Description

Layer One
Nickname:
None
"You can call me anything that isn't mean."

Gang:
Poison
"Gangs are a stupid idea."

Gender:
Male
"Um. Haha. Yeah! Obviously."

Age:
16
"It would be nicer to be older."

Layer Two
Eye Color:
Forest green
"That's boring, right?"

Hair Style/Color:
Choppy, short, and straight; blond
"My hair isn't anything cool."

Height/Weight:
5'6"; 125lbs
"Too short and too tiny.."

Clothing Style:
He favors something that could probably be considered "hipster," but it's really just that he has no sense of style. His "style" consists of whatever's around, which even means wearing two different colored socks or plaid with stripes. Sometimes it's simple, but usually not. Fashionistas cringe at the very sight of him. You'd think he was colorblind instead of just...well, you'll learn that part later. Baggy, loose-fitting, or over-sized clothes aren't uncommon either, but it really just depends on what's clean enough within the nearest vicinity.
"I think this looks okay! Clothes aren't a big deal."

Best Physical Feature:
It's probably his fair skin.
"I don't, um, let's not talk about my looks."

Layer Three
Fears:
=Being useless.
=His closest friends dying.
=Spiders.
=Being alone for long periods of times.
"Being scared is okay, so don't worry."

Guilty Pleasure:
Sleeping in. He might seem like an active guy, but there's nothing he really loves more than getting just a few more minutes of sleep. Sleeping one of his favorite things ever. It's the best way to block out the world and forget about your problems. It's a plus if he gets a good dream, but he honestly doesn't even mind having nightmares. Anything that isn't reality is good enough for him and sleep is the quickest way to it.
"Sleep sounds greeeeat right now."

Biggest Pet Peeve:
People who are too stupid to realize that they're wrong. It's good to have opinions, and he respects that you have them, but he absolutely believes that it's possible to be wrong in your opinion. It's one thing to have an opinion and another thing to just be a jerk.
"It. just. irks. me. sometimes."

Future Ambitions:
Trevor always wanted to be someone who helped people, but he never really had anything in mind. For the most part, he was just going through school and hoping to figure it out before graduation.
"I guess I never had much going for me anyway."

Layer Four
Thoughts When Waking Up:
Trevor wasn't concerned when he first noticed his parents weren't around. They often left for work without telling him, so he didn't care to wonder. It wasn't until he stepped outside and realized there was a car crash right at the end of his street with no adults around trying to figure out what happened that he noticed something was wrong. At first, he thought it might not be so bad to have things like this, then people started dying and his mind changed instantly.
"We're just kids and we need to remember that."

What You Think About the Most:
He thinks a lot about Bianca, his best friend, and he thinks a lot about ways on trying to fix whatever the heck even happened.
"I miss her."

Best Quality:
He thinks his best quality is his ability to be friendly towards others.
"Do I have a good quality?"

Layer Five
Likes:
+Sleeping
+Laughing
+Making people happy
+Seeing others happy
+Being a good person
+Getting things done
+Music
+Sunshine
+Good people

Dislikes:
-Jerks
-Bullies
-Overly lazy people
-Bad self-esteem
-Blood
-Fighting
-Arguing
-Spiders
-Being unable to help

Personality:
It's rare to catch Trevor without a smile on his face. He always seems to be in this big, bright, upbeat sort of mood. Even in the worst of situations he would be the guy to tell everyone to keep their spirits up and that when things get worse, they can only get better. He has the type of smile that could brighten a room even without having to say a single word--which he doesn't, because he can't. Trevor is mute. That doesn't keep him from voicing his opinions, though. If he has something to say on a matter, he'll go out there and say it. Just because people can't hear his voice doesn't mean they can't read his thoughts. He'll write everything out nice and clear on his notebook paper and, if you still don't understand, he'll sit there for hours simplifying it or explaining himself to you. He has way too much patience for a person his age. He'd be the guy who wouldn't mind at all waiting in line overnight for a game he doesn't even want just so his friend has company and someone to "talk" to, so long as he's not busy with something else--and, honestly, even if he was, as long as it didn't concern an obligation to someone else, then he'd probably go ahead with it anyway.

Trevor is a nice guy with good morals, but there is such a thing as being too nice, he thinks. He cares for others and he has no issues with giving others a second or even a third chance to redeem themselves if they seem honestly sorry for whatever they did, but he's not a complete idiot. He understands when someone's being rude or when someone's screwing with him. Then again, just because he gets it doesn't always mean he won't let it happen anyway. See, his self-esteem is basically nothing. He might walk around with a big grin on his face willing to give a helping hand to anyone who looks like they may need it, sharing nice comforting words to make people feel better about themselves, but he'd never believe any of that if it was aimed at him. He doesn't believe in himself at all. Trevor thinks he's one of the biggest losers to walk the planet. It's quite possibly one of the reasons that he'd go out of his way to protect someone with his own life--because he truly believe anyone else is more important to him. He wouldn't think twice about standing up to defend a friend or even a stranger, but when it comes to himself, he wouldn't even bother.

This is hard to decipher though. Anyone who knows Trevor--or thinks they know him--would consider him to be this headstrong, confident guy, but he's not. He might act like he knows what he's doing, but on the inside he's always second-guessing himself. If any little thing ever goes wrong, he'll blame himself first even if he has nothing to do with it. He's constantly degrading himself and picking on his every flaw and mistake. Even if he was able to make someone smile again, he'll walk away thinking about all the ways he could of "said" that better. However, along with always wanting to voice his opinion, he's also not afraid to be blunt when he needs to be. He never intentionally picks on someone or brings them down, but if he thinks they're in the wrong, he'll let them know. If he thinks someone's being stupid, he'll tell them exactly that. He respects everyone's opinions and believes everyone is equal and special, but if he doesn't think they're using their time correctly or positively, he'll let them know.

"Everyone is equal. Except for me. Don't ever bother with me."

Power:
Sound waves, ironically. Obviously, Trevor can't use his voice to project his powers, so their source usually comes from his hands. Think of his sound waves like a less powerful version of controlling air. With a simple wave of his arm, he can knock people off their feet. Just because they're called sound wave, it doesn't mean that the person he uses them against will hear anything or that he even has to make any sort of loud noises. The sound waves are more of a...non-tangible physical thing, if that's understandable. The worst the sound waves do when it comes to sound is when they pass someone by (for instance, if he uses them on someone and they're close enough for him to knock them down) the person will feel a sort of beat in their heads, but that's just the soundwaves bouncing against their ear drums. It causes no damage. It probably would if he had a voice to project them better, but that's the best he can really do right now.
"Out of all the powers--... I guess it could be worse."

Layer Six

Favorite Color:
Red, but yellow is a close second.
"It was her favorite, too.."

Favorite Animal:
Rabbits. They're cute and fluffy and totally harmless.
"Who could hate one?"

Favorite Movie Genre:
Action
"I'm not a big movie person."

Layer Seven
Love Interest:
Nobody at the moment
"That's not important right now!"

Sexuality:
Bisexual
"Because who cares, right?"

Favorite Eye Color:
Blue or hazel
"Any's pretty!"

Favorite Hair Color:
Light colors, but redheads are a close favorite
"I don't care, though, honestly."

Layer Eight
Family:
Jordon Art
Trevor's father. Jordon used to be the type who loved going to parties and all that, but after having Trevor, he ended up as typical as any other adult. He got a boring office job and would commute there every morning. He was never happy with his life and dealt with it by shutting down and ignoring his issues, mainly by pretending he didn't have a son (nonetheless a defective one) and spacing his wife out whenever she tried arguing with him.

Sarah Art
Trevor's mother. Sarah is the wild type, a total party girl who isn't afraid to drink all night and puke all morning. She was young when she had Trevor and only even decided to try having a baby because of peer pressure for the most part. After having him and realizing her life of fun was over, and for 'nothing,' she became a simple librarian. She was nice for the most part and loved to laugh, but quick to anger.

"I wish I wasn't born so they could of been happy again."

