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Birthstone Spirits: The Second Revival

Aires

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a part of Birthstone Spirits: The Second Revival, by birthstone_spirits.

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birthstone_spirits holds sovereignty over Aires, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Aires

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Aires is a part of Birthstone Spirits: The Second Revival.

17 Characters Here

Tallyho Abel [88] The Apathetic Amethyst
Heather Devereaux [86] The Tenacious Turquoise
Angela Taylor [77] The Cheerful Topaz
Ron Muller [66] The Reckless Garnet
Calliope Alexander [61] Perilous Peridot
Jules Fontaine [55] The Petulant Pearl
Dorian Steinsson [50] The Chilly Aquamarine
Haru Sinwood [46] The Guardian of February
Emerson Motlilio [40] WIP
Sorrell Hunt [36] Fateful Sapphire

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Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel
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Tallyho never had many girl friends (or friends in general.) She never had anyone to catch drinks with or go out into town with. The closest things she ever had to peers were her cousins who were just as fanatic about religion as the elders and therefore not the best company for a young woman. So when Tallyho and Ingra entered a nearby tavern, the blonde wasn’t sure what to expect. What did friends talk about in bars? In the case of the two young women—nothing initially. They drank their first round in a silence that became more and more comfortable as the time passed. And for a while, Tallyho didn’t mind this and neither did Ingra. But eventually, Tallyho felt, words had to be shared.

“You not like the rest of them? What that mean?” The sun girl inquired.

Ingra stared down into her empty glass.

“You can get more cider, you know. On me.” Tallyho insisted.

It wasn’t until the girls were served another round that Ingra began to speak.
“My sisters. I’m not like them,” Ingra sighed. She brushed her arm against her rosy button nose, which was now as red as her cheeks. “They are normal girls. Tiny, pretty lil’ things… Like you.”

Tallyho narrowed her eyes a bit but didn’t interrupt.

“They are going to be married soon. To good men. And my father has been trying to marry me off too. But my suitors… They ain’t the same.”

“How so?”

“Strangers and freaks—Allofem’. Old men with nothing left to their lives. Fetishizers too. I don’t want no man. I want to be on stage, acting like someone else.”

“You like acting?”

“I think I do. I dunno I never done it. You one of them performers ain’t you?” There was a dash of hope in her voice.

“I am…. No talents though.”

“No actin’?”

“No.”

“No nothin’?”

“Nothing.”

“Well what do you do?”

Tallyho thought about how she learned how to count money by manning the tent to all of the performances. “Nothing. I’m not really good at nothing… I’m not like the rest of my family either. My mom is talented. They wonder how she had a child like me.”

The two young women fell into silence once more before Tallyho spoke up again.

“They tried to marry me to someone I don’t like too…”

“It’s dung ain’t it?” Ingrid hummed.

“Yes, yes it is.”

They spent what felt like hours in that tavern chatting about their families and downing another round of cider. By the end of it, Tallyho understood what it was like to drink with a friend in a tavern. And when they parted ways before sundown she was beaming with a glow that was, not just from her light buzz, but the realization that she had made a new friend. A friend who she promised to visit the next time she came to Malboro.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Jules Fontaine Character Portrait: Septimus Belletor
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For the life of him, Jules could not remember the last time he’d seen a play. Well, that wasn’t true. He’d caught glimpses offstage, poised to help with the odd quick change, had meandered through an empty auditorium while an actor swanned about onstage to determine if a sequined suit was blinding or simply dazzling from the audience’s perspective. But it wasn’t like the real thing. He was only reminded of that now, surrounded on all sides by enthusiastic audience members, cheering and howling as the actors ran their paces.

For a moment, he lost himself in that crowd, the tension that he’d been steadily building slowly ebbing away. It was an effect aided by the low candlelight, fighting against the tent’s darkness to make those onstage shine, flickering spotlights for the audience’s pleasure. It wasn’t Broadway, obviously. It wasn’t even like Community Theatre. They were a hodge-podge lot onstage, costumes, props, and make-up the minimum it needed to be to help the audience along. This was theatre in the old school, a cobbled together group wandering the world and selling their dramatic wares. It was… nice. Comfortable in its setting. Some of the actors fit in this stage, figure painted into this moving piece of artwork. It was, well, it felt more like home than even New York had for the past few years.

The allure of the show effectively vanished for Jules the moment the third patron stumbled into him, drunkenly guffawing at a joke either too obscure for Jules to understand or not even there at all. He was left with an unfortunate sort of awareness. The tent was far too warm now, the people around him suffocating rather than a collective group he was meant to be part of. Was the show over? Was he missing something? He was obviously missing something. And, and- where was that other girl? Where was Tallyho? Oh, God, he was literally missing something.

The other blonde had vanished, and Jules couldn’t even be sure how long ago it had happened. Was she okay?* They should probably find her, Jules decided, the thought cemented when someone meandering by spilled something sticky and unknowable near his feet. For her sake. Right. That was it.

* Would they be okay without one of the only Airesians they knew to keep them from doing something unknowingly stupid?

He turned to Heather, the only other familiar face immediately available to him.

“Did you see-?” the question, spoken just loud enough to be heard over the din, was cut off when someone suddenly grabbed both of them. Jules could barely let out a swear himself as they were dragged bodily from the tent, crashing against spectators too slow to get out of their way before being thrown out and into the cool night air. Jules staggered, partially hopping as he nearly crashed into a nearby group of women. They tittered, partially offended and partially intrigued by the entertainment sure to come.

The swears were louder out here, their assailant still drunkenly snarling as Jules whirled around to face him. Great. Drunk, mean-tempered, and belligerent. That's exactly the kind of person Jules always wanted to be around. And perhaps he would understand later why this man was angry. Maybe he could sympathize with him when they weren't in the heat of the moment, theatre person to theatre person, impoverished artist to artist. But at the moment, he could only bristle, lips pulled into a thin line of disgust.

"Excuse me?" He squawked at the same time Heather sputtered out her own objection. He had no idea what a Manslander was, although from the way it was spat it was clearly not on, but his own insult "whatever the Hell you are was something he'd heard before. You had to develop a thick skin when you existed as someone outside of society's norms, at least in theory. Jules had never quite mastered that technique, and it showed as he spluttered, red face from a mix of embarrassment (he didn't even warrant being a person to this drunk fucker?!) and outrage.

Perhaps it would have gone further, then, with both outraged Earthlings backed up against a metaphorical wall given that they barely knew where they were and unwilling to simply take this man's abuse. It was lucky for all involved that someone else entered their fray. Jules recognized him, had seen him glide about the stage of that strange play. He was playing the role of a peacemaker now, gentle and forgiving in spite of the man named Horace's snarls and bluster. Not that it seemed to be leading to a positive conclusion. No, Horace was far too drunk and furious for that.

