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Chaotic-Systematic

Chaotic-Systematic

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Hardly more than children, they have no purpose in life; it seems as though the Cipher, the abandoned desert complex, may be the perfect fit for them. There's no way in, and there's no way out. Chaos breeds human desire, but systematism refines it.

1,642 readers have visited Chaotic-Systematic since AiteCipher created it.

Introduction

Image

What was this place?

The building is tall, stark, lonely in the desert. It's lost on waves of sand with nothing but the sun and endless emptiness to keep it company. Somewhere, however, a desert rose blooms; somewhere, water flows. Behind whitewashed stone walls lies a small oasis, but to the outside world, it is nothing but a faceless building mocking all those who pass by with its impenetrable walls.

It hints at something that was once great and wondrous. A tower stretches from the center of a wide cylinder, peering out over the endless desert beyond its ghost-white confines. Stairs with no railings spiral up around its outside. Something's contained in side, but it could be anything— or, perhaps, the unknowable somethingness of nothing. To the outside, it gives away nothing. It's impregnable.

Yet it's pregnant with a strange sort of life inside— the days go by as always. The fountain flows, as its teenage occupants have come to expect that it'll always do. Breakfast arrives inexplicably on the table, with one tray rationed out per person. The boys know their seats and the girls theirs. To some, perhaps, it's unbearably organized, but this is life. After all, they've never known much else. It's morning, and mornings are mornings and food is food no matter how organized it seems. The food that day— pancakes, perhaps— is eaten with all the ease and all it ever has. But they have a strange taste, this morning; something's off.

Somewhere, a desert rose blooms.

There's a note on a tray. Perhaps a note on two trays, or three trays. Something's disrupted the normalcy. Something's new, different. You've lived life up until now as a slave to the routines, but the note changes everything. Is this a test? An exam? You can hardly know.

It's a note, and it reads—
Somewhere,
a desert rose blooms.




It's just like magic

Characters will have one ability each. Abilities include but are not limited to: shapeshifting, telekinesis, invisibility, sensory augmentation, and control over a single element.

The only limitations are that no god-mode powers such as resurrection, clairvoyance, and mindreading are allowed. Additionally, the residents should be unable to leave the complex. I may make exceptions if you PM me first, though— again, I'm lenient.



On characters

There are no pre-set character spots. I hate those things. Fill out the form, and I'll tell you whether you're accepted or not. Keep an eye on the other characters so you can make sure we have a diverse range of boys, girls, ages, etc.. Feel free to jump right in! This is a very open RP, so do what you will with your character.

List of Characters:
- Rowen "Sparrow" Butler (F/15)
- Marcus Walker (M/19)
- Felicia "Fibi" Marie Thompson (F/16)
- Brandon Thanes (M/17)


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The Skeleton
Please format it so it's nice-looking and easy to read :3

Name;
Age (13-19);
Gender;
Ability;
Physical Appearance;
Personality;
Notable History;
Other;

Toggle Rules

- Be polite.
- Be original.
- Be exciting!

Browse All » 4 Settings to roleplay in

The Cipher Complex

The Cipher Complex by AiteCipher

Vast and white.

The Dining Room

The Dining Room by AiteCipher

Lunch is served— the same way as always.

The Library

The Library by AiteCipher

Books and documents of all sorts can be found inside the Complex's surprisingly massive library.

The Bedrooms

The Bedrooms by AiteCipher

Compact single bedrooms designed to encourage the use of the Complex rather than staying alone by one's self.