History:
Trevor was born mute. He can't talk. His parents never really wanted to have a child that badly in the first place, but when Mrs. Art found out she was pregnant, there was no way she wasn't going to keep it. They got happy about it and treated the situation like any other normal to-be parents. They bought toys and set up a whole room for their baby boy, wondering already what he might be like and already planning for his future far ahead of schedule. When Trevor was born, they got worried when he didn't cry out. The doctors took him away to check on him and informed them that their son was a perfectly healthy boy, but that he was born mute and that he would be unable to speak for the rest of his life. There was nothing they could do to fix this.

At first, the new parents accepted their boy for this disability. They accepted that they would never hear what his voice sounded like, and that he would never have his 'first words,' and that they would never hear him say, "I love you mom and dad." They were not happy about this. They didn't understand why they could be two perfectly normal people and have a child without a voice. As Trevor got older, they started spending less and less time with him. They went from proud, accepting parents to bitter, disappointed ones. All the other parents they talked to were always bragging about what their kids did at school and how many friends their kids were making and yet here was their son, the mute, who only got friends when the teacher forced other students to partner up with him.

Because of his parents' pessimism towards him, Trevor lost any self-esteem he might of had. His parents became disinterested. Who cared if he was a straight-A student if he couldn't even talk? What a disappointment. Trevor tried not to let that get to him, though, so he swallowed down his feelings and decided to take a positive approach to life. By highschool, he started making a couple friends. At this point, he knew sign language, but since most people didn't, he carried around a notebook for communicating with. He met a girl who was very interested in learning sign language just to communicate with him better. They got along well and he spent most of his time with her. Her name was Bianca.

When the whole incident happened and all the adults disappeared, he and Bianca stuck together until the gangs started showing up. Bianca wanted to take a stand. She wanted to tell these kids that fighting would not solve their problems and that the only way any of them were ever going to get out of there was if they worked together, not by creating violent gangs for pointless reasons. They needed friendship and organization. Trevor respected her for that. She told him a plan about joining the gangs and trying to convince them, somehow, to come together as one, to influence their leads and get them to stop this stupid gang nonsense and work together. Unfortunately, this plan was cut short when Bianca was killed. Trevor learned about this through indirect resources and was absolutely devastated.

"The violence needs to stop. This is nonsense."

Other:
-Half the time when he laughs, he ends up crying. Not the sad sort of crying, but tears come to his eyes and might stream down his face. He thinks it's annoying and kind of embarrassing and really wishes it didn't happen.

-In case you didn't see it in his History, Trevor is mute, which means he can't speak or laugh. His vocal chords are defective. He knows sign language, but since most people don't understand it, he always carries around a notebook and a pen to communicate with people.
"It doesn't bother me. Really."

Theme Song:
Mumford and Sons - Little Lion Man

So begins...

Trevor Art's Story

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#2012-09-30 03:26:22, as written by Spectrum

Trevor Art

Six months.

Trevor wandered into the makeshift home he'd made for himself inside of a coffee shop. The front of the store wasn't very protected and the glass in the door had been broken for people to get inside and take what they needed when all the mess started happening, but there was a door behind the counter that led to a backroom where two small beds were set out. He'd brought most of his clothes and other clothes he'd found here and usually kept his food stashed in a mini fridge turned on its back under his bed, plugged into the wall. Most people left him alone, but some times he'd hear people wandering around in the main part of the place. He usually put a bookshelf blocking the door from the inside when he was sleeping and when he left, he would always cover the door with another shelf (one that looked like it once held donuts and bagels) so nobody would take his stuff.

Seven days.

It should be cold outside, but Trevor was dressed in a simple short-sleeved tie-dye shirt and a pair of black jeans with a paint-splattered design. It was never cold outside. It wasn't cold or hot or rainy or snowy or humid. It just was. He pushed walked up to the calendar he had hanging on the wall above the bed he'd claimed his own and studied it. He had every day X-ed out in red marker since the beginning of things, using different markers to signify different things. Red was for every day, black was for the sudden sicknesses, yellow was for the start of the powers, and blue was for the start of the gangs. After marking the calendar, he quickly grabbed two apples, closed everything up, and left, covering the door before leaving.

Cloche would have to be around here somewhere.

As he turned a corner, Trevor stopped dead in his tracks. He could see the Mayor's office from here, but only a few people were allowed inside of it. The Poison leader lived there. Speaking of the leader, that's why he stopped. He saw the guy--he couldn't remember the leader's name, honestly--walking inside with a certain violet-haired Grave at his side. Neither seemed to be fighting or arguing or being forced along. Trevor watched them go inside and close the door before deciding to continue walking, this time momentarily forgetting the search for Cloche to head to the Mayor's office. Maybe he could overhear something. It wasn't everyday you saw the gang leaders getting along--or, well, talking at all for that matter. Did that mean there were other Graves in the area? Somehow, that made him nervous. He had no idea what was going on anymore.

With a nervous sigh, he looked around and walked up the steps as carefully as possible, stopping outside the doors and staring in contemplation. They could be right behind that door, but if they were talking about anything serious they were probably going to another room and most likely weren't going to stand in the middle of the main room discussing things. Then again, one of them could hear him open the doors if he went inside. Could he make up a reason? Nah, he'd probably get killed. This would probably be important to hear, though. Ugh. So that's where he stood, stuck a few feet away from the doors staring intently at them and wondering whether or not to go inside.

Setting

Raddation City

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#2012-09-30 05:26:07, as written by Jakuri-chan

Cloche Mathis

The only thing she could hear were her own light footfalls against the pavement below her feet. It was the same as it always was—quiet for the most part, with there being only her footsteps as her only companion when it was she fell to solitude. The silence which permeated the air around her could’ve been considered eerie to anyone not used to it. Normally, there was some level of noise in a city—people chattering away, cars going, or anything. . . . But, there was little more than just the still, hushed air. Everything was the same as it had been for the last months, there was no wind, no rain, no night or true day . . . time had become caught in a standstill, Raddition City ensnared betwixt darkness and true light. What should have been passing days became nothing more than one long increment of time, hours melded into days, and days melded into weeks, and those weeks had changed into months.
The sky remained constant; a grey, murky and eerily placid cover of clouds. . . . Everything was as stagnant as ever, so still and unchanging that it was near maddening.

The silence and the torpid backdrop in which she existed was something she had grown apathetic to, as she had become toward most everything anymore. The world and its happenings were no longer of her concern, they had not been since all of this had spontaneously started. The shock of being alone so suddenly, her parents and brother vanishing as she’d slept, it had closed off her emotions, and she had lost the ability to care for more than her survival. In a way, the circumstances around her had driven her to madness . . . but they had driven her to madness in the sense that she locked everything deep down inside.

Isolation and solitude were things she hadn’t been able to cope with very well . . . the only way she could go on was to lose everything that made her human. And that’s what she had done, she’d adapted to what had become of Raddition City by nearly throwing away her humanity to become little more than a puppet.

She did little now beyond what was expected of her, and in line with what she had become, the adaptations that Cloche underwent led her to forming a strong attachment and dependence upon a single person. The reason was a simple one; she’d taken to the first person who’d shown any semblance of good will to her in the months following the vanishing of her family. One little act was enough.

Perhaps she was grateful to this person for being kind to her in the Hell that living had become, or maybe it was that she was happy to have someone give her a purpose. . . . Why it was that she remained so loyal to a single soul, whatever the reason behind that, it was a logic that no one could really explain. Cloche herself could only give the simple, and honest, answer of, “It is because I am needed.” ‘Needed,’ what it was she meant by that, or what it did mean was rather ambiguous. She had become a girl who answered only to one person, listened to one person and did not at all take heed to what it was others asked of her.

She would only do whatever it was that he asked of her, and she would not do anything that was asked of her by another soul. It was that simple really, even to someone who was technically suppose to be the superior of herself, she did not regard their words.

At the very least now, she had some purpose in this dormant, fractured existence that was now her life. Among the city, and among the groups that people had severed apart into, her blood seemed to be a blessed thing. Though she did not put it to use of her own volition, it was the reason she had any sort of use now, and because it was that he asked her to, the power Cloche had garnered in the last months of her life found reason. Even if it meant she had to harm herself, her blood gave her a reason to be here, it made her of use.

