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"...' WIP

0 · 141 views · located in Las Flores

a character in “Blurry Lines: Establishing Them”, originally authored by Kilgannon, as played by RolePlayGateway




Owen Quincy Jones


Owen is particularly tall for his age, measuring in at just a tad bit over six feet and six inches tall. He has an extremely athletic build, a result of his frequent visits to the gym over the past several years. His skin is smooth in complexion, free of any obvious marks or blemishes. He has a smooth jaw line, and an angular nose. His eyebrows are thin and defined, tapering off into straight points rather than curving around, and he is clean shaven. He has almond shaped eyes, the irises both colored a light blue with a bit of green roughly splattered in the middle resembling the shape of an hour glass. His hair is a mixture of blue and green, appearing more blue in brighter surroundings and more green in darker surroundings. It is short, and generally worn in a shaggy fashion, with tresses of hair falling into his face and in front of his ears. He is mainly mark free, sans the occasional scar from some childhood injury.

Owen prefers to wear a white dress shirt under assorted patterned sweater vests, along with a standard pair of khakis and black dress shoes. His casual formal attire habits stem from the boarding school he attends during the day.

As Zephyr, he wears a red mask over his eyes, the ends of which trail off behind him. Along with this, he wears a black tracksuit and tennis shoes. He also often wears a heavy red cloak over the tracksuit.


Positive Traits: list three with a + separating them ex: kind + cheery + charismatic
Negative Traits: list three with a - separating them
[description that gets more in depth here please, at least three good paragraphs]

Likes go here, at least five

Dislikes go here, at least five

Are you single? Do you have friends? Any partners, any family? Etc. How close are you to these people?

A description of your power goes here

Include electronics if they have any, weapons go here too.

Your specialization, what you are good at etc. At least five

What you are not good at. At least five

Where does your character live? Do they have a separate place where their equipment is kept? Make sure you stick to cost efficiency, as not everyone can be a millionaire. Indicate here whether you belong to the upper class or lower class.

Include how they came to be the way they are, what job they have or how they make money, and their reputation out there, are they well known or a new kid on the block?

So begins...

Zephyr's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Zephyr Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Central Downtown Las Flores ][ Eastyard Boarding School ][ Early Morning - Late Afternoon

Owen started out that Monday morning like he did every other Monday morning, by rolling over lazily and squinting one open eye against the sunlight that had started to creep into his room. The incessant drone of his alarm clock rang out as his mind sluggishly got to work, the cogs hesitating a moment before beginning to turn smoothly. With a silent display of defiance, he pout at the alarm clock and raised a finger in the air to make a slicing motion downward, causing a compressed jet of air to hit the disable button on the clock. He rolled onto his back and thrust his arms upward, causing similar columns of air to rocket his blanket up and off of him.

He lay there for a moment more before pushing himself up into a sitting position and blowing a tuft of hair out of his face as he looked around the room. The sun had since risen a bit more, and was bathing his room in a vibrant orange glow. He absorbed it in for a moment longer before getting started on his morning routine, which consisted of brushing his teeth, bobbing his head to loud music as he took a hot shower, and then attempting to both frantically cloth himself in his school uniform and eat breakfast at the same time. By the time he was finished getting dressed, he had only managed to make a single piece of toast and spread it with honey. He placed the toast in his mouth as he went to grab his bag and stopped in the living room.

His mother sat there on the couch, doped up and staring slack jawed at the television, which was currently depicting the most recent public lynching of a vigilante. What he was watching felt like something straight of a Dickens' novel. A crowd of people gathered around a gallows, shouting obscenities and throwing objects at the masked man with the noose around his neck. The last public injustice they thrust upon him was unmasking him before letting him hang, which Owen had to turn away from. It was something he had witnessed too much. It disgusted him that it was broadcast publicly. He shot a general look of distaste at his mother before nodding slightly and setting off. His father was, like usual, out of country on some business meeting. He was the owner of a large chain of pharmaceutical companies, ones responsible for terrible things. They were the leading manufacturer of the drug his mother was currently taking, and responsible for many accidents. If there was any person that fit the super villain rival archetype for Owen, it was his own father.

Then again, if it wasn't for his father, he and his mother would be living on the streets right now. The only things the man was good for were his finances. Regardless, Owen set off on the moderately lengthy walk to his school, enjoying the seasonal transition from summer into fall. The leaves were beginning to change colors, and he could smell the morning moisture in the air, a comfortable, musty scent. He guessed that it must have rained the previous night, as the streets and sidewalks were still wet down, resulting in dark splotches scattered here and there. The sun was higher now, having finally broken through the horizon, and it felt warm on his back in contrast to the slight chill in the air.