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 4 authors

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler
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Rowen clutched the piece of paper in her hand as though it would fly away if she loosened her grip even a little. Its edges pressed into the rough skin of her palm, and she registered a vague feeling of pain, but it changed nothing— she still stared blankly at the table in front of her with her hands in her lap. The curiosity nagging her was an overwhelming thing pounding in her mind at the back of her head, but she'd managed to suppress it for long enough. A few more minutes and another pancake couldn't hurt. She couldn't have anyone noticing her today, could she? She raised her head and reached to sweep her hair to the side, slipping the folded piece of paper into the single gathered strap stretching up from the left side of her top. It might have found a better home in the body of the shirt, but one of the many disadvantages of looking like a child was that she had no cleavage to hide such things in. She wondered vaguely if wearing looser garments might help, but the thought had soon evaporated. The clothing rations would be later today, and she couldn't waste her six garment coupons on such silly things. One of the straps to her favorite tops, a simple black number with lace accents, had inexplicably torn last weekend— and she had no idea why or how, since she usually kept it in its drawer outside of special occasions.

Rowen stabbed her fork into her pile of eggs. They were better than usual— saltier, maybe? Whatever the case, she loved them. She polished off the last bite and set into her pancake with a half-smile.

The chatter in the room bounded up around her. She's sat by herself at the far corner of the balcony, but more people were piling in now that it was less heinously early in the morning. It was the groggy sort of morning greetings uttered by the kind of close friends she's only ever watched from a distance. She peered over the railing, watching as two blondes and a pair of boys who looked like brothers took a seat at one of the central tables. One of the tussle-haired blondes, her face done up a little too much even though she really was very pretty, wrapped her arms around the taller of the two brothers. Between them, they had two trays. Sitting down, the girls took their single plates to the boys' two. Rowen's face fell into a small frown. It had to take more energy than that, living. Even on days when she didn't plan on flying she'd clear out at least a full plate. Between dance and mischief, she did expend a lot of energy. It was a wonder she managed it at all.

She stood up and picked up her plate. She hadn't bothered grabbing a tray, as she'd filled only one plate. Rowen finished off the last of her milk. It was an important thing, given that she was not only female but had hollow bones well-equipped for flight, as well. She debated between leaving to read the note and sticking around to people-watched, but eventually she decided to stay; she could always read that tiny slip of paper she'd found wedged between the forks and the spoons, but people were unpredictable. In a way, that was what she liked about them, but in another, it was what worried her the most. She knew she could never really trust anyone just as much as no one could ever really know her. They were simple facts of the human condition. Every point of view was really so different from the others.

But people were so dangerous. Like fire, they were fascinating from afar— yet she'd never let herself be brushed by something that could burn her. It was better to just watch and keep her tiny piece of paper safe in her sleeve.

OOC: All characters should be coming to the dining room— just to kick things off. I mean, breakfast is always good, right?

The setting changes from The Dining Room to The Cipher Complex

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
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Fibi looked up at the paper, sounding out each letter to try and form words; though, despite her trying, everything came out slurred and messy as she tried to chew her pancakes at the same time. She had arrived only minutes ago, grabbing a tray before sitting and stuffing her face with pancakes and eggs. Fibi tousled onto her back, reaching out her hands in front of her as she looked at it carefully; she took up about two seats sitting lying outstretched like that, yet she hardly noticed.

She began to mouth the words, before swishing the food to cheek to cheek- something was different; perhaps sweeter; cake-like or even thicker? Whatever it was, it caused Fibi to sit straight up, blood rushing from her head and back down to her body caused her to sway a little. Within an instant, the paper was completely forgotten as she began to stuff more pancakes and eggs into her mouth, not caring if they really mix up before they went into her mouth. Before she noticed who was sitting a table away from her, her cheeks where starting to resemble a squirrel; there Rowan sat, her mind seeming off in some distant place. Ah well, who doesn’t drift off here once and while.

Within a few seconds, Fibi had finished her breakfast, and her attention was instantly back on to the crumbled, sticky piece of paper, which was now coated in the slimy residue of syrup. Her legs lifted from the floor as she swung them outwards and back in, as if she was swinging on a swing; her arms shifted above her head as she once again, tried to mouth the word- sounding out each letter to try and form a word. “Ss-s-O-mmm-meh…” She thought for a while before the word hit her. “Some… some… some…” She rolled the around her tongue as she tried to figure out the others. “Somewhere,” She stated, biting her tongue to hold in her excitement.