The ‘Sanguinem ex Beata;’ the ‘Blood of the Blessed,’ as it had been named, coursed through her body. The color of mercury, the liquid that seeped from her veins was strange for what it could do, what it did do, the fact that it would heal most any wound exposed to it. . . . It was because of this fact that Cloche’s arms were often covered in bandages and gauze—as they were now. Though, the wrappings and such were not visible to the eye thanks to her manner of dress. A rather ordinary brown shirt covered her upper half as long sleeves hid away her healing arms. And to her legs, Cloche wore simple denim jeans, with the bottoms of a set of brown boots upon her feet.

It was how she dressed every day, nothing was different about it, and in truth, she looked about as ordinary a girl as could be. The only thing which stood out from the norm upon her body were those too green eyes of hers, they were large and innocent, yet they were also vacant, and creepily docile. Though, the docile aspect seemed to rather match everything else about Cloche. Everything too her was just . . . calm, completely calm. The air she carried, her movements, her expressions, even the way she spoke. She showed near no signs of feeling. There were few times in which fright seemed to take over her existence anymore. . . .

Maybe that was why it was that she could walk so carelessly through the city, without showing signs of suspicion or fear. In a word, she seemed fearless, trekking through areas that were marked the territories of other gangs without caring, without doing anything that would show that she even thought about the danger she was putting herself into. If there were a place she wished to go, she simply went, if she was asked, then she would go too. The place didn’t matter, nothing much did, after all.

Just like herself now; whatever time of day it was suppose to be. She’d simply gotten up and left, walking through Raddition City without so much as a thought in her head regarding the potential danger she might be in. There had been no true purpose in her walking, she had just simply done it. That was . . . it, really. Though, it was not as if she had wandered too far away from the place that she might now call her ‘home.’ Perhaps she had only meandered a few blocks away, but she’d been gone long enough for her absence to have been noticed she could imagine. It was time for her to return now; being away for too long wasn’t good. If she were needed, or if there was something which needed to be asked of her, then she was failing in her reasons for being around now. . . .

Cloche remained seemingly stoic as she continued along, almost having returned to where it was she needed to be. Only her footsteps revealed her presence. It was that when she spotted a multicolored blotch out of the corner of her eye though, across the street from herself, that Cloche showed any signs of acknowledging the world around her. Without a word, and without showing any signs of expression on her features, the girl’s head turned, looking across the way. It was the mayor’s office . . . and standing in front of it was whom she was intending on returning to. Without questioning this, she simply changed her direction without much of a pause. Wordlessly, Cloche ascended the cement steps which led to the building, and ceased movement when she reach the side of the tie-dye wearing teenager she’d come to attach herself to.

Her features remaining rather devoid of expression, Cloche looked to him, before speaking in her usual monotonous tone, “Trevor, what is that you are doing?”

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Raddation City

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#2012-10-03 08:51:23, as written by Jakuri-chan

Cloche Mathis

She remained still and silent as ever while it was that Trevor had a rather violently shocked reaction to her voice it seemed. Wrenching his hand from the door as if it had burned him, jumping backward, only to turn with a rather self-protective expression upon his face . . . along with the telltale mark of his surprise, wide eyes. Although she expressed no reaction in seeing him act in such a manner, Cloche was able to discern that she’d managed to throw the poor teenager for a loop; she could only suppose that he had lost himself deep into some focus regarding a situation she had no knowledge of. As it was that he realized it was only her and not someone else with which he needed to be concerned . . . Trevor held up a finger to her, a gesture which she recognized as a signal to give the person a moment before attempting to engage in any sort of way.

His face is nearly stark white, and he almost appears to be winded from his reaction to my voice. she observed to herself silently, her features remaining placid as she merely kept her eyes on the blonde while it was he seemed to gather his scattered composure. Cloche had not meant to shock him, simply she wanted to know what it was he was doing, in case it was that he wanted anything of her. After all, he was who it was that she had given her loyalties too . . . the person she’d become ‘dependent’ upon. And if there was ever a chance that something might be wanted from her, then it was her place to oblige or to know. At least, that was how Cloche had come to see it. There was no reason for her being anymore, not unless it was that someone chose to give her a reason. If there was no one to do that for her, then all it was that she could do was survive. Without her family, she’d lost her reason, they were a large segment of her life, they were who she was close to, who she depended upon.

With them having vanished as so many others did. . . . It tore away her will to do anything but barely endure. It was in other people that Cloche derived her self-worth. The person who she took it from, who she got some ‘reason’ for living from, it had never actually mattered. Who it was she had come to latch onto, Trevor . . . that had happened by chance, the possibility of it having been him was just as great as anyone else who remained alive in Raddition City. He had just been the first person to bother showing any sort of interest in her beyond shooing her, or attempting to get into some sort of fight with her as well. A show of kindness had been enough, and to Cloche, the fact that he was mute did not matter in the least—so long as a person expressed some level of interest in her, and gave her some purpose . . . that was enough for her. What it was that he willed, she would go along with; that was her reason now, the only thing she knew.

The circumstances were beyond strange here now . . . the way in which she carried herself couldn’t have been more empty if she tried, to Cloche there felt like there was nothing anymore. It was as if everything that had once made her, her was stripped away only to leave her body behind. Then there was Trevor, entirely the opposite of her. . . . Cloche knew enough to realize that he was a lively person.

Those green eyes of hers remained on him until it was that he began signing to her, upon realizing and recognizing that Trevor was going to begin doing that, Cloche stared right at his hands. She had come to understand that he preferred signing to writing, and as such she had began to take steps to understand the form of communication shortly after it was that she and he had met. The truth was that her understanding of sign language was still rough, at best, and there were large gaps in its coherency for her. But, she had gotten to the point where she was able to at least able to comprehend enough to get the gist of what it was Trevor was trying to convey.

With her eyes still upon his hands as they went through the difference gestures, Cloche was able to discern, **. . . wasn’t . . . important . . .** immediately, though the rest of it was uncertain to her. At the very least, she knew that what it was he had been up to prior to her startling him so badly was not significant to regale. As the first round of gestures ended, Cloche glanced up to his face, seeing the smiling upon it. She didn’t know why it was he smiled, but seeing one there must have meant something pleasant, as there would be no reason for one to smile otherwise. So, it was that she did not question it.

When it was that Trevor began to sign again, she locked her eyes right back on his hands. **. . . we . . . careful . . . today. . .** That was all she got out of it. At the very least, she got it was some sort of warning, an urging to practice caution. Why that was, she didn’t know, Trevor hadn’t seemed to try to explain that to her yet, if he did at all. Cloche could only speculate that this warning had to do with why it was he’d been frozen at the doors to the mayor’s office before, so locked in his own world. She wasn’t going to ask why it was that he was giving her this warning, instead she merely gave a nod in response, affirming that she understood. Trevor glanced around the area, seeming to look for no one in particular. . . .

There was no one around, as usual. Cloche had come to note that this area seemed to be more desolate than the others, even when one considered how quiet it was to begin with. The girl stood in place as she had before, same position and same plain stance. Nothing but apathy seeming to shine through her eyes as it was that Trevor stepped away from the door, this time without jumping five feet into the air, as a look of realization came upon his face. Seeing this, Cloche tilted her own head to the side just a bit, wondering. A hand went into one of the pockets of his pants, and came back out with an apple. As it was that he extended his arm out toward her, Cloche got the message, and drew both of her hands up, cupping them as the apple was deposited into them. The weight of the fruit in her hands felt strange, anytime it was that she had to hold onto something like this, it always felt so strange to her.

