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Bloodlines

The Isle

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a part of Bloodlines, by alxxxjames.

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alxxxjames holds sovereignty over The Isle, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Default Location for Bloodlines
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The Isle

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The Isle is a part of Bloodlines.

21 Characters Here

Aaron Highmore [40] "The course of true love never did run smooth." - A Midsummer Night's Dream
Seph Winterfoot [33] "Ooh, what are you doing? Is this some kind of human thing?"
Elvis Johnson [26] A mischievous kid with a serpent's tongue.
Markus Wright [25] "No restraint. No remorse. No regrets."
Harvey Mak Chinnen [22] "Got a problem? I don't fucking care."
Erin Silver Alier [22] "Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time."
Renn Elliot [21] "Life is better here. I almost.. don't want to leave."
Daniel Sanderson [21] "I will not submit to the call of my blood. I can not let it happen."
Xylea Parihan [19] Being an airhead doesn't mean I'm not intelli... did you bake brownies?!
Vendicare [19] Chi ha fatto il male, faccia la penitenza. ("Those who have done evil, do penance.")

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Character Portrait: Erin Silver Alier Character Portrait: Markus Wright
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The Smiling Fiend

Well damn, that was no fun. Perhaps this was best a task for another day, a phase three left for another moment's devising. He would get her someday though. Silly him, he hadn't meant to scare the kitty-cat though, Irayah looked downright terrified there for a little while. He pondered for a moment whether a cross drawn by one of the infernal kin was potent or not. It could have as easily been a plus sign or a little t or well, anything really, if not for the intention and all that rot. And it hadn't made him burst into flames just by drawing it, although that wasn't the best indicator.

"I'm sorry, kitty, I forgot that little black cats and holy items don't get on too well." he responded, ignoring the latter bit of her words. Nevertheless a wry little grin curled up on his face. Oh, they's see about that. He propped up his chin with one elbow, looking up at his icy companion, meeting her intent gaze with his vaguely amused countenance. Vaguely amused was a good place to be in Markus's book. His fingers skittered of their own accord across the stone beneath him, fingernails rutting into a groove and uprooting little shoots of grass that had taken residence there. When Erin spoke again, his body visibly straightened with interest, but his eyes had dipped down to examine his meager palmful of tiny little pieces of grass. He moved them with his thumb as he listened the the blonde before him.

He didn't look back up until she mentioned Daniel. Namely, getting rid of Daniel. Ooh, were they going to kill him? Wait, why would Erin ask him to kill Daniel...that would be frowned upon, much like cannibalism and pursuing meaningful relationships with whores. Mm-hmm. Irayah settled into his lap, and he absentmindedly scratched her head, murmuring something about how sweet a cat she was as he was prone to when his body was on autopilot and his mind busy with thoughts. Mostly of killing Daniel, but he had stopped to consider how fetching Erin looked leaning against the tree with that dress and those shoes. It was probably mostly because of the angle he was currently at, looking up at her from his seat on the rock.

He studied her face as she spoke, a look of musing spreading out over his own features. Well, well, well, she was tired of the puppy dog? Her elaboration made it clear that it was to dissuade the young man from talking to her in a way that wasn't murdering him, but what? If her sharp bluntness hadn't gotten rid of him, then how did she expect him to help? Roughing him up a bit wouldn't help matters much... hmmm.

"So... to clear things up a touch.... when you say 'get rid of' Danny-boy, you don't mean bury him in the woods, right?" He said, his tone mock serious. "Although, it's a viable option. What better way to get rid of annoying people?" His voice grew bright with the last couple words. Then he turned his hand upside down so the grass would fall out of it, then rubbed his face with the selfsame hand, which now smelled like grass. To be honest, his whole personage probably smelled like a mix between grass and smoke right now, thanks to his exploits in the great outdoors on the fine, warm day. Oh, and blood, because of the wings.

"Hmm, how could our little Erin want me to help her get rid of Danny-boy since her stunning personality hasn't scared the lad off already?" He asked Irayah as if he expected an answer from the little black creature.

"Pray tell, Sweetheart, what is your plan?" He asked sweetly, folding both hands under his chin and lifting an eyebrow as he looked up at her again."I'm dying to know what I can do for you, Sunflower." He grinned lopsidedly, his eyes riveted with interest. Whatever it was that she had planned would surely be a tasty game. And it would also be something to bring up later. A favor traded for a bit of holding it over her head, perhaps worming out something in return unless whatever this was proved to be extraordinarily fun. Although, whenever 'getting rid of' Danny-boy was involved, fun was never far behind, Markus guessed. It'd take some serious work to get that silly little puppy to stay away from Erin. Markus wasn't one to do work lightly. Perhaps he could make an exception... Erin was probably one of the only creatures he could pass of as a 'friend' on this little hellish island. Oh sure, he talked to others, but Erin had seen more of the...truer side of him. The nasty little creature, and yet she still hung around.

