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Rorgen Avulstein

(WIP)

0 · 454 views · located in Earth

a character in “How to spot a Faerie”, originally authored by flickery, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description



Image

Height:
Appearance: Rather Beastly. Despite his attempts at trying to avoid the stereotype that all Weres are savages. With large muscular arms, a broad chest, straining sinew with every movement and plenty of facial hair -it's hard not associating him with being a Were if you know what to look for. But if you don't, Rorgen's just a robust human in two shirts, a pair of trousers/khakis and trekking shoes -give him any reason to be formal and he will be there in suit and tie. His hair, dark brown and abit longer than most, is roughly swept back and tucked just behind his slightly pointed ears. With a short ponytail when it gets too long. He tries to keep his face shaven, but it usually gets very fuzzy by the afternoon anyway so it's usually covered in a layer of bristles.

He stands straight mostly, not too tall but definitely not short either. Just a few inches higher than your average bloke. But when he sits, he tends to hunker over -giving him the appearance of being even larger than he actually is. And when left to his own devices, attentive yellow eyes tend to constantly dart around, looking for the slightest of sounds that seem off.

On missions, his choice of apparel include armored bullet-proof vests, kevlar-weave trousers, knee pads, gun/knife-holsters, and a dark t-shirt hidden under whatever else is required. Otherwise outside of work, Rorgen keeps the appearance of a well-wearing man. Nothing too fashionable, but enough to walk into a bar without inconvenience. His physique is as prime as one can expect, but he looks a little older than he actually is -despite Weres not aging as fast as humans. Around 30ish. Probably because due to the circumstances of his lycanthropy, with a scar running down his left jaw to his neck and into his chest -which if seen, hints that he was infected and originally a human being. He keeps this scar hidden with the slight mane on his face and high collar shirts, -no one else really needs to know that he's a Were afterall.


Alternate Form [if applicable]:
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Age: 29
Species: Were
Role: IPAF Operative, Reconaissance and Weapons R&D

Image


Abilities: Enrage - Boiling in him is a vat of contained rage that he has to let out every once in awhile, hormones and chemical signals, usually suppressed, flood his body as it takes a drastic change in physical makeup. His body rapidly stretches and breaks free from it's constraints, expanding into a monstrous animal-like creature of immense strength and of unquellable anger but also of a quickly diminishing wit that would differentiate friend from foe. This puts him in a coma-like state for a few hours afterwards and he dislikes becoming it due to it's unpredictability.

Rapid Healing - Due to their shapeshifting abilities, Weres tend to have more adaptable morphologies. Rorgen adapts to changes such as wounds quickly and his body direct the cells around the affected area to go through accelerated mitosis, concentrating it's efforts into closing the wound and dissolving any foreign matter that might still be lodged in it. Though this takes glucose and ATP generating substances from the bloodstream, leaving a drain on stamina.


Skills: Experimenter -Rorgen is no stranger to human sciences and in his part of his time pondering how to more effectively dispatch vampires ...that have gone rogue, he may occasionally bring and use prototype contraptions to the field. These include fey deterents.

Preferred Weapons: Knives, Rorgen is able to throw them - not with exceptional accuracy but the breakneck speed and force behind each throw more than makes up for it. He is quick and brutal in melee combat, as these short bladed weapons allow him to exert his full strength to throw off the opponent then rip into them. Being right handed, he uses his left hand for taking potshots with pistols or lobbing gadgets filled with iron/wood shavings.

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Human Personality: Rorgen comes off as rather light-hearted in conversation for most part. And it's only because he is confident that his mind won't change no matter what people say, therefore brushing off trivial differences in opinions rather easily. He sometimes shows his wit in arguments and tends to overthink things a little. Not a bad thing, when you're coming up with a plan. But at least, even if that fails, he still has an unbreakable will that pushes him onwards.

However he is Proud. To say the least. Expectations and demands have no influence over him, only reason. He's not incredibly stuck up or thinks he is better than everyone else, but he hates to loose, especially when he puts his mind to something. Once a reasonable challenge is extended, he often feels compelled to accept it and once he does, he has to win. If he doesn't, he will make sure he does the second time. A third, or maybe even a fourth. Even if it means training in something he doesn't like. Though to this extent he may also hold a grudge.

Despite this, he takes criticizm well. But only at the end of the match. If you uneccesarily taunt him during it, however, he will first meet it with sacarsm. Then later he might act on the impulse to pick up and fling the whole table at you!

Rorgen is also a person who is more likely to follow his conscience, that is to say, the 'Who' of someone is more important than the 'What'. This applies even to vampires, to whom most he has a personal bias against, but it just takes longer. It is a result of his upbringing, having suffered much biasness when he was younger and haven't met many people who can see past his lycanthropy since then. As such, he has also become objective to many matters in what's right and what's wrong.


Quirks: He never seems to finish his drinks and always leaves a shallow pool of liquid at the bottom of each glass, either someone reminds him of it or the number of cups surrounding him will continue to grow. Much to the exasperation of co-workers.

Likes:
Meat, who doesn't?
Cold Weather, Low temperature helps keep him from overheating, due to his aggresive metabolism. Otherwise Rorgen tends to get irritable in hot weather.
Classical Music, "Sure, I'll go with you and listen to some kid moan LOUDLY about Love, Death or Angst in chorty rythm. Just let me go grab my rope and noose and I'll be back in abit."
Liquor, Liquid Sunshine!
Sunrise, Actual Sunshine.
Knives, They are more fun when cuts heal in seconds and dropping it on your feet doesn't necessarily earn you a free trip to the hospital anymore.
Silver, Though he can only wear enameled pieces. It remains the metal that saved many of the townsfolk of New Hampshire during the human-were wars.
Antiques, Remnants of a past-time when things that mattered more, mattered more.
Humans, Rorgen still considers himself human. It is not suprising that he has learnt what it means to be human since then. People, on the other hand, are a whole other matter.
Dislikes:
Vegetables, He still wonders why he ever ate them.
Vampires, Not many things in the world can make Rorgen say F*** four times in a row and loose his cool. Even the other IPAF member is merely tolerated. His hatred for vampires stems from his like of humans. -"That kind of f***ing perverted f***er sees thinks people as f***ing food? Yeah, f*** that!" Woe to any undead that breaks the law, for he habours a plethora of lethal self-manufactured weapons that is in dire need of test subjects.
Crowds and Loud Sounds, Most Weres live in packs. Some however, find it uncomfortable being too close to other people.
Robots, A.I.s are creepy to him. Needless to say, mandatory visits to certain parts of the IPAF is less than exciting for the lycanthrope.
Things without character, Usually things that are mass produced. He considers vampires this. Every f***ing bloodsucker he has met is either a lestat-wannabe, a emo-kid or an emotional wreck. Straight out from some crappy teen romance novel.
And of course, many Fey. Mostly because of the whole killing without batting an eye thing. Thus, it's only natural that he reciprocates by doing the exact same thing.
Biography:

Winter, 12 November 2001. St. Elizabeth Hospital. Emergency room.

All he could see were flaring lights that lit up a crimson background, shadows of people flitted across his eyelids as they hastily dug hand after hand, tool after tool, into his body. It didn't hurt, suprisingly, he was still fully concious.

He remembered holding a rifle. ...In the woods. That's right ...they were hunting ...Things. The world has gone mad since then. They came so suddenly, no one was prepared. Who was there to fight when the night came and the lycanthropes descended on the unwary?

When the Weres decided to show themselves all at once, some used it as a reason for war against the humans. No one really knew what they wanted, and to be honest -no one really cared. All they knew was people were dying and these things were the cause of it.

New Hampshire was one of the first few towns that got hit, officials covered it up with natural disasters and all sorts of sht lies. As the death tolls rised, a cordon was authorized, sealing off communication from the outside world. There was no way yet to tell Man from Were and the government did not want to risk anything, all they cared for was to make sure no one lost faith in them and that meant delaying the inevitable widepsread panic that was to follow.... Until they could find a suitable solution, anyone trying to cross the new border would be met with an armada of armed soldiers and policemen who were allowed to fire at will. And when the law says that you could kill without penalty, the sadistic nature of people would rear it's ugly head. Many lives were lost that night, Men or Were it didn't look like that mattered at all, bodies littered the barricade like flies in a fire.

The humans of New Hampshire were left to their own devices but it wasn't long before a Resistance quickly formed from the survivors. Rogen was a student back then when he first shot a gun, the odds were still in their favour as the humans outnumbered the monsters. They held their own for awhile,

...Till the survivors got overconfident.

In the weeks that passed, unease grew within the members of the Resistance that came to be known as the Silver Hand.* Many still trusted the government had a greater plan for them and waiting for that time to come was the safest bet, but there were some who could not stand seeing more die needlessly. This splinter group, tired of defending thier homes and waiting for an attack to happen, seeked to fight the antagonizers on their own terms. End it once and for all. Rogen Avulsten, amongst others, was one of them who supported the cause and rallied a small group to strike at the heart of the encampment. He was still a student and had only fired a gun for the first time in his life not long ago.

It was a still and quiet night, the moon hung high in the sky, silent spectator to the bloodshed that was to unfold. They were to strike during the day of the full moon, many lycanthropes liked to transform during this time but the Silver Hand learnt that it took alot of energy out of them and they had to rest before and after such vigorous activities. It was during this time that the splinter group would strike, take them out in their sleep. They had already tracked and learnt the whereabouts of their encampment, judging from the direction and methodology of attacks over the past few weeks.

But something went horribly wrong, he could not recall further details but as soon as they stepped into the woods -he blacked out. When he awoke, barely concious, he found himself almost unable to breathe as a gap was torn along his neck into his torso. Blood spilled from his wounds fast when he stood up and began moving, they were betrayed. He knew no other possibility to this. Rogen grabbed his hunting rifle which had it's strap clawed loose during the attack, barely hanging on to it he knew that if the Weres didn't get him then blood loss certainly would. As he trudged over foliage and bodies, he found himself not having the heart to look at their faces. He knew that if he were to saw any of his comrades, he might loose the will to leave here alive. Yet, as the journey seemed to have no end. A madness quickly took over him, vengeance ...guilt ...everything blended into a cacophony that drowned out his mind. He began shooting anything and EVERYTHING that moved. No longer having use for his vocal cords or ears, he couldn't register the screams and howls, or the roar that followed him around with every pull of the trigger. It was only till he saw the flourescent glow of street lights that he regained any semblance of sanity but by then his body had already given up, his brain shut-down and he collapsed into a heap of himself.