After a few minutes of sitting there, she finally figure out what the little note said; it was quite interesting actually, and even her non-existent curiosity began to stir. It soon faded when she got distracted by the puddle of syrup that stayed on her tray. She poured the rest of the milk onto the syrup and began to make swirls in it with her finger; sure, she may look crazy from a distant on looker, but right now, she could care less- she was trying to make her flower. Well, something like it.

Fibi’s hands huddled over it, her finger dripping a little syrup back onto her tray. The flower uplifted up off of the tray and stood out of the syrup; it’s crooked and lopsided petals drooping and dripping with syrup. Poor flower. Her hand reached over towards it and she ‘plucked’ it out of the syrup, shoving it back into her tray, head first. It didn’t take long before her boredom caught up to her, and she reached over to the small glass of water towards her right and drizzled it down onto the flower before it dispersed.

A slight sigh escaped her lips; her brown eyes threaten to close as she began to hum a soft tune of one of Mozart’s songs. Her head sways as her finger hilts up, then down, and back up to the other side; her eyes opened as she watched those in front and around her.

The setting changes from The Cipher Complex to The Dining Room

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
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Rowen's eyes skimmed the room with an apathetic boredom. She leaned to one side, then another; was there really nothing to see? Down on the floor below, figures milled about, an ocean of twisting colors and tantalizing smells. They poured in through the doors and took seats at the long benches and tables, some of their faces puffy and red from sleep and others glowing with the strange glint of freshly applied makeup. It was, in a way, refreshing to know that the world hadn't ended when she'd found that strange piece of paper. None of them seemed alarmed. Perhaps everything was fine. Still, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling, the tingling on her skin that pricked up every time the note made a resurgence in her memory. She didn't like that things were out of order.

Searching for anything to take her mind off her worries, Rowen focused her gaze on the girl sitting— er, lying— at the table immediately in front of her. She was singing again, or perhaps simply talking to her creations. Whatever the case, the fact that she could say 'again' about the whole situation— that was calming. But oh, she was thinking about it again. Eyes back to the girl. She had begun stirring shapes in her food, mixing things together to form some thing or another. Syrup melted into other things until a form began to rise up. Though it was a bit disgusting, her mashing up food, the raw power itself was a thing of beauty. She loved the way that magic moved, raw and graceful.

Rowen's attention slipped back out to the crowds below. They'd all begun to cluster at one table, with some residents sitting on others' laps and others pushing in uncomfortably close to fit in. Socialites and their suck-up crews: those were the ones hovering around the table like flies to rotten meat. They could do what they wanted, and she couldn't judge them for it, but it wasn't something she could ever see herself doing.

Rowen leaned back toward the wall and let her wings stretch out behind her. It felt good after having gone to bed earlier than usual. Her hair was extra-wavy today, to boot. It was a nice irony to start the day off with. With beauty came pain. She'd considered doing herself up today just for the sake of it, but she was glad she hadn't. The day was already pregnant with enough change. In accepting it, Rowen had taken into her mind a strange sort of silence. She didn't like it. Maybe it was better to be uncomfortable and shifting in her seat. At least then she would have something to attribute her suddenly foreign feelings to.

The girl nearby had sat up by now, and she rocked back and forth in her seat, her eyes half-closed. What was her name? Rowen's mind grasped for the word, not even knowing if she'd ever had something to attach to the strange and fascinating girl she'd so often enjoyed watching. Something not quite to the back nor to the side of Rowen's mind pushed her: go meet her, she told herself. But she held herself back. It wasn't as though she wanted to associate with other people. Still, curiosity had begun to get the better of her, as there was something she had yet to find out. She groaned a bit, inwardly. For curiosity, she'd push herself.

Rowen was on her feet, now, the bangles on her bare feet sounding dull jingles over the sticky white tape on her ankles. Pad-footed, she made her way over to the girl's table with a friendly-enough half smile light on her lips. She wasn't sure what to do and paused for a moment, then turned and stood opposite the girl.