Perhaps later he'd tease her for hanging around so much. Yes, that would be fun. But for now, he needed to focus on now, not the future snarks and retorts. The man stroked Irayah's head, he really did like this cat, more than he usually liked the little feline beasts. She was a clever little thing, that was for sure. Just like her owner.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Erin Silver Alier Character Portrait: Markus Wright Character Portrait: Daniel Sanderson
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#, as written by Mela
The Woman Trapped In Ice


Erin watched Markus’ countenance change, hinting that she’d definitely caught his interest. But she hadn’t doubted that she would. In fact, Erin was certain Markus would agree to her ‘plan’, because it was completely his thing, which was why he was the first guy she’d thought of acting it out with. Or, maybe it was also partly due to Daniel’s returned ill feelings towards Markus. Really, in all ways, Markus was the perfect candidate in every way. Which of course had nothing to do with the fact that she was also physically attracted to him at all. Nope, not at all. She watched him thinking as he considered her words. She was certain she could see those little cogs turning in that head of his. Interest was mixing with contemplation in his eyes, and if she read his correctly, they were lit with excitement. Oh, this was going to be much easier than she’d expected it to. She more or less ignored his murmuring to Irayah. The little demon, however, was quite enjoying the praise and the petting as she relaxed in Markus’ lap, purring softly all the while.

When he actually spoke, Erin raised an eyebrow, regarding him with a sceptical, almost exasperated look in her eyes. Much how a parent would look upon a misbehaving child. She was doing this exactly because she didn’t want Daniel to die, but wasn’t that just so very typical of Markus? Get used to it, Erin, she told herself, shaking her head with a now impassive look on her face. “Ever kill anyone, Markus?” She asked him coldly, her voice quiet and deadly, her eyes completely inanimate again. There was no joke in dead people. Hell, she’d been the fault of way to many already, whether she’d wanted them or not. If he had killed someone, it wasn’t like she was going to hold it against him, much like she didn’t hold anything else against anyone. Well, except for Hazel’s flirting with Daniel. She very much held that against the girl, however petty and immature that was. If he hadn’t though, he shouldn’t make jokes about it. Erin could deal with a lot of Markus’ morbid humour, but deaths weren’t funny. Never.

She began fiddling with the bark of the tree as Markus talked to Irayah. She didn’t really give it much mind. He was being his usual, patronizing self. It rarely bothered her anymore. Besides, he was talking to the demon, not Erin, so she couldn’t say she had to reply to his question, and Irayah wasn’t going to either, even though could. The cat did send Erin a look though, her telepathic voice sounding in the blonde’s mind soon after, ”oh, just tell him and get on with it, would you?” Erin’s lips twitched slightly. “Always the charmer, Markus,” she remarked dryly at his words now. She supposed she’d have to converse… or something. Besides, he was just begging for it with his comments on her personality. She didn’t try to be lively or nice. Ever. She just wasn’t that kind of girl. She’d never been among the nicest of people, and after everything… well, things had just sort of gone downhill.

When he spoke again, asking her to tell him what she was intending, Erin smiled wryly at him, eyes expressive once more, but completely unreadable. She pushed herself gracefully from the tree, her boot heels clicking on the stone as she took two little steps to reach him before she squatted down before him, watching his face with those unreadable, purposefully knowing eyes for a little while, silent, before she spoke, her voice calm and quiet, but not a whisper. “The thing is… the feelings Daniel has for me are some stubborn little things, but they’re also what’s going to hurt him enough to stay away. I’m going to need to show that sort of interest towards someone else.” She shrugged, “pure and simple jealousy and betrayal. Which will hopefully make him hate me.”

With that, Erin cocked her head to the side a little, eyes still focused on him. “And you’re perfect for it. Why? You hate Daniel. Daniel hates you. Plus,” she ended the sentence by moving her head closer to his just as Irayah hopped off of Markus, Erin’s lips so close to his he’d actually be able to feel her breath while her eyes were still intensely on his, “attraction does make things easier.” With that, Erin drew her head back to its former position as she watched him, still squatted down in front of him, her arms now coming to rest on her knees, hands on elbows as she waited for him to react. He'd figure it out from here himself. He was a smart guy, after all and with Markus things just worked better if he got to work things out himself.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Vendicare Character Portrait: Wynston Watson
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Vendi could feel the prickling of his skin as tension between the younger Balaren man and himself rose. He watched as Wynston didn't particularly take kindly to his warning and felt slightly chagrined, only just realizing he must have spoken in Italian again. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind a rudimentary ability in English floated, but not when his concentration was elsewhere, like the bright blue eyes of his peer. He focused even more on those eyes as he watched as thoughts registered quickly behind Wynston's eyes, then took off into his mind. He was seemingly cool-headed and calculating the situation, which Vendicare appreciated deeply. Not only because on some sensory level his skin had stopped prickling, but also because it meant there was an intelligent brain at work. Vendi hadn't begun to fight, though he'd had ample chance to, and had done what he could to show that he'd rather not fight. If Wynston were an idiot or brute of any kind, regardless of his stature, he'd have taken the bait and attacked. Vendicare's opinion of the man had grown quite a bit already thanks to Wynston's lack of idiocy.

