Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Impending Pursuit Q&A » Eudaimonia » Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Plato’s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation » Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library »

Players Wanted: Looking For A New Partner » Hellboy characters » 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life ٩( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players »

0
followers
follow

Scott Feltikk

don't pick the right side, pick the profitable side.

0 · 205 views · located in Scarmouth

a character in “Blinding Lights”, as played by Ulfhednar902

Description

Image

ImageImage
Image
______________________________




Image






NAMEXX Scott FeltikkGENDERXX Male
NICKNAMESXXTikk, Scotikk, Scotty.NATIONALITYXX Caucasian
AGEXX 27DIALOGUE COLOR XX #000000
SEXUALITYXXHetero

x
x

Image
______________________________

Image
______________________________

Image
M I R R O RXXM I R R O R


H E I G H TXANDXB U I L D:


5'8", 185, Athletic.

Scott's sunglasses are perhaps the most memorable part of his usual attire, regularly dressing with the aim of being forgettable. Behind them, dark circled eyes lie, victims of self induced insomnia via remembered remnants of revolution's rigors. Generally covering his hair with an NYC hat, leaving an unkempt stubble of ginger-blonde stubble covering the remainder of his face, just short enough to show his unforgivingly serious expression.

Image
______________________________

ImageW H OXXA MXXI?
X
P E R S O N A L I T Y:

Since the revolution, things have been different for Scott. A jaded man, he prefers quiet rooms and empty hallways to cheerful banter and a full driveway. The revolution was hard on the criminal element of Scarmouth, which split down the middle, and had somewhat of a war of their own. Scott was a well-respected middle-class hustler, before the rebellion showed its face and sought to end corruption.

When the rebellion continued, Scott saw an opportunity to greatly expand his business, and take out those in power who pushed men like Scott to the outer fringes of society. He taught courage and strength to those who were weak, knowledge and decency to the unrefined. He not only sought those in power who would see him ousted, and branded them nationalists, he sold arms to both sides, turning quite a tidy profit, while setting up the rebels for success by selling the nationalists disserviced firearms. Some would call it selfish, perhaps even corrupt, but regardless, Scott's reach now extended into the republic, and they would see him seated at their table, however, that wasn't the life Scott knew, or wanted.

Q U I R K SXA N DXO D D I T I E S:
Never without a cigarette
Favorite food is breakfast for supper,
Prefers reading and music to social media and viral videos.

F E A R S
The city falling apart,
losing his standing in the community,
Watching the old regime rise again out of the ashes.

Image
______________________________


ImageT H EXXP A S T

Scott grew up poorer than dirt, in the projects on the southside of Scarmouth. As a child, Scott was ostracized due to his hand me down clothes, and his jaded nature. He attended elementary at a public school uptown, however, his grades weren't on his mind. As he entered grade 5, he began to notice the nicer things the other kids had along with the rampant drug use in the community, and connected the dots. As a teen, Scott learned to fight, so he could protect what he had earned. In his youth, he was out for himself, gold chains, watches, whiskey, and women. He took full advantage of the corruption in the government, despite the damage it did to the people. That is, until they cut off his fathers healthcare. Poor man died in 6 weeks once they cut off his medication. His mother left town not long after.

Once they were gone, Scott moved to a small studio unit just south of West-Central Scarmouth, perhaps the only worse area than southside. Rebels and gangster's populated most of the westside, so it was no surprise that once the rebellion started, the more organized, corrupt citizens of the eastside attacked the wilder, more individualized peoples of the westside. Scott united the westsides, showed them how to fight and how to shoot. Some say those Scott led, the underdogs, made the difference in the rebellion. Now, they look to him for answers, and he just wants to go back to slinging packs and selling guns. Power will always corrupt, thats why the underdogs are so important, because they challenge that power.




Noah- He's smart, but he has too much of a heart. Scott's convinced that somewhere deep down, Noah's tougher than all of us. He refused to lose faith in humanity, even when faced with the atrocities of war. He's helpful, even when people judged him for it, and that, is what makes him the best of all of us.

Hatch- She didn't exactly pick a side, and for that Scott holds some resentment. She's standoffish, and, as far as Scotts' concerned, her lack of choosing a side spoke volumes to him. If not to support your fellow countrymen, then what would she stand for?