"I'm, um. I'm Rowen." She pushed the words out, wondering vaguely if the girl already knew her name. She was sure they'd never introduced; she scrabbled for an excuse to be talking to her, anyway. If it would get a name out of her, anything would fly. "You, uh, wouldn't have seen a bracelet around here, would you?"

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Character Portrait: Marcus Walker
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#, as written by Tash
A novelist once described a town, as seen by a young girl, as being made of paper, with paper people living their paper lives. They were two dimensional, irrelevant to the larger scheme of things. Marcus always enjoyed that idea. The people around him were paper, granted many of them were brightly colored, but in the end they were still just two dimensional. They, and their problems ceased to exist to him when they stopped talking to him, which, unfortunately, was not often. Even he was made of paper, and he had his own paper life. That life was the center of the complex society's social structure. He had paper friends, too, though right now he couldn't remember their names. They hovered around him, like mosquitoes. They were parasites, paper parasites, sucking the ink from his paper popularity. He tolerated them as he sat eating his breakfast, because his mind was elsewhere. Up on the balcony, Rowen was sitting by herself, eating her breakfast quietly. Had she received a note too? Or was it just him?

Marcus had arrived to breakfast early. So early, in fact, that he had already finished eating and returned his tray. He'd found the note, read it, memorized it, and burnt it to a crisp so no one would catch him with something he wasn't supposed to have.

Somewhere,
a desert rose blooms.


He mulled over the words in his head as he watched Rowen from below. Not somewhere, he thought. Right there. But about the note. It was short, unsigned, written in prose, as if it were an excerpt from a poem. Who wrote it? Who ensured it reached him? And why? It was so vague, it was almost taunting, as if someone had written it with the sole purpose of disrupting the routine just enough to get him interested, but not enough that anything serious would change. After all the years spent exploring this place, learning that there really was no way out, nothing beyond what he already knew, it was almost cruel to present him with a little slip of paper that hinted at the possibility of escaping his paper life. Almost.

Just then, Rowen moved. It was curious because A) it was Rowen and everything she did interested Marcus, and B) she was going to go talk to someone which, if you'd spent as much time as Marcus did admiring her from a distance, you'd know this was rather out of character. She did not like to socialize, which was one of the major reasons he did.

He wondered who she was talking to. Being the center of the Cipher social structure did certainly have it's advantages, chief among those being that you either knew everyone's name, or you knew someone who did. In this instance, it was the latter.

"Who's that?" He pointed towards the girl Rowen had approached and asked the girl who'd been hanging on him all morning(and the past fourteen mornings, and afternoons, and evenings). Riley, he thought her name was. She had a crush on him. Apparently two weeks of ignoring it had only caused it to grow, a fact which irritated him. He got the idea that people were like wounds; they fester.

"Who cares? She's a freak." Riley replied after taking a second to come up with the insult. She was not intelligent.

"In here aren't we all?" Marcus felt the urge to light Riley's bright red hair on fire, but he reasoned that he might go blind if it were brighter, or redder. He wondered why Riley was considered attractive. Her atrocious hair (which was a mix between candy cane red and muddy orange) fell to about her shoulders, and looked awfully thin, with split ends all over the place. Her skin had too many freckles, which makeup only accented, but it was so tanned from being outside most of the time that it looked almost like spotted pumpkin pie. Her eyes were a whiny shade of hazel-yellow, and if colors could be whiny, hers definitely were. Would he date her? If someone gauged out his eyes and cut out her tongue, he might take her for lunch.

"Her name's Felicia, but she calls herself Fibi."Riley admitted after some thought. I don't know what her ability is, and I don't care." Marcus looked at her condescendingly. "Why do you care, anyway?" She shot at him, "I'm your girlfriend, you're only supposed to care about me!" This was news to Marcus. He supposed that would be why she had been buzzing around him for the past two weeks. At this point, the small crowd of their friend's had grown quiet, eager to hear Marcus respond.