Vendi's breathing steadied as it drew into his lungs slowly while he waited for Wynston to make the decision of the evening. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat and extremely subtly clenched his fists, banking on the fact that Wynston's gaze was held by his own dark green one and thus his hands would be out of the periphery. Luckily, Wynston didn't take it as a signal to advance and continued his thoughts. Vendi's pulse slammed through him as the adrenaline began to kick in full-force with the anticipation of what would come next. It felt as though there was an electricity in the air, a spark that ping-ponged between both sets of focused eyes. He ticked his head to the side almost imperceptibly as if to say, "Yes, continue thinking this through. We can come to an agreement, I'm sure." Another risk, but one worth taking. He'd seen the way Wynston acted around others, it had reminded him of many an alpha he'd come across. It didn't bother him, but he knew what it meant: Wynston wanted to lead, to be in charge, perhaps even looked up to on some level. A fight wouldn't help this situation. Vendicare waited as the metallic taste of the adrenaline finally reaching it's peak washed through his mouth. He hoped Wynston would make a choice quickly, while he was strong and fit, it would be more helpful if he had the adrenaline to fight with, if the need arose.

Luckily, Wynston's gaze lightened in a way that no one other than another Balaren would truly understand. He'd made his decision and was about to make it. Lightning struck in Vendi's stomach as he let his body tighten for a quick response, no matter what the decision. He breathed in through his mouth, not wanting to fully smell the chocolate on Wynston's breath, the grass beneath him, the hard alcohol Elvis continued to nurse. He kept his stare on Wynston's as peripherally noticed the muscles in the younger man's neck tighten with a slow, deliberate movement. Slow was good. Slow meant he wasn't attacking. Attacks happened quickly, to engage the element of surprise. Vendicare allowed his minuscule snarl to drop and licked his full lips. A handshake. The man was smarter than Vendi had originally ascertained, he also hadn't given fully to the wolf in himself. A truce was still a viable option for Wynston, it wasn't about alpha or beta, or survival of the fittest. Vendi let his lips curl into a small but present smirk of a smile as he decided that, if anything, he respected the other Balaren. Regardless, the last thing he wanted was for this alpha-minded male to think he'd won in any way. Vendi wasn't necessarily a leader, but he wasn't one to follow or be controlled. He would maintain his dignity and his independence.

"We were never really introduced. Wynston. And you're..." Even his pause was methodical. Vendicare's right eyebrow popped ever so slightly as the other lycanthrope chose his nickname "Vendi."

His body still tense, his focus unwavering, he calmly and smoothly extended his own hand to grasp Wynston's. He gripped it firmly, then shook it once, making sure to be the first to lift up. A very slight, but obvious show of his alpha-esque tendencies, he knew that the up-shake was a way businessmen sized up the push-overs from the strong. Whoever shook up first was strong, sure, and self-willed. He finally allowed himself to blink. The simultaneous dominance and subordinance his way of returning the offered truce. Vendicare knew that a fight might simply be postponed, but for now, the men stood on equal ground.

He kept his attention on Wynston as his senses calmed themselves. The different smells of the people aroun hitting his nose, the sounds of laughter and chatting, the feel of the air. The electricity had passed, and the stare-down had ceased, but he and Wynston would still be keeping an eye on each other, it was how things were done. He responded with a new, warmer but still quite small smile, "Sì. Vero." His baritone voice rumbled smoothly as he stood straighter, relaxing his shoulders. Then he grimaced, Italiano!. "Ah... scusa I mean to say..." He paused as he searched for the correct word in English, telling himself he'd get back to studying later in the evening. Perhaps as soon as he could slip away and settle into a nice bath. "Accurate." The rich Italian accent coloring his words with an exoticism, he shrugged in an apology of sorts. He'd only been speaking English the past few weeks. "Birra?" He gave a languid one-handed gesture to the beers sitting off a little ways.

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Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Vendicare Character Portrait: Wynston Watson
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#, as written by throne
Image

Wynston was not an idiot. He could be overbearing, blunt, and assumptive, but he didn’t lack for intelligence. His education was spotty, but that had stopped mattering to him. It might bring the hot sting of shame to his cheeks to encounter a word he didn’t know, or some tidbit of knowledge that almost everyone else seemed to regard as commonplace, but he accepted that. He never needed to ask twice, in occasions like that, but he always asked. The idea of feeling the that shame a second time, that he couldn’t justify at all. He hadn’t needed to know things like history, literature, or lofty mathematics in order to survive on the streets of Detroit. That had been his place of learning, and the lessons he’d endured there would serve him better on The Isle than any book or dead president’s name or logarithm.

Wynston’s intelligence had been shaped by his surroundings. He’d been a city scavenger at first, too young and inexperienced to do much more than get himself in trouble and rely on friends to see him through. He’d evolved though, faster than Darwin would ever have thought possible, into a city predator. He’d learned both the value and limitations of intimidations. He’d learned how to throw a punch, how to kick, when to run. He’d learned how to find shelter in almost any urban area, and how to get precious calories worth of nourishment when cash-flow from petty crimes fell through. It was best classified as a combination of cunning and impressive analytical capabilities, which had only grown more potent with the Awakening of his Balaren heritage and senses.