By the time he reached the school, located in the central downtown area of Las Flores, it was roughly 9 PM. He stored some of his thing sin his locker and began his daily routine of classes. The majority of the day passed quickly with that, and his mind was taken off of the spectacle that had occurred that morning. After the lunch period, he spent the remainder of his day zoning out in classes and folding paper cranes, a firm believer in the myth that if you folded a thousand cranes, you'd get a wish. He hadn't gotten his wish the previous three times, but still he tried. Besides, he always found a use for the cranes afterwards, even if they didn't grant his wish.

The chatter of the classroom was always muffled to him when he was focused on something, as if he was listening to the sounds around him from underwater. He was busy trying to get the fold of tail just right when something tried to break through the bubble.


He shook his head slightly before returning his attention to the crane.

-wen, class is over. You can leave now. Owen.


He turned his attention away from the crane for a moment to look around the class. It was empty, except for the source of the voice. It was his teacher, looking at him with an exasperated expression on her face. He sat there and looked at her for a moment, eyes wide open, before looking down at the crane and finishing up the final touches. He placed it in the open pocket of his bag with all the others he had finished today and slung it over his shoulder as he stood up. He puffed his cheeks out to the teacher, who only shook her head at him, as he exited the classroom, and shortly after, the building.

He usually took a different route home than he did to get there. This route led out the back of the building and through its private garden area, which was filled with all sorts of exotic plants and Flora. This was actually as far as the route went, however, because once he reached that area, that path turned straight upwards. He observed the flowers and smirked slightly as the wind began to pick up, blowing leaves and loose petals all around him.

Soon it was overwhelming, a funnel of color and scents surrounding him. They formed a sphere around him and revolved endlessly as pressure began to build up under his feet. For a split second, everything turning around him stopped and remained suspended in place, before violently bursting outward from him in a strong gust of wind. He was gone, up, up, and away, and in his place there stood a single paper crane.

There was much he could see from way up there, several hundred feet above the city. And everything he saw sent a wave of conflicted emotions through him. He felt like there was much he could do to help, but refused to risk it. As he sat suspended there in midair, he removed the pack from his shoulder and dumped out the contents of his afternoon work. The cranes scattered for a moment before being forced into a moderately sized swarm beside him. He tilted forward and descended headfirst back towards the city, the cranes following suit behind him.

He would just have to help those doing what he wished he could, and not be seen doing it.

The setting changes from Eastyard Boarding School to Las Flores


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rioned Tuduarge Character Portrait: Afterglow Character Portrait: Synapse Character Portrait: Sandra Liland Character Portrait: Melrose Character Portrait: Ledger
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#, as written by Perfidy

Central Downtown Las Flores || Eastyard Boarding School || Late Afternoon

Droplets covered a a leaf curled a inches from Aranza. A leaf among many others that was only just settling from the unnatural gale that had made a storm of the private gardens only moments earlier. Aranza suppressed a small shudder of pleasure as she allowed the camera to fall against her stomach, tugging at the strap that secured it to her neck. Seven! I got seven this time.

The girl, young and heavyset, sporting overly large glasses and a busted lip, stood in the middle of the foliage as opposed to the path. Her eyes alternated between the camera screen and the spot in the air that Owen had just vacated. Without meaning to, she muttered a couple awed expletives in Spanish. She really had to tune out her mother's tirades.

Aranza flipped through the images on the digital camera, stills of a young man she went to school with. Standing in the garden, suddenly amidst a prismatic maelstrom, floating dozens of feet above the ground, and finally being consumed by a swarm of small bits of folded paper before taking off. When first being assigned to the task, Aranza was not particularly pleased. The school was a horrible place to seek out any non-expendable personnel. Students with any interest in crime were brash at best and completely unusable sociopaths at worst. The few metahumans that did turn up were usually caught misusing their powers and reported to the authorities immediately. Those that actually came back to school were placed under heavy watch, and had a beaten cast to their eyes that Aranza did not think would be of use to her. Owen was the exception.

“Owen.” she whispered. The look in the eyes of the young woman could only be described as enchanted. His habits, while not particularly noteworthy at first, were noticeable. It was sheer luck that Aranza was held back after classes one day by her peers for some “tough love” that she found herself leaving shortly after Owen. Out of sheer curiosity, Aranza followed the boy only to lose him in the garden. Her curiosity piqued, Aranza spent the next several weeks waiting for him to leave late again. This time she followed more closely. The reward for her diligence was seeing Owen take off into the sky. Aranza took to trying to catch him on film.