Summer, 15 March 2003

When he woke, with Intravaneous drips still clinging to his limbs, the world had changed. Lycanthropes and Vampires were accepted as citizens and had gained mostly the same rights as Humans. The irony, was the monument erected in the middle of the state -in memory of those who died in the conflict. Yet New Hampshire was rebuilt as a developing Research and rehabilitation centre for Semi-humans.

He had become a werewolf through surviving the infection. His family members still lived but they had abandoned him half a year ago when they found out that he had contracted lycanthropy. His name was written off the inheritance. His former home was destroyed in the crossfire. There was no college that would loan him. His name was no longer Avulsten.

So he changed his name to Rorgen Avulstein, paying slight heed to his past but otherwise leaving it behind. Scarred by the events that led up to this, still blissfully unknown to most of the world. Rorgen had been given new purpose. Since then, he has found himself in every large scale supernatural conflict and every organization meant to counter it.

When the fey invaded the human world, he naturally sided his efforts with them and became an IPAF Operative.

*The Silver Hand was a name adopted by the Resistance in honor of a young woman, Sylva Hendewig, who risked her life to test the myth of silver on the lycanthropes using her late husband's wedding ring. Some claim it was inspired by a video game, but those people are quickly looked down upon and criticized. Deeming it as a form of disrespect to her, and the courage of her husband who died for the discovery. Who till this day, remains mourned but nameless by her request.

Other:
Rorgen Avulstein was called Rogen Avulsten prior to changing his name, after becoming a lycanthrope. Due to his condition as an infected were, laws surrounding his situation are still under scrutiny.

So begins...

Rorgen Avulstein's Story

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Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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"Leau trouble, again?" A voice asked Anastasia, just as the reception in the headset came to an abrupt, ear-piercing feedback. His face winced visibily. A jacketed man was leaning on the doorway not too far from her, an IPAF Operative from the looks of it, thinking to himself as his right hand pressing the rim of a coffee cup to his face.

A mandatorily displayed I.D card hung from the pocket of his shirt read "Rorgen Avulstein: R/RD" with a small photo of him looking rather annoyed at the camera.

"When is Leau not in trouble as of late." Anastasia said flatly, she turrned around and glanced briefly at him with a stare as cold as the glass it pierced through. The Faerie has caused her more and more trouble recently, for some forsaken reason rapidly becoming more aggressive in her little 'hunts'. She might just hold up her end of the threat this time.

"Huh, you joked." A very light smirk seeped across his lips, not really sure where he got that from, maybe he was in an insane-mood. "Let's go then." The insane man said confidently as he took a last sip and put the half-filled cup down onto a nearby tablestand, contributing to a steadily growing pile of it's disposable brethren.

"Go where?" Anastasia asked sternly as she walked past Kiser, not giving him a second glance, and retrieved her jacket from the hands of whoever she had thrust it at when she first arrived at the Command Center.

"To get doll-face back to you for that heart-to-heart discussion of course." Doll-face was his and a few other co-worker's way of calling Leau, an apt description for the Type C fey to say the least. He had apparently been listening to their whole conversation, since when Anastasia stormed through the hallways it usually meant something was up.


“Kiser I expect a report on my desk by the time I get back.” Anastasia ordered as she followed Rorgen from the Command Center. “Everyone else keep me updated, I want to know immediately if something is going on out there.”


---At the Carpark, exiting the elevator---

The two were awkwardly silent through the whole journey here, he entertained himself with the rumblings of the elevator for a short while but when that stopped, things got awkward again. His shoulders sunk slightly as they exited the box, a stray thought piqued and suddenly he was more concerned whether she was following him blindly. He cocked his head sideways and threw back a glance to the right, catching her in the corner of his eye.The woman didn't question, nor did she agree. She just did.

"There was a disconnection ping from personel support and radio at the same time..." Rorgen started to reason, looking back at the parking lot once more. "our IEMs are channeled on broadcast auxilliary service to a nearby communications tower. When the pings occured, the map showed two of them, one analog and one FM radio."

As the approached the mass of vehicles, he fished out a slim silvery device and pressed on it. A lone silver Aston Martin beeped to life in the middle of the crowd,

"It may not be her but it fits the bill of our monitoring system. They occured nearby each other around the West Street area..." He said, as Rorgen got into the driver's seat, then rested his hands firmly on the steering wheel. "...and since Leau doesn't drive she couldn't have gone far. West Street isn't far either."

Anastasia followed Rorgen, clearly listening to what he was saying, but she remained silent. She took in everything that was said, it was information that she wanted.


Turning to look at to her. "It's better than nothing." He said, before jamming his foot into the accelerator.


---Driving towards West Street-------

Amber street lights zoomed past them outside, the main roads were much less empty in the past. Now they were perpetually covered in sleet and people avoided them for the danger they presented. But at least, he could say he did not miss the congestion. This also meant he could go at full speed through the highway. Usually.

Right. He mumbled when he remembered Anastasia was there right beside him, Tugging on the gears and slowing down in-short-order. Rorgen, sometimes forgetting car-crashes mattered to many a people.


Soon it came to a junction, passing a tourist hotspot of shophouses and museums. Rorgen glanced to his right, upwards and out the window to a series of low level domiciles. Paying little heed to the road. Barren trees lie guarding the sides like picket-fences, though barely obscuring their view, they still served as reminders of the ever-winter nights that had long prematuredly ended their cycle. Billows of snow made it hard to see even apartment lights, much less a little girl perched on the roof. It is unlikely New York City would ever be green again.


"Up there, in the buildings. Doll-face likes to snipe." Rorgen hinted.

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Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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Image


The bellicose Fey had a will carved from titanium, everlasting animus that carried her injured body, creating imaginary splints around broken bones. A bullet flew past him, cutting through the air with ease, it's end unknown. Even if she had missed her target, it had been too close, only missing by a couple of inches to the right of his head. His breath shook, if she hadn't been damaged it'd be very likely that the iron would have implanted itself in his skull, cursing him with an instant death that was more applicable to wild animals. His eyes couldn't observe her anymore, they tore away as he legs burned, a hasty abscond between barren buildings of cold regret and incandescent sorrow. An exhale, breathing out the hidden smoke of sulfur emotions, twisting the atmosphere between the alley. The weight of fear bore down on the area, infecting those that inhabited it. Lethe's magic was at a low, but it didn't make him powerless, only cautious.

Weaving between bullets had his blood run faster, his body reacting with ease between the barrage, evading the oncoming storm of poisoned projectiles. He couldn't afford to let any more iron to taint the form that held him together, the effect of the first already impeding his movements. Ignoring the metallic taste rising in his throat, he jumped and pulled himself up a chain link fence that stood between the exit. Invisible wings aided him in the action, yet he still avoided flight, the threat of bringing an increase in attention towards him still being too great. Praxis paused at the top of the fence, attention being grabbed the beasts that took over the sky. It was a shame that they couldn't fly to anywhere warmer, but he was grateful for their presence, as only a gentle tug would force them to surrender to his will.

He spared a glance back to the child with cream hair, watching as the masses of gray birds swopped from above and towards her, their talons and beaks exposed. A foolish choice, as the impact of a stray bullet burned its way into his shoulder, becoming trapped in a tangle of muscle. The meeting between skin and iron pushed him off the wall of wire and onto the cement floor below, his body shaking due the to toxic invasion. He coughed, blood dripping over cracked, desert lips and hands curled against loose asphalt. He rolled onto his knees and lifted his body, pushing out pain and agony in favor of his escape. Winged creatures continued to arrive from above as his fingers dug into the wound, his glamour only flickering as he cut into his skin. Fingernails scrapped against the metal, the ache being only a scrape compared to previous miseries, and he tore the hindrance out.

Lethe's eyes flashed in hostility, a glowing white that leaked crimson anger into the air to mingle with the artificial dismay. It vanished once the lids of his eyes shrouded them, restoring his silk disguise to it's state of unmatched consistency. The echo of the bullet hitting the floor was the last thing he left in the tumultuous back street before he turned his back and sprinted away, out from between the bricks and into the open sidewalks and streets. He could still taste blood and allowed a small piece of magic to begin stitching back together the hole in his shoulder; only enough to prevent it from destroying his attempt to break away from the advances of the traitor. Images flashed through his head while he bolted down the city, not once bothering to apologize for interrupting the casual travels of human individuals, instead trying to differentiate between reality and fantasy.

Lights blurred and painting of the Queen danced in his mind, words that screamed of survival burned into the back of his eyelids and coiled his actions until they became brash. A goal became his ectodermal tissue, filling him with motivation and strength, to see the restoration of the world and his home. A desire became his endothelial cells, the dream to see a dawn of peace and renewed alliances, an illusion that erased control and cogitation. His vision blurred, slanting the world and turning it upside down, draining blood to the roof of his mouth until it coated the white bones that were his teeth. Praxis' feet met the blend of aggregate, cement, and water again and again, pushing him past people and steamed store windows. He abandoned the bag on his back, the object only carried money and shoes, something he could acquire later. At the moment they had only proved to slow him down, and he had no time to waste, as he was running on borrowed time already.

This is where the sidewalk ends, and this is where Praxis barrels onto the street, eyes locked at the other side. A line of buildings, safety, and the bright, sneering pain that took over his body. It was the collision between mechanical transport and a flesh body, a car that rammed into his right side and sent him away from refuge and to the side of a frost covered road. Red was all that he could see, a color of fire that spread through his body, his still body that lied in a contorted heap. Cracked ribs and awry magic, fighting to piece together a pierced lung before it filled with dichromatic liquid. Breath, why couldn't he breath? Every inhale was a battle that that resulted in half-wins, leaving his form to shutter and shake. His mind was screaming, but no noise came from between his lips.

Skin was peeled from his right arm, ripped off in gruesome tears that decorated the ground with hues of purple and blue blood. Bones peaked out from ravaged muscle, his right humerus bone completely severed, only epimysiums held the arm together as one, barely keeping him from losing a limb. Stay conscious was the words repeated to him, blinking like neon signs as he fought to move, move and get out before it was too late. He couldn't though, his left arm tried to lift himself up, just resulting in unrecognizable tormet that ate away at his consciousness. Lethe tried to curse to himself, but it resulted in spewing blood from his mouth. The Fey, glamour still intact, fell back onto the ground, too injured to even save himself.

His face was in similar state of his arm, right-side skin brushed away from the concrete, leaking dots of color that drained into his scleras. Was this his end? The final moments of Praxis Lethe, one of the strongest Fey in existence? To die by the effects of iron and the attack of a human contraption - it was almost funny, it a pitiful way. He was too weak without the Queen, and it was beautiful how he was nothing without her, his power being drained to a low that turned him into an insult to Fey kind. His lips relaxed into a thin line, eyes closing as those algid dark curtains began to drape over his mind. He couldn't accept this, but he couldn't resist for long, and unconsciousness took him; silencing both the the world, and the pain, in a thick blanket of inadequacy.