So it was, as Vendicare took Wynston’s hand, that the younger wolf realized several more things. The first was that none of this exchange, not a mote of it, was lost on Vendi. He understood all the significances of each gesture, facial movement, and word. It was almost like they were, in a way, communicating without words. With their eyes locked, he felt a stupid, childish thought bubble up: that somehow, they actually were engaging in some sort of low level telepathy. Like most children hoping to escape terrible home lives, Wynston had, in his youth, devoted a somewhat embarrassing amount of time staring very hard at things or even people in the hopes of spontaneously developing advanced mental powers. Logic asserted itself quickly, clamping down on the throat of that foolishness and wrestling it to the ground. It was because they were both Balaren, both versed in wolf-speech, which needed to be seen as much as heard to be understood completely. Human interaction was paltry and thin compared to what a human mind with wolfish body and instinct could accomplish.

The second was that he had underestimated Vendi. He didn’t know much about the man, but he’d heard that he’d spent quite a long time only in wolf-skin. He’d been expecting, when his hand wound up in Vendi’s (that hot sting came, when he realized this) stronger one, that the other Balaren would assert himself in whatever way he could. If he was going to submit, he would have already, when they were merely staring. He’d been ready to enter into a contest of strength that he would certainly have lost, the usual sort of squeezing match that jarred the bones of the hand together. What he wasn’t expecting all was the blink. It was, in essence, an echo of his own actions. Offer his hand, but maintain eye contact. Take the initiative, but disrupt eye contact. The elegance of it would certainly have been lost on almost anyone else, but Wynston found himself in a very strange combination of shock and admiration. It showed on his features for a split second in the form of eyes that had widened and lips that had parted just slightly, but Wynston wiped that away, taking part in the very human ritual of the handshake. He didn’t try to hurt Vendi, but his grip was as firm as he could make it without moving things back into the realm of challenge. It was exactly as firm as Vendi’s, or close enough that the difference would be infinitesimal.

The handshake wound up being held for a full second to long, and that was Wynston’s fault. When he realized that he hadn’t simply released, he retracted his hand very quickly, just shy of wrenching it away, and then hid the offending appendage behind his back, as if doing so might somehow undo the extra instant of contact. That was odd was all he could afford to think before Vendi said something, again in Italian. His ever-present anger bubbled a bit, but the older boy was quick to correct and seemed genuinely upset with himself for the slip. That was the third thing that Wynston realized: that even though they were from very different places, they shared a certain innate lack of experience with most of the other charges. Vendi had his language difficulties, the thousand day swath of his life that had been spent completely detached from human society. Wynston had his drop-out status to contend with, and had been similarly detached from the conventional family-friends-school model. They both struggled with their respective issues, as proven when it took an almost embarrassing amount of time for Vendi to summon the English cognate for the word he’d used.

Wynston shrugged in reply. As long as the language barrier wasn’t being used to discretely insult him, it was just a reality that had to be faced. He was back to simmering. His eyes moved quickly to the beers that Vendi had indicated so lazily, then back to the indicator. "Beer,” he supplied, without any intentional condescension. He shook his head. "But, no. I’d rather be in control of my senses all the same.” His gaze tracked to the mixers that had been provided. Sugary drinks. He would have preferred something that would provide more of a contrast to the candy he’d just eaten, but he didn’t want to break away yet, either. Something about Vendicare was intriguing him more than he really understood, and it would have been a little absurd to walk up, introduce himself, refuse a drink, then wander off.

There was some cranberry juice. That would have a hint of tart. He glanced back to Vendi as he poured himself a cup of the stuff, sniffed it with mild approval, and then held the drink forward; offering it to the other Balaren, if he wanted it. If he took it, Wynston would pour another, then keep it for himself. He didn’t need to bother asking Elvis in his silent way; he was sure the Omarain would be hitting the booze before long. He just seemed like the sort. This was a point of the dominance game that might have wound up confusing to those unskilled in it. Pouring a drink for someone seemed submissive, but by choosing the beverage and not asking Vendi’s preference, he was the one in control of the drink arena. However the situation sorted itself out, he’d soon be taking a sip of the juice. It splashed his tongue in a torrent of flavor, and his lips wound up slightly puckered as a result. Once he’d swallowed and the taste had time to linger on his palette, it was actually quite good, for all the sugar that had been dumped into it for no reason by the manufacturers.

"We should go running, sometime,” he suggested nonchalantly. Running, of course, had nothing to do with gym shorts an iPods. He meant in wolf-form, in the wild, and Vendi would know as much from the slight significance he gave the word.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Hazel Ebony Highlynn Character Portrait: Tally Roawn
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The Girl In Rags

"Oh, I'm good, I think I embarrassed Fleet though." Hazel was looking over at Fleet and it left Tally wondering what the blonde had done, though she had to laugh a little. Fleet looked many things but he defiantly did not look embarrassed, especially not when he was filling up his plate with more finger sandwiches. Which were actually surprisingly good, Tally thought while thinking back to the sandwich she had previously. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, I think your going to be hard pressed to get that guy too worked up.” Tally replied turning back to Hazel with a slightly teasing smile on her face. It was the truth though, she honestly believed Fleet didn’t keep a thought for long enough to be affected by it.