Her eyes were on the yellowish-pink fruit when it was that Trevor began to sign, realizing that he was saying something again, Cloche quickly looked to his hands. **. . . you should eat . . . somewhere I would like to go. . .** she missed a part of it, she knew it, but at the very least she had understood more of what it was he signing than usual. So, he wanted her to eat because there was somewhere he wanted to go? Wherever the place was, it didn’t matter, she’d follow him where it was he wanted to go. **. . . should . . . visit the North . . . another snack. . . . we can . . . visit . . . other area. . .**

Okay, she wasn’t as on the ball with that bit as she was with the former. Even if there were signs that were very commonly used in communication, for some reason, Cloche wasn’t able to always identify the same ones every time they were used, even if Trevor was signing slow for her sake, she still managed to miss them. Regardless of that, she still got enough of what was communicated to her to understand. Despite her evidential understanding, she simply looked at Trevor with that ever-blank expression locked upon her features as it was he gave her a smile and gestured for her to follow him whilst he stepped away from the building.

Apple still within her cupped hands, the base of her palms rested upon her chest, the fruit now drawn up against her, Cloche gave a quiet nod to him. “The Northside, correct?” she spoke up, monotone. “If I may ask you, what is it that we are going there today for?” Though she posed to him a question, Cloche began to follow Trevor with her light footsteps, barely seeming to move as she descended the cement stairs.

Setting

Raddation City

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#2012-10-05 19:28:06, as written by Spectrum

Trevor Art

“The Northside, correct?” He nodded as they walked. “If I may ask you, what is it that we are going there today for?” He smiled--as if he ever really stopped--and paused long enough to face her. He didn't have to stop walking to sign, but for her sake it was probably better.

**More food.** He understood that Cloche was maybe a little uncertain about most of what he'd been trying to say to her, but he was pretty confident that she got the jist of it. Although her expression remained nearly unreadable, it didn't appear to be confused or disoriented. If she didn't understand, Trevor was pretty sure that she would tell him about it. If not, then she would do as she always did: follow him anyway. That was always one thing he could count on, even if he had second thoughts about it from time to time. He enjoyed the company. Without Cloche around, he knew that he would be alone like almost everyone else in the city. He'd have nobody to talk to, nobody to share his time with, nobody to think about or to distract him from thinking about things he shouldn't. Cloche was a constant, one of the few things in this chaotic city that he was sure he could rely on.

However, there was also something about the whole situation that bothered him. Trevor was well aware that he was being selfish. He knew that Cloche relied on him to act as a sort of mean to her life, to be the motor that kept her running even though most of the time she remained on autopilot. Every once in a while, he would catch just a glimpse of who she might of been before...all this. And it gave him hope. It made him sure that once all this was over, if it ever was, that he could save her, maybe, or that he could bring at least a bit of self-reliant life back into her. Somehow. But that was the selfish part. He didn't have to wait for this chaos to end to try that. He could try it right now at any time. They could start out slow and he could try really hard every day to try to get Cloche to return to normal, but he didn't. He didn't because he was afraid that if Cloche wasn't so dependent on him, and that if she wasn't around as often as she was, that he would end up alone all over again. She would get her own life and leave him behind. So for the time being, Trevor was okay that her life wasn't very much her own.

When he looked up, he realized that they'd gotten farther than he'd even noticed. That wasn't too surprising, though. He got lost in thought lots of time and often ended up places without even really meaning to. Although, with all the danger going around lately, that wasn't such a problem anymore. He'd been forcing himself to be more aware of his surroundings. It would be stupid to think that someone would let him know before they killed him, like hey, I'm gonna set you on fire to see if you have anything worthwhile on you, are you cool with that? Trevor knew he wasn't the most logical person, but he definitely wasn't a complete idiot.

They were near the Wally World, the main source of food and clothes for those left in the city. Overall, the population had gone from about fifteen-hundred or more to nearly halved overnight when the adults disappeared. Take away the babies and toddlers who died because they couldn't survive on their own before someone remembered to come to their aid, along with with those wiped out from the sickness and those killed in gang-on-gang violence among other casualties like simple stupidity and unnecessary recklessness or accidents, and the city was probably left to about...two hundred. More or less. Trevor wasn't so good at math, but that's what he'd say. The gangs weren't split perfectly even. He was sure that the Thunders were probably the smallest, but definitely the most dangerous. The Graves probably had the most. The purple-haired leader was more welcoming than most and lots of people felt more like family there. Being in the Poisons, Trevor didn't very much feel that way. He would say that they're about average in members and not weighted more one way or the other personality or power wise. Maybe he was biased, though, just because he was apart of it. Others might say differently.

Food, right, he was getting off track again. Trevor stopped outside the automatic doors, which had been jammed open a while ago for whatever reason, and looked to make sure Cloche was still by his side. As usual, she was without a doubt, so he nodded to her and went ahead inside. Food was really important in a situation like this. Lots of it had gone wasted the first couple of months. Kids went on junk-food sprees and ate themselves sick of candy and ice cream and frozen pizzas. Nearly all of the fruit and vegetables had rotted, leaving the store with an unpleasant smell right from the start. The best stuff to eat was packaged goods, but lots of people were smart enough to hoard food for themselves. The only agreement the gangs had with each other had been to not take the food. Take only what you need for a week and stock up when absolutely necessary. Eat the bare minimum. Who knows how long it'll last. Trevor couldn't say whether or not others were following that rule, but he certainly was.

It's kind of...emptier. One entire isle was empty. Trevor blinked down it before moving to the next. Empty. The shelves were bare. It was kind of strange to him, actually. The last time he came here, about a week ago, the shelves hadn't been nearly this empty. There was still plenty of food for everyone. Getting a little concerned, he checked another isle, finding it as empty as the others. He was just about to tell Cloche about his rising suspicions when someone a few isles down said it for him.

"All the food's gone!"

All of it? It was all gone? Every last bit? The shelves had been full less than a week ago! There was no way it was all gone already. "Where'd it all go?! I came here like yesterday and it was here! How'd it disappear?!" Trevor looked to find another person nearby, someone younger than him. All the food couldn't just disappear in a few hours. Someone had to of moved it. Or taken it. Who could just come in here and disappear with all that food without it being noticed, though?

Trevor turned to Cloche with a small frown. **We should go.**

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#2012-10-07 06:12:56, as written by Jakuri-chan

Cloche Mathis

He faced her, and signed in response to her question. The reply was simple enough for her to understand without struggling through it, or just understand every other word. **More food.** Her eyes had been on his hands again as he’d signed. Of course, when he finished, she turned her gaze back up to his face—again seeing him smile at her. Trevor was one to smile a lot it seemed. In regards to what she’d been told, her face remained ever passive, blank and without a readable expression. There was nothing for her to react to thought, she had asked of him a question, and she had gotten her answer. There was nothing to think about and nothing to say to it—they were going to the Northside in order to procure more food. That was simply it.

So, it was that Cloche simply nodded to him, to let him know that she understood. No matter the reason he would’ve wanted to go to that area of the city anyway . . . she’d have followed. Even if the reason was something completely insane—even by the circumstances of how things were now—Cloche would have still gone along with Trevor. Regardless, she knowing what it was they were doing, their reasons for doing so, it was something she preferred having knowledge of. Though it did nothing to change how she acted, knowing made it easier for her to follow along; because she knew what it was he wanted instead of having to wait.

Nothing would have changed her going along with him anyway . . . nothing at all. So long as it was that she was of some help, or as long as her presence was wanted by Trevor, Cloche would remain and follow through on whatever it was he asked of her. There was no reason for her to not, and so long as things were as they were . . . that was what her life would continue to consist of. She would continue to be something of a parasite to him as long as circumstances permitted it. For however long it would continue, it would be so. Cloche never thought on what she was to Trevor, what sort of place she held as far as he was concerned, as things were she simply acknowledged the fact that she was of some use, held enough of a place for him to keep her around. And that was enough for her.

This was why it was that she followed him as it was they walked in near-silence to the North part of Raddition City. Nothing needed to be said, no questions needed to be asked, and there was no reason to think on anything either—things were what they were and she had a place at Trevor’s side. Keeping herself quiet, Cloche did as had been expected of her before, and took to eating the apple that was held within her hands, her eyes kept up to the front. Apples . . . before all this mess, before the Shield was erected and so many had vanished, apples had been one of her favorite fruits. Something she relished, enjoyed eating—the fruit’s texture, its sweetness and the light crunch held to it was pleasant, refreshing. . . . But now, an apple was just something to her, simply food and nothing more. If it were expected of her to ingest it, she would do so without so much as blinking.