In the following months Aranza had compiled over two-hundred photos of Owen in various states of flight. Although she had already reported his existence to Monty, the mental clone felt a certain peace while watching him. As she dusted the dirt and flowers from herself, courtesy of her hiding spot amid the taller plants, a delicious though struck Aranza:

Will I be there to capture the moment he finally falls to the ground?

Uptown Las Flores || Amaranthine Base || Early Morning

“You know the drill, Ledger: no phones.” Monty fixed the guard with a sour look.

“I am well aware, thank you.” with the petulance of someone that thought they were deserving of far better than the lot they were dealt in life, Monty handed over her phone. Both guards stepped forward with a metal detector and magnetic scanner respectively. After a few annoyingly slow passes, the all clear was given and Monty was allowed to pass in to a hundred-foot corridor that led in to the next room.

A large desk of lacquered black wood dominated the center of the otherwise featureless room. An assortment of hardcopy files were stacked on both sides of the desk, some already sorted and the others awaiting inspection. Hands folded and masked face staring ahead, Gabriel sat patiently in anticipation of Monty's latest information. An empty gesture, given the nature of their bond. It was still necessary to maintain the appearance of “lowly bookkeeper” reporting to the “paranoid enigmatic mafia lord”.

Monty took a few steps forward and leaned her backside against the edge of the desk, turning to regard the masked man with a smile.

So, Gabriel, how are things? Her mental voice was dripping with sarcasm.

The mask is itchy. Gabriel's response was curt without being rude. Monty frowned. This particular clone had assumed the role of Gabriel over a year ago and had grown increasingly taciturn with the relative isolation the role entailed. Knowing that he was in essence herself in the same position, Monty could not help but feel the faintest pang of sympathy. Very faint.

Well, I have news that you should bring to the next gathering. Monty began counting off the most recent developments on her fingers. We have located seven new metahumans who are interested in joining the Amaranthine. They shall remain nameless until properly inducted. Greystar has yet to find a counteragent to the two latest drugs on the market, meaning we can keep a few of our remaining non-compliant backers under our thumb for the moment before those bastards buy their way free of us.

The raised fingers slowly curled in to a fist as Monty had to take a brief moment to collect herself after that one. Greystar was becoming an increasingly difficult to dislodge thorn in her side. A substantial chunk of the Amaranthine's legal profit was the donated funding of a couple dozen of the wealthiest business families in Las Flores. The Amaranthine secured these payments by keeping the stupid children of the families doped up on the most dangerous drugs that could be secured, drugs that required constant dosage lest serious health risks pop up. Greystar had already provided “cures” to three of these families, and Monty would bet her left arm that they were working on others.

As I was saying. The last order of business for you to go over next meeting would be that of the MYTHIC. They have been stepping on our toes as of late, and somehow got their suppliers to to get them access to chrace a week before our own was ready for distribution.

Gabriel twitched slightly at the mention of the newest psychoactive drug to hit Las Flores, chrace. Monty felt his longing. None of the mental clones had yet tasted of chrace, so the sensation could not be shared by their neural network. A new pleasure, a new sensation. Pushing away the intrusive impulse, Gabriel nodded. If that is all...?

“I'll see myself out.”

As Monty strode through the corridor and exited the subterranean office to retrieve her things from the guards, she stiffened. One of her older clones, a bankteller, was staring down an extremely familiar power-user that had just finished disintegrating a glass panel and was now facing a Greystar operative. Monty clenched her fists so hard that she thought she would draw blood. The guards simply thought she was annoyed by the leisurely pace at which they returned her belongings.

Keep observing. I would like to know if I lose a potential asset.

The West End || Glades Park || Late Afternoon

Things are not going well for the Amaranthine, Monty reflected. Accompanied by a lanky man of afghan descent–Ismail, another mental clone–she went about the rest of her day knocking off appointments from her list. Potential recruits, payments, shipments, and loans were all handled by Monty. She had to keep up the appearance of a busy little bee for the Amaranthine. Liking the micromanagement that the disguise entailed was a perk that the dark woman had not foreseen.

Near the end of her list, Monty found that she was supposed to pay Sandra Liland today. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as Monty crossed the task off of the list. Sandra proved to be a far shorter lived experiment than Monty would have liked. Even if she did survive the encounter with Greystar, Sandra would be incarcerated or put under surveillance for the rest of her days. In any case, Monty would not be visiting her any more unless some miracle made the girl worth running the risk.