"Oh yes, yes, I did. It was quite enjoyable. I hope to master that level of power in my own illusions soon.” Hazel brighten up considerably and Tally was glad about it; sad didn’t work on this girl. Though they both seemed to get completely different thought patterns from Michaela’s show, surprisingly Hazel seemed to be a determined hardworking type. That was something Tally hadn't expected, she thought she already had the blonde's personality down pact. “Wow, that’s what you got out of it?” She replied lightly, being that good at illusions seemed like heaps of work, that Tally believed added to nothing. “But sadly this is about all the 'alive' illusion I can create right now." Hazel then pointed to ground at Tally’s feet and suddenly she saw a small bunny hoping around her feet. A few moments later two more joined it and when Tally looked up she saw the blonde smiling at her illusions.

Something about the whole thing made Tally uncomfortable though, the fact that she was seeing something that her mind said wasn’t there, unnerved her. That and she still wasn’t comfortable with the whole magic thing at all yet. Unconsciously she nervously shuffled back a little bit. Laughing slightly at her idiocy though she picked her head up and looked at Hazel again. “I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘only,’ it’s better than I can do at least,” Tally said sincerely. “Besides everyone has different talents, and I suppose they’re also quite cute too.” She bent down to inspect the bunnies, as if looking for the behind the scenes trick that made it work. “Not too bad for a fairy,” She said with a teasing wink.

”Do they have this kind of thing a lot?” Tally asked suddenly as she glanced around the party. She thought that if this happened a lot she might actually enjoy her time here. Partying and socializing were what she preferred to spend her time doing rather than learning magic and casting voodoo spells. “I mean the whole party thing?” Tally clarified, suddenly realizing how weird and out of the blue her previous question must have sounded to Hazel.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Soren Corosa Character Portrait: Omar Maria Media
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#, as written by Skwidge
The Cloistered Witch


She cocked her eyebrow at him, crossing her arms lightly. “You haven’t seen all the movies?” She shook her head in mock disappointment, clicking her tongue against her teeth quietly. Without another comment, she watched him easily unscrew the top, and then proceed to take a few gulps of the alcohol. She expected him to drink at least a little bit of it, so she outstretched her hand for the bottle back.

Once he consented to her request, she crawled back over to her drawings in the dirt. One of the dragon, it’s eyes being the most detailed and prominent, as she had worked at it with her trusty pocket knife instead of the bulky and awkward stick. The second drawing was of the wolf, its head tilted up and maw parted in a silent howl. She had even detailed the wind from its jaws softly in her dirt canvas.

”Would it disrupt your art if I prayed?” She was about to ask which art he was referring to before he continued. ”I am surrounded by dead, it seems, and as we say: espera respirar por acá de los muertos.” Soren’s left eyebrow quirked up once more, and a small grin wormed its way onto her face. “Something about it not being polite to breathe in front of the dead? Sorry, rough translation. I’m not very good at Spanish.” She shook her head, it was silly, but she didn’t really let that show on her face. Being a necromancer, the dead loved to listen to her breathe and speak, it was strange, but it was a ghost thing. “Of course not, feel free to do so.”

With a nod of approval in the direction of her art, she then uncapped the rum again, quietly allowing it to trickle into the indentions of the dirt. She smiled contently to herself, her eyes closed in that simple self-joy of what she’d accomplished, and she pulled out Harvey’s lighter from one of her pockets. She flicked a sideways glance at Omar, and put a finger up to her lips. “Yeah, don’t tell Harvey I took this. Also I’m a secret pyromaniac,” She rolled her eyes comically. “I’m giving Daniel a run for his money, don’t tell him either. Also you probably shouldn’t mention this to Seph, or- well, you know, let’s just keep this a secret between ourselves.” By the time she finished her slightly awkward phrasing, she had her chin and left cheek resting in the palm of her hand as she watched Omar.

Once she was satisfied with his reaction, she turned back, pressing down on the smell lever and ran her thumb down of the wheel. The flame flicked to life, and she silently lowered it down to the alcohol, waiting a few second before it caught, and then watched as the fire licked its way along all of the lines and dashes and the like. Afterwards, she shifted to the right a bit, doing the same with the wolf and then the breath. It was a calming look with the flames blue against the dark night, the only other bright thing in the clearing being the faint glow of the specters wandering around, minding their own business.

Another self indulged nod, and she slid back against the tree next to him, resting her chin on her knees with her arms clasped around the front of her shins, watching the flames flicker without a noise. She once more brought the rum bottle back to her leg, and she ran her finger along the mouth of the bottle, and brought it up into her own. She didn’t particularly like alcohol, unless it was mixed into something else, like coke or pepsi or other. She was never a big drinker. So instead, Soren listened to Omar’s breathing, and the soft rumble in his chest of a few escaped, incoherent words.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Seph Winterfoot Character Portrait: Aaron Highmore Character Portrait: Xylea Parihan Character Portrait: Harvey Mak Chinnen Character Portrait: Something Seraphine Character Portrait: Artemis Hulston
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Something Seraphine: The Avant-Garde

Something was still all nervous and jittery from the ”experience”, knees all wobbly as she leaned heavily upon the drinks table. But she was trying to hide it. She was fragile and her emotions felt potentially explosive, but she concealed it all with a optimistic smile. Harvey had followed her, expressing his concern in his own Harvey-ish way. "Here. Calm down." He had offered as he poured her a shot, taking two of his own. "And please for the love of god, quit apologizing."