Unless it was something managed to shake her back to reality, to bring her back to her senses and to restore what had made her, her, Cloche would more than likely remain as a blank slate. What that would mean for her loyalties and the leechlike relationship she held with Trevor . . . cannot be said. That territory is uncharted, uncertain and unknown. The person she used to be, the person she could become if her self-sufficiency was ever brought back, if even so much as a semblance of humanity found its way back into her heart, what it was she would wind up doing. . . . No one could say for sure. For now, Cloche would remain unyieldingly loyal to Trevor, and there would be nothing else for her to consider in life.

She kept herself attentive though—constantly aware of her surroundings when it was that she was with him. Though she now lived as little more than a mere marionette, Cloche had become aware of Trevor’s habits, of the fact that he was not always the most vigilant person. He was one who lost himself in thought and his own mind; and even if she were one to follow him, she’d adapted to this aspect of his person herself, and for his safety Cloche kept watch for things when it was that he seemed to be ruminating over matters she did not question or inquire about. Even if she could not fight nor do much to defend herself, at the very least she could alert him to danger should it arise. . . .

By the point where Trevor seemed to come out of his deep-thinking, Cloche had since finished eating what could be eaten of the fruit he’d given to her, and had since disposed of the core in a misplaced trashcan—even if the act was otherwise pointless with everything that had happened, it didn’t occur to her in the least to just throw the thing on the ground. Cloche’s eyes glanced to him when he to look up, seemingly realizing that he’d been walking while lost in his mind again. Because they were going for food, Cloche knew their destination—Wally World; and they were near that already. She ceased her own footsteps when it was that Trevor did, and he looked at her as if to make sure that she was still at his side. There came from him a nod before it was he moved and headed into the once lively store.

Cloche could remember when it was the place was bustling with the citizens of the city, people shopping for their dinners and just for snacks . . . she’d come to the place more than her share of times before things went to Hell with her family. And since it was that she had come to follow Trevor, she continued to frequent the place as necessary. She knew the agreement laid down by the gangs, the only thing which the three seemed to agree on. . . . Food was a necessity, something precious because it was needed to survive; it was the only thing they could come to terms with because of its value and significance in the situation at hand. Even with their differences, their petty problems and disagreements, they had agreed to not take the food . . . people were to take only what was needed for a week, and to leave it at that. That what was expected, what was a rule, the only sort of constant between the three groups. The reason things had happened as they had, how long they would go on and how long it was they had to endure through it, the food had to last, or else things would get worse. Everyone left in Raddition City, they were just kids, kids who had probably never thought of what to do when it was they had no cans to eat out of, no packages or preserved food. . . .

Even Cloche herself noticed something was off though, as it was that she entered the store. Though it was unusual for her to seemingly acknowledge anything at all, her green eyes showed with some level of questioning upon seeing that . . . there were many shelves empty within the bounds of the store. How odd. she thought, a feeling of unease entered her bones. This is not right, something is off.

With a mere blink, her head turned, and she took to taking in her surroundings, the emptiness, the unease she felt. She heard it shouted, “All the food’s gone! Where'd it all go?! I came here like yesterday and it was here! How'd it disappear?!”

What is going on . . . ? Something is certainly wrong here, that much I can feel. Food does not simply vanish so quickly; even if someone put forth an effort to pull the remaining food from the shelves, no one of the groups would have enough manpower to do so, so very hurriedly. A look of thought took hold of her normally expressionless face as her eyelids lowered a bit, and her green gaze travelled to the ground.

Her eyes of course came back up when it was that she noticed that Trevor had turned to her, signing again, a frown upon his face. **We should go.** That musing expression that had overcome Cloche’s face remained as it was she gave to him a nod of confirmation.

“Yes . . . we should indeed leave,” she replied, turning to look out at the empty store again, a very slight edge of caution in her voice, “For whatever the reason that everything has suddenly vanished here, it would not be wise to remain. When it is that more people come to discover this, this place may well turn into a warzone.”

Looking at him again, a knowing look happened over her face, a very serious one. “Accusations are going to be made, people are going to point fingers at one another, logic will be lost and if it is that no one is able to formulate an acceptable answer to this, I do not doubt that something will erupt between the gangs. We are all still children . . . and to this situation, that is what we will act as. . . .” With this said, Cloche trailed off, lowering her head a bit. A bit of her had shown through, just a bit, as she’d spoken. At her sides, her hands had clenched into tight fists—her mind had taken to thinking on its own for once, and it had led her to the previously stated conclusion. Hell was going to erupt again if something wasn’t done about this soon, if an answer wasn’t found.

Tensions were riding high enough as things were, and this . . . this was only going to push it to the utter brink. And, everyone who remained in Raddition City were all children who had to them supernatural powers. Logic wasn’t exactly something which applied well to children with powers, as could be seen in the preceding months. With a grave glint caught in her eyes, Cloche looked back to Trevor before giving to him a nod, “Let us go.” She’d follow wherever it was he led her.

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#2012-10-10 06:40:43, as written by Spectrum

Trevor Art

The idea of no edible food in the area was unsettling enough without seeing an actual, although faint, reaction behind Cloche's eyes. Even she seemed to understand the impact that this event could have on the city. It wasn't rational, but nothing around here was. He thought back to the strange events of the...not-day and wondered if the meeting of the two leaders had something to do with this? It wouldn't explain much though. Why would either leader want to take all of the food when they were the ones who had originally agreed upon the evenly distributed rule in the first place? The answer was that they wouldn't. Plain and simple--especially not without letting the rest of their gangs in on it. With their powers, they wouldn't of been able to pull it off anyway. What would they do? Melt the food and blow up the rest? There was no sense in that, even for them. Looking around at the kids gathering, Trevor felt his nerves twisting in his gut. This wasn't going to end well.

“Yes . . . we should indeed leave,” Cloche replied, her monotonic voice releasing some of the rising tension. She had the right idea. There would be no point in fretting about this new disaster. It wasn't anything they couldn't handle. They had a small storage back at the bakery and there were a few other places to go to find some if they weren't cleared as well. “For whatever the reason that everything has suddenly vanished here, it would not be wise to remain. When it is that more people come to discover this, this place may well turn into a warzone.” He nodded, swallowing and squeezing the bottom of his shirt, holding it tightly for a few lasting seconds before deciding to move on like planned. This would no longer be their second stop. Now there were more concerning details. “Accusations are going to be made, people are going to point fingers at one another, logic will be lost and if it is that no one is able to formulate an acceptable answer to this, I do not doubt that something will erupt between the gangs. We are all still children . . . and to this situation, that is what we will act as. . . .” Despite the previous calming abilities Cloche had given him moments before, her bluntness unnerved Trevor all over again. “Let us go.”

He nodded once again and went ahead out of the budged open doors, stepping aside as two kids ran past him inside. He forced himself not to look back to see their expressions of awe and confusion, but mostly to avoid the looks of loss and nerves. He knew he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Cloche had been blunt, but she'd been correct. It was only a matter of time before something bad came out of this. Time did not pass here, but their internal clocks never stopped ticking. With six months passing by, Trevor could not yet tell whether or not they aged, but he had a sinking suspicion that they did not. However, they still got tired and still got hungry and their minds still ran rapid, crumbling under each and every new terrible thing this world had to offer. First the illness, then the gangs, and now the food.

But that didn't make much sense to him.

Of course, nothing here made much sense in general. Time wasn't something that simply came to an end, it was not normal or rational for a large fish-bowl like shield to conceal their city and lock them all inside while casting their only sake of comfort out, and super powers were only mentioned in works of fiction. However, even the chaos of this new world had a pattern of sorts. The illnesses were rationalized by the powers the kids so suddenly obtained. Normal humans were not meant to develop powers, but they did, and their bodies broke down because of it and many died. The powers were not rational, but the illnesses were. The gangs were not a cause of the shield, but a cause of the anarchy and desperation that could only be shown in the child-like nature of those who were not quite adults and those who were only children. That made sense, but it was...irrational. Sporadic. Just like all those killed for the sake of immaturity and disorganization. The shield was rational to an extent. The people inside were not. The food disappearing had no logical explanation. It seemed almost random. Trevor did not feel like this was the doing of the shield, but of...well, he would keep his suspicions to a minimum for now.