"That's a good question, Riley." He begun, and a smile crept on his face. "Why do I care about you?" Her face was priceless, and Marcus wanted to laugh, but he kept his cool and continued, "You're a bitch, you're an idiot, and frankly, you're sub par in bed. You should probably just leave." Riley's mouth was dropped, almost comically, but she said nothing. She looked dumbstruck, or maybe it was just her face.

"But we never eve-" She started, before Marcus interrupted.

"Say what you want to save face, but it doesn't make it any less true." She didn't respond, and instead just stormed off, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. Two other girls followed. Weird, she had friends.

"Harsh bro." The voice belonged to Brandon, Marcus' right hand man. He was built like a brick house, except instead of rooms inside, it was just more bricks. And it was steel plated. Surprisingly, Brandon was the smartest of the people Marcus hung out with, which was why he could remember the name.

"The truth hurts. Being the kind of person she was just makes it sting longer."

Today was quite out of routine for Marcus. A mysterious poet sent him a note, he discovered that he had a girlfriend, and dumped her, and he watched Rowen actually go and talk to someone. Hell, if she could do it, so could he.

Eventually.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
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"I'm, um. I'm Rowen.”
Her big, brown eyes shot upwards towards the pretty girl, examining her from head to toe. She seemed nervous, almost as if she has never introduced herself to anyone before; but she had to of, right? How else did Fibi know who Rowan was? Maybe she introduced herself to another long ago, and Fibi just so happened to overhear her, or maybe she heard others talking about Rowen and she inferred who she was; or maybe the blue talking giraffe and the green hippo who had anchors for teeth told Fibi who Rowen was. Either way, she knew Rowen’s name- if she still remembered how she heard about her, was a completely different, and hazy, story.

“You, uh, wouldn't have seen a bracelet around here, would you?"
If Fibi was a dog, her ears would’ve pricked up. She gave Rowen a slight shrug before holding up here finger as if she was going to leave or she was talking to someone; instead, Fibi’s attention turned towards her tray, she studied it intently before lifting it up, now studying the table intently as if Rowen’s bracelet could be hiding anywhere near her. Without another second’s ado, she dove underneath the table, on her hands and knees and leaving sticky hand prints everywhere Fibi went. Granted, people where staring at the two girls as she searched intently for Rowen’s ‘lost’ bracelet, but hey, at least she was putting the effort in to search for it. With a thud, a signal that Fibi’s hard head had hit against the table, she popped back up from underneath the table and searched towards her right of the seat, then to her left.

After no luck of finding it, Fibi turned her head towards Rowen and shook her head, causing the curls in her hair to sway messily back and forth. It was quite odd for Fibi to introduce herself to another girl; many of the time, people left her alone and she was quite fine- she only had one friend since she was here, but as time went on, the girl realized she could have much cooler and more fun friends than Fibi, who, most of her time, doodled on the walls of rooms or played with her food. She pondered a little more on what her introduction should be before she spoke in a small yet loud voice, “I’m Fibi.” If there was anyone sitting near her at the time, they’d either scooted down the table or moved completely. It was a slight side effect of being Fibi- whether it was a good one or a bad one depended on how she was feeling. “I could help you look.” She said, wiping her sticky, and now dirty hand on her sweater, thinking it might be rude to help someone with gross, gooey hands.

A small outburst broke out on the level below them, her head craning downwards and her eyes instantly spotting a guy, seemingly telling a cute red head off; her face becoming almost as red as the paint Fibi uses when she wants to paint flowers. She easily recognized the guy- Marcus- who wouldn’t? After all, he was the center of attention twenty-four hours of the time; he was often spoken a lot of by many of the girls. Some would say how utterly sexy and good looking he was and others would say how nice and cool he was; some would even give details of their fantasies – which always gave poor Fibi shivers of the icky kind. Sure, he was good looking, but he had a sort of air about him; you know the kind- the type a wolf has, or something a lion or a rabid dog has. Something that’s cool at first to look at from a far, but if you get too close, it’ll eat your head off and bury you half dead; not to mention if Fibi even thought of someone attractive, she’d probably forget about him within a few seconds to join her pink penguins or go swimming with the dolphins in her fantasies-or her room if she ever decides to finish drawing them.