See? He did care. It was all just a misunderstanding. “Oh yes, sorry about that,” she apologized for her apologetic nature, eyes darting downward, though she already felt herself cooling down. As far as she was concerned, it had never happened. The memory of everything would remain, but any emotional ties to the event would dissolve quickly into the back of her mind. It didn’t REALLY matter.

“Hmm,” she sighed as she delicately sipped from her teacup. Unlike most girls her age, she was quite well-adjusted to the taste of hard alcohol. She had started drinking very young, and not wanting to appear like what was commonly known as a “wuss”, would always take her shots without chasers, which would receive cheers and claps on the back from her friends. If you were cheered and clapped on the back, the best description of positive reinforcement from peer pressures there really was, wouldn’t whiskey taste less bitter to you too? The alcohol ended up being one of the sweetest tasting beverages around, drenched in the feelings of warmth and good memories.

It wasn’t that difficult for her now. The whiskey, unlike beer, made its presence known as it slid quickly down her throat. Yet, she still absent-mindedly sipped it. Luckily, it was chilled, so the burn was significantly reduced. In a placebo effect, she felt calmer already. Harvey had taken three shots at this point, not uncommon for the group she used to hang out with, her old friends, her old memories. So she grinned up at him. A man only drinks that much when he wants to kiss a girl or kill a man. Which is it?" she had lowered her voice, attempting to match the inflection of one of her favorite characters from one of her favorite films of all time that had come out just this summer, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. “Unless…you want to kill the woman you want to kiss…” she mused, suddenly alarmed, brow furrowing as she slurped more liquidly quite loudly.

Harvey seemed antsy, and Something yearned to help, yet she felt trapped in her unseemly body. He admitted to needing a light while his hand slipped seamlessly to the small of her back. At this point, after their raunchy dance, she was familiar with his touch. She did not shy from it or really react in any sort of way. Eager to please, she quickly muttered in her high little voice, “Oh yes, of course, anything,” while she flicked her thumb against her forefinger, producing a small flame.

But Harvey stepped away from her toward Seph. Their conversations seemed…very involved. There seemed to be… a lot of history between them. Something stood there with the little ball of flame; it wavered and threatened to go out as she puckered her lips, unsure of what to do. She protected it with her other hand from the wind, and it glowed.

But before she could get too upset about her inability to make a decision as to what to do (which would have inevitably happened), a warm presence distracted her. “Artemis!” she chimed, repeating his name, her eyes crinkling as she smiled, using her flame to light her own cigarette before allowing it to go out. “It’s Something,” extending her hand and half bowing to one knee. Was she about to be knighted? Possibly. She had only met him briefly, but he was someone she liked. He possessed a relaxed, mature, and familiar kind of aura. She felt just about anyone could feel comfortable and at home around him. “I remember you.”

“Sandwich? Dinner and a show right” as he offered her a finger sandwich, she immediately just about clawed them from the plate, grabbing several, and stuffed in her mouth. “Always!” she cried out, lids drooping in the simple ecstasy of eating. The ones she was unable to currently fit in her mouth, she loaded into the bottom of her tshirt, using it as a make shift basket. It was like feeding a velociraptor in Jurassic Park. Nothing remained, and the plate was lucky to get out alive from her ravenous appetite. “I’m not quite sure what to do about them,” she continued, motioning towards what could have been a lover’s quarrel. “I feel like I should do something…but… I’m not quite su-“

And just as she was confessing this deep need to Artemis, Persephone threw a drink into Harvey’s face and threatened to bite his dick off. After a quick snort and the near death experience of having food hit the back wall of your throat, Something’s jaw dropped, revealing the partially chewed contents of her mouth. She had slowly began chewing again, almost as if the food were a way to soothe the uncertainty of the situation, when Artemis lightened the mood. “If she finds it…” Again, Something took something the wrong way. Her reaction was to empathetic towards Harvey, so she misinterpreted Artemis’ insult. She grinned at him, eyes sparkling mischievously beneath the veneer of tsk-tsking she gave. “I’m sure she’d find it eventually! I mean, buttons are hard sometimes to work with…” She had thought he meant to make fun of Seph’s clumsiness about human customs…she was…potentially an idiot.

Something moved toward Harvey, shoving the last of the sandwiches in her mouth to free up the hand that wasn’t busy with her teacup. The teacup he had found for her. She sure owed him a lot, obviously. So she would give him all of her sympathies to the best of her ability. Her hand found his back as she stood beside him, facing the direction that Seph ran off in wolf form, and patted him gently a few times. “I wouldn’t-“ she began, unknowing of what to say, “worry too much about that…” She handed her lit cigarette to Harvey, figuring he’d need it now more than ever.

Both Artemis and Aaron offered their light teasing, though she was sure it was only in attempts to lighten the mood rather than thinly disguised passive aggressive jabs. I mean…who could hate Harvey. He was the coolest of cool. The coolest cat. So Something laughed at their jokes, eyes bright as she looked to Harvey’s expression for reassurance that he was ok. That everything was ok.