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Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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"The F-"

Eff. Rorgen corrected instinctively. No, this was an appropriate time to say it. "-Fuck." His eyes widened, his pupils shrunk within yellow wolf-like irises.

"NOO!" He roared as he flung open the car's door, "Nooo. No-nonononooo." He kept chanting to himself as if if he said it enough times it'd somehow turn back time and make it never happened. If the situation wasn't so dire, it would have been amusing to a cruel enough individual, to see Rorgen in one of his rare fits of panic.

Upon stepping out, there was an already growing expression on his face that battled between shock, doubt and regretful fear. His clenched hands shaking, no, changing even more as he let go of the door and with every step he took. Adrenaline did some weird things to him.


You would think a veteran IPAF Agent would have seen more death in his life than to be fazed by one little car accident. But fey were one thing. They weren't human, they had no remorse or conscience -things an innocent person had, they couldn't even compare to.


But he started charging when he saw it. There was a body, the vehicle's headlights shone brightly upon the back of it. All encumbering anxiety washed away, whoever that was more important and if he could do anything to save it -he would not loose it to another moment's lapse. Rorgen regained control. When something large that hit his car and skidded across the street, inevitably, some people started screaming. Mostly those who have not heard the gunshots that led up to this. His mind flashed back to the orange mop of hair that splayed on his windscreen followed by pale skin, and a selfish thought popped into his head. Let it be a fucking vampire.





"HEY! KID! SPEAK TO ME!" He demanded as he knelt down, the man could have said anything really, anything to elicit a response. The car lights were still blinding and with a practiced hand he held the victim's throat and neck straight, keeping airflow unimpeded.

"Fuck." Rorgen looked up at Anastasia, hoping to see her dialing an ambulance.

As he looked back down, he could feel the slight twinge of movement under his thumb. The sight of jarting bones was alarming and he quickly slid his other larger hand under the boy's arm in case it slipped and tore the lesion even wider.

Discouragingly, Rorgen realized all he could do was stay still until he figured out a way to carry this mess without making it worse.

...

...

...

...But it was strange, for the long moments he held him, he felt no pulse. Yet Rorgen's own breath heaved heavily, contrast to the thin wisps that escapes the boy's barely parted lips. There was also this farmiliarity when he touched the youth. Like something in him wanted to break free.

In sudden retrospect, his gaze immediately turned away, just for a moment, looking at the surrounding mess that led a trail from the bumper to him.



Chromatic blood. Red in small puddles, purple through shades of blue as they got larger and larger. There it was.




"...We've got a live one." Loudly, so that Anastasia could hear it. Tender care was shrug just like his jacket, taking it off and hurling the apparel into the largest pool. Then dragging it across, spreading it into puddles of inconspicuous human-coloured blood.

He let go of the Fey's limbs uncaringly. Only concern left being not to leave any evidence behind and roughly turned the otherworlder on his back like a posable doll, pressing it's largest wound to his hard torso. Gladly marring his shirt in Fae blood in favour of them dripping in smaller drops while he carried it to the car.

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Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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#, as written by Lenyx
What in the bloody hell--” Anastasia said as she matched Rorgen's movements and got out of the car. As she came around to the front of the car she watching Rorgen, before pulling out her phone and connected with IPAF Command Center.

“Yes Ma-”

“There has been an accident.” Anastasia stated flatly, seeing Rorgen looking back at her. “It seems we--”

"...We've got a live one." Rorgen said loudly as he tossed his jacket on to a puddle of blood.

Anastasia's eyes traveled down to the trail of blood puddles, dichromatic blood, Fey's blood. She watched as Rorgen dragged his jacket through the blood, mixing it to make it appear as if it was human's blood. “We have an injured Fey,” She eyed Rorgen as he walked past her carrying the unconscious Fey. “We're bringing it in.”

“Yes Ma'am. I will have a team ready and waiting for when you arrive.”

Anastasia ended the call and was about to head back to the car, when a new voice come through her earpiece.

"Ana. Ana. We'll have to explain things to the families of Team 102. Send a team of cleaners to lab 86B. Experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised." It was Kiser.

Anastasia stopped with her hand on the door handle. “What the hell do you mean they have been compromised?” She demanded. “Was it an attack? An accident? What in God's name is- Never mind, I'll put in the call. When you get back, come to my office immediately. I will talk to you more then.”

With that Anastasia ended the conversation, and called the Command Center back. “A team of cleaners is needed at lab 86B, experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised. Do it now.”

Anastasia shook her head as she opened the car door. The day from hell, Leau will have to wait. Anastasia's hand tightened its grip on the phone it held, as she pulled out her cigarette pack. Using one hand she slid out a cigarette and while holding it between her lips she fished out her lighter, and lit the cigarette. She took a long drag, she desperately wanted a glass of wine.

As Anastasia is about to get in the car she spots a familiar figure leaning against the allyway, who is not looking in the best of shapes. The cream colored hair that has a slight tint of orange... Leau...

Anastasia moved away from the open car door and stood in front of her guardian. “If it were not for the shape you are in at this very moment, I would slap you.” She looked down at Leau, concern written on her face. “What are your injuries Leau.”

Leau grimaced in pain as she looked up. "Ma'am. Dislocated shoulder." She gestured to her left arm, which was hanging limply at her side. "Broken ribs. Lacerations." She kept her voice steady and clear, despite the pain. In Anastasia's opinion, the Faery was lucky.

Anastasia gingerly touched Leau's face as she inspected the shallow cuts that blemished Leau's face. She noted there were also rips and tears in the white elegant button-down shirt, that Anastasia had recently purchased for Leau. Anastasia also noted the form fitting black trousers were also ruined, at least the black lolita boots survived the harsh treatment.

“Leau, I'm not going to lie to you. In a moment, you are going to wish I had just shot you in the head.”

In one quick and fluid motion, Anastasia seized Leau's left shoulder with one hand, and with the other she grabbed the same arm just above the elbow. With just enough force, Anastasia wrenched Leau's shoulder back in to place.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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“We're bringing it in.”

The IPAF Operative nodded, acknowledging Anastasia's word to bring the captive Fey back to HQ.

Rorgen was about to open the door to the backseats when he heard a new message through her intercom, one of the perks of being him -especially on a quiet night when everyone has been scared off.

"Ana. Ana. We'll have to explain things to the families of Team 102. Send a team of cleaners to lab 86B. Experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised."

Comprosmised? That was Kiser wasn't it? The werelion rarely used such complicated words unless things were so bad he wanted to keep them hidden.

Pretending not to eavesdrop, he turned to look at the Fey in his hands. It's features, though scarred by injury were still almost perfect. Like a child, they were anything except. His grip tightened, fingers digging into it's unearthly soft flesh. If this one had anything to do with it ....but concluding there was nothing to be gained from treating it any rougher he set his mind on the job at hand, opening the doors and feeling for a small button on them. A concealed compartment soon revealed itself as it popped out of the doorframe, inside were a pair of iron manacles -made specially by the organisation for the Fey and their kind. And promptly hooked it onto the false child's ankles.

Setting their hostage upright in the back, he wandered to the front of the car, getting into the driver's seat. It didn't take long for him to notice Leau's return, Anastasia's guardian was not looking much better off than the one they chanced upon and when he saw the woman place her hand on the Type C Fey's shoulder -he knew what was about to happen and promptly looked away -giving them some semblance of privacy and Leau, a quiet dignity, even though it probably didn't matter.

"Must be your lucky day..." Rorgen's brows furrowed when he looked at the Fae's face through the rear mirror, dumping his blood soaked jacket by the foot peddles, as he waited for them to return to the car.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Raena Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Azriel De'mourn Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias
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#, as written by Layla
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The skies were cruel. The young woman wondered for long moments as she watched the snowflakes tumble from the skies, unsure of their destination. The clouds had unclasped their seat belts, allowing their children to spill from their wombs and fill with an icy emptiness along the way. They would fall, fall and fall, not knowing of their fates until the very end when they shattered upon pavements or into the heated palms of mortals. She wondered as to why a parent would lead their children to their deaths and an unexplainable guilt slithered up her spine, into and beneath her skin.

"I don't know who you are.. All I know is you are going to die of cold if we don't warm you up, that body you have isn't made for extreme cold. Come with me inside, we can worry about figuring out who you are in there," said the man before her. The grey ice dug into her flesh, pushing past the thin material of her soaked dress of white. She pressed her back against the rough bricks behind her, observing the man's gold eyes with a curious contemplation. She felt no doubt, being as trustworthy as a newborn child who'd not yet learned to walk or hate.

"If you do not know who I am, why do you care for me?" She tilted her head to the side, standing gingerly and wobbling on her knees made of bones that felt more like shortbread. The cold surface behind held her upright as she leaned against it, her pale existence a mark of light in the darkness of the alley. Apricot lights painted strawberry blonde streaks in her long hair, crimson soaking into her soft lips and amber bleeding into their gold eyes. The sunset cast a mesmerising glow over the snow capped mounds of buildings, the beauty only interrupted by the heavy black coats of people bustling about. They were too busy with places to go and people to meet in preparation for tomorrow to live today.

Soft fingertips touched Azriel's cheek, dancing lightly along his immortal face and tracing the hard line of his jaw. The strange girl's eyes faded from one shade of gold to another, puzzlement drawing her brows lightly together as she struggled to recreate the beauty of his orbs. "You have strange eyes," she whispered, her accent familiar as if she were imitating his. Her voice was near dazzling, as if it'd be able to choke mortals and render them motionless with it's sound of thick honey and eerie winds of night.

The woman turned, each elegant movement as if choreographed. She drifted through the snow like a ghost, walking towards the building the Vampire had gestured towards. Pausing before the strange slab of wall built within a wall, the girl stared at what was the door with utter confusion. Why would one build a wall within a wall? She pressed her palm against the door, pushing at it but receiving no response in return. "What is this odd mechanism? How does one remove the wall?" she asked absentmindedly, poking and prodding the edges of the wall to no avail. She looked at the sign on the door that read 'Pull.' "Pull?" she echoed. She looked at the curved metal on the door, wondering if it was safe or if it was some trigger for a curse. Taking a breath of bravery, she nodded towards the Vampire as one soldier would another. Her long fingers curled around the handle of the door. She pulled.

There was a gust of warmth and a surprised gasp as the wall came undone. "What a peculiar gate!" she exclaimed. A tentative step was taken, then another and another. The warmth emitting from the inbuilt heaters was heavenly, and she quickly raced deeper into the building, clutching both the red cape and jacket to her body. A man on his journey downstairs watched the frail woman with hunger and malice. The clockworks of his mind were spinning rapidly as he fantasised about the things he could do to her and how he would achieve his goals.