He paused long enough to convey a message to Cloche. **Chaos will soon break out. If the food issues keep up, nothing will matter anymore, all over again.** He expressed himself slowly, articulating his words through his hands and hoping that he was keeping his vocabulary basic enough for Cloche to understand. It wasn't that he didn't think she was smart enough, but she didn't have a firm enough grasp on signing for him to risk larger words. He thought for a moment about what this would mean. If nothing mattered and all fell to panic, then borders were no longer an issue. They were, but not as risky as normal. For now, he would wait in safe territory until he got his chance. That chance would be for when the word spread. **We should visit the daycare.** If they needed food, then he would offer his services. It had to be hard to gather supplies when it wasn't just one person, but a whole group of them.

With that said, Trevor continued on his way, choosing the road that would lead them to the daycare down the street.

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#2012-10-12 10:21:15, as written by Jakuri-chan

Cloche Mathis

The look of uncertainty did not at all leave her face as it was that Trevor responded to her rather blunt words with a nod. Her expression was a solemn one, though it was not much different from the apathetic sort of look she carried upon her nearly always, it was apparent enough that something was gnawing away at her mind. The disappearance of the food, the fact that there was no logical explanation for it yet, and the grim reality that chaos and insanity might once more sweep up Raddition City . . . it was enough to make even her feel concern. Even with her heart and sense of self locked away, even if it was that she now was little more than a parasite to another person’s volition, some level of commonsense remained in Cloche that alerted her to when it was time to be worried, or to express some level of anxiety. Whether or not the food disappearance was a citywide occurrence, this one event was enough of a catalyst to send things spiraling back into anarchy. . . .

Anarchy meant god only knew what with those who remained in the city. Cloche didn’t know how many people remained in the city after everything had played out in the last six months—the adults had vanished into thin air as the shield went up, there were younger children who starved or died of thirst, and then there were those who wound up passing on because their developed powers had been too much for their bodies to bear. . . . No matter how small the number was of children who remained within the city, those who still lived now might lose every bit of sense in their minds if strange things begin to happen again.

Existence right now was a very fine and dangerous balancing act; there was a very thin line that ran between complete bedlam and order, and as it was, things existed upon the boundary of mayhem more so than order.

Cloche followed Trevor, as it was he left the store behind, she did not turn her eyes back to look at the dismal scene. There was no need to as she understood in full how very grave it was—as there was also no need for her to look back at the two children who scampered on by her and Trevor. She knew what their reactions would likely be to seeing the scene.
There was no sense in any of this, but then, what place did sense have in a setting as this one? No matter how it was anyone had been raised, no matter how it was one was raised, not a soul in the world could’ve been able to cope well with this situation and be able to make some ‘sense’ of it, no matter how hard they tried. Not child, not adolescent, not adult. Not a single person of any age would be able to understand all of this and say that it made any sense. The best anyone could do with this is simply accept things as they were, and do their best to not descend into utter insanity. One could only cope, and subsist upon the fine line left in the wake of everything.

Perhaps the best way to come to terms with something such as this was to just shut one’s heart and mind down completely, and to live without thinking about anything but your own survival. You didn’t think about anything, you didn’t go insane from the reality of it, and the only thing you did was what you had to do—not thinking about things, it had a way of sparing your mind from completely breaking down. Even if locking away what made you human was a form of insanity all its own, it might well have been the lesser of two evils.

Nothing was said, not a sound came from her as she followed behind Trevor, not knowing where it was he was going, though that of course didn’t matter in the least. Wally World needed to be left behind, and wherever it was that they headed to after that was of little significance.

When it was that Trevor stopped, long enough to sign to her, Cloche of course paid attention to what was conveyed to her. **Chaos . . . soon break out. If . . . food issues keep up, nothing . . . matter anymore.** She missed a few things, as she usually did, but there was enough she understood that she nodded in response. There was no doubt about what he’d said, what he meant at least. Things would delve into turmoil again if things weren’t somehow resolved in a peaceful manner. The gangs might wind up at war, the city would likely fall into ruin and the sparse few people who were still alive in the city could well die in the ensuing events. **. . . should . . . visit . . . daycare . . .** Whatever words she had missed out on that time, Cloche knew that they were probably very simple ones that she would almost always recognize at any other point in time. For some reason, her mind just could not always grasp onto certain words when they were used with others when it came to sign language, it was as if the unfamiliar transitioning from one word to one that should be familiar and easy for her to know confused her, and made it hard for her to know what it was. At the very least, she was able to understand enough of what Trevor signed to get the message.

Daycare? her mind questioned. She didn’t know what it was he had in mind, going there, but it didn’t matter, the daycare was neutral territory—peaceful enough. . . . So, to what he had said, Cloche gave a nod, affirming that she got it, yet Trevor had turned around, and headed on his way before it was that she’d even performed the action. He’d started moving without even being able to acknowledge that she understood him, and what it was he’d said. At that, Cloche simply stood where she was, not moving to follow as she normally would. A bit of a pain jolted through her chest because of this. He . . . he did not wait to make sure that I was able to comprehend what it is that he signed . . . ?

Perhaps the fact that she was acknowledging this one action now, even paying it any heed, was because her mind had been spinning thought after thought already due to the whole matter of the vanishing food in Wally World. At almost any other point, the near meaningless, and insignificant act of Trevor moving on without waiting to see if she understood would not have even phased her, and yet, this time. . . .

I-It hurts. Cloche thought, having become unaccustomed to this sort of feeling due to the last months of her life. The girl’s face squelched up in discontent as a strange somewhat hollow, burning ache came to be at the back of her throat, her breathing becoming uneasy. Why is that I am hurting? she asked herself. There is no reason for my chest to hurt now, I am not injured. . . . Cloche’s right hand formed into a fist and found itself placed lightly over her chest while her left hand came to grasp it rather tightly. Her head tilted downward, chin meeting her hand as her eyes shut and she attempted to will the discomfort she felt away. A look of pain remained upon the brunette’s face.

How long would it be before Trevor realized she wasn’t following him now? Of course she was always so silent to begin with, her presence was always a constant thing, nearby and quiet, expectant and certain. Perhaps he just expected her to follow without giving it a thought? Did he assume that she was just there . . . trailing behind with her mouth shut and her mind blank maybe? Would he even come to notice her absence before it was he arrived at his intended destination . . . ?

Cloche took a shaky and uncertain step forward, feeling it strangely hard for her to do so. It felt like her body didn’t desire to follow after him, like it was resisting to an action which should’ve been like second nature at this point. That dull pain persisted within her heart, and still she was confused regarding it as she kept trying to proceed ahead with her body seemingly willing her to not. Not understanding and not knowing what it was she should do about this phenomenon, Cloche’s voice slipped from her lips in a rather uncharacteristic manner.

“T-Trevor . . . ?” it was meek, and laced with anxiety, uncertainty. Regardless of this, Cloche still kept on forward, her hands still over her chest, her head still downcast, as her too green eyes remained partway open, face still crinkled up in pain.

Even as this, she was still trying to follow as she always did, though she didn’t understand the discomfort she felt in doing so.

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#2012-10-17 04:07:56, as written by Spectrum

Trevor Art

Trevor did not linger long enough to register any change of expression on Cloche's face. He had gone about like usual, like always, without a doubt that she would follow and without a worry about turning his back on her. In this world, that was considered a sign of utmost trust. There was a rare handful of people who you could trust so well and they were nearly indiscernible from all the others who were liars, cheaters, thieves, and killers. If you turned your back to most in this world, they wouldn't hesitate to stab you. Some might think twice about it, some might consider their humanity, but these people are just children and most were hardly given a chance to decide their morality, their personal values, before all this was dropped on them. People so internally conflicted already didn't have a chance in a state like this. Their minds would deteriorate and they would pick the logical--fending for themselves. All others were considered enemies.