Jules was a coward. He'd admit that freely in the same way that he'd say that he was a fan of theatre or a complete weirdo. That didn't mean that he didn't take a step forward when Horace rounded on their would-be savior, even if said step was more of a reluctant shuffle. Jules wasn't entirely sure what he was planning on doing if things went south, mind you. Maybe hit Horace with his bag? Or find a large stick to flail wildly around with before running off and hope that maybe he didn't hurt himself? Oh, God, let it not come to that.

"Oh my God!" Oh my God indeed. Jules couldn't help gasping himself as Septimus dropped in one fluid movement, taking out Horace in a quick burst of action. The audience that had begun to grow outside the tent seemed frozen for a moment.

"Is he dead?" Jules glanced at Heather, took a step towards the crumpled body, and then thought better of it. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that you didn't get within ankle-grabbing range when it came to potentially unconscious assholes.

"I mean, probably not?" Jules offered, glancing around nervously. At least he hoped not because the last thing he needed was some dumbass dying in front of him and/or being made an accomplice to murder. But time was too short to worry for long. More of a crowd was beginning to gather, and their savior was wandering off with an open invitation, although not explicit, to follow him.

Unlike Heather, Jules was not actually prepared to make his way back to the inn. Having assumed that someone would leave him back, he hadn't really bothered marking a trail or remembering things like land marks or, well, street signs. Did they even have street signs? Could he read them if they did? So, while he did want to run away and preferably find his way back to the muscular meat shields of Dorian and Haru, well, he didn't have much of a choice. But maybe Heather-

"We should follow him."

Okay, maybe not. She was already following Septimus and Jules let out a dramatic, disgusted sigh. Typical. Cowards never had any luck finding other cowards.

"Right. Follow the random dude and hope for the best," He muttered to himself before following behind. And if he picked up the pace just a little more when he heard Horace let out a little groan, well, that was his business.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Jules Fontaine Character Portrait: Septimus Belletor
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SUNDAY MATINEE

The trip through the twisting alleys of the residential district off Sanguine Square wasn’t a long journey in truth, but as time whisked by the amount of people hustling and bustling died off slowly but surely, in the same turn the buildings looked more lived in than merely fronts for stores and their wares. Belletor paused at some crossings and turns, his free hand rubbing casually against the rough scores etched approximately head-height in wood, or stone, or some hardened combination of mud / straw, as directional bearings (or “street signs” for the Earthlings), before continuing on a meandering path. Never did he seem concerned nor aware or acknowledging the living shadows following along behind him; one part simply curious, the other sticking together was better than nothing.

Belletor finally paused in a relatively quiet alley (at this hour, only the day-drinkers that had definitely had their fair share were wandering home this early in the evening), stopping at an in-descript heavy wooden door heavily shadowed by the lone candle flickering in its lonely lantern. He set his walking stick leaning up beside the door, before rapping his knuckles twice roughly against the frame. Another brief moment passed, before a woman (another thespian) with rougher weary look in her eyes that clearly contrasted the glittering silks she wore, snapping a question in a halting slurring tongue in his direction and clicking her fingers together impatiently. His response in return was the same language, though altered and more melodious than the woman’s with his prime and proper accent strengthen the hollow words. He passed a leaner coin-purse into her waiting hands, before stripping off the doublet, revealing an off-white cloth shirt slightly damp with sweat – that in the evening chill was enough to allow the sporting of mild gooseflesh up his neck – and other items he had worn during the play; passing it to the woman, who disappeared inside with the door left partially ajar as if to invite him in, though he remained patiently waiting at the stoop.

The woman that had collected the thespian clothing articles from him, returned to the door in short order with his own apparent belongs (an oddly shaped bundle of leather coat) in hand, but eyed the appearance of two newcomers with immediate distrust. The distrust was echoed in her hollowed language that she growled back to the young man waiting patiently at her stoop. Belletor seemed to blink at her question, and blearily tilt his head to acknowledge their silent audience, before humming a quiet negative to her inquiry with a lackluster shrug of his shoulders. Not swayed by his nonchalance stance to the strangers that had obliviously followed him there, the woman snorted out a mild curse; before dropping his belongings with a muted clang of exposed metal – the first few inches of a naked sword escaping its scabbard – and the coat that had been wrapped around it flopped; and slammed the door, hard enough to cause the candle in the lantern to sputter dangerously / threatening to go out. Belletor flinched at the sounds, looking mildly exasperated but rather understanding of the event that had just occurred. “You know… “ He mused abruptly into the silence from the woman’s albeit harsh departure, easily switching back into polished TRK Common. There was the echo of laughter on his breath, and his faint smile not unkind – as he finally seemed to vocally acknowledge the presence of the other two young adults that had followed him upon his wandering path into the heart of the residential alley’s twisting off Sanguine Square.

A trifling few and far actually take my offer.” He continued, conversationally – bending down to grasp the scabbard of the partially exposed sword, and twitching his wrist just so as he rose back up that it slid back into its sheath with a satisfying slick clink; and began shortly belting it with fumbling fingers, much higher up his waist were one would typically rest one’s weapon due to the seemingly odd length it possessed (an Calvary sword wasn’t really meant to be astride two feet). Once satisfied with its position up on his ribs, he bent down swiftly again, shaking the street dust and grime off the coat – an older but well-made water-shedding leather, typical of any Constantine gentleman to handle the many rainstorm or muddy hovel of their homeland – slipping it over the damp shirt, effectively becoming a different person (especially when viewed from a distance). A far different (and much slimmer) appearance than the puffy, finely colored doublet, delicate flowers brushed out of his crown, and ribbon belt, from before.

Alas, you don’t seem very much like the rest of these scavengers – just strangers, lost and then found.” Belletor said, contemplatively, regaining his last item (the walking stick) from where it had been leaned up against the door. His free hand moved then, rolling his wrist in an elegant gesture to thump across his left breast in a common greeting (though far more impressive with a metal breastplate no doubt). “Belletor, Septimus.” Septimus offered his true name, pausing long enough time for them to offer their own names in response (or not, if the case may be). Though it would be considerate to have them placed in his mind eye other than a female Manslander and male Acquaintance (or “whatever the hell you are” per Horace)... “Well met, but night is young and I best be off for the journey ahead. Follow the path directly, it will lead you back to the Square directly.” He gestured with a tilt of his head behind him. Helping them again, or Helping himself? Either way, it ended the conversation shortly without much delay. “Oh… And try to avoid walking into any more of the arts without paying, yes?” He let a loud, rueful laugh escape at that final comment, flashing a crooked grin. Before stepping towards and then around the pair, disappearing into the growing shadows quickly and efficiently as if he’d never been there in the first place.

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Character Portrait: Angela Taylor
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#, as written by Linnea
Angela had been uncharacteristically withdrawn since they had all been at the farmhouse. She introduced herself, stating that she was born in November, and spent a great deal of the trip either chatting idly or gazing into the distance. It was still a lot to take in. And, even for someone who believed it all the night before, it was still a bit jarring. She spoke little, which was a rare event in and of itself, but remained close to the group.