The last of her appointments for the day was looking into a potential recruit. Spotted a few weeks ago by one of the other gang members, the lanky little boy could purportedly create electromagnetic disturbances over a wide area. Perfect for knocking out cameras, lights, and electronic grids for quick raids. The boy, Kyle Gregson, was contacted shortly after his discovery and offered a job. Today they were to meet in a park in the lower side of town.

As she and Ismail entered the park, Monty fell back into her thoughts. Her power was crumbling as surely and inexorably as the sea wears away at the face of a cliff. The Amaranthine was growing, surely, even richer than it had ever been before. Not quickly enough, though.

The most obvious threat was of course, Greystar. If they could do here what they had done already in Europe, then this was all for naught. The only thing keeping them from overrunning the country with metahuman restrictions were a few flimsy civil-rights laws. In the meantime, the organization was making examples out of power-abusers and criminal organizations. That would be fine if they were not succeeding. Slowly, very slowly, Greystar was earning the approval of the people.

Then there was the matter of those three. The mental clones who were too smart for their own good, and in possession of bodies belonging to people influential enough to abuse their power. One had started a gang of his own, and the other two were threatening to reveal Monty for what she was unless they were afforded new positions of power.

Melrose and the Gridghost were the least of her major concerns. The new kid on the block, Melrose and her MYTHIC were causing problems all across the board. Monty felt in her bones that a demonstration would be needed to put them in their place. The Gridghost was another matter entirely. The only thing she knew of them was that they were watching almost everything in the city, courtesy of what glimpses of the strange program the ghost used that her people could catch. Which is to say, mere wisps of a presence. The only reason Gridghost was not higher on her list of concerns was the method in which Monty preferred to keep her real information to herself: Telepathy. Everything that needed to be said was being communicated in a way that the ghost would not catch anyway. Unless they could read minds. In that case, Monty was doomed anyway and would roll with the punches as they came.

“Ledger,” Ismail's thickly accented English broke Monty from her stupor. He was pointing at a wispy young man in a wheelchair up ahead. He was playing a morose tune on the violin. Ledger perked up in interest almost instantly. “Is that him?”

“I believe so. Thank you, Ismail. Go wait by the gate.” Ismail nodded once and gave the boy ahead one last glance before returning to the entrance. Short dark hair, white, skinny, and small. He matched the description to a tee. Monty strode up to September, her heels clacking on the pavement and golden bangles clinking with every step. She stood in front of the open violin case, taking in the scene with unhidden curiosity.

“Hello. I believe you desired to meet me.” Monty fixed September with a warm smile, glancing to the sides to make sure that no one was near enough to hear them. “We have been observing you for a while. So is that how you do it? The violin transmits your abilities? An odd way to use a power, but I've seen less convenient methods.”


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kilroy Character Portrait: Melrose Character Portrait: Zephyr Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Central Las Flores ][ Commercial District ][ Late Afternoon

Owen hadn't been flying for long, maybe an hour or two maybe, before he was jarred from his thoughts by an arrow let loose. He knew he wasn't its intended target, the trajectory was all wrong, but he prepared to be evasive if it somehow did something out of the ordinary. It didn't, however, and pierced one of his cranes and kept arcing through the air as he flew onward, neck craning back to look at it land before looking forward again and carrying on.

Why anybody would randomly shoot one of his cranes down puzzled him, and he had half a mind to turn around and confront that person to retrieve his crane. Then again, he could always make another. Or could he? Owen wasn't entirely sure, though, and he didn't want to risk it, either. He lowered his altitude significantly, coming to a rather gusty stop over an SUV parked in an alley. It appeared to be empty, and Owen paid no mind to it either way before turning around and accelerating towards where he assumed the crane had landed.

He arrived at a fountain, just in time to see a hooded figure, whom he assumed had shot the arrow, bend over to pick the crane out of the water. He observed the figure, which he deduced was feminine enough to warrant a gender specific pronoun, and was too lost in his quizzical expression to think about hiding before she turned her glance upward at her. He remained there, frozen in his floating position and staring at her. His fight or flight responses began to trigger, causing his hair to stand on end. Whether or not he stayed or flew away as fast as he could depended on her reaction to seeing him there.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kilroy Character Portrait: Melrose Character Portrait: Zephyr Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Central Las Flores][31st street Bank air vents][Late Afternoon