He was once again too wrapped up in his own little world to realize the absence of the one that was usually by his side. Perhaps the thinking was a way for him to cope with this world--a way for him to escape the tragic, horrific reality for just short bursts of time before he had to come crashing back down to deal with it again. Trevor hated this world. Hated it more than anything. And he rarely hated things. As he reached the daycare, he suddenly realized that he should focus on the situation and not so much on his own personal qualms. It was then that he realized something was off. He felt unbalanced, like he was wearing a shoe on one foot and nothing on the other while walking on a balance beam. He stared at the daycare's decaying wooden sign for a moment before the realization hit him like a brick to the face.

Cloche isn't-- “T-Trevor . . . ?” He suddenly turned to find her lingering much further behind than she normally ever would. Had she wandered off without him realizing it? It hadn't been that long of a walk, though. He knew he didn't space out that long. She wouldn't of had time to go anywhere or get anything. There were a few kids walking around, but none were bothering with them and he hadn't heard any issues, so he doubted she'd gotten in trouble with any of them. Was she hurt? Was she hungry?

For some reason, a spark of guilty anxiety twisted in the pit of his stomach. He felt the need to apologize, but he wasn't sure why, so he didn't, instead deciding to wait for Cloche to catch up as he stared at her unkempt expression for a long moment. There was something off, but the issue was his inability to figure out what it was. She wasn't hurt as far as he could tell and she'd been just fine only moments ago. Trevor worried that she might be catching a cold, so he reached forward and placed the back of his hand on her forehead, letting it rest there for a moment before placing it on her cheek, pulling away when he determined that she felt like a normal, healthy temperature. He opened his mouth but, as usual, nothing came out and he closed it again. He wanted to ask her if she was alright, but he found himself distracted by noise going on behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Trevor noticed someone knocking at the door of the daycare. As with anyone else's habit, he checked the tattoo and frowned. Not a Poison. And that creature with him did not look like it was friendly, although Trevor chose to save the judging and not jump the gun on whether this guy was a bad guy.

He turned to look at Cloche again, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He didn't know what issue she was suddenly having, but he made a mental note to ask her about it when it was a better time to. The middle of the street in neutral territory with other gang members walking around, especially ones nervous about the food issue, was not the best place to have this discussion. **I'm sure he's friendly. We should go inside with him if...** Trevor paused, trying to remember the name of the boy who watched over the daycare. It hit him and he continued, hoping his pause didn't throw Cloche off. **...if Kim is inside.** He made sure to watch her more carefully this time as he went ahead to the daycare, making sure she was following within arm distance of him.

He hesitated behind the boy from the Thunders, shifting from foot to foot before tapping the boy's shoulder and taking a step back. He didn't want whatever that creature was--no doubt an embodiment of the kid's powers--to turn and attack him. Fumbling a little, Trevor quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the small notebook, taking time to quickly scribble something on a randomly opened blank page. "Is Kim in there? We should go in together." He held the notebook up to show the boy, stepping back to Cloche's side.

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Raddation City

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#2012-10-18 02:19:24, as written by Furry Dragon

Luke Corriel

As Luke waited a stream of information trickled into his head in the back of his mind from Deshon-body. The cat heard footsteps and the occasional speaking of people. Luke didn't know how far away the sounds were and he didn't care to get distracted from the current job at hand. It was much easier to get distracted with two bodies. There were two stomachs to become hungry with, two throats to become parched, two bodies that needed to be rested, and, probably most annoying of all, two bladders to empty. Especially when he was in one body and forgot the other's needs. He winced at the memory of having his point of focus being Deshon-body and Luke-body peeing his pants in front of another Thunders member. No doubt everyone in the Thunders gang knew that story by now.

Deshon-body watched people walk too and fro. A pair of people, a boy and a girl, were walking towards the daycare. One seemed to be having a problem. Luke still looked at the door, feigning unawareness. It wasn't wise to let a potential enemy know if you had an advantage. Deshon-body's keen eyes could make out the Poison tattoo as the two got closer.

Luke shifted his weight, readjusting his bag of food. It seemed heavier by the minute. When was the babysitter- Kim was his name, right?- going to answer the door? Maybe the kids were really insistent or something. But still, he should answer the door. Luke hadn't met Kim before, although he had heard about him. The babysitter was a shadow manipulator who preferred to take care of kids than join a gang. Was it safe? Yes, if he and the kids could stay alive long enough. Heck, Kim could probably form his own gang of kids if the little ones developed powers. When they grew they would probably be a pretty tight-knit group, giving them a potentially powerful future.

As the two Poisons came closer Deshon-body stopped purring. One of the Poisons, a boy, tapped Luke on the shoulder. Luke turned around and the kid fumbled around a bit before taking out a notepad and scribbling something on it. He stepped back and held up the notepad. Luke looked at the piece of paper, squinting. Could he really not read that? I need new glasses. Dang it!

He had Deshon-body look at the paper and through the cat's eyes he could read it. The paper said, "Is Kim in there? We should go in together."

Luke looked at the blonde boy and the green-eyed girl. She had real green eyes, not the yellowish ones he had. They didn't seem too threatening, so he nodded. Deshon-body began to purr again. "I don't know if Kim is in there, but I'm not against going in together. I hope he doesn't mind us barging in. I'm a little worried; I've been waiting here for at least a minute. My name is Luke, this is Deshon. You are...?" Luke trailed off, waiting for them to introduce themselves before opening the door and heading in, Deshon-body first.

Setting

Raddation City

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#2012-10-19 06:38:23, as written by Jakuri-chan

Cloche Mathis

When her voice caught hold of his attention, he turned back and looked at her. It seemed there was a questioning expression upon his face, but she couldn’t tell from how far away from him she was at this point. It was a struggle for her to even walk toward him, to follow after as she always did—there was still that dull pain in her heart for some reason. She didn’t understand it at all, why it was she so hurt when there was no physical reason for it at all, she’d not been injured and the only thing that had come to her attention was that Trevor had simply went on ahead without a moment’s notice of it. That was it and there was no reason for that to have hurt her, it was just an action, something he always did. Something common, something normal—expectant. So . . . why was this hurting her? Cloche didn’t know, and she still couldn’t comprehend the pain or the unwillingness her body seemed to have in regard to proceeding ahead.

There was no reason for this irrational, meaningless feeling. This pain, this strange hurt and weight, none of it made sense at all! It’s not logical, there . . . is no reason for this at all. . . . she thought, a pained expression remained upon her face as she forced herself to him, a groan slipped from her throat. When it was that she finally made it to him, caught up with Trevor, she simply stood there with her hand still over her chest, her head still slightly downcast as he stared at the abnormal expression kept upon her features. For her to even show the slightest bit of emotion at all was unusual, for her face to twist into a fully felt expression, it had to be a strange sight to see indeed. There was indeed a questioning look on his face. . . . Oh, what had she done . . . she was making him worry when she ought not to. No reason for this, she was causing him needless strife and worry. She was loyal to him, or, she was suppose to be, she was suppose to be acting upon his will, with him without question, without causing him distress. . . .

Cloche didn’t speak, or say anything. She only would if he questioned her, or asked anything. . . . Trevor did move his hand, and of course, she expected him to sign, to ask her what was wrong before anything else. That was what made the most sense, what was logical to assume. However, when it was that he placed the back of his hand on her forehead, her too-green eyes went wide with surprise. This wasn’t what she expected to happen. Her eyes remained wide, as she remained quiet while it was his hand moved from her forehead down to her cheek before he pulled it away. Cloche could only stare at him with uncertainty in her eyes, and on her face as her eyes remained ever-wide. Her thoughts had stopped, and the pain she felt remained yet was worn down to the point that it was no longer so attention taking.