Choosing not to explore too much, she stayed at her room in the inn. At least she was a bit safer there. Probably. It also gave her time to indulge in some of her more private activities. She doubted many would have the same occult appreciation as she did.

She took a deep breath, shuffling the tarot deck with the efficiency of experience. The cards were new, and so a bit more difficult to work with, but they would bend in time. Closing her eyes, she chose her cards and lay them down carefully. She flipped them, revealing their faces and a message as confusing as the very foreign streets she had chosen not to travel that day. Major arcana, swords, cups. It was all a blur of possibilities that she couldn’t translate. Was her head too foggy? Was today just a bad day to throw? Angela rubbed her temples, trying to rid herself of the headache that was beginning to form.

Maybe if she just tried again.

She reshuffled. She put them down again. And, a bit anxiously, she began to reveal them one by one.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Calliope Alexander Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Jules Fontaine Character Portrait: Haru Sinwood Character Portrait: Dorian Steinsson Character Portrait: Ron Muller Character Portrait: Aster Storm Character Portrait: Sorrell Hunt Character Portrait: Vegas Sinclair Character Portrait: James Labonair Character Portrait: Emerson Motlilio
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One would be lying if they didn’t admit that the Month Warriors had a collectively chaotic day in Malboro. Nonetheless, the strange encounters they’ve experienced were no reason to not move on from the walled city before day break. Haru made sure of that, taking it upon himself to wake up early and personally round up the warriors, even if it meant snatching the wool blankets right off of their unconscious bodies. They had one more day of travel left.

You see, Haru wasn't the only immortal who had been waiting for the next group for hundreds of years. There was more of him where he came from, twelve to be exact. And while he knew not of where most of his fellow guardians went, he knew of at least one person who was only a cart ride away. And today, they were going to him.

Tallyho, who had been one of those who slept so soundly that Haru had to physically snatch her covers off, didn't take kindly to the rude and early awakening. In fact, she was a little angry, although she was much too scared of Haru to outwardly voice her wrath. And so she spent the earliest part of their ride quietly fuming in the corner of the cart. To be fair, that wasn't the only reason why she was peeved though.

All of her “best friends” growing up were her cousins and even then she didn’t feel like she had that much of an attachment to them. But in the off chance she made a friend with a settler, the friendship seemed to end almost as swiftly as it began. Such was the case with Ingra, at least she thought so at the time. When they parted ways last night Ingra invited Tallyho to visit her in Malboro whenever she wanted. Tallyho accepted the invitation uneasily. But in her heart she knew that she’d probably never see the towering feminine figure again. Especially when she didn’t know where she’d be next.

The next five hours were probably the most trying. There were no more snacks in the cart and a strong scent was beginning to develop amongst the group members. They travelled so much before this point but Tallyho, years later, would always remember those five hours as the most uncomfortable hours of her life. She needed to get out of this cart. Fast. And it didn’t help that they had gained some altitude on the mountain path. The ground was far below them, hidden by canopies of trees and autumn mist. The snow was going to come down soon enough.

She wondered if they’d be trapped on this mountain and how high they were going to go. By this point they were nowhere near the top.

“We are almost there,” Haru assured them, as if on cue. “Ryou lives here. He was a guardian too. And when we went our separate ways he built a modest training ground up here. Takes in a handful of students, many orphans, and teaches them how to fight. Many go on to be mercenaries. This academy will be your new home for a few months. You need to learn how to defend yourselves because there will be lots of people who want to challenge you, test you, kill you… So you need to be ready.”

As they weaved and turned precariously on the winding mountain path, Haru proceeded to name each of the teenagers and their associated powers off to them. He hadn't forgotten his promise to tell them who they were. But Tallyho, being Airesian, was quite aware of who she was already.

Soon after, the upward path levelled into narrow road that wedged through two slabs of mountain face. And soon, they were surrounded by forest. The view over mountain ledge was gone, and besides the fact that Tallyho’s ears had popped, she wouldn't have been able to tell that they were in fact, on a mountain.

“It looks like we’re here,” Haru said.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Calliope Alexander Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Jules Fontaine Character Portrait: Haru Sinwood Character Portrait: Dorian Steinsson Character Portrait: Ron Muller Character Portrait: Aster Storm Character Portrait: Sorrell Hunt Character Portrait: Vegas Sinclair Character Portrait: Alina Tavaria Character Portrait: James Labonair Character Portrait: Emerson Motlilio
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The upward narrow lane wound through a forest of mostly oak and maple, where most of the trees were so ancient that only the most meager grass and brush could grow beneath them. By the time it leveled between the two faces of mountains, there the forest was not so old, and smaller trees and brush, some of it still living despite the lateness of the season, stood thick and heavy. Golden and scarlet leaves had begun covering the dried skeletons of the smaller brush, and the naked, sleeping trees swayed in a chorus of gentle creaking. Signs of humanity began shortly after, after Haru’s statement: They traveled passed a barren orchard, beehives, and a quaint field laid fallow for the season; and the dirt pathway became more heavily laden with soft, white cobblestone, jostling the cart and it’s passengers almost painfully. It was the signs of a strong holding, that the academy’s central buildings had walls higher than some military encampments, reaching nearly twice the height of a man and made of seamed, dark grey stone, laboriously raised from the mountainous ground over many years. The gates, heavy wood bound with a primitive steel, were half-closed, and a woman precariously perched on the wall above them, squinting laconically out over the distance.

The woman was lean, with darker skin than most people they’d seen so far of Solace, and had her long brown hair drawn painfully tight to pass an illusion of a mane of hair. Her colorful, flowing loose, tunic-dress and multiple layers of fine, jingling jewelry upon her arms and neck, left far too much skin on display – not that she seemed all that bothered by the cold seeping with the mountain mist clinging to the protected valley – and the prominent scars that came with it. She seemed to observe the coming cart with a slim mixture of annoyance and indifference for some time, before deciding they were close enough to skinny down the wall on a thin braided rope attached to a thickly made gray-fletched arrow wedged into the cracks of stone and landed on bare feet (ankles tinkling with their own noise-making jewelry in turn). Wordlessly she nodded in reluctant greeting as she pushed open the gate, allowing the driver to get his beasts and the cart inside the property; and once everyone was inside, she closed the gate and locked it with a ring of keys orbiting unnoticed upon her wrist.