Ryan- He's got tunnel vision in the best sort of way. Even though he didn't pick a side exactly, he stood up for the truth, and that's big. Thick skinned, and not in the least bit greedy, Scott holds a lot of respect for Ryan, even though he knows the sentiment isn't necessarily shared.

Camilla- She's too obsessed with being perfect, proper. That band of hers', politically correct, dressing nice, not willing to get their hands dirty. He understands why they stood with the government, but doesn't respect it.

Magnolia- The infamous daughter of the Facist. We've met, several times for meetings and sales with her father. Of course, she probably thinks we were just there to do his bidding, but it's quite the opposite. She's probably just like her father, thinking she can buy her way into the winning side with some funds, but she'll learn we don't sell out.

Danika- She's smart. Ambitious. And a hell of a wordsmith. She holds the key to a lot of peoples success and failure, though she seems fairly uninterested in their rise and fall, more so she revels in her solitude, due to the fact that most people, backed into a corner, will turn feral.

Miles- Poor guy's a shell of his former self. It's a shame too, because with his skill set, he would have been a great man, and perhaps there is still that potential, he just needs to defeat his weakness. Rid himself of any form of conscience. Find a way to show him, the things he's seen, the things he's done, were for the greater good, for the well-being of Scarmouth.

So begins...

Scott Feltikk's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnolia Wrenley Character Portrait: Danika Orlov Character Portrait: Noah Lawson Character Portrait: Miles Caal Character Portrait: Hatch Williams Character Portrait: Camilla Rhodes Character Portrait: Ryan Joshi Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk Character Portrait: Blake Langston Character Portrait: Damien Moore Character Portrait: Ashleigh Barnes
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

4.00 INK

Image

Image
x
x
x

noah lawson
the medic - #879788 - outfit

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

Image


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Image

Image
x
x
x

hatch williams
the mechanic- #400026 - outfit

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

Image


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

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

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

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

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

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

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Noah Lawson Character Portrait: Miles Caal Character Portrait: Ryan Joshi Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

29.50 INK

Image
Image
Image
every word has consequences.
outfitx|x#3B5998
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzevery silence, too.
Image

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

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

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

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

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

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


Image

Image
Image
Image
he seems to feel his own worth,
outfitx|x#CC0063
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzand the greatness of his fall.
Image

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnolia Wrenley Character Portrait: Noah Lawson Character Portrait: Samar Chopra Character Portrait: Camilla Rhodes Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ivisbo
Image
Image
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXX[outfit]




Samar stared at his watch, the device lit up with the ‘replay’ command and a still of Nola’s unsmiling face. She looked truly miserable- and maybe she deserved it for thinking that going to that party was anywhere near the realm of good ideas.

He wasn’t going.

He’d told her that already- when she’d asked him in her office, when she’d ‘dropped by’ with dinner and a request for him to join, when she’d called him yesterday and slyly asked what he was wearing. He’d told her sweatpants and a beer-stained shirt and hung up. Samar wasn’t surprised she was trying to guilt-trip him now with her sad bathroom pity party. He had half a mind to call, tell her to fuck off, and get belligerent drunk here on his own.

Pulling himself up, he looked around the semi-clean living room with contempt and boredom. The tv was off- it was all coverage of the award ceremony and he couldn’t stand to see the stupid speeches and close-up shots of the cities new celebrities. Samar had watched two seconds of Noah’s awkward speech and cringed so badly he’d slammed the off button and decided the ceiling was far more interesting. Until Nola had called- which he’d ignored- and then left him the most tragic looking holo-mail he’d ever received.

“If you get alcohol poisoning in the bathroom it’ll end up on the news”, He messaged her, standing up with the audible cracking of his spine as he stretched and shuffled towards the staircase.

“Stop being so difficult - you know you’re going to be drinking yourself into a stupor either way. There is unlimited food and booze here. Just put on the suit in your closet, get your ass down here and I promise I will never ask you for a favor ever again.” Samar glared down at Nola’s message, then up at the suit bag hanging in his bedroom closet like it had been there the whole time. Which meant she’d snuck past him while sleeping (or passed out) and drug this thing up his stairs and safely in his closet without him noticing.

“You piss me the fuck off”, He replied back to her, then unzipped the bag and pulled out a modern black suit with satin lapels and a skinny tie. Of course Nola would pick him something out that looked so irritatingly perfect just on a hanger. She probably somehow knew his measurements and everything.

-----

Samar hated that he was here.