When they'd entered the Vampire's humble abode, she gazed around like a small child who'd just discovered the existence of places outside of home. "You live in a box," she said, taking an unbalanced step forward. The walls were very flat and the ceilings were as well, with no sign of murals. Everything was very... Square. She spun on the balls of her feet, spinning around and around like a toddler learning to dance ballet. Yet, there was an almost inhuman grace to her clumsiness. She paused, looking at Azriel with a trust children reserved only for their mothers. "I am weary," she stated. She walked through the doors and into Azriel's bedroom, nodding at the bed within it in approval as if she'd just concluded it was the only normal thing in the entire place. She climbed onto the bed and crawled beneath the covers, tucking the thick blankets beneath her chin. After wiggling about for the most comfortable position, she shut her eyes and fell asleep.

ImageLight sang. Her voice carried none of the power it once did, having been dimmed to a flicker of candlelight. Rather than being powerfully haunting and deep, it was merely... Cute. That was, if one thought ghosts could sound cute. It was as if an ocean had transformed into a shallow - but lovely - stream after years of drought. Her long dress drifted along the grass made of cotton, that had been made from gold, emerald and sapphire. The rocks were translucent as if each were rare mountains of moonstone. Trees bowed before the High Queen, their branches lowered in respect. Despite the kaleidoscope of light dancing along the ivory walls of the enchanting Faerie Realms, a darkness seemed to loom overhead. The atmosphere was subdued, the world void of creatures and sound except for that of the singing Queen.

The stillness was the equivalent of a post-apocalyptal world within the Faerie Realms. No human-sized butterflies batted their crystal faceted wings against gossiping flowers, no obsidian streams cascaded into the skies and no stars gleamed in daylight. Order wandered, her presently amber eyes unseeing as she wandered amongst the lifeless. Her bare feet made no sound, their movements as seemingly stationary as the moonstone rocks they passed.

Freckles of snow tumbled from the skies.



Image

"Which part of 'adapt to human technology' and 'keep your bloody tracker on' do you not understand, Leau?" Kiser growled, cracking his knuckles and his neck. "Did you hear a thing I said? Do you know what I think when IPAF agents don't respond to their calls, Unidentified Flying Ass?" he hissed. "I think they're dead. Dead, Leau. And you know what I think when I think you're dead? I think 'Well, damn. That's an extra fifty bucks to clean up her dead body parts.'" The Werelion slapped Leau across the back, a gesture that was meant to show all was forgiven but he still distrusted her, but instead - most likely - aggravated the Fey's wounds.

Kiser turned away from the Fey, brisk walking away from the IPAF agents behind him to tuck himself in a secluded corner. He pulled his personal phone from his jean's back pocket - as for his upper body, he was shirtless, that being nothing unusual - and dialled a familiar number. "Harold, my old man," Kiser said. Harold's wife had been Kiser's aunt, of sorts. She'd been a good friend of his mother's and a family friend. Family friends to Weres were as good as family and they protected those people with their very lives. That was both a strength and weakness when it came to Weres, they were incredibly loyal, especially to family. When Harold's wife and Kiser's aunt had died of a brain tumour, the Burntwood clan - yeah, don't laugh - had mourned for months. Harold was a bit of a kink in the head. It was as if he'd been a stuffed pillowcase and when his wife and son had passed away, the seams that held his stuffing together had come undone. Still, Harold was a good man and more importantly, did not like the Fey.

"I need a favour," he said without pause. "I need you to find out all you can about the Fey. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm in the IPAF but they're hiding things from us," he whispered before correcting himself. "From us. They keep the Fey they capture, Harold, and they put them in these suspicious laboratories. I mean, I've always known about them and they tell us it's for 'the study of how to defeat the Fey' but that sounds like a load of bull. Iron and/or decapitate. How simple is that? But, no, see, there was this creepy scythe-wielding Faerie and he smelled like power, Harold. He reeked of power. Not the normal immortal Vampire stink but I mean, he smelled weird. Different from the other Fey I've fought." Kiser was speaking fast and more than he normally did but the adrenaline pumping through his veins urged him to continue.

"That's where you come in. You're not with the IPAF, you have nothing better to do and you hate the Fey. We're next to the Grill House. That's 1991 Bronxdale Avenue. Tell me what you know. Call me, in a completely non-homosexual way. I'm just not into that, grandpa," Kiser joked before ending the call without waiting for Harold's reply. The Werelion walked towards the car, the icy winds throwing his hair about his face. The blizzard seemed to be getting worse and...

"Why, Rorgen. Why would you drive such a nice car in the middle of a blizzard." Kiser frowned at the limp figure in the backseat and at the colourful blood that spilled from the boy. Its perfection was irritating, as always. "That's going to be a sucker to clean." The Werelion slipped into the passenger seat beside his fellow Were, taking Rorgen's hand in his in the way Weres often greeted one another: by crushing each other's fingers. Kiser clenched his close friend's hand, a competition to see who could crack who's hand first. Kiser grinned, his teeth so white, it was nearly blinding. "At least it's not my car."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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Rorgen's attention flinched towards the car doors as he heard it click, half expecting it to be Anastasia but when he saw who it was and who had grabbed his hand ...

"Same reason you drop your pants in the middle of a crowd." He retorted snydely, gripping back with vice-like strength as a sly grin seeped into his wolfish features. Challenge accepted. He could feel their bones crack loudly, then pop back into place again. The inside of the car sounded like the outside of a movie theatre. Both trying to maintain their most arrogant smile ever as they taunted each other with stares, as if the pain was somehow making it better.

The two had built a camraderie ever since they met and it was not just that they were both Weres, because in some ways they could not be more different from each other and yet there they were, trying to crush each other's hand as competition. But Kiser could whine about his car all the werelion wanted, Rorgen wasn't the one half-naked in his seat.

"You smell like death." He said, voice purposely overtoned with an enthusiastic growl, adding insult to injury as he pressed even harder. "What happened?"

Then he noticed Leau outside the window, her face showing emotion? But he didn't let go, not even for a second, Rorgen Avulstein hated to loose.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Raena Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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His body lied at the back of a car; bloodied, bruised and broken. Stray magic continued to work at his wounds on instinct, back up generators to insure that he would not die so easily. The process was slow - melting skin, pulling muscles, even as several minutes past there was hardly any progress in improving his physical well being. If anything nothing but the bleeding had nearly been made to slow to a stop. Still, drops of red blood continued to drop from his body, his mouth, and into small pools of green and yellow.

Words passed around him, eyes viewing him as nothing more than a captured, enemy solider. None of this reached him, who's body was cold, with skin turning dark blue, his glamour fading barely enough to have his skin appear as if was being covered in hemorrhages. Shallow breathes hardly moved his chest, and if he were human, he would be on his death bad. However, his body still held a pulse, and life within. Praxis would live on, long enough to face the consequences of foolish actions, and to look into the faces of wolves.

There was no color, no rainbow water droplets, no whites and no blacks. There was only the pickling feeling of being numb, nothing to feel, nothing to see, and nothing to think. Unconsciousness wrapped around him, simultaneously lasting forever and not taking place at all. This would be one of the few moments where Praxis was not aware of his surroundings, letting time escape him without notice, rest falling upon his body without his mind continuing to turn away. However, this too shall pass, as he was never destined to repose for long. Soon the thick steel bars would erode away, being chipped by the voice of youth and innocence, reverberating against his soul until his eyes opened into the subconscious world.

He was home. A shuttering breath shook his frame when it dawned on him that it wasn't really his home, but a memory of it. Traces of familiar places in a make believe world, filled in by lingering thoughts and broken crayons. Even so, with this knowledge, he couldn't prevent his lips from stretching into a mournful smile. If only he had died and this was his resting place, instead it would be erased as well, and replaced with bitter reality. Lethe moved forward, stepping onto gemstone shaded plants, letting the voice of nectar lead him down the realm of another's wishes. There was no other life here, no traces of inhabitation, except for the footprints he left behind him. Fingers traced over the leaves, coming in sizes smaller than a pin head to larger than his own head, and eerie serenity was reflected in the orbs of his eyes.

In slow motion, white began to taint the world that was a recreation of his home. He stood, shoulders back, in his natural form. Dark shades of blue and teal soaked into his skin, the sight of chaos and parent souls. Hands with long, arching fingers cupped in front of him, capture the speckles that dare infiltrate the land around him. The snow was like dried paint; the dust from the ceiling of a dream, blowing in from the real world into a false one. His eyes closed, lashes long and glowing dim light. Oh, how the light inside of him was ever so dim. Nightmare's eyes had never been so dark before, even his hair had lost it's sheen, making him appear as if he was washed in dirty water. He figured that his lungs had been filled with this type of putrid water as well, so horribly polluted that any attempts to clean his slate would be in vain, and he wouldn't raise a finger with the idea of attempting to do so in mind.

A figure stepped away from the trees and appeared before him and his breathing ceased, he was not alone.
"My Queen.." His words were like shattering glass, loud against the rocks of moon spirits, yet broken and strained, hiding quiet turmoil within. Praxis could only blink, frozen in place, not unlike the world around him. She looked the same, she looked differed, she was the same face that graced the corners of his eyes, and yet she had the face of a stranger. This was the Queen, but it was not the Queen; a paradox that put a bitter taste in his mouth, the flavor of fear, worry and regret. Had she slipped from between his fingers, like grains of sand that could be picked up? Or was she water, that splattered against marble and evaporated into the air, to be forever lost to him? A shutter ran throughout his body, and his legs moved forward without his consent.

Yet he couldn't get close enough, couldn't reach towards her, couldn't let his fingers brush against her skin. Instead he was held back by chains, invisible but real, wreaking of hesitation and cowardice. Hands at his sides, eyes bearing into hers, seeking for shards of the Queen he knew. Nothing, there was nothing, and it dawned on him that even if she was gone, he wouldn't abandon her. The look of foreboding remained on his face, though now he wore a smile, lips twisted upwards thanks to diamond carved loyalty.


"Oh, my Queen." If they had to, they would start anew, because even if the Queen was born again he wouldn't leave her side. If she decided to abandon order and destroy the world, he would stand beside her, and rip apart space and time with her. Or, he paused, would he destroy her, to protect the image his eyes had seen the first time they opened, to protect the order that was embroidered into her name? No, he pushed the thought away, that was preposterous. "So we are just now meeting again? It's been too long." The woman standing three feet away from him may be a new face, but she was still the Queen, his Queen, right?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Raena Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Azriel De'mourn Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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#, as written by Layla
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"Oh, my Queen."