Inside the gates there was a significant open space for communal gatherings and/or training; with what looked to be a deep well to one side, a large placid fountain with a minimal movement of water in the center, and stacks of various weaponry to the other side. Past it was a trio of large, rustic stone buildings, and beyond them a small barn and pens for animals resting upon a distant wall of the forest beyond. The woman approached the head of the cart, her sea-glass eyes retaining a distasteful yet knowledgeable look about a thing or two of the situation at hand as she passed over the heads of the warrior crowded in the back, before focusing on red-headed Guardian – the distaste lifted some, but she offered no more than lukewarm terse ‘smile’ to part her lips briefly. “Haru, and month warriors. We have been waiting for you… Ryou had another matter to attend too, and asked for me to greet you in his stead.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her voice quick and melodious and with minimal effort to separating the pronunciation between words. The brief pause in collecting her breath before continuing, allowed her gaze to shift briefly towards the cart driver / farm-hand and the tired horses appraisingly.

I will call a student over to help take your cart to unload and allow your beasts some rest and hot grain. But dinner is not for some time I am afraid, and while I understand you must all be very weary from your journey – I have only a tour and general things to offer you in the mean-time.” She finished shortly. Pursing her lips to deliver a short whistle, a younger man (really a boy, if his half-finished build and gangly limbs were any indication) materialized from a distant building, nodding in quick affirmation to her proposal / orders, as he stepped forward to take the reins of one of the team and stroke the equine’s bristled nose absently. The woman hardly spared the lad an appreciative glance, with all her authoritative attention focused upon Haru and the month warrior crew, yet was truly thankful not to be entirely alone dealing with this group of unknown variables even momentarily. Ryou had certainly done his best to feed her to the wolves to deal with this delicate matter in the most elegant way she knew how. Goddess help her...

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Character Portrait: Haru Sinwood Character Portrait: Alina Tavaria
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Haru was impressed by the impeccable timing of the woman who greeted them. Though he supposed he couldn’t expect anything else considering the fact that she was staked out, waiting for their arrival.

It wasn’t until they drew within the gates, now closer to the woman did Haru realized how familiar she seemed. He offered a stiff smile—not because he disliked her but because he was just a stiff smile kind of guy and was trying to be friendly.
“Alina, right?” He confirmed in his baritone. “You haven’t changed a day since I saw you last.”

He scanned her over, in search of the one item he remembered her for. She was, as he recalled, an archer, but he wondered why she was still here at the academy. The last time he was in the mountains she was already one of Ryou’s newer but older charges, a woman that (based on her age) might have been some war widow from the east.

“You still shoot, right? Where’s your bow?”

He then took a look around the land beyond the gate. Everything was just how he left it since his visit 10 years ago. Ryou did have a way of maintaining things -- buildings or friendships. While Haru chose to isolate himself from the other guardians after their tragic failure so many years ago, Ryou never really let him live in complete solitude. There would be many a time when Ryou would hunt him down. He'd be so persistent that Haru found their encounters to be less of a headache if he just went ahead and visited Ryou every now and then instead of letting himself be found at the most inopportune times.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Calliope Alexander Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Jules Fontaine Character Portrait: Haru Sinwood Character Portrait: Dorian Steinsson Character Portrait: Ron Muller Character Portrait: Aster Storm Character Portrait: Sorrell Hunt Character Portrait: Vegas Sinclair Character Portrait: Alina Tavaria Character Portrait: Emerson Motlilio
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Properly introduced by Haru’s confirmation, Alina bowed a polite inclination of her head and offered a gentler but still terse smile of her own. “The years have been kind.” She mused in agreement. Her eyes flickered a spark of something infinitely warmer at the guardians’ continued commentary: One part evidently satisfied to be remembered for her gifts from his last visit 10 years ago; the other a reluctant (at least to be seen expressed in front of a majority of strangers to be honest), reserved fondness for a missing member of the party mentioned previously.

Yes… Ryou mentioned that it would be best to leave my bow behind in the barracks for your arrival, due to the sensitive nature of some of the month warriors arriving. However, I hazard the state of their-err, other world, if a bow would cause any remarkable reactions – mhm, they’re to be warriors, no?” Alina continued, a faint echo of wiry amusement yet callous intentions upon her breath, with an idle shrugged roll of her shoulders. Her smile faded to a her preferred neutral line, observing the collective of individuals as the last unloaded from the cart thoughtfully, harsh yet not entirely unwelcoming – at least two, the sun-daughter and the Halesian male, should very well know what a bow was / and that a war-bow wasn’t someone’s silly prized hunting weapon; the others only caught her glance long enough for her to understand they held themselves differently, not wrong per say, but something wasn’t right either. Though, Alina noted, that she should suspend further judgement until later on.

She flicked one of her hands up in a dismissive gesture towards the other student, who nodded respectfully in turn, stepping up into the wagon seat and took the offered reins from the cart-driver (who subsequently leaned back with a thankful but tired expression). The lad murmured soft encourage to the horses, resuming travel as they pulled away from the milling group and headed toward the barn and quaint pens beyond the three buildings standing before the group; the two men, younger and older, chatting softly but animatedly as they went. Over the creaking of the rattling wheels departing, Alina raised her voice and said quite simply, “Come,” with a brief, beckoning gesture of her hand, and turned on a bare heel – jewelry jingling pleasantly as she went.

As a tour guide, Alina proved to be more efficient than particularly informative, and the tour marched on quickly (with very little questions being answered frankly). As they crossed the open yard before the buildings, many things were noted in an idle fashion, including: To start, that the only sources of water upon the campus were the fountain and the deep well, and the necessity to treat such resources with care (w/out quite blunting the thinly veiled threat of what could happen should you do). Following that, all of the training seemed to be outdoors; from a few groups of other students scrunched together in the shade or various nocks and crannies with books / crude parchment / or intent listening to other ‘instructors’, a well-maintained sand-pit with a rack of swords near-by with a pair of sprawled / sweaty students taking a breather, to the distant but well maintained shapes of targets with a rack the included suitable bow shaped pieces of wood and string, to multiple trails disappearing off into the forest for endurance (she didn’t take enough time to mention that it would be unwise to wander off alone down them unless with another elder-student of the Academy until they grew more familiar, but that should be rather self-explanatory). And last, as nonchalantly as everything before, that the first, smallest stone-and-wooden building they passed without entering was Ryou’s home and left it at that.

At the next building, a much larger structure that resembled more of a barn or shed with doors that looked almost as heavy as the gate they’d arrived through and a high vault to the roof observed as they walked up to it. “These are the barracks.” Alina spoke shortly, as she pried open the door that gave muted groan and revealed the interior. The barn had been converted to a giant communal living area, much like any army not on the move / living out of tents, completed with orderly rows of wooden bed frames and more of the same located above in a balcony (once used for feed storage) connected via a rope ladder, and had a single stone fireplace on one side that was dead currently / but would be lit every night for warmth. Many showed signs of ownership, with mattresses, blankets, clothes, weapons, or various sentimental knick-knacks; and more were empty frames, void of anything including a mattress. Alina paused momentarily frowning, searching left and right with measured tilts of her head, before finding what she was looking for and started off again to weave between frames on the ground-level before stopping at a row of thirteen beds in a row in a lonelier corner of the barracks (eleven bare, and the last two already claimed with stuffed mattresses, thin blankets - and the furthest in the corner had a rusty oxen-bell attached to the foot, and a long-sword hanging sheathed at the corner of the head).