The awards were over by the time he arrived, so the majority of the guests were bustling near the hors d’oeuvres, trying to steal the attention of the overworked bartender, or mingling in groups scattered across the large room. He eyed the room with a single-minded aversion that made him want to turn around immediately and recluse back to his dark living room.

A few people might recognize him here, but he was hoping the majority were too wrapped up in the event to pay another man in a dark suit any mind. He’d seen Noah on the tv earlier, so the doctor was probably present and very much unhappy with all the attention. He was happy to see Scott tucked away in the corner, he hadn't seen him since the last day of the revolution and hadn’t been sure if he’d made it out okay. Samar avoided being noticed though, preferring to steer clear of the prescribed small talk of these gatherings in favor of tracking down the annoying little devil in his life.

“Where the fuck are you?” He whispered a message to Nola into his watch, shuffling uncomfortably and continuing to run his gaze over the crowd without making eye contact.

Samar’s phone instantly pinged back a photo of Nola standing at the bar pouting with the bartender clearly ignoring her in the background. He glanced over at the crowded bar on the far side of the room, sighed the disgruntled anger of a 70-year-old man, and made his way over.

Nola was loosely perched on a barstool, very much within the eye line of the bartender but very clearly being overlooked in favor of other guests. Samar squeezed up next to her, ignoring the irritation of the man next to him, and spun Nola’s chair towards him.

“Did you finish that entire bottle yourself?”

“Samar!” Nola said a bit louder than she intended, a look of relief washing over her expression. “Look at you! You’re so cute in your little suit!” She poked at the buttons of his jacket, her lips upturned into a smile that answered Samar’s question very clearly.

“I am not cu- no listen fuck. This is why I drink in private, this whole shit is being televised Nol” He pushed her finger away from his button and pointed over at a camera interviewing some of the guests, “You're a goddamn mess, that's my role”

Nola looked over to the camera then back to Samar before shrugging, waving off his concerns. That little voice in the back of her head repeated his words back to her, reminding herself of her obligation to her business to maintain some sort of decorum. Unfortunately, that voice was deafened by the reminder that no matter how hard she tried, their perception of her would never change. Every day was spent distracting herself from this fact by trying to help others - but she was tired. She just wanted to stop caring, even if just for a little bit.

“No one’s looking at us, loosen up. I’m just here for the optics. No one’s interviewing me - I’m not one of the good guys, remember?” Her tone was upbeat but her words hollow. Propping herself up on the bar and looking back to Samar with a mischievous expression, she gestured over her shoulder. “Now...how about you stop being a grump and go on and order us a couple drinks.”

They glared at each other for an exaggerated amount of time before he obviously caved first and leaned forward to signal for the bartender. Nola was right- the cameras were here for people like Noah and all the others that had ‘contributed their lives to the cause’. He might as well drink their alcohol, eat their food, and get what he could before he went back to doing nothing.

He ordered them two bourbons neat and a shot each, not even trying to pretend like he wasn’t ordering just to get drunk. Nola was already swaying on her stool and although he’d started the day with a beer, he’d need a lot more than that to catch up. Once their drinks were in hand, they finished off the shots quickly and he pushed her out of her seat in favor of one of the unoccupied standing tables.

“Wait - where are we going?” Nola asked while he led her from the bar, though she didn’t resist his direction she did look back at the bar with big doe eyes. Now in the thick of the crowd it was easier to blend in, but Nola still preferred the comfort of the bar. Admittedly, she felt a lot less isolated knowing Samar was there to have her back - even if it was begrudgingly.

“You clean up nice, you know.” She said with an all-knowing smirk. “You should try it more often.”

He forcibly put her drink in her hand, cheersed it, and drank almost half of his, “I have literally never worn a suit and I will not be doing it again” His eyes danced across the crowd, avoiding catching anyone's gaze but also making sure no one he knew had noticed him yet, “So are you gonna explain why you were drinking an entire bottle of wine in the bathroom by yourself at the party that you basically funded?”

Magnolia’s expression wilted, rolling her eyes dramatically as she sighed. “Do we really have to go into it?”