Raindrops spilling from crimson skies to shatter into diamonds, water morphing into beautifully horrific goblins, emerald stars leaping from waterfalls of milk, dust gathering into a whirlwind of unicorns dancing widdershins, a creature with skin of starlight and sapphire -him. The images stumbled over one another, each racing towards the forefront of her mind, demanding attention. The High Queen gasped, her draw of air interrupting the melted sugar of her voice as the places came unbidden to her mind. Her clarity was not to last, however, as her lips melted into a guileless smile and her eyes softened into one of bewilderment.

"So we are just now meeting again? It's been too long," the blue-skinned boy said. He was not one she knew, was he? He danced along the edges of her memory like a familiar song one did not know the name of. Order circled the peculiar creature before her, stepping upon her toes in a soundless, spinning waltz. The boy's voice sounded as if it were supposed to be ordinary, but was not, instead being perfect in ways she could not explain and did not care to think of. It was as if she was a child who would only be willing to play with a toy for as long as it entertained her, which was not for long.

"We have met?" she asked, her gaze following her slim fingers as they trailed their way down the curves of his back. "Trapezius, infraspinatus, teres, latissimus dorsi," she stated the names of each muscle group she touched. The words seemed to have been spoken without thought, as if she were a machine that knew of facts but not of human emotions and was merely doing as a press of a button told her to do. The boy's skin did not feel like skin, rather like water or silk or stone or all and nothing. The minuscule bones of his wings tangled in a complex web of frailty, but somehow, the girl knew they were anything but frail, being capable of carrying more than this creature's weight.

"So perfectly flawed, so gruesome in your beauty. Do your lips curve into a kind smile or is it mischievous?" she echoed the words she'd once spoken before - when time had first begun - when she was whole, when she was the fearsome High Queen. Now the words were a sicking reminiscence of her once-greatness. Praxis' lips were unnaturally soft against her touch as she ran her fingers along his lower lip. His eyes were eerie, two ghosts in the midst of an empty night. Light seeped from his orbs, but she felt that they were dimmed, somewhat, as if he was only half of what he was meant to be.

And she spoke the words that would shatter the world. "Who are you?"

ImageThe landscape shifted, warping and evaporating around them as they stood still, until it held none of the serene calm it had moments prior. The trees glowed a threatening neon, scattering the darkness in a mocking semblance of light. Monstrous beasts stalked the woods around them, slithering along the thin branches of the trees. The Queen and her second were mere spots in the world she'd created in her mind.

"Who am I?" she whimpered, her irises a grey like fog and storm as the anxiety threw her rationale disarray. She clutched her breast, as if in doing so she would be able to reach into her chest and clench her beating heart and somehow end the suffocating agony of it all. "Where am I? Why am I here?" she asked and the beasts growled and howled, their limbs creeping forward, closer to the fear and torment they sniffed from the thick air.

"The Quueeeenn," they hissed. "Ssshe'sss awake. Play with usss, Order." Their mutated words were followed by tyrannical cackles. The Queen's eyes darted around in panic as she took a frightened step back, then another and another until she was between the trees. She gave the blue-skinned boy one last glance before she spun around and ran away, deep into the depths of the tangles of her lost mind.


"Where am I?" she whimpered in her sleep, twisting and turning and tangling herself in the sheets before throwing the soft blanket off of the bed. Beads of sweat slipped into her closed eyes, her lashes fluttering as she struggled with whatever it was she was dreaming of. Her face was warped in fear as she clutched the pillows, moaning and ripping at invisible creatures. She was panting, her fear almost palpable in the air.

"Help me, help me," she begged.

The branches slapped against her flesh, tearing at her body and shredding her dress. Her bare feet pounded against the dead leaves of the woods as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. Her exhalations could be seen in the air as she panted, shoving aside branches as she fought for escape. The dark creatures behind her chased relentlessly, their vengeful laughs stalking her as they did. It was a game of cat and mouse and she was the latter.

Image

"You should learn to give up, Rorgen," Kiser joked, crushing his Were friend's hand, his grin refusing to falter as his bones did. Thankfully, as did Rorgen's. The Werewolf's fingers snapped and healed at a rapid pace, only to be broken once again.

"You smell like death," Rorgen said. "What happened?"

"Saw a lot of death," the Werelion said, refusing to end the 'handshake.' "Lab 86B was infiltrated by some UFA's." UFA was the way Kiser liked to refer to the Fey and what they should've been called all along: Unidentified Flying Asses. "A dozen of our people died," he said in a voice that was quieter than normal.

“Kiser," Leau said. Her superior raised a thick brow, finally letting go of his friend's hand. "Can you describe what this Fey with a scythe looked like…?”

"If you'd not destroyed your communicator, you would know," he said tersely but answered her question, anyway. "Deceivingly good looking," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Tall. 6'5" or thereabouts. Buff. Creepy." Kiser watched the Fey closely, observing her every fraction of movement and noting the scent of her. He could smell fear from a mile away and she certainly tasted afraid, which was odd, seeing as this was Leau he was sniffing. She'd spit death in the eye if she ever met him. "Why? You know him?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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#, as written by Lenyx
"Lab 86B was infiltrated by some UFA's. A dozen of our people died,"

Anastasia stopped just behind Leau, feeling startled. She could not believe it, members of IPAF casually talking aloud about organization matters in the middle of the street where anyone could hear! She was about to reprimand Kiser when Leau's soft voice, causing Anastasia to stop beside the small Fey.

Anastasia watched Leau's face pale, she didn't think the Fey's skin could become paler than it already was. Something about Leau's entire being seemed to change to one Anastasia has never seen her like this. Ever.

“If you'd not destroyed your communicator, you would know, deceivingly good looking, tall. 6'5 or thereabouts. Buff. Creepy. Why? You know him?”

Anastasia slipped off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose while letting out a sigh. “This is not an appropriate place to even hint at IPAF related matters,” Anastasia took this moment to look directly in to Kiser's eyes. “And you. Of all people, should know that, so shut it till we are back at headquarters.”

Putting her glasses back on, Anastasia turned to Leau. “However, Kiser has a point, everyone is given a communicator for a reason. If you ever think of destroying another one again while I am talking to you, and I am subjected to the feedback…”

Opening the car door, Anastasia narrowed her eyes at Leau, “Your punishment will be severe. Get in. Now.” She hissed.

Anastasia looked back over her shoulder. “Kiser if you are coming with us, put on a god damn shirt already. While you are at it, move, you are sitting in the back. Do not forget I wish to talk with you when we get back to headquarters, Leau you will be there too.”

Then something occurred to Anastasia, Fey with a scythe...?

“Wait a minute.” She turned to face Leau, and raised an eyebrow. “Fey with a scythe? What are you talk--”

Anastasia replayed the past few minutes, analyzing everything she saw and heard in her mind. Kiser slapping Leau across the back, Kiser walking away from her and Leau, tucking himself in to a corner. Then Kiser walking towards the car, sliding a phone in to his pocket-- Anastasia realized that with this blizzard partially impairing her vision and the winds almost completely blocking out the average human's hearing ability, Anastasia was at a disadvantage. It seems she would always be disadvantaged when it came to Fae, Were-creatures and Vampires. They were physically stronger, with heightened five senses...

“Leau was eavesdropping...” Anastasia said the thought out loud. Whipping around and Anastasia put her hands on either side of the car door. She leaned down and in to the car, until she was nose-to-nose with Kiser. Something in Anastasia's gut told her Kiser was hiding something, from her, and she wanted to know why. She could not contain her anger, all her frustration. Anastasia's face lost any sign of composure, her lips twisting up in to a snarl.

“Of all the people to hide shit from, you choose me? Who was that on the phone Kiser? I thought we were on the same side. While I could care less about you, you do your job well. You show results.” Anastasia reached a hand in to the car, going for Kiser's throat. She wanted to strangle him. “What did you see in that lab? We both know there is something our superiors are not telling anyone. Not even me... And I... I am supposed to be the god damned leader!”

Anastasia felt herself fall and give in to a pent up anger, that had been accumulating since her father's death. “In the past six months I know as much as you do about the IPAF! My superiors talk down to me as if I am some... Some child! Leau is the only one who gave me answers to my questions! And though she looks down on me, I don't give a shit because at least she tells me what I want and need to know! Why the bloody hell do you think I keep her close to me at all cost? Why do you think I care more about her than I do you?” Her hand was so close to Kiser's neck, she could feel the heat from his body against her cold hand. “I'll tell you why! Because she is the only thing that has kept me alive while I am trying to find out what the IPAF superiors are keeping from me! Because I am the only one who can deal with Leau, I am the only one who has control of her!”

Anastasia took a deep breath, she was beginning to feel light headed from yelling so long without stopping. Her throat felt raw, but she wasn't done yet. “I spared her life when I had the upper hand, I made her my guard! She is my property, and if I die so does she! Everyone knows that without me Leau is a loose canon and they would put her down! Leau and I keep each other alive, but what do you do for me Kiser?”

Finally finished Anastasia was left breathing hard and heavy, her hand dropping away from Kiser's throat. “All you do is go shirtless every chance you get and talk about your bedroom.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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Aha! Rorgen smiled as if to say, when Kiser let go of his hand, but victory felt empty and it was hard to feel real joy when there was news of comrades that lay dead. Still, he did not want to disappoint and kept the upward curve on his face -no matter how false it may have looked. His stare slowly lowered to his out-of-shape hand that came to rest on the steering wheel.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle was quiet, almost unusually so even with Leau divulging what she knew, or perhaps Anastasia did not notice this when she reached out and grabbed Kiser's neck.

And maybe it was the loud noise, the uncomfortable amount of people growing around him or the simple fact that the woman had her hands wrapped around Kiser's neck that prompted him to say. "Cut him some slack. He's just seen our friends die and Kiser would never betray you." Especially you, Anastasia.


The man seemed to be holding alot more words back. If it were anyone else wrapping their scrawny fingers around Kiser's neck, he would have done alot more to them too.


Then shortly after, he stopped short for a moment to reaffirm himself, that's right Duty came first. He closed his eyes for a short moment and gripped the vehicle tight, hoping they would realize on their own that they were in Right in the middle of what must have looked like a crime scene to the outside world. More than that, he focused his mind about taking revenge on this scythe-wielding bastard he heard so much about.

"C'mon," He mentioned back in his usual light-hearted tone, trying to ease the mood, "-I can't wait to start a 'killin already." turning the keys to restart the engine. "We can talk more on the way, alrite?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Rorgen Avulstein
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#, as written by Kuroe
Leau grimaced as another bone snapped itself into place.