Alina turned to face the group and waved her hand in an encompassing gesture to the set-up directly behind her, “This is where you will be staying warriors,” Unspoken, she shared a brief glance towards Haru, who would not be sleeping with nor nearby the warriors; if Ryou didn’t simply demand the other man stay in his own home was one thing, otherwise he would be offered a location in the tier above out of respect undoubtedly. The pause finished, she turned her head to acknowledge a nearby corner as she continued, “We have straw available to make your bedding with, the liners are in one chest, and the other has blankets – one per person for now, once Winter arrives - considerations will be noted… It will be easier if you set your places up now, depositing any extra belongings you may have, before the dinner-chime calls from the mess hall calls and dark is upon you.” Alina fell silent, regarding them all with a cool expression, patiently folding up her jangling arms across her chest to wait for the warriors to get a ‘move on’. As it was clear this wasn’t like an inn they’d stayed in the night previously, without any maids to come and go and do such a thing themselves, and that your own sleeping arrangements was entirely up to yourself. However, now out of the abbreviated tour for the moment, she seemed more available to any questions or concerns that would pop up if anyone had something.

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Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Calliope Alexander Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Jules Fontaine Character Portrait: Haru Sinwood Character Portrait: Dorian Steinsson Character Portrait: Ron Muller Character Portrait: Aster Storm Character Portrait: Sorrell Hunt Character Portrait: Vegas Sinclair Character Portrait: Alina Tavaria Character Portrait: Emerson Motlilio Character Portrait: Kibi
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Haru Sinwood

Haru wanted to laugh. Apparently it was extremely obvious that the warriors, as a group, knew very little about battle. And he was fairly confident that the stench of their collective inexperience wasn’t just something that Alina had picked up because she was a seasoned fighter.

“If they aren’t used to them now they’ll be used to them tomorrow,” he assured her before proceeding on the tour. As far as he could tell, Alina was one of the more advanced students. Especially if Ryou trusted her to greet them in lieu of himself. So he figured they would be encountering her more often than not.

“Listen carefully,” Haru said to the group. “This will be your home for a while.”


Tallyho Abel


Tallyho would be lying if she didn’t admit that the tour of the campus gave her cold feet about this whole month warrior thing. If it wasn’t the callous vibe of superiority that Alina put off toward the group, it was the sense of confinement Tallyho felt in this otherwise natural space. It wasn’t that the space was cramped, no, the layout was fine and the forest surrounding the academy seemed to run deep. It was the prospect of having her life strictly organized that worried Tallyho. Even though she felt socially confined in the caravan, day-to-day living as a sun person was a practice of freedom.

The blonde took special note of the students they passed and even the lankiest teen looked well-worked. And Tallyho, who couldn’t even muster a push up, was already skeptical about her ability to stay afloat in a place like this.

She wondered how tough this Ryou was. (His name had been mentioned far too many times by this point for her to not wonder.) She imagined a towering muscly man (similar to Haru) with a short neck that tightened against his bulging veins as he yelled.

When they reached the barracks, Tallyho found herself off put by the openness of the space. There were no doors, curtains or beads to undress behind, only rows of beds occupied shamelessly by both sexes. The final straw however (no pun intended), was when Alina bluntly informed them that they would be stuffing their own mattresses. She had only slept on a mattress for the first time at Haru’s farm, so how did they expect her to build one?

When Alina crossed her arms, Tallyho moved to retrieve a liner. Her gestures didn’t betray her feelings of confusion and reluctance. She appraised the fabric, attempting to piece together how she was supposed to seal it, but she dared not to look back at Alina for hints.

“You put the hay in, you know? Over here!”

A small voice chimed up from the nearby corner where hay piled up against the wall in abundance. There was so much hay in fact, that Tallyho hardly noticed the small body splayed within it. It was a girl, at least Tallyho figured from her voice, with big cloudy hair that stood upright in all directions. As the girl rolled off of her back and onto her knees to stand, she galloped over toward the group, out of the darkness. Her feet were bare against the barrack floor.

“Like this!” she said as she tossed a fistful of hay into Tallyho’s liner. She looked at the group.

“You never make a bed before?” she laughed at them quite unapologetically, whistling through a missing gap where a childhood tooth once hung like a swinging school bell. She pointed at them too.

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[Calliope Alexander] - [#551a8b] - [Mood]
The past few days had become somewhat of a blur as she seemed to withdraw away from the world around her since they'd left the farm. Almost becoming a passenger within her own body she could feel herself going through the motions but beyond that she was just trudging along and following the others wherever they were headed. She was certainly struggling with what she'd been told and could hardly make sense of what was happening anymore. Once they had reached the nearby city she was almost catatonic, lost in her thoughts and barely receptive beyond the occasional one word response or minimal intake of food and water.

After they left the winding and claustrophobic streets of the city she did feel a little better, becoming more aware of her surroundings and a great deal more active. At best she was somewhat ashamed that when faced with the reality of their situation she'd not remained as strong as she had hoped; instead simply snapping under the pressure and becoming less than useless. Now that they were back in the open she was feeling more energised and could admit her failing. As they began their climb up into the mountains she was gradually picking up pace as her training began to resurface, even if her thoughts kept returning to darker things.

Now that the cart they were on was reaching higher altitudes the smell of snow began to tinge the air as trees started to spring up around them and before long they were venturing deeper through a thick forest. At last after the rather long journey the trees thinned slightly before opening into a large clear space which appeared to be dominated by a rather large cluster of buildings surrounded by a multitude of orchards and other farm-like structures such as animal pens and barns. There also appeared to be a dull buzzing coming from what looked to be a series of beehives off to one side.

Once they reached the main square their cart came to a halt as they were approached by a dark-skinned and lithe woman who seemed to be appraising them all with a rather disparaging view of what she saw. It wasn't until their new host announced that food would not be due for some time that Cali realised just how little she'd managed to eat in recent days and could feel her stomach growling in protest. Stiflingly her disappointment she fell in behind the others, taking her meagre belongings with her rather than leaving them to be taken by the stable hand.

The woman, who Haru introduced them to as Alina proceeded to take them through a somewhat hurried tour of their surroundings. It felt to Cali to be a rather bare bones approach with her often skirting areas where advice of personal safety should have been mentioned which came across as either an oversight or intentional. Perhaps by presenting dangers to them it was meant to weed out the foolhardy among them? When at last they were all but abandoned in the old barn with beds little more than bare bones she couldn't help but scoff at what her drill sergeant would have made of it.