Within seconds of dully looking down there, Fibi’s attention snapped back to Rowen. Rowen was smaller than she was, and prettier too- almost like a little dove; except with brown feathers instead of white, and with spotted wings. Ok, maybe not a dove, but defiantly like some sort of bird; perhaps a tiny snow owl? Fibi smiled at Rowen, as if saying, ‘nice to meet you’; for a mere second, her eyes shot down at the tiny, crumbled, and sticky piece of paper that was in her other, ‘clean’ hand before she shoved the poor thing into her pocket.

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Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
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If she could have tasted her own words, Rowen was sure her lies would have left a sour aftertaste like burnt meat skittering across the back of her tongue. As the girl held up a finger, her stomach twisted into something the size of a walnut; when she had asked the girl about her bracelet, she hadn’t expected her to have even stood up, let alone duck down and start searching for something that didn’t exist. Was this society in its purest form? At times, it seemed as though everything ever said was built on lies. Rowen knew she was no exception, but just knowing didn’t dissipate the imagined taste playing at the tip of her tongue. Not even the rich sweetness of the faux-maple syrup still clinging to her teeth could rid her mouth of the nauseating feeling that came with seeing her words jump to life right before her eyes.

It was, perhaps, something she was simply unequipped to handle. Maybe, Rowen reasoned, maybe lying needed to be taken in increments. Whatever the case, she was terrible at it. Her words, half-baked creatures brought to life with her tongue on a feeble whim, stuttered around like a puppy missing a limb. No doubt, it was her own stupidity that had gnawed it off. Like all crippled puppies, she’d probably have to end up shooting it to snuff out its suffering. The girl had hit her head on the table. This was the other half of the reasons why she didn’t talk to people. Nothing was ever perfect and simple like it should have been. Unlike a piano key, if properly tuned, she couldn’t know how a person would react if she hit him. She could, perhaps, use her rudimentary knowledge of physics to predict where he might fall, but his psychology would be something great and unknowable, and there was nothing like the unknown to make Rowen feel so powerless.

”I’m Fibi.” Words drew Rowen’s attention back from the depths of her thoughts. She glanced up, catching a final bounce of the girl’s curls as though they had just been shaken back and forth. Though it was messy, she really did have pretty hair. It was sunny and had the kind of arabesqued curl to it that looked nice as it moved— it was the best kind of curl; people rarely ever stood still. She would really make a beautiful dancer. And she’d gotten the name: Fibi. An odd name, but it likely wasn’t her given one. A small spark of success flickered through her mind. It wasn’t long, however, before the roots of her guilt made their resurgence, snuffing out her short-lived bout of happiness. She opened her mouth slightly, a quick apology cobbling itself together on the tip of her tongue, but Fibi spoke up, first. ”I could help you look.”

And then her attention was gone to something below. Never one to pass up the opportunity to learn something interesting, Rowen’s gaze followed Fibi’s to where a sort of feminine squabble had burst to life on the main level. A blotch of red hair easily overshadowing any other color in the crowd opposed someone more masculine. She had to squint a bit to see who it was. Marcus? From the telltale swirl of bodies around him and the silhouette of a hulking figure nearby, she supposed it had to be. Who other than their dashing leader would be able to tell off a girl with hair like that? She couldn’t hear the conversation below, but it was laced with bitterness and girlish whispers. All the girls loved Marcus. Even Rowen could grudgingly admit he was just short of perfect. Still, there was something in that very perfection that didn’t sit right with her. Maybe it was that he reminded her of the oppressive bath of white and right angles her life had become. Cipher was a huge place, a fascinating place, with what seemed like an endless maze of places to explore, but there was still yet a haunting sameness to it all. Her world was a paper-white perfection that never seemed to end. In that, Marcus and the Complex were one in the same: beautiful, utterly fascinating, and deeply unsettling.