Not a second passes and i hear the booming whirlwind outside again. That criminal can settle this with the electric one, i haven't seen a flyer since i came to this city. I dart back to the rooftop and look around for whoever went through. It's getting dark and i have a hard time telling people apart from the slowly lighting neon lights around the commercial district. There. Floating in mid-air above a plaza. I need to get to him before his foolishness gets him into trouble with the authorities. I gracefully climb down the building to fetch my smelly streetwear from the dumpster. I never knew banks had to handle such smelly garbage. A brisk walk to the alley where my SUV gives me time to think about the situation. The two people in the bank were obviously taunting judging from the tone of their shouts. The authorities might focus there faster than to the idiot floating in plain view, assuming he has been reported. I need to make sure the flyer is not her, otherwise my agenda might be compromised.
Yes, the agenda. My next human sacrifice is a judge. He will be a valuable addition to the squad. I still have time to check out the flyer before getting to work. My associates have set up a warehouse in the outskirts already. I get in my SUV, not before checking that my equipment is intact. I take a short drive to the shopping strip plaza and park my car. There he is. A few select people are already taking glances to the sky. This will not end up well unless they are distracted.
Even if that flyer is her, i need to buy some more time. Luckily i have a low-yield pipe bomb with me. Even if this might compromise my future endeavors, i set the bomb behind a commercial plaque across the street by a fashion store display window and dart past the fountain to a phone booth. People are too busy with their cozy lives to notice me. They are too gullible for their own good to take any details of me. I'm probably a hiker practicing for a triathlon. I'm probably a maintenance guy adjusting a screw behind a plaque. The authorities have assured that the criminals and mutants only roam outside the central.
I take a look at the woman sitting by the fountain, looking up. She'll be distracted soon enough, would be a shame if a piece of shrapnel would touch that finely carved body. Something seems off about her but i can't put my finger on it. She seems to be devoid of lighting even around all these neon signs and tv screens.
A few seconds later i hear an explosion, screams, shattering glass, an alarm. The explosion could have only injured about 2-5 people last time i checked. Even with grave injuries they'll live.

Living is a thing people forget to be grateful of.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kilroy Character Portrait: Melrose Character Portrait: Zephyr Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by PoBeeb

Central Las Flores | Commercial District | Late Afternoon

A presence.

Grim shivers slithered down her spine. She hadn't seen him approach, but instinctively, she could taste the salty iron that dissipated in the evening air. She took in a cool drink of oxygen. The curious taste was something she sought after - a unique smell that left a distinctive flavor on her tongue. Rarely, she could find such a beautiful scent. Immediately, she recognized the smell, the taste, the presence - a mutant. A powerful one at that.

In one swift movement she reached for her belt, wrapping her agile fingers around the smooth curvature of the custom engraved handle. The metal blade sliced through the air, stopping precisely in front of her. She sensed him there, but saw no one. It took a fraction of a second for her eyes to dart into the gloomy magenta sunset, and settle on their target- it seemed almost magnetic. So it is him. The flying one. Green eyes stared intently, filled with both curiosity and skepticism as she froze in a protective stance. It wasn't like her to solidify and arch her back like a stray cat in the eyes of a starving mutt, but something was different about this particular incident. This body that flew no more than a few feet away, it caused her great discomfort. Yet, she couldn't help but admire the sight. Every muscle in her arms stiffened and throbbed, nearly taking control in an unjustified urge to plunge the lengthy falchion into the still-beating heart of the unsettling stranger. However, she had chosen the wrong weapon, and it was far too late to swap for her bow.

And then she saw his face - the strange appearance of his almond blue eyes. Something about his gaze left her with a brooding tightness in her jaw.

Before an explanation could be given, a wave of anxiety flushed through her veins like an eradicating poison. With little time to question the strange sensation, a large flush of air whipped her hair back in a river of black threads. Heat erupted in a cloud of flames and smoke, and immediately she threw her arm over her face in a protective manner, her ears numb and ringing from the blast. Though the shock wave had passed, she struggled to pry her eyes open, the dust and bits of shrapnel still traveling through the air. Screams, crying, and of course, the rustic scent of crimson red being spilled upon the asphalt - it gummed up her senses, leaving her incapable of smelling, seeing or hearing much other than an unpleasant buz, and the thumping plea of her flustered ear drums. Had this been an attack on MYSTIC? Perhaps she should leave in the eruption of pandemonium. It was quite a veil, after all, and in contempt of her endeavor, she was incapable of fighting in her current state.

Still, though.

She slithered through the foggy clouds of smoke, climbing onto a commercial building - just tall enough to escape the chaos and clear her burning lungs.

That taste.