When one of their number, the local girl whose name she couldn't quite remember wandered over towards the hay she nearly jumped in surprise when a small child burst from the pile to criticise the lack of knowledge on how to make their beds. Cali gave her a cool, forced smile as she picked up a pillow and then kneeled down by the haystack. The act caused her to wince a little and mutter a curse or two under her breath before proceeding to fill it slowly with hay.

”Some of us can do it just fine.” She grumbled at the girl before tying the pillow shut and tossing it onto one of the nearby beds. Well if you could call the rickety frames beds at all.

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#, as written by Linnea
The tarot session remained confusing, and only one more fruitless attempt was made before Angela decided she should sleep off the tension. Come the next morning, she found herself still weary. She was in a daze as her cheerful disposition was shaken by the reality of the situation. The discomfort was starting to feel repetitive.

Still, she put her makeup on crammed herself into the cart once again and stared into the sky. She wished she had packed more snacks into her purse, as a sole butterscotch candy from some unknown time past was the only food left. Angela didn’t dare to eat it. She’d save it for now.

The ride was bumpy as expected and didn’t do well for Angela as she repeatedly tried to process what was happening. And when they finally arrived, the odd sensation of disconnection with the world was swiftly replaced by a nervous energy. She chewed on her lip through the tour, trying her best to remember everything she was seeing. Not that she had much of a chance with how fast it was going. Before she knew it, they were in the barracks.

Angela furrowed her brow in confusion. There? They’d be sleeping there? These guardians, just what were they planning? She rubbed her arm as she anticipated the winters there. Hellish, probably. Southern California hadn’t prepared her for any temperature lower that 70 degrees Fahrenheit. How was she going to survive this?

She carefully grabbed a liner, twisting it around to try to find out how it worked. Before she could attempt, however, a young girl hopped down to the floor to point out the groups flaws. Not that Angela minded a bit. She always had a huge soft spot for kids. This isn’t to say she was good with them. She had the tendency to spoil them rotten. Babysitting was a short-lived experience.

“So, it’s like this?” Angela asked the girl as she forced in clumps of straw. It actually seemed easy enough by that point, but she always enjoyed it when children explained things to her. More often than not she learned something new that she’d never have thought of.

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Kibi

Kibi was aware that she was outspoken, often in the way that irked the adults around her. But she never took it personally when their sour attitudes inevitably bled through their tight smiles. The six year old always found a way to keep bumbling forward in conversation, no matter how burned she might be from an interaction. So while she could hear the annoyance in one of the women’s voices as she knelt over the hay to stuff her pillow, Kibi had no trouble pressing her further.

“That pillow's all lumpy!” she giggled, unaware of the straw that prickled and poked out from her afro. And even if the pillow wasn’t lumpy, she said so with so much confidence it wouldn’t be foolish of Calliope to take a second look.

This kid had an ego. So when one of the other women asked for her help, Kibi was delighted. Belly first, she marched forward to assist, appraising the woman as she forced clumps of straw into her liner. She did so in a way that was perfectly fine, but of course Kibi had to outdo her.

“No, no, no it’s alllll wrong!” She howled excitably. Her words whistled between her teeth.

“Like this,” she exclaimed with a smile as she took a messy, flustered fist of hay and dramatically (with her entire body) threw it into the bag. The contrast of how the hay fluttered and floated after her intense throw was almost comical.

“See?”

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#, as written by Linnea
Angela stood still for a moment as she waited for the straw to settle. She certainly wasn't expecting that. She blinked, a bit shocked, but then nodded.

"I see. Man, did I have it backwards!" She honestly had no idea if she had done it right or wrong, but seeing the girl smile made Angela feel better than she had in days. She picked a few bits of straw out of her hair before shoving more straw in the liner more forcefully than before. It felt a little silly, but silly was exactly what she needed.

"It'll probably take a while before I'm anywhere near as good as you, though." Angela grinned. She didn't think she would ever get used to this.

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Ron drunkenly made his way through the crowded city of Malboro back to their inn where he found a nice bed to pass out on. Morning came all too soon and as the group got back on their cart his head throbbed from all that poison he drank the night before. He frequently napped as the trip continued, sometimes waking up to read or look at maps to tell where they were or any landmarks nearby. As they got closer to the mountains, he began to wonder if there were any sources of sulfur or saltpeter in the area. If they were to learn how to fight, he would much rather create a musket or a rifle than swing a sword around. To think that joining in black powder clubs and reenactments would possibly save his life later on was laughable at best.

As the group closed in to the walls of the academy, an agile woman came down from a rope to greet them. She wore a combination of leather and metal and sounded middle-eastern. Although Ron knew that there were probably not any nations that were similar to the ones on Earth, it was all that he could compare things to. The woman, Alina, showed the warriors around on a tour and Ron took note of where he could make his gear later on. Eventually they were taken to a barn, which were apparently going to be their quarters.

The barn was filled with bunks that had no walls or rooms or barriers for privacy. He looked around to see if anybody would feel uncomfortable when they eventually had to change. Then they were told that their beds were to be made of straw. While the comfort of sleeping on straw did not bother Ron, as he had passed out in the family barn on multiple occasions, it was the idea of repeatedly sleeping on it for a long period of time that vexed him. Straw was an invitation to fleas and bedbugs, two insects that he did not want to invite to his bed. Still it was better than sleeping on the cold ground. He looked up at some of the others talking to a child that seemingly came out of nowhere. All this time he thought that this academy was for aspiring soldiers or mercenaries, and if it was, he doubted that they would take in a child. Maybe she was a runaway.

"Hey kid!" Ron called out. "Why are you here and where are your parents?"

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Kibi

More than anything Kibi enjoyed being told that she was right. So Angela’s words were just the right cocktail of ego boost that ensured the young girl would be approaching the group quite often from now on. But before she had the opportunity to further guide the blonde on how to properly stuff the liners with hay, a man started calling out to her, questioning where her parents were.

She spun to look at him with a perplexed expression as she thought long hard about where she had seen her father last. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But sometimes when my dad is gone for so long I think he’s just off pooping.” She broke out into a fit of giggles, impressed by her shameless admittance that other humans poop too. It's fair to say that any parent would think of her joke as an embarrassing and highly inappropriate piece of commentary. But if there was only one subject that could get kids in a tizzy for a good lowbrow laugh, poop was it.

“I’m six. How many seasons are you?” She looked around, indicating that her question about age was directed at everyone.

Her gaze landed on the man who questioned where her parents were.

“Are you 40?” Kibi asked earnestly.

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As Ron sat down on his finished, awkward bed, he began to feel uncomfortable as the child began to talk about shit. He wondered if she even knew that she was speaking or if her parents had not taught her about social dos and don'ts. Then she asked everybody their age, while guessing that his own age was about 20 years off. Still he figured that he would just shrug it off and go with it.

"Close." Ron began with a grin "I'm actually 43, but thanks for the compliment."

