maybe that wasn't as surprising as they thought. They were however good at being in the background without really being noticed, they had received their Irish coffee and were nursing it at the bar when Magnolia had a drink spilled on her and the one and only Cam had come up to her to give her assistance. That being said the conversation was barely audible to Blake at the time because all they could do was stare at Camilla Rhodes.

Blake had not seen Cam in a long time, but some of her features were just the same as they had been before. The way she held herself was one of them because Camilla Rhodes was not someone you could walk all over, she was determined, confident, passionate, and sometimes a trouble maker. That aside who wasn't a little bit of trouble maker from time to time? Blake sure wasn't above it and had been known for it their whole life.

Just as quick as she was there, she was gone, but their eyes followed her a little until they caught themself. There was a compelling aspect that made Blake drawn into going to see her, going to say something to her just like all those times before. This had quickly settled into Blake as they reminded themselves of the countless pages they sat in front of, staring and wanting to make the words produce on paper. They had tried numerous times to say anything at all to Cam over the years. They wanted to write her all the time, but only ever produced 5 letters at various points in their life. All five being unsent.

At this time Blake was downing the Irish coffee faster than before but avoided looking up to find Cam. Last they had seen, she was with another girl and they didn't want to seem creepy if she had ended up looking their way.

As Blake turned to order another drink, this time nothing with alcohol in it, Blake noticed that Cam had taken off her jacket and placed it on the back of one of the chairs. If Blake was going to talk to Cam at any point tonight, they didn't want to be drunk and they wanted to be somewhat stable.

Blake had also noticed by this point Magnolia was back from wherever she had went and some bulky dude was next to her as he grabbed bourbon and shots. This was not going to be good. "Bottoms up," Blake mumbled to themselves while shaking their head and taking a sip back of their coffee.

It seemed slowly one by one everyone was meeting up in the same place. That may not be the best idea, as much fun as Blake was having to watch their own personal TV show, they got up from the bar to use the restroom and by the time they came out a fight was breaking out. "For fucks sake Cam." They said with a small chuckle and zero animosity. Before they could step in to knock that gorilla off his feet, Miles was there and that girl from before. Instead, Blake knew what they could do and it would be their only shot of talking to Camilla at this point.

Blake quickly went to retrieve something and they had a rough idea where it was. It took some time, but finally, Blake found it and folded it over their arm before heading over towards the group.

They would be lying if they said they weren't nervous to see Cam face to face let alone talk to her. It had been years, but they always wanted to reach out again and see how she was doing. Blake would not back down now.

They approached the doctor, the girl, the reporter, and her. There was a mention of trying to find the rest of Camilla's stuff for her, which Blake put a hand out to pause the conversation.

"I believe all she had was this jacket." They said with a small smile and looking over to Cam. "It might be chilly outside, let me know if you need help with it," Blake said extending their arm out to give the jacket to her.

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#2021-04-25 23:32:51, as written by Maci-Care

╔═════════════════╗
I'm bad, as bad can be
So bad that it's hard to believe
Oh, what they say about me
╚═════════════════╝

xxxxxxxxxOutfit ║ Hex: #A38E8E

<3
Eyes were all on Camilla, but not in the way she would have preferred, plus the pain in her shoulder was taking most of her attention away from the usual glamour of the limelight. She had her eyes mostly shut and wincing in pain, but when she opened her eyes, she was met with a smirk from Samar before he turned away to Magnolia. And when she scanned the crowd she noticed Ryan Joshi with his camera out, presumably filming what was going on.But a familiar and gentle sound voice drew her attention from the report, seeing that the voice belonged to, a former friend, Miles. When he asked if she was okay she just nodded, letting his hand touch her chin and around her body, helping her up. His gentle touch just as she last remembered it. “Thanks.” She said in a soft quiet tone, before he turned his attention to Samar.

Camilla would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised that Miles was standing up for her. Reminded her of the time where he stepped between her and a guy that was obsessed with Cam was upset she wouldn’t reply to his DM’s. But Samar was much bigger than the obsessed fan, a bit worried for him. She watched as Samar told Miles not to defend her, shooting a look in her direction, Camilla tried keeping a straight face, but the pain of her arm was still on her mind. “Hey!” She tried to interject when Miles said she was a bitch, but the two men just continued.

Magnolia spoke up again, saying Samar didn’t do anything, and that Cam had tripped. “Bullshit, he shoved me.” Cam spoke again, but it was useless as the two left, and Camilla’s felt cold pressure on her arm, seeing the doctor from earlier tending to her, giving her directions. “Okay.” She just said, holding the towel and rag against her arm. He spoke about going to the hospital, which at this point she felt too tired to deal with, but before she could reply, Hatch was next to her again. Her recent partner suggested that she could drive her, and a comment about the party being boring. This would be a good excuse for her to leave the party, without the commotion of an ambulance and being forced to go to the hospital. Plus she could spend some time with Hatch away from all the commotion, and she did always love Hatch’s ride. She heard Ryan say something about how she should go, but she just ignored him. “I like the sound of that Hatch.” She replied, turning back to the doctor asking about if she had anything.