His glare told her that it was indeed necessary, especially given the lengths she’d just made him go through to come here with no context. She pursed her lips, already annoyed with what his response would be. "First of all, it was not an ’entire’ bottle of wine. As for the why… I mean it’s honestly a bit comical in retrospect. Someone threw their drink at me. Like I’ve only seen that in movies. It was this whole scene and they were kicked out." Magnolia looked down, biting the inside of her lip to keep the image of her father out of her mind before continuing. "Then Camilla Rhodes, you know from Sophie's Valentine? She made some comment about my dad, it was so stupid - but..."

Her sentence trailed off, Nola staring into the crowd directionless for a moment before snapping back to Samar. “But, then I drank a lot of wine and I’ve got to say - I think I need to be doing this more often.”

He hated that he wasn’t more surprised. No one was ever going to throw a drink at him, but he hated the idea of whispers behind his back and uncomfortable looks. Samar never wanted to be somewhere he wasn’t wanted. But Nola…. she’s been doing that exact thing since he’d met her. Hell, he’d even hated her, until he realized how much work she did to right her family's wrongs. But even after the revolution was over and their city was finally peaceful, Magnolia was still trying to right her name.

“Rhodes being a bitch is the thing that finally gets you to drink? Shit. You get pissed at me when I drink like that, remember that next time you're trying to take the whiskey away”, He glared into the crowd like he was glaring at the fake idol musician herself, “Out of anyone, Camilla Rhodes is the one person that should not be at an award ceremony for war heroes. I still don’t get how she didn’t end up in a cell”

Magnolia gestured to interject, grasping for the millions of intangibilities that led to her quick spiral, but the words were too hard to string together in this state. It wasn’t just Camilla, it was everything that led up to that moment that pushed her to the edge - Camilla just happily pushed her over. She shook her head, looking into her drink then back at Samar.

“Plenty of people say the same about me,” and you. Magnolia let the implication sit between them, shrugging her shoulders. She knew all too well the dirty details that bound Sophie’s Valentine to the elite. As much as the pop star was a thorn in her side, Magnolia still felt the guilt of her father's action forcing her to just take it. She finally took a drink of her bourbon, suddenly aware of the tipping scale of her blood alcohol level.

“Oo - yeah, you need to take some of this.” Magnolia poured some of her bourbon into Samar’s glass, spilling some onto both of them. She winced, mocking an apologetic expression before taking another baby sip from her drink.

He really didn’t care much for the spilled bourbon on his cuff, ignoring it in favor of his partially refilled glass. Samar was tempted to down it, toss aside tonight's issues with a few more drinks, shit-talk the guests into Nola’s ear, and then end it with a bleary cab ride home. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was second-guessing his usual charade- possibly because of the drunk sad girl in front of him, possibly because of the particular crowd he was surrounded by.

Samar had never expected to win any trophies. He’d known what he was getting himself into when he’d chosen this role, his uncle had helped him understand there was no parade for their breed of revolutionary. But standing here in the corner with Magnolia Wrenley- someone who did deserve the utmost praise- Samar felt the slight sting of jealousy. Not for some stupid piece of metal he’d throw in a box and forget, but for the comradery amongst the winners. Six months ago he’d been present at the cease-fire and tonight he’d had to sneak his way in after the main show.

"Alright", Samar finished off his drink and set down his glass harshly, "Fuck this. If I'm going to be here, I'm not sitting in the corner like some sad asshole. Come on".

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnolia Wrenley Character Portrait: Miles Caal Character Portrait: Samar Chopra Character Portrait: Camilla Rhodes Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image
Image
he seems to feel his own worth,
outfitx|x#CC0063
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzand the greatness of his fall.
Image

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

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

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

Then she started falling.

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

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

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnolia Wrenley Character Portrait: Danika Orlov Character Portrait: Noah Lawson Character Portrait: Miles Caal Character Portrait: Hatch Williams Character Portrait: Samar Chopra Character Portrait: Camilla Rhodes Character Portrait: Ryan Joshi Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk Character Portrait: Blake Langston Character Portrait: Damien Moore
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

hatch williams.
Image
Image
Image
hex: #400026. outfit: here.
xxxi wasn't born yesterday
xxxa bloodsport but I'm a saint
xxxit's time to consider
xxxthere are no winners
Image
Hatch drove Cam home. Cam had insisted that she didn’t want to go to the hospital, that she didn’t need to go, and Hatch got the impression that it was probably best not to argue. Hatch left Cam be, but not before telling her to call her if she needed anything. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved when her phone didn’t ring all night.

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

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

3.

2.

1.

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

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

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

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