He began to empty his belongings into what was left of his ration bag from early in the trip and placed it by his bedside. The only thing that he was sure to keep with him at all times was his pistol, along with its ammunition. Partially because he was in an unknown world with knights who could be one-shot by it and also because Heather had threatened to kill him earlier. While he had not thought about possibly harming any of the other warriors, the thought about snuffing her out had come to mind once or twice during the journey. However, that would be a bad idea so long as they were in the presence of Haru or within the academy walls. Until that came, Ron had no desire to be friendly to someone like her.

"Hope the ride wasn't too rough for you princess" He called out to Heather.

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#, as written by Linnea
"Oh! I didn't even introduce myself! Geez, talk about rude!" Angela laughed, still stuffing her liner. Fun as it was to stuff it Kibi's way she wasn't sure if it would be ready any time soon like that. She ignored the comment about poop, as such talk was the norm for just about any young kid.

"I'm Angela Taylor! I'm 19, but I think i'll be 20 soon. Like, maybe in a few months? Probably? I'm not really sure." She shrugged. Her little bit of joy was quickly interrupted by the thought of her birthday. She had always planned on spending her twenty first birthday with her friends on Earth. She supposed that might not even be possible now. Angela stuffed the liner a bit forcefully again, trying to ignore that unpleasant feelings this revelation caused.

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Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Calliope Alexander Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Haru Sinwood Character Portrait: Ron Muller Character Portrait: Alina Tavaria Character Portrait: Kibi
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Alina remained silent, and observing haughtily over the conversation stirred to life by an over exuberant child, and the cautiously reluctant (until another stepped forward, showing the way; or how it ‘must be done’) or lackadaisical attempts of stuffing the liners with the straw for their mattress and pillow. It wasn’t long until her patience ran thin, however, that even the fond endearment (only earned through the child’s six seasons frankly) couldn’t win out for much longer. Why must she always go to pooping, indeed? “Kiba.” She admonished abruptly, not cruel by any means but not quite blunting her sharpness of tone either; stepping forward to wind a firm grip with her slender fingers about the little girl’s wrist, pulling her off to the side and out from the midst of the warrior’s bedding duties. After they’d moved a respectable distance away, Alina knelt unto her knees in front of Kiba, with her terse smile falling into a thoughtful frown. "Hold still." Releasing her grip from the other’s wrist, that hand made itself busy plucking the straw that prickled and poked out of the untamable afro; while the other wound up to her own head, and after a few curious tugs with the evidence of her carefully tight braided mane look decidedly looser on the left side compared to the right, a white-tooth comb of bone was free to help removal of the straw – much quicker than solely by fingers in the mess of hair that was more or less unmanageable to many of the adults here that called the Academy home (or even this side of the World for that matter). It wasn't a long ordeal, only made longer by Kiba's occasional ticklish squirm, before Alina was satisfied that most if not all of the straw had been taken care of. "Go get yourself washed up for dinner, your father will be returning soon, yes." She hummed softly, though the order it entailed no fainter even with her low tone. As she rose, resuming her cross-arms, attentive expression with eyes not unlike the frost that stars sometimes held in the sky above.

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H E A T H E RXD E V E R E U X
_____T H EXA R T I S T_____

Outfit: Link Here
Location: Aires - Daniel Military Academy
Dialogue Color ✦ #8A4E62
Thought Color ✧ #3A0012


If there had ever been a time that Heather had come off too privileged or too spoiled to appreciate the basic luxuries that she had been provided on Earth, she had slowly begun to regret them on the journey to the academy. It never occurred to her that she could go a day without showering other than the one time she willingly did so as a protest or community service sort of event, she couldn't remember the exact details since it had been freshman year and she had done anything to get those hours out of her face so that she could focus on her classes. But five days without showering? Five days with virtual strangers on a rickety ride on the road to training to become month warriors, and without showering? And it had only started to get colder? Heather had been in a perpetual state of discomfort and disgust, and not even managing to take her hair out of the locs - and she hadn't even taken the time to observe any faces made when the hair that was not her own had been released - and brush it into what it currently was made her feel better.

The tour and its guide didn't make matters any better for her. Despite knowing very well that her understand of what an academy was and what she was confronted with would be quite different, the state of this "academy" left much to be desired and, unknowingly like Tallyho, Heather was beginning to regret her acceptance of the task Haru - or the universe - set out for them. She didn't even bother fixing her face when she saw where they would all be staying, uttering a quiet, "You've gotta be kiddin' me," mostly to herself. The only silver lining that could be found was in the form of the small child who had appeared and while she didn't necessarily have Heather grinning from ear to ear, Heather found herself softening just a touch at the child's presence, especially with the light ribbing at them for not knowing how to stuff linens. She had just been about to get some more straw for her own when Ron called out to her, and Heather rose from her crouch, eyes trained on the man. She hadn't spoken to him since Haru's farm and didn't plan on it unless it was absolutely necessary, but it was like his asshole meter hadn't been filled in the last five days, so he had no choice but to replenish those rations. And she was suddenly the only one he wanted to feed off of.

"Oh, handsome," she cooed aloud, a very sweet smile on her face as Heather scooped more straw up to put into her pillow. However, though her lips stretched into a smile, Heather's eyes were cold, even as she continued in a sickeningly sweet tone that brooked all the seriousness in the world, "Call me princess again and I'll show you rough. And I'll use the little toy you use to compensate with, since you clearly lack everything important enough to justify your douchebag-ness, to do it." Heather shoved the straw into her pillow and headed back towards the bed she had chosen, which happened to be near Calliope's and Tallyho's. But not before stopping near Ron to harden her voice as she told him, "I may not look like it, but I am not the one you wanna fuck with just cuz I hurt ya lil' feelings." Giving him one last glare, Heather made it back to her bed, straightening out the contents of the pillow so that it wouldn't look or feel too lumpy when she would have to lay on it. And she honestly didn't want to think about laying on it at all.

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Kibi

Kibi huffed as Alina dragged her away from what she decided was going to be her new group of friends.
“Alina!” she moaned again and again as she went. Even through the hair picking, and even more so when the woman started combing Kibi’s hair. It was the absolute worst thing in the world for the young girl because no matter how gentle Alina tried to be (granted she’s not a gentle person) Kibi’s scalp always felt yanked and tender by the end of it.
“Alina,” she huffed again when the woman finished. “It’s Kibi! KEE-BEE! Like a bumble bee.”

Ever since the six year old started expressing ownership over her name, she took great pleasure in correcting people when they pronounced it wrong. Alina was a person who did this often, calling her ‘Kiba’ instead. And while Alina’s accent was typically the main culprit of this phonetic violation, Kibi never let it go and often corrected her relentlessly.

Tallyho Abel


Meanwhile on the other side of the barn, Tallyho watched in mild horror as a confrontation sprang out of nowhere between Ron and Heather. By now she was almost done stuffing her mattress, but her attention was snared in the knot of their verbal spar. She didn’t need to understand all of their words to understand the tension.