"Ma'am, if I may..." She leaned back against the car again. The pain was fading faster now, and just in time. She loathed the human's vehicles as it was, and she didn't need to get in one with any fractures. She was actually quite surprised that she hadn't punctured her lungs. Coughing up blood was never pleasant. "Kiser... Is not at fault." She gritted her teeth. It shouldn't have been so hard to say those words. She knew that she disliked the man, but she thought she could care less about his situation. Apparently not.

"He told you what he knows, though he obviously omitted a few details. What weapon a Faery uses does not matter to you. Or am I incorrect?" She looked at Anastasia with her usual dead eyes. "In any case, I do know of the Fey. He goes by the name of Capricorn... He's the King's second in command."

Anastasia looked down at Leau, her eyes still held a piercing look about them.

"It is not the weapon that matters to me Leau." She scowled. "It is the fact Kiser was talking to someone about IPAF matters before talking to me. I am the one he is supposed to report to."

Leau met her gaze with flat, glasslike eyes. "To be honest, I'm sure that the entire city knows when the IPAF fails. It's not exactly pretty. And don't kill Kiser, if you may... We... you will probably need him." She shook her head and cracked her neck. Her shoulders and back muscles still ached, but the worst of the pain in her ribs was gone. "I actually have a request. If Capricorn is fighting... it is not my place to make these demands, but we must have more troops, the... Faery artifacts, you humans call them? We need more. And..." She stepped around Anastasia and into the car, looking at the Faery sleeping inside of it, his eyes fluttering beneath their lids as if he was in a dream. "This is the one thing not up for debate, ma'am. We're going to have to keep him. I will take the blame should your superiors find out."

Anastasia stared at Leau in disbelief. "Kill Kiser?"

Anastasia turned away and cleared her throat. "I would not kill a member of my team, Leau. If I did not think I needed him, he would not be here. As for the Artifacts, all I can do is ask, but as to the Fey..." Anastasia glanced towards the back seat. "That I can surely say our superiors will say no to."

Leau's gaze sharpened. "Which is why I cannot tell them. I know of the risks. And I am willing to take them. This is a matter of life and death. The Fey lying here? I feel no kinship with him. I loathe his very being. But I am willing to side with him if it means I will become closer to our goal." she sat in her seat, her young features painting a picture not of a fearless warrior siding with an enemy, but of the stubbornnes of a small human child.

Anastasia grabbed Leau's arm, the one she had shot when the two had first met. "I know you feel no kinship to that Fey, nor anyone for that matter. The risk you are making by keeping him from the IPAF is your life, and will end up being mine as well. What is so important about this Fey Leau? What is it about this Fey that makes you risk everything?"

Anastasia paused, choosing her words carefully. "Lastly, which goal will you become closer to Leau? Ours? Or the Fey's?"

Leau's anger flashed across her face, but she fought it back and merely glared silently at Anastasia for a moment. "Whose goal...? I live for no other goal but my own. And yours happens to be on the same path. This Fey has magic. Magic that your superiors have yet to be able to use. I doubt we would live through any sort of contact with Capricorn or my former master without Fey magic." she grimaced. "Magic which I, of course, have very little of."

Anastasia released Leau's arm, taking a few steps back and looked over the small Fey. "Former master? This is the first I am hearing of this..." She glanced over at Kiser, then a glance at Rorgen, before continuing. "Leau, I think you, Kiser and myself will be having a long discussion in my office... But first, if what you say is true..."

Anastasia withdrew in to her thoughts. There was no chance of them hiding a Fey from their superiors, and she could not see Kiser or Rorgen agreeing to such a order, even from her. Torn between her duty and loyalty to the IPAF and to finding out what the IPAF was not telling her... No, this was one request from Leau that Anastasia couldn't agree to, one slip and all the members associated with her would be at risk.

"Leau... I'm sorry. But you are asking me to risk not only your life and mine, but Kiser's and everyone else associated with us. We can not hide this Fey from the IPAF, the risk is far to great."

Leau said nothing, crossing her arms and sitting back in the seat, looking sharply at Rorgen and Kiser before shaking her head and turning her gaze away. "Understood, Ma'am." She mumbled softly.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Raena Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Azriel De'mourn Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias
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#, as written by Layla
Image

"What do you do for me Kiser?”

Well, well. Kiser would admit, Anastasia's fit was rather... Unexpected. Yet, strangely arousing. Leaning back against the car seat, Kiser propped his legs on the dashboard, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb and then pressing them against Anastasia's mouth. "Sorry about my disobedience and all that jazz. It's not like I'm a wild lion or anything," he said, pressing his lips together and failing in his attempt to not grin. "In my defence, I do a lot for you. Satisfying all your sexy needs 24/7," he said with a bark of laughter. God, Ana was fun to mess with.

"Cut him some slack. He's just seen our friends die and Kiser would never betray you," the Werewolf beside him said. Huh, Kiser thought. Coming to my defence? He didn't realise their brotherly bond extended so far; it was cute. "C'mon, I can't wait to start a 'killin already. We can talk more on the way, alrite?"

"God, more killing?" Kiser cracked his knuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "You'd think I'd seen enough death to last an hour." The Werelion lifted his arm, looking at the black and iron laid watch encircling his wrist. "Hour's up. Let's start killin'," he said, beaming at Rorgen. He loved the guy when he wasn't being a moral killjoy.

He stared at the roof of the car as Leau and Anastasia continued to talk and bicker, his long limbs combined with Rorgen's filling much of the vehicle. A certain line stood in contrast. "He goes by the name of Capricorn... He's the King's second in command."

"Wait, king? What king?" Kiser asked, sitting upright and staring intently at Leau. "Great, the Faeries have a monarchy now?"

"Leau... I'm sorry. But you are asking me to risk not only your life and mine, but Kiser's and everyone else associated with us. We can not hide this Fey from the IPAF, the risk is far to great." Hide things from the IPAF? Kiser frowned, wondering what Ana hid for surely, she hid things from them. Say something, Leau.

"Understood, Ma'am." That was it? 'Understood, ma'am?'

"We bett-" he began.

"The mail has been delivered," a familiar voice vibrated from his earpiece.

"Dunkelzahn," he called Zahn by her full name. "You're not dead," he mused. He had to admit, he was impressed. Zahn was difficult and her life could easily be named 'Taming of the Shrew,' okay, minus the taming, but she did her job well. "Great. We won't have lesbian body parts to clean up," he joked. He sucked at jokes. Kiser tapped his earpiece, adding Alistair and Jenson to the call. "Meet us in the IPAF headquarters. Ana's big bad office." Kiser slapped Rorgen's steering wheel, throwing Leau and Anastasia a look. "We're not exactly in the best place to talk."

A hooded figure stood in the shadows, his presence invisible to all.

Minutes later, the group of IPAF operatives stood behind Hotel Pennsylvania. The building loomed overhead, its old structure abnormal in the midst of contemporary, newer buildings; it was one of the few structures that remained untouched after the Technological Revolution of 1914. Kiser felt the bricks of the wall, running his coarse fingers along the bumpy surface. "There," he whispered to himself. He tapped on a brick thrice, the slightly paler, newer colour of it imperceptible unless one knew what to look for.

There was a stillness, followed by a soft ticking as if within the brick was an atomic bomb. The brick shifted backwards with a groan, leaving a scanner in its place. Kiser grinned, pressing his palm to the sleek glass just as two lasers beamed into his forest green eyes. "Authentication successful. Welcome, Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood," a computerised voice said. The scanner turned green before disappearing, the brick that was there taking its place. Kiser grinned at his comrades - he'd never get over IPAF's technology - as a section of the wall in the shape of a door moved backwards into the darkness, revealing an elevator with iron gates in its place. Kiser stepped in.

"Come on, we don't have all day," he said to the IPAF agents.

28.43 seconds was how long it took for the elevator to arrive at the IPAF headquarters deep underground. Agents bustled about, a few robots scattered about, running errands and processing information human, Were and Vampire minds could not. The iron furnishings and structures drenched the headquarters in a metallic scent. Men and women slapped both sides of their chests and then their foreheads in greeting as Anastasia passed them by. It was the worst salute in all of Earth's history, but it appeared IPAF's creator had run out of imagination. Kiser chuckled at the greeting, returning it with a mock salute.

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ImageSoft hands grasped her shoulders, a hand caressed her hair, easing the pressure of the ceiling as it pressed down on her mind, tampering her light. She was no longer running and now, instead, the crumpled to the ground, her fingers tangling themselves with the leaves - the pillow. "My name is Praxis Lethe, and you are Raena," the mesmerising creature said. The dream shifted, the beasts evaporating into the depths of her mind, leaving a throne room in its place. A domed roof that seemed to be as high as the clouds was only overshadowed by a throne of glass, crystal and light. Silver sunlight streamed in from the opaque walls, scattering the light and creating a kaleidoscope of colours as it was fractured by the multi-faceted crystals that made the Throne of the High Queen.

"I am here to help you see again."

The strands that made Order's tattered dress began to unwind, replaced by a dress with cloth made of sapphire and amethyst liquid. Her eyes sieved through an endless stream of colours - some of Earth and others of the Faerie Realms - at the speed of light. Her white hair bled into silver as it grew, lengthening till it touched the floors made of crystal and clouds.

"I am your puppet, and you are a hypnotist, the master of all that is just. You only have to breathe in what you had forgotten." A blue shadow began to form before the throne, struggling to seep through her subconscious. Remember.


Raena awoke with a start, nearly smacking her head against Azriel's. She breathed heavily, her eyes darting around the room in search of... Something. She looked at Azriel, her eyes wide as she edged closer to him, pressing one palm to her chest and the other to his. "I dreamed," she whispered. "It was important." But she could not, for the life of her, remember it with any semblance of clarity. All she knew was- "I am Raena. You may refer to me as such, although 'My Queen' is preferred."

The world's creator crawled over Azriel to lean against his back between his legs, oblivious to her change of clothing and the lack of distance between her and the stranger. The Fey were not built to be uncomfortable with closeness and touch. "You will comb my hair," she demanded. Her eyes searched his room; she jumped off his bed without warning, racing towards the end of a blue shirt that was wedged between his closet doors. Raena threw the door open, snatching the shirt off its hanger and pressing it to her chest. Her long, ivory legs was clearly visible through Azriel's shirt as she jumped and ran on the spot. Praxis.