Xylea pretty much removed all traces of the disaster when she gusted him dry. Something’s hair stirred floated up, stick straight out again. Exactly the bed head she had patted down beforehand in desperate attempts to seem presentable in public. But she wouldn’t notice what a ragamuffin she now appeared. Xylea had darting away on a mission. Something yearned to run after her, but Something wasn’t much of an extrovert. So instead, she smiled after her wistfully. “See?” Something smiled at the small crowd of people, “It’s like it never happened!” She finished to contents of her teacup loudly.

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Character Portrait: Elvis Johnson Character Portrait: Vendicare Character Portrait: Wynston Watson
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Vendicare subtly shrugged at Wynston's correction of his use of the Italian form of "beer" and light decline of the offered beverage. Vendi knew the English term, the two words were two close to one another not to, but preferred his native tongue for it. In most of his interactions since coming to the Isle he'd found it easier simply to use his terms if they made enough sense to get his point across. He knew that for some people, Xylea perhaps, or Something, he'd have to be extra conscious of trying to find the English terms. On the contrary, he could tell that with Wynston and Elvis he'd be able to get his point across well enough using the language he was most comfortable with in some cases, the men he stood near were intelligent enough.

Vendi waited patiently watching the festivities as Wynston perused the non-alcoholic selections near their trio and found himself growing curious. Who was this Wynston Watson and what was his story? Why did he seem to have a need to establish his dominance at every moment, opportune or otherwise? Vendi hadn't really gotten to know anyone on the Isle other than Matt and Elvis, would it hurt to have found another ally, especially a fellow wolf-man? It wasn't predatory or instinct based, but the curiosity had struck him and couldn't be shaken so he turned and looked at the younger Balaren, truly looked for the first time. The man... no, teenager really was slight, but not lacking for muscle. He had a boyishness to him that was slightly jarring when mixed with his higher level of maturity. He smelled slightly of chocolate, but mostly of something... else. Vendi took a swig of his beer and contemplated for a moment. Rain... spring. The smell was fresh, like the charge left in the air by a thunderstorm. Vendi almost smiled, then quickly frowned. That was odd, why was he so intrigued by this young alpha's scent?

He realized that he'd been staring when Wynston straightened and offered him a beverage. Blinking once, he found himself noticing that he was at least 5 inches taller than Wynston. Before he had time to consider why he'd noted that, the sugary scent of a concentrated cranberry hit his nose and stung slightly, causing him to blow air, hot and quick, out of it. It was exactly what he needed to snap him out of his reverie of sorts. His face placid, he glanced at the offered beverage, then caught the subtlest of smiles quirking on Wynston's face and had to suppress a sigh. The impassibly subtle show of dominance was not lost on Vendi's keen intellect, and he felt himself deflate somehow. He'd been considering offering an alliance of sorts, a friendship to this boy and here he was, attempting to prove his dominance once again, but in a more... human way. Vendi shook his head gently, "Non. I prefer beer." His tone was soft, though inside he was a little disheartened. If the rapport between he and Wysnton was going to be constantly one of sovereignty mini-battles because a definitive answer hadn't been reached, he'd rather just fight it out right now and get it over with. He was weary from a long day, and hot from the bonfire, which he'd been keeping a wary eye on.

"We should go running, sometime,” Wynston suggested as he took a sip of his cranberry juice. As the idea was stated Vendi was overcome with a need to run. To be away from the fire, the smells, the noises of the students around them who had been enjoying the libations. His muscles itched to be put to full use again, to feel the strain of work, his heart yearned to pound and his lungs to burn. Running. Galloping in a way. He considered Wynston for a moment, as he realized what a run together might entail. Did the boy simply want to go somewhere away from the others to have out their subordination struggle or was it his way of offering a hand in alliance? Vendicare decided it was most likely the former. Based off what he'd seen in the last few moments, nothing else could be true. If you wanted to be the alpha, you would fight for it every chance you got until you became the alpha. Vendi knew this, had seen it and been in that position before. It was like a need as basic as breathing or eating that ran deep through your very core. It annoyed him on some small level, that he had been proven right again: one should never trust easily. Momentarily, he looked at Elvis, wondering if the same stood true here. Shrugging he decided to take a seat on the ground, whether it was a show of subordination or not. If Wynston wanted to take control, he'd have to fight for it. Vendi wasn't one to follow too easily... more of one to be on his own.

Taking a moment, he collected his thoughts and formed his sentence. Relaxed and honest, he spoke with his accent tinting the words exotically, "Sì. A run would be piacevole, pleasurable. It has been a time since mio last." Then he inclined his head to the ground near him, offering a seat to both Elvis and Wynston. Setting his hand in the grass next to him to lean back, he surveyed the surrounding area. He relished the gritty scent of the earth, now that he was closer to it, and the crisp feel of the grass on his hand. Tracing small circles in it with his index finger, he watched his peers without really focusing on anyone as he thought. It irked him that the fray between he and Wynston seemed imminent, and even more so that that bothered him. Why should it matter if he was going to engage in something like that with the boy? It's not like they had any investments in one another, and they apparently weren't going to be friends any time soon. He was also agitated that he couldn't simply go inside as he'd longed to earlier, he wanted to be near Wynston, wanted to learn about him. Non va bene. Non essere stupido, he chided himself as he took a swig of his second Guinness.