Trevor opened his mouth, as if he were going to try to speak, before it was he simply shut it again, remembering that no words would come it seemed. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t. This was something Cloche had come to learn about him since she’d more or less attached herself to his side, Trevor did want to be able to speak, enough so that he sometimes seemed to forget he was mute, so he’d open his mouth to speak, but remember that no sound would form, so he always stopped. Her loyalty to him, her reason for it, it formed from a shallow occurrence, something pointless and insignificant, but even if that were so, that did not stop Cloche from observing him and learning of his personality and traits. . . . Even if she were to blindly follow him, even if she did not think much for herself anymore, if at all, that hadn’t stopped Cloche from knowing about Trevor.

She had every reason to follow him, to give him her unyielding loyalty, and yet why it was she’d felt pain before, she just didn’t understand it. Trevor definitely seemed like he didn’t understand either.

Before it was that he could sign anything to her though, Trevor became distracted by a noise that came from behind him—the Daycare. When he turned around to look, Cloche’s eyes followed, as she had no need to turn around since she was facing that direction to begin with. It had been a knock, there stood at the door of the facility a teenage boy like themselves, along with what Cloche knew as a snow leopard. Not a native species, it is too calm and relaxed to be wild . . . or even domesticated. Cloche’s eyes happened upon the boy’s tattoo. She recognized it—and she knew he was not of the Poisons. The Thunders. That was what he marked as with his tattoo. Of course, those did nothing but mark a person. . . . It did nothing to speak of the individual in question.

Trevor looked to her again, and her eyes glanced back at him. He was giving her what she recognized as a reassuring smile. He meant that to comfort her, because of the state she’d been in before, the dull pain that had ticked away at her heart, the unwillingness that’d travelled through her body for whatever the reason. It was mostly gone now, the pain had subsided enough to no longer consume her conscious thought, and it felt as if the unwillingness from before was gone as well. Trevor had shown concern for her, and still was, Cloche knew what it was that he’d been doing by setting his hand on her forehead, checking her for a fever. . . . He began to sign, and Cloche paid attention to it. **I’m . . . he’s friendly. . . . should go . . . with him if. . . .** He ceased, and she glanced up at him and it seemed he was focusing on trying to remember something. **. . . if Kim is inside.** he finished. Trevor moved again, but he kept an eye on her it seemed . . . looking back at her often enough, keeping her within arm’s length as she followed along.

Trevor was right to want to go inside with this Thunders boy, and his not-so-normal snow leopard. So long as Kim was inside, of course. So, Cloche stayed in step with him, holding from her mind much thought. He’d been worried about her, and still she didn’t understand the reason why she’d felt the pain before.

She stopped moving when it was Trevor had, Cloche kept her eyes on him as it was he shifted from foot to foot, hesitating in greeting the black-haired boy and his snow leopard. She kept herself quiet and still as it was he tapped the boy on his shoulder before stepping back a bit, pulling his notepad out to write on. Cloche’s eyes caught the message. “Is Kim in there? We should go in together.” He held the notepad up, as he stepped back to her side. The way the boy reacted to Trevor getting his attention . . . seemed almost as if he were privy to their presence prior to that, or at least, that’s what Cloche could gather. The boy seemed to be squinting at what it was Trevor had written down, he couldn’t read it.
Yet, when it was he managed to respond, looking at herself and Trevor, and nodded as the snow leopard began to purr, Cloche thought it somewhat odd. “I don’t know if Kim is in there, but I’m not against going in together. I hope he doesn’t mind us barging in. I’m a little worried; I’ve been waiting here for at least a minute. My name is Luke, this is Deshon. You are...?” he questioned, waiting for their responses, opening the door as it was the feline, Deshon, as it was called, headed into the daycare first.

Looking to Trevor, her eyes carrying a glint of questioning, Cloche took it upon herself to answer Luke’s question for their names. He knew they were of the Poisons; they carried their tattoos as he did with his Thunder’s. “He is Trevor, and I am Cloche.” Her voice was monotonous, without much hint of anything in it. Her green eyes travelled down to the bad Luke was carrying before they went back up to his face, her eyelids lowered a bit, and a grave edge took hold of her expression again. “Have you come here to inquire about the state in which those within the daycare are in?” Cloche’s hand found its way to her wrist, before it moved up her forearm.

She didn’t notice it as it happened, but her pinky finger managed to snag the end of her sleeve, pulling it up along her arm as her hand went, revealing the gauze and bandages that encased her arm like a second skin. Upon their white surfaces though, were stains of a dark, and dull grey—bearing a sheen to it that almost made it so that it could be called silver.

Setting

Raddation City

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#2012-10-20 07:24:46, as written by Spectrum

Trevor Art

Whatever qualms were getting to Cloche seemed to subside for the time being so Trevor allowed himself to relax until he got a chance to "speak" with her about it, in the only ways he really knew how. It was frustrating not being able to speak or use his voice like any other could do. He found it ridiculous that there were people in the world that could talk so easily that they were able to talk even in their sleep. There were people who had beautiful voices--and not just those for singing. There were people who could speak so perfectly, so eloquently, that he could sit and listen to them for hours even if they were giving a speech on something he didn't have any prior knowledge about. Of course, he felt nearly the same for average speakers too. The human voice fascinated him. People could speak from one to another without having to think about it or question the sounds coming out of their mouths, they could sneeze with actual vocals other than the "-choos" that he did just because he was blowing air through his teeth, and they could even laugh like it was nothing. These were things he was unable to do. And it was frustrating, but he dealt with it because it was a simple fact. Most people could speak and he could not and that was the end of it.

Satisfied that Cloche was well enough to stand at his side and did not seem to be having any further issues, Trevor focused on the boy he'd been communicating with, frowning a little when he saw the boy squint. Trevor was concerned that the boy's vision wasn't good enough to read his handwriting, but eventually a small spark of clarity reached the boy's eyes and he straightened up to reply. "I don't know if Kim is in there, but I'm not against going in together. I hope he doesn't mind us barging in. I'm a little worried; I've been waiting here for at least a minute. My name is Luke, this is Deshon. You are...?" He was nice and that was relieving in a time like this. However...he hesitated in reply. He considered writing his name on the paper under his first thing, but he didn't want to make the guy, Luke he said his name was, struggle any more than necessary. His name wasn't that important to know anyway, so maybe he could get away with not mentioning it..

Trevor liked meeting new people for the simple matter that he knew for a fact that they weren't aware of his muteness. At least not for those first few seconds. They treated him like any other normal, vocal human being and the idea of someone actually expecting him to respond was more than refreshing. It always made him overwhelmingly happy, even though he knew that was probably a little ridiculous. Just because someone was talking to him, it wasn't a good reason to get all excited over. The excitement was almost good enough to ignore the feeling of distress when he realized he had to disappoint them by not giving them the reply they expected. He always made everything so complicated.

So, as per usual, Trevor took the back seat and allowed Cloche to respond for him. “He is Trevor, and I am Cloche.” Trevor gave a shy nod, although it was a little unnatural for him to not be such a people person. He decided to chalk it off to the large animal standing within reaching distance of him. He wouldn't go so far to say it frightened him, but it was definitely intimidating. He felt like it could reach and snap his neck before he'd ever even think about using his powers against it. ...Then again, he was probably being too harsh. Luke seemed nice and he was obviously here for the Daycare, so Trevor mentally scolded himself and waited for Cloche to continue. “Have you come here to inquire about the state in which those within the daycare are in?”

He watched as she, seemingly subconsciously, moved up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal some of the abnormalities she carried. This movement confused him, but he decided there was probably no point in going out of his way to question her about it, especially when her focus was on Luke. While waiting for Luke to reply, Trevor hung back to kneel down and write another thing on his notebook page. When he was satisfied with the way it was worded, he stood and took his place next to Cloche once again, holding up the notebook for the Thunder to see. He tried to write it in larger print this time around, but he didn't want to waste the entire page. He hoped it didn't make him mad. "I don't think the kids would like seeing Deyshawn. It might scare them." To emphasize his point, Trevor held the notebook up with one hand and used his other hand to make a clawing motion, chomping his teeth in unison. He smiled a little when he finished, hoping he got his point across.

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Trevor Art

0 · 345 views · located in Raddation City

a character in “Perpetual Chaos”, originally authored by Spectrum, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

So begins...

Trevor Art's Story

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