Rowen had drawn her attention back up within seconds, her stomach even more twisted than it had been before. It was no surprise. Still, she wondered why the girl had even bothered to stick around— it was an obvious lie, as she didn’t know how she should react. When had she ever owned a bracelet? The only things to ever grace her wrists were compression wrappings and the occasional scribbled note. Create what you know, she thought to herself. It was a bit of a writer’s creed, and if there was anyone she could trust, it was a writer. Even with a blatant lie, the truth would eventually slip out after so many words. She wondered if the girl had picked up on her shoddy excuse for a conversation just yet.

But the girl was smiling at her. It wasn’t a smirk or a scheming smile; rather, it was a friendly one of the kind she was all too unused to. Rowen ached to just tell the girl the truth, but in doing so, she felt as though she’d be losing something. What that something was, she couldn’t begin to figure out, yet she found herself spewing lies again. They slipped off he tongue so smoothly. She didn't stop herself; she really did hate losing, and there was something about the girl's friendly smile that held her just a step back from killing the exchange. What she had started, she couldn't leave just yet. ”It must be gone for good,” She shrugged. ”If anything, I’m sure someone picked it up. I’ll just have to make a new one. Do you— do you know how to weave bracelets?”

[OOC] @Tash: I know you're not really involved yet-- do you want to work out some way of working Marcus in over PM? I don't want you to feel like we're ignoring you or anything. It's just proximity, ATM ^__^

The setting changes from The Dining Room to The Cipher Complex

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Character Portrait: Marcus Walker
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#, as written by Tash
After what seemed like hours, the dining room started to clear out. People began to return their trays, and shuffle out of the room to begin their days. Many went to study, to play games, to go on with their two dimensional lives like a machine. Others returned to their rooms to sleep. This was often what Marcus chose to do. He could lay down, close his eyes, and stop living for just a little bit. His room was his sanctuary; in it, he could be himself. The walls were covered in drawings, birds mostly, but also people. He was a terrible artist, so they would look rather pathetic compared to, say, someone who took a eighth grade art class. Still, they were his, and he was proud of them. His desk was covered in scratch paper and pencils. He wrote poetry too, though never love poetry. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Accompanying his "art" was a motley collection of other people's art. Books of poetry, novels, and books full of pictures of paintings, and their history. He liked reading novels the most and, of them, he primarily read romance. Not kid stuff, but young adult novels, and nothing with vampires or angels. He preferred good stories, about real life. In a way, it let him live different lives. His favorite author was John Green, and Marcus owned all of his books, or at least all of the ones that the library had. The books(mostly) followed the same general formula: awkward young adult is sort of going nowhere in life, meets spontaneous and fun and exciting and mysterious other young adult, falls in love, learns life lesson, and then deals with a tragedy. However, the books always ended on an uplifting note which was the part Marcus liked. Although he could never fit the description of a John Green protagonist, he certainly identified with them, and though Rowen Butler was certainly no Alaska Young or Augustus Waters, in Marcus' eyes, she definitely was. However, in those novels, the people have different problems. No one is a freak of nature mutant who can control fire, no one is trapped in a mysterious, creepy complex in the middle of the desert. Their problems were simple and mundane and, because it was fiction, the love interest always ended up with the hero, and everything was great(at least for a while). It made sense. It would be bad storytelling if nothing good happened to the characters.

At any rate, today would be a day where Marcus did not return to his room to read or draw, but he instead headed for the library. Specifically, he was after poetry. The note was written like an excerpt from a poem, and if he suspected right, then finding the whole poem might give a little more insight to what it had meant. That seemed like a monumental undertaking, and it was, but what else would Marcus spend his time doing? Besides, being in the library meant being in the place that offered the best chance at running into Rowen. That thought crept into his head as he started down the halls, but he reminded himself that he had a real, actual reason for going, and that fantasies were just second.