Resolving himself to the fact that whatever force was keeping him here was resilient, he faintly cocked an eyebrow and quirked the corner of his full lips into a tiny smirk, "What is you do? Ah... Where do you sire from? L'Italia è my home." It was more words than he'd said on a first encounter in a long time. He set his half-drank beer aside. There was definitely something to be said for keeping one's wits about them, as Wynston had implied earlier. Again, Vendi was struck with the boy's maturity. Breathing in his nature scent, Vendi decided that he'd take each moment as it came with this one. In his own way, Wynston was keeping Vendicare on his toes, and he found he wasn't minding.

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The Smiling Fiend

"You tell me." Markus's light, devil may care retort juxtaposed her cold, impassive voice. His bravado knew neither restraints nor proprieties. But then again, Markus rarely ever gave a shit about other people's feelings. They exchanged miscellaneous retorts of wit and dryness, before Erin moved from her stance, leaning against the tree, to click her way over. Markus looked up at her under his brow, face still mostly pointed towards the ground. She dipped to his level, and his lifted his jaw to meet her eye to eye, one eyebrow lifted in quizzical nonchalance. His face remained still as she spoke, the only movement the slight movements required to breath and his eyes, which were flicking over the blonde's face as if trying to wrest a deeper purpose from her words.

Quite honestly, Markus didn't think that Erin using him would drive Daniel away from her. Obviously, there was more to this game than just a boy, a girl, and him squabbling over love. Markus knew what he wanted for Erin, what he wanted her to discover in herself, and he knew what Daniel wanted, what his fight was all about. Even though he wasn't doing a very good job. Well, he couldn't help it. Good guys always finish last, obviously. But despite Markus's misgivings about the final product of the plan, he wasn't one to pass up such an...interesting game. Or a good time. And this certainly looked like it would be a good time.

She moved closer, distracting him from his swift thoughts about plans and various other devious enterprises. She smelled primarily of sharp paint, and whatever perfume it was that she used. She smelled like Erin. Sharp enough to keep one at bay, but too interesting to keep one away for very long. And she also reeked of manipulation. She really wanted him to help her out with her boy troubles, didn't she. She wanted to pretend like they were going together so Daniel would cease pursuing her. Oh how sweet, but she didn't need to tell him, he was already quite aware that he was attractive.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, leaning back and examining Erin again through hooded eyes. "Would that include obnoxious snogging?" He asked, mock polite. "Or are you just going to tell him that you prefer me, slap him daintily, then skip off so we can hold hands and run dramatically into the sunset?" He nodded knowledgeably, his eyes uncharacteristically dull, what with all the energy he was putting towards formulating a multitude of plans. It was much too difficult to look mischievous and think up mischievous things at the same time. Once could say that it was a defense mechanism, because sometimes it wasn't in Markus's best interests to let everyone know that he was formulating a plan.

It was better to look slightly sad than slightly maniacal. Usually. Most of the time actually. His sad look was actually quite fetching in his own humble opinion. It was almost brooding, as if he was struggling with some deep dark thing inside himself. Ladies loved that. Some lads seemed to be drawn to it as well. Erin didn't seem the type to swoon over such things though, which was a shame, because that would be quite amusing.

Ah, back to the situation at hand. "How much work do you suppose it would take? because, you know, I have a very busy schedule, Sweetheart. I can't go running around all the time just to piss of some insignificant lad." Markus said, waving his hand in the air, the mournful look still on his face. She'd probably know that he was teasing her though, she always seemed to know such things. He certainly wasn't going to voice his opinions on the quality of her plan, he could probably scheme up a better plan, but this one was certainly more interesting. "Although, you are my second favorite Mori, so I suppose I'm obliged to help you out, yes?" He said again after a few more moments of fake contemplation. His favorite Mori was, of course, himself, but he didn't need to say that.

Done with his scheming for the moment, the man brightened visibly, his eyes darting out past the blonde and into the forest. Trees loomed up, dissolving into the darkness beyond his sight range. The moonlight through the trees wasn't very illuminating, even though it lit the two of them up slightly. What would happen, he wondered aimlessly, if he just up and left right now. That would certainly piss Erin off quite a bit. He didn't think a girl like her would have spent much time wandering through the woods, and she might not know how to return to the compound. The mori smirked slightly thinking about it. No, he wasn't that much of an arse hole. Or at least, not to Erin, not at this moment. He couldn't help but voice his thought however. "You know, if I just off and ran off right now, you'd have a bloody time trying to find your way back." He shifted, getting his knees under him so he could stand. In all honesty, he was ready to return to the compound, wander a round a bit, then make his disappearance for the night. He'd had enough interesting happenstances for one day, and Erin's proposed plan was quite hefty to chew. He needed to talk his mind back into order at some point.

"Why did you follow me out here anyway." He mused aloud, playful but serious at the same time, as if he was actually considering leaving her all alone in the woods at night. "I didn't take you for the foolish sort." With that he jumped from the rock, landing painfully on his feet, one hand reached out to touch down on the ground briefly to steady himself. He stretched up on his toes, the bare soles of his feet crying from landing on the hard ground from such a height. Then he looked up over his shoulder. "You coming, princess?" He asked with a signature grin.