"We must find him," she said frantically, running towards the window and throwing open the curtains. The light stretched towards her, seeping into her skin as if it begging for her loving touch. Raena threw open the window, swing a slim leg over the frame as if to climb out. "We must go."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Justin Maysharp Character Portrait: Alistair D. James Character Portrait: Elena J. D'Angelo
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Elena J. D'Angelo


Elena wasn't paying attention to the couple she'd knocked into - she was focusing instead on her scattered belongings, which was why she jumped violently when the boy bent down to help her. "Sorry, I should have been watching where I was going." Instantly, Elena was remorseful for not apologising to him. "No, it was my fault, I'm sorry," she tried to tell him, but by then he was already picking up her things, his long fingers curling around her notebook in which she scribbled her ideas and placing it inside her bag.

"Oh my god! You're soaked! Here, you've gotta keep warm!" Elena looked up, alarmed. She was about to reject his help, but before she could do so, something warm was draped around her shoulders. Her eyes raked over the boy, taking in his appearance. Tall and handsome, his cheeky smile definitely helped rope in the girls, Elena thought. In an instant, Elena also saw what he'd put over her - his shirt.

In this weather, Elena was sure he shouldn't be bare-chested, even if she was soaking. But it felt so good - warmth from the cold was definitely welcome, and the shirt was nice and warm. "Alright, we have to get you into some dry clothes or you'll freeze! My house is just a few blocks away. You can use my clothes until you're feeling better."

"Wait, what? Hold on a minute - " Before she knew it, Elena's bag was swung on the boy's shoulder, and he had scooped her up into his arms. Gasping, she tried to push him away, but he was holding on tight to her - there was no escape. Elena was, to say the least, shocked - this boy was nicer than she'd given him credit for.

Swaying dangerously above the ground, Elena reached out and grasped his shoulders tightly. The gesture was involuntary, of course - moving at such a speed, suspended above the ground, held up by only the boy's sinewy arms - Elena was terrified. Add to that the shock at the boy's gesture and she probably could have been knocked over by a feather.

Despite the shirt draped around her shoulders, Elena was still freezing. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering. Reaching back, she pulled the shirt closer around her, cherishing its warmth, even if it was only around her shoulders. Her breaths ragged, mist erupted from her lips every time she exhaled. She tried to control her breathing, stop herself from fading out. Hypothermia was dangerous, she knew. What would Alistair say if he found out what had happened?

Finally, the boy reached what Elena could only presume was his house. He pushed open the door and set Elena down. Still shivering, Elena rubbed her frozen hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself. Finally, her teeth stopped chattering enough for her to speak.

"Thank you."



Alistair D. James


Alistair had been lounging in the study reading a book, when Kiser's voice came through the earpiece. "Meet us in the IPAF headquarters. Ana's big bad office." "Roger that," Alistair replied easily. He sprang out of his chair, surprisingly lithe. As he was already dressed in his trademark blue suit, there was no time wasted on preparation.

After leaving a note for Elena on the dining table, Alistair raced downstairs and hopped into his black Ford Focus and drove straight to the entrance of the headquarters, pausing only to allow the scanner to scan his palm and eyes.

Moments later, he strode into Anastasia's office where the rest of the crew were. "What's happened?" he offered by way of greeting.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dunkelzahn Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Alistair D. James Character Portrait: Elena J. D'Angelo
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#, as written by Lenyx
Anastasia pushed open the door to her office, not bothering to check if everyone else was still with her. She assumed they would know better, and most of them wanted answers, not just with what she knows, but what she knew.

Anastasia's office was large, yet there was barely anything in the room. A cherry desk that seemed almost superfluous, since there is little to no paperwork to be seen, sat centered near the back of the room, with a black leather desk chair behind it. In front of the desk were two angled black leather love seats, facing towards the desk. In the room there were two small table lamps – one near the door atop a circular end table, and another on the cherry wood desk with a long brass pull-cord. The faint illumination of an overhead light cast shadows into the corners of the room, spilling under the desk and over top the few framed black-and-white photos on the wall. A lone filing cabinet occupied one of the the corners of the room, Anastasia always kept it locked, as she was the only one with a key. The deep blue curtains were drawn to one side, allowing light to filter in from outside the window. The room truly reflected Anastasia's personality and life style. Cold. Hard. Sophisticated. It is here she was always felt to be in complete control.

Taking her usual seat in her chair behind the table, Anastasia folded her hands together, resting them on the desk, and leaned back in her chair, just as Alistair came in.

"What's happened?"

“That, is why I am gathering you all here. To tell you all what I know, and every one of you is going to tell me what you know.” Anastasia looked around those in her room, noting Jenson and Dunkelzahn were the only ones missing. Anastasia was never one to wait on or for other people, so she continued. “Most of you may not know this, but I am not highly trusted here in the IPAF. Our superiors are quite a bit older than me, and most of them have known each other for years. I am expected to work and do as I am told, and while I am one to follow orders, I am not however one to be played as a fool. There is more to the IPAF then what they let on, but I am not sure what it is exactly our superiors are hiding. For the past month I have been doing some digging and have come up with little, that is where Leau comes in. For anything I do find, I turn to her for information.”

Anastasia coldly stared at Leau. “But it seems I need to ask some more specific and very intrusive questions in to her life as a Fey.” Turning to look over the others in the room and leaning forward, she added, “However, I'd like to leave questioning Leau for a later time. Right now, what I want is for you all to tell me what you know of in regards to both Fae and the IPAF and anything that you have not told me or are hiding from me. But if what you know is only what you have been told, then sit down and shut up. Then we will discuss what is going on, and what we are going to do about it.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Orpheus Character Portrait: Raena Character Portrait: Praxis Lethe Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Azriel De'mourn
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#, as written by Layla
Image

"Calm yourself, Raena," the man reasoned, his firm grip around her. Raena stuck out her lower lip and puffed out her cheeks, frowning unhappily as he continued to lecture her on her lack of orderly conduct. Somewhere along the second line, she'd pressed her palms to her ears and proceeded to shut her eyes and hum and lalalala. Gosh, he was no fun! Why did they have to take all these silly steps to do one simple task? She didn't understand and didn't want to. All she knew was - "I want my blue bunny!" she whined, crossing her arms over her chest and gruffly allowing Azriel to lift her down onto the ground, remaining perfectly still and begrudgingly unwilling as he did.

A few long moments passed before she stretched out her arms, reaching towards the Vampire as she tilted her head upwards as a spoiled and angry princess would. "You will carry me!" Raena wrapped her willowy arms around the man's neck, letting him tuck one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. "You are not amusing," she huffed as the kitchen came into view and she was set on her feet. "This is a ghastly room," she complained, roving the walls and its attached equipment with her eyes. She'd never been in a kitchen in all of her eternal life.

Raena circled the counter in the centre, arms crossed as she observed the rare mechanisms that decorated the shelves and tables that were... Attached to the wall? Raena looked at the gold-eyed creature over her shoulder, clasping her hands behind her back. His shirt hung loose over her slim frame, slipping over one shoulder to reveal soft ivory skin. "You are a Witch, of sorts? Is this your.... Cauldron?" she mused, running a finger along the rim of a cooking pot. "What is your name, CPR?" she asked, calling him by one of the first words she'd heard him speak.

She walked on the tips of her toes, looking as if she barely touched the ground. Raena stood before the refrigerator, examining the miniature 'door' closely. "Open," she commanded it. It remained closed. "Open," she repeated with a hint of frustration and puzzlement. Annoyed, she gripped the handle and pulled it hard towards her. A gust of cold wind tore at her skin as she yelped, jumping backwards onto the counter and crawling further back. "What sorcery is this?!" she exclaimed, gawking at the blobs within. After a few moments, she narrowed her eyes, inching closer to the refrigerator, lying in a frog-like position on the counter. The blobs were... "Food." Raena parted her lips in shock. "Your foods do not fly or glow! Are they unwell?"

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Anastasia was amusing. As in, genuinely and absolutely amusing in an almost hilarious sort of way. "God, you're cute," he said under his breath, giving her a dashing smile. "Well, I know nothing that you don't tell me so see you tonight," he teased. "Ciao, guys." Kiser pressed two fingers to his forehead and jerked them outwards in a salute. Without a minute's pause in case someone tried to stop him, Kiser walked out, slapping Alistair on the back as he left.

When he was far enough from the group, he dropped the smirk, his face a mask of boredom and the lack of expression. God, keeping up the act was getting tiring. He had better things to do than hang around with NYC's IPAF operatives. He could've spent the time eating steaks and god, he didn't know, painting his nails. He walked down a maze of corridors to the containment facilities. He pressed his card to a scanner on a wall, there looked to be no doors but oh, there was. "Voice confirmation, please," an electronic voice spoke.

"I'm a sexy beast," Kiser said, chuckling at his own joke.

"Authentication verified. Welcome, Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood. Rank-"

"Yeah, yeah, that's enough. Let me in," he said, just as the wall slid open to reveal a hidden door. Kiser looked down both ends of the hallway before stepping in, the door behind him sliding shut. The hallway before him was brightly lit, both sides made entirely of glass. Kiser walked down the hall, paying the Fey that were within the rooms no head. Each Faerie was strapped in iron to what looked like an operating table, a dome of special glass covering their bodies. With their eerie beauty and frozen shut eyelids, it looked like some creepy adaption of Snow White. Their containers were filled with a transparent, thick liquid that would keep them unconscious and immobile but alive. It also healed all Fey wounds, something he supposed was a good thing.

This was the place he'd brought the Fey Rorgen and Leau had captured. "Room 600," he whispered to himself, standing before a glass door and observing the unconscious, blue skinned Fey within. A sensor picked up on Kiser's presence and a square of light appeared in the centre of the glass door. There was no sound as Kiser pressed his palm into the square of light and as the glass panel slid open without so much as disrupting the air around it. Kiser stepped into the room, the glass door closing behind him as all IPAF doors did to prevent unwanted infiltration of their facilities. Kiser strolled towards the glass case encompassing the blue Fey, tapping the password on a panel attached to its 'coffin'.

Psssssssh.

The glass dome slid open, sinking into the operating table as the liquid did, leaving the Fey exposed to the frigid air of the room. Needles were attached to its body, pumping Fey-tested sedatives into its veins, flooding its dichromatic blood. "Wakey, wakey, artichoke," Kiser whispered in the Fey's ear, blowing a gust of warm air into blue-boy's ear. "Howdy, mate. The name's Kiser and yours is...?" he began, pulling away from the Fey and pacing around the table it was strapped to. "Tell me all about this lovely monarchy of yours and that scythe wielding Capricorn, won't you? If you don't," Kiser paused. "I don't think you Fey are immune to electroshock, are you?" Kiser grinned. "Don't think all your other Fey friends were. And if that isn't enough, I've always wanted to try iron darts and Fey dartboards."