The blonde had already decided her preference for Heather over Ron days ago, so her alertness was mostly inspired by thoughts of what she would do if he moved to attack.

“You. Why you do this?” she asked Ron in a baffled tone. “You make your bed, she make hers and you taunt her? Why?”

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#, as written by Linnea
As she finished stuffing her lining, Angela was a little sad that Kibi was leaving. This was only momentary. As the confrontation escalated, Angela was relieved that the little girl wasn't around. She didn't need to see this. Angela didn't feel the need to see it either, but she was stuck where she was. So, as she plopped her mattress down on the wooden frame, she let out a small sigh of frustration.

She never expected everyone to get along, and she herself was still a anxious over this whole thing, but this just seemed excessive. And, of course, it was Ron instigating things. She was the type to want to befriend anyone. But Ron? He was the exception. Why he was so intent on acting out was beyond her. She couldn't blame Heather for her reaction. She actually enjoyed it a bit. Dude had it coming. Tallyho raised some good points, too. But for the sake of peace, Angela thought it would be better to let things fizzle out.

She turned around and raised her hands defensively, an awkward and forced smile on her face.

"Hey, hey, let's not let this get into a thing. We're all tired and smelly and stressed but it's like, we don't have to take it out on each other! Y'know?" Angela's voice wavered a little, as she was pretty frightened by the thought of Ron shooting up the place, but at least she could say she tried.

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Ron smirked when Heather lashed out towards his comment. He was halfway hoping that she would whip back with something a bit more clever, but then again he figured her for somebody that was not used to being talked to like that very often. Then Tallyho came over and gave him an earful. He honestly had no idea why he loved instigating people he had no affection for so much. Perhaps it was just from growing up with four brothers. The amount of shit talking that happened at their farm made him accustomed to harsh attitudes, but he was not about to change the way he talked to others, especially for some people he just met.

Then Angela came over in an awkward stance and an uncomfortable smile to try to diffuse the situation. Ron sighed as they were probably right. If he was going to stay with this group until they defeated some great threat, for who knows how long, then it would probably be best not to be at each others throats. He glanced at Angela and pulled out his pistol. "I'm guessing this is why you're so defensive?" He asked. "Fine. As a gesture of good will..." He began to empty all the rounds from his revolver, and placed the empty gun on his bed. "Tallyho can hold onto it until we trust each other. Okay?"

Ron then took out his only joint he had on him, perhaps the only source weed on Aires, and walked over to Heather's bunk. "Look. Sorry about being a dick. Smoke with me?" He had very little experience in apologizing to people, but in that little amount of experience, weed was one of the best expressions of good will.

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Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Ron Muller
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XXPerspectives

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XXTallyho AbelX
Tallyho Abel

When the item hit Ron’s bed Tallyho shuffled over to pick it up. Truth-be-told she wasn’t sure what it was, but based on the conversation around it, it seemed like a threatening item that the others didn’t want Ron to have.

It was probably a good thing that Ron had emptied it out though, because the blonde immediately began peering into the muzzle like a child searching for a world of tiny people. Not to mention the fact that she was haphazardly holding it by the barrel instead of the grip. She looked at Ron suspiciously before stuffing it into her bedding with the hay, shaking the liner so the pistol shuffled to the bottom. If he was going to take it from her bed, it certainly wasn’t going to be without her noticing.

She threw the mattress on the frame and plopped down. Now where was this Ryou person Haru was speaking about? As a matter of fact, where was Haru? If she recalled he wasn’t even in the barn to witness their argument, but she wasn’t sure when he disappeared.

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Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Calliope Alexander Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Ron Muller
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To say Keiran was adapting well would be a lie. More like he was just accepting it as reality. He was apparently some superpowered warrior of old and was supposed to go and protect this Lord of the Rings-like place from many Godzillas. Easy enough, right? Well Keiran didn't think so, when Ryou had told him all this he didn't believe a word. He's still not sure if he believed it, but he felt it. Especially when his bracelet burned like fire five days ago. He had just been minding his own business at home after a long day at work. He had been tasked with watching over screaming children in the children's area. He wasn't happy to say the least bit.

So the thanked God when he finally got home. All he remembered was thinking how pretty the sunset was before he was sucked into a blackness. Then when he came too he was in some sort of school. After being informed of what he was and what he was supposed to do. He was left to his own devices. Pretty much he was told 'Yeah you're a superhero now, now go wait for the rest of your group.' it was great.

Now here he was, he finally got the chance to bathe in the spring and was making his way back to the barracks. His hair wet and still dripping he paused at the door. There was a group of people that he wasn't familiar with, and they were wearing Earthen clothes. Did that mean they were like him? Only one way to find out is to go forth and ask. He was not that happy with them hovering so close to his bed where his bag of belongings were. Though what could you do? He was really protective over his things, especially since that was all he had right now.

He pushed past the group and flopped on the already made bed. He looked up through the top of his glasses at the arguing. "Given some of you guy's clothes, you're from Earth? Great, I was beginning to wonder if I was being bullshitted and waiting for nothing." he said and smiled. He was seriously glad to see people from his planet, none of the people around here got his jokes and took things too seriously. He wasn't sure if these guys would either, but it was comforting.

"Also. If you plan on killing each other, I saw nothing." he jested.

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Character Portrait: Heather Devereaux Character Portrait: Tallyho Abel Character Portrait: Angela Taylor Character Portrait: Ron Muller Character Portrait: Keiran Wakefield
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#, as written by Linnea
The look on Angela's face could best be described as a startled cat. Her eyes were wide and her body rigid. Her arms practically wrapped around her body as if that would provide any sort of defense. The shots still rang in her ears, along with her pounding heart. For a moment, she thought he was actually going to kill them all.

She opened her mouth in an attempt to say something to him but nothing came to mind. What was there to say? What the fuck? No, that wasn't good enough. All she could do was stand there in disturbed awe and watch as Tallyho shoved the gun in her mattress. At least it wasn't loaded anymore. Angela was grateful for that. She'd ignore the annoying smell of weed for now. The last thing she wanted was another reason to start an argument.

She exhaled as the newcomer arrived. Not out of relief, for she was still pretty tense, but out of the fact that she couldn't keep holding her breath waiting for some way to express her frustration at Ron.

"No, nope." Angela managed to sputter the words out.

"No killing today. Or tomorrow. None. None at all. Not happening. Nope." She threw up her hands and sat down on her bed, exhausted by the situation.

"But yeah, yeah we're from Earth. I mean, most of us are. Uh, sorry 'bout you walking in on this. We're just like, well, it's been a long day. Cart rides and stuff and we ran out of snacks. Like, god I miss cars. And air conditioning. Oh, right, i'm Angela Taylor. Nice to meet ya!" Angela waved. She didn't feel like getting up to shake his hand. But she did give a tired smile. There was no reason to be rude.

"What are you in for?"