The only thing Camilla had was her jacket, which she left over by the bar. But as that came to mind, it seemed to appear as she thought of it, and being held by another familiar person from her past. Blake Langston. “Blake?” She mumbled out loud, before realizing Blake had asked her if she would need help with it. “Yeah actually.” She turned around and let them help her put on the jacket, getting a bit of goosebumps from Blake’s touch. Her tone was a bit softer than how it usually was, not sure how to exactly react to what to say to Blake since it’s been so long. “I was just leaving, but you can walk out with me, and Hatch.” She said to Blake, before turning back towards Hatch and flashed a smile as the three of them headed outside.

Hatch went off to get her car while Blake and Camilla stayed by the curb, Camilla couldn’t remember whose idea it was, but agreed as it made sense, and she was getting a bit tired of being in her heels. “It’s been awhile Blake, years. Good to see you survived all the conflict.” Cam said, turning her head to Blake, who had their arm around her. She didn’t need help standing up, but she still allowed Blake to have their arm around her. If she wasn’t already a bit cold from the weather and red from the alcohol, she might have blushed a bit when they spoke about her band. “Yeah, it’s been a bit wild. Especially with the… rioting and such…”

As Hatch pulled up and honked to show she was ready to leave, Blake looked away from Cam and opened the car door for her. Camilla gave Blake a hug before sliding into the passenger seat. “We need to talk again Blake. It was good seeing you.” She said, holding out her manager’s card. “Just mention the Alphabet People album if they don’t put you through to me.” She said with a smile as she closed the door and Hatch drove off.

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#2021-05-26 01:05:16, as written by partially-stars

hatch williams.

hex: #400026. outfit: here.

xxxi wasn't born yesterday
xxxa bloodsport but I'm a saint
xxxit's time to consider
xxxthere are no winners

Hatch drove Cam home. Cam had insisted that she didn’t want to go to the hospital, that she didn’t need to go, and Hatch got the impression that it was probably best not to argue. Hatch left Cam be, but not before telling her to call her if she needed anything. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved when her phone didn’t ring all night.

The following two weeks had been quiet. Boring, almost. Work was picking back up, but plenty still regarded her with suspicion, so it wasn’t what it once was. But it got her through. Cam brought her car in for a “service”, as she’d promised, but Hatch hadn’t seen as much of her as she usually did. She told herself she didn’t care, and she almost believed it.

Usually, she never would have bothered with these carnival type events. But she had nothing better to do with her evening, and besides, it seemed like everyone she knew was going. So she found herself wandering between obnoxiously coloured stalls and the smells of popcorn and cotton candy. It was more enjoyable than she expected, if she was being honest to herself. She heard chattering from a nearby square, and headed in that direction, cotton candy in hand. A screen had been set up, with a countdown ticking down. It was down to single digits as Hatch hovered by the edge of the square.

3.

2.

1.

The screen flickered, and then a video feed came up. The audio was crackly and uneven, but you could make out what they were saying just fine. One of the council members was talking about ambushing unarmed citizens during the revolution. Then the feed cut out, and cut to another. And another. A woman shooting a man. “Heroes” of the new state working with those who had been declared criminals in the aftermath. The clips kept coming, getting worse and worse as they went on. The crowd got more and more restless.

Eventually, the screen went black, with white text appearing in a simple, but bold font. “THESE ARE YOUR HEROES. THESE IS YOUR GOVERNMENT. THEY WILL BETRAY YOU. MORE EVIDENCE TO FOLLOW.”

The screen went black. And then, everyone’s phone beeped in sync. Hatch pulled up her PCU, opening her email. Somebody had sent a folder, containing a video file, presumably the video evidence that they had just shown, and a document. Curiosity got the better of Hatch, and she opened the file. Around her, everyone was doing the same, and there was gasps of horror and disgust as they read the contents. Everything from government officials accepting bribes, details of experiments they had allowed, to reports about those they had honoured at the awards ceremony. Hatch shut her PCU down and decided that she needed to get out of town before things turned nasty. She wasn’t the only one with that idea, and she was jostled as she headed back into the city to head back home. People were already beginning to shout at each other, the party atmosphere of the carnival gone.

Hatch wasn’t sure what happened first; if she heard the explosion or if it flung her from her feet to land a few feet away. Her ears were ringing as she turned to look behind her. Everything seemed muffled, as if through water, but she could still make out the screaming. She staggered to her feet, picking glass from her hands, as she just stared at the blaze a few yards away from her.

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Miles Caal

0 · 617 views · located in Scarmouth

a character in “Blinding Lights”, as played by phosphene

Description

So begins...

Miles Caal's Story

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