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"Ah, push it! Push it good. Ah, push it! P-push it real good. Hey! Ow! Push it good!" Salt n' Pepper sang from the speakers of his iPhone 10. Bloody hell. Orpheus moaned, burying himself deeper into the mattress and the soft bodies of the two women whose names he could not remember and whose names he never would. Identities didn't matter, as far as he was concerned. All he cared about was the presence of appropriate body parts. Or not. He was always up for an unusual adventure.

Orpheus reached over the naked skin of a redheaded woman - an air hostess, if he'd remembered correctly - to fumble for his glowing iPhone. The room was incredibly dark which meant only one thing - either it was 3 freaking AM or the curtains had been drawn closed. Okay, that was two.

"Orpheus speaking, not speaking. Go away," he mumbled, pressing the phone to his ear. Every fraction of movement felt like another tear in his head, like someone was bowling with his brain. He didn't think he'd drunk that much last night, but then again, when did he not? He'd spent the past six months on Earth drunk and participating in questionable activities.

"We've found- " the raspy voice of a man who'd smoked one hundred too many cigarettes attempted to announce.

"Found what? Your manhood? Please, tell me more, tell me more. Does it have a car?" he sang mockingly as he crawled over the sprawled bodies.

"We've found Raena."

Orpheus stilled. "You are certain of this?" he asked, searching for his clothes amongst the scattered pieces of lingerie. There.

"Well, not really... But it looked like the woman you'd asked us to search for: white hair, freaky eyes, beyond beautiful. I saw her with my own eyes." Well, that wasn't very comforting. The man was ancient, like, practically 25.

"Where?" he asked, anyway. Orpheus pulled on his pants, hopping about as he held his phone between his head and his muscular shoulder.

"Upper New York Bay," came the reply. Orpheus tripped and fell onto the ground with a loud thump. "Uh, you okay, sir?" the voice asked on the other end. Orpheus groaned in reply, picking up his phone - which was surprisingly still in one piece - and rubbing his sore neck. Never, ever multitask with a hangover and a male body part. Bad, bad idea. Orpheus disconnected his phone, tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans as he stood, wobbling slightly. He found his black shirt discarded on a lamp and pulled it on, doing up the buttons. He doubted this was who he wished it to be; if she were alive, it would not be Winter. He knew, most certainly, that she would never let the world fall into such disarray if she were still... No, he didn't wish to think of it. He merely hoped to enjoy the last few months of his life before the world came to an end.

Minutes later, he found himself by the Upper New York Bay, scanning the crowds with little hope until he spotted a blur of... "Well, well, isn't this a surprise?" he mused, walking towards Yuki with a practiced smile. Orpheus bowed, taking the Winter Fey's hand in his and kissing the back of her palm. He raised his head, giving her a brief wink as he straightened himself. "Yuki, Yuki, quite contrary. How does your garden grow?" he teased, placing a hand on her lower back and edging her forward. "Walk with me," he said.

Orpheus was once a part of the Unseelie court, when the Queen had asked that he look after the 'disappointing Aerunia.' He'd spent many a millennium with the Unseelies and had grown rather fond of the beautiful Yuki, although, he was fond of everyone. As in, he liked to feel their skin against his and nothing more. He'd not spoken to another Fey in six months and now he acted as if he'd never disappeared. It appeared luck was with him today as not too far away was another familiar companion. "Tiggy." Orpheus beamed. Taking his hand from the curve of Yuki's spine, he took Tiggy's hand in his, kissing hers as he had Yuki's. "Ma fille la plus belle d'été," he said in his honeyed voice. My loveliest summer girl. He straightened himself, loosening his top button and running a hand through his flawless, strawberry blonde hair. He had two beautiful women of both Winter and Summer, oh, this would be fun.

"Now, where is our Queen?" he asked casually, throwing a nearby man who'd been staring at him a wink. Well, everyone was staring at him, or maybe them, seeing as they all looked to be heart-breakingly beautiful. But mostly him. Orpheus had been a 'favourite' of the Queen's when they'd been in the Faerie Realms. There were rumours of him sharing the Queen's bed, rumours he'd never bothered to deny. He had also been known as the 'Oracle of Darkness' or 'Orpheus the Calziel' as he'd been rumoured to be capable to conversing with the dead. Rumours, he also, had not denied.

Orpheus narrowed his eyes at the persimmon streaked sky; it must've been at least 5 in the evening now. "Guess the curtains were closed," he whispered to himself.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dunkelzahn Character Portrait: Leau Character Portrait: Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood Character Portrait: Anastasia Varias Character Portrait: Alistair D. James Character Portrait: Jenson Xion
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Azriel



Azriel watched as the would be princess is thwarted by a fridge and chuckles lightly, taking it as a minor pay back for ordering him around. He was walking back toward the bedroom when she asked him his name so his voice was emitted from the room only to be followed shortly by him carrying a professionally made beautiful dress from across the street tailored to the girl's size. "My name is Azriel." His tone was short and to the point as if his name didn't matter in the least "Here, put this on while I make you some food, it is sure to be warmer than what you have on. I am no witch but I believe I may be able to create a little culinary magic if you'd wish." He chuckles lightly at his poorly made joke before setting the dress out for her and moving to the kitchen to begin cooking. As he had planned before he would make French toast and eggs with sausage and bacon. "Well assuming we do not find where you belong soon, you may stay here and decorate that room as you wish until you find yourself." He motioned idly toward the living room, not really caring about its appearance so much as its functionality.

It wouldn't take him long to make the simple yet delicious meal but while he was cooking he decided conversing would be best. "So tell me about this person you wish to find, he seems very important to you." His words where specifically placed to draw out the information he would need to find the man and get the girl talking at the same time. She had been thrust into a world of chaos and it would be healthy for her to reflect on something familiar. Though vague, it was still an anchor for her to hold onto. He seemed to flow about the kitchen with such grace it looked as if he was dancing half the time. He worked around her in such a way that she would never have to move to accommodate him no matter where she was standing in the kitchen. He seemed oddly more relaxed than his usual intense self while cooking. He would spin and slide around the kitchen as if it was his dance floor. On the edge of the table was a closed laptop which he would later use to begin searching for the man they quested for, for now however his focus was on making sure the girl was healthy enough to search. After a while music began to play from a surround sound system in the kitchen, the genre was unclear as it seemed every song fit into a different one. Between spins he motions to a small controller with three buttons on it that sat next to the laptop Back, Pause and Forward. "Press the button on the right if you don't like the song." (I'll let you decide what music she chooses to play) He smiled gently at the girl judging from what he had seen so far that she wouldn't know how to operate it without some minor instruction.



Jenson


(OOC: Jenson's post comes after Flickery's. We ninja'ed each other.)

Jenson had gotten the call to meet at the office like everyone else, unlike everyone else however he was no where near the base. Jenson had just recently finished his final 'Field Test' that would allow him to leave the lab and start actually doing work. With all the modifications and program glitches they had to work through just to get everything working right, Jenson was now a walking wonder. They now had him in the back of a Van moving toward the main base to start his service under one Anastasia Varias. The voice on the com must have been her second? That was a guess though, still he couldn't help but feel like he knew the voice. While he waited images flew up in front of him much like a computer in his brain. The images where invisible to anyone else because they where literally in his head, to him they appeared transparent so he could still see everything going on around him. He was going through the personnel files for the team he was supposed to be working for in the near future. Suddenly after fifteen minutes of bored flipping through random grunts in their unit he gets toward the higher ups. Without warning he jumped up in his seat and yelled "YETI!" The word startled his driver who swerved a little but managed to regain his control over the vehicle easily enough "What the hell is going on back there!" The driver called back frustrated "Its the Yeti! When the fuck did he leave the military!?" He reached up and tapped the device on his temple quickly before he yelled out over the open com link "YETI old boy you dressed?!" He chuckled heavily as he called out to his old military buddy Kiser.

Years ago they had been in deep jungle and Kiser had gone out to take a piss in the middle of the night without telling their watchmen. Kiser of course had decided there was no problem in going out stark naked with his gun since there was no one for miles. In the middle of the night their very green watchmen had caught a glimpse of him and remembering some fake horror story they told newbies about Yeti's being in the woods they where in, freaked out and started yelling about how there was a Yeti in the woods trying to get at them. That is until the spotlight was slammed on and turned on the rather startled Commander, since then he has never lived down the nickname from that unit. Kiser being the relaxed Commander he was never punished people for harmless fun so the name stuck. When no higher ups where around they started calling him Commander Big Foot.

Finally the van pulled up to the building and dropped him and another plain looking man off. They walk up to the wall casually and go through the sequence to get the door open, however when it came to the retina scan the thing errors out and Jenson starts cussing profusely about some dumb ass not writing in a back up access system. "My eyes are as good as paper to this damned thing." The other man stepped up and opened the door before they got into the elevator and took the 28.43 second ride down to the base. By the time they reached the bottom Jenson's head was bobbing to music no one else could hear. The other man departed from Jenson's company likely to go report to whatever department he belonged to. Jenson walked quickly through the hallways, his overlay highlighted people as he walked and popped up their names above their heads with a link to access their personnel records, at least whatever his pay grade would let him see. He slide through the door to Anastasia's office casually. The first thing he saw was the sparse walls and no nonsense attitude, his previous military experience telling him to look at those thing first to know how to act. He decided to go into military mode since she seemed the type. He steps out and then goes ridged with a military stance "Jenson Xion reporting for.... Fae!" in a flash a pistol appeared in his hand and beaded perfectly at Leau between the eyes, she would have been able to see into his barrel if she weren't standing across the room and behind Anastasia. He paused a moment however as his targeting system highlighted her green "Da fuck?.... Leau huh?..." the gun dropped back to his side as he started reading off his monitor, decidedly slaughtering the pronunciation of her name on accident " "Considered friendly"? haha they are real specific about you aren't they! No offence, just didn't know we had any friendly butterflies." He chuckled merrily as he slide the gun back into a leg holster that seems to blend in with his cloths almost perfectly, keeping the gun right at his hand height when his arm is relaxed. He then seems to remember where he was and popped back into a sloppily ridged position before saying "Oh uh right.. Reporting for duty.... I dunno, do we call you ma'am or sir? They liked sir in the military, but I dunno you might like Ma'am." He seemed to have lost his serious position, returning to a completely none formal stance as he went on a tangent, completely forgetting there where other people in the room. Under his left arm was a helmet that look odd to say the least. It had some sort of strip going all around it horizontally and looked like it would cover a person's entire head a lot like a bikers helmet would but without the clear visor. The thing would encase a person's head in protection but effectively make them blind. What strategic use it would be was completely unclear, but then in this room no one had noticed his eyes yet.