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Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
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“If anything, I’m sure someone picked it up. I’ll just have to make a new one. Do you— do you know how to weave bracelets?”
Fibi nodded her head, causing her curls to fly up once more; of course she made bracelets! Granted, she’d destroy them after five minutes, but she still made them. She could make them out of anything really; food, walls, floors, trays- etc. Sometimes, they were even edible; gross, but edible. Maybe Rowen wanted a new one after she lost her old one, though Fibi couldn’t sympathize or empathize with her, but she could try to make her a new one.

“Do you want to make some together?” She asked in an almost, abrupt tone. Her eyes were, once again, distracted by a pretty brunette that feathered by; she looked like a picture she saw in the library that was in a Renaissance Art book. The painting that was in the book was by Agnolo Bronzino; it was a woman who stared back at you with her dull, blue eyes with her stubby fingers over her chest. Her hair, just like the girl who walked by, her tray in her hands, was pinned up in tight, rolled back rolls that went to the back of her head. Fibi automatically thought of drawing her on her walls, but then remembered that her walls where already tight in space- not even a single line could be drawn without over-painting on another painting, which had been done a thousand times. Guess paper would do for now, or her blanket; she had to ask for paint, and could only get a few per month- boy, was she lucky that she did! Her paints were usually used up by the end of the month so replacing them just in time where convenient.

Then again, if Fibi had a specific color she knew she wouldn’t get in some time, she’d probably substitute the color with toothpaste or food, perhaps even some makeup. Without really knowing it, Fibi had ignored poor Rowen, wallowing in her own thoughts and practically blocking out whatever Rowen did or said. She looked down at the pretty girl, a slight smile pinching at her lips. “Later.” She said, meaning for the bracelet thing- if Fibi even remembered it herself, which the chance of that happening was probably fifty percent. Oh well. Before Fibi could think, she raised her hand up to Rowen’s face and waved a good bye; obviously bored with conversation at hand now- not that she had the intention of showing it. With that, she made her way out of the cafeteria, leaving her tray behind her on the table as she pranced and toddled back towards her room. Usually, after eating and playing with her food, Fibi would make her way back to her room, spending most of her time singing out loud, painting or drawing; this she did today. After turning down the hallways, and climbing up the latter, Fibi finally entered her room.

Her room had drawings and paintings sprawled all over the walls and the floors- even the ceilings had their fair share of paintings and drawings; while the floors themselves where completely covered in either paper, clothes or makeup. Stepping on something was necessary for even moving around in the small, tiny room. Her feet trudge against the floor, causing the stuff to build up and spill over the side of where her feet were. Empty paint bottles, squeezed to the point where they were inside-out, littered most of the corners of her room. Dirty paintbrushes stuck to the walls for an ‘added effect’ of some of her drawings and paintings. Once she was at a certain corner of her room, Fibi dropped to her knees and her hands where glued to the floor, searching around the pigs’ sty. Finally, after what seemed like five minutes, she pulled out a long, purple ribbon that came off of one of her shirts; she tied both ends of the ribbon and wrapped it around her hair like a pony-tail. Now it was time to get down to business- after she finds a marker…

Fibi spent most of her morning drawing on her sheets; drawing the girl she saw in the cafeteria, drawing Rowen and once she got bored of drawing girls, she began drawing whale-like creatures that where deformed in the face. Sometimes she would sing out loud a soft tune, while other times she’d hum classical music while swinging her feet up in the air. Once she became bored of drawing on her sheets, she stood on her bed and slid her hands along the wall, bringing to life whatever touched her hands; she’d play with them, get bored and then destroyed them, sending them back to her walls until this afternoon after lunch. This all together took several hours, by the time she exited her tiny, messy room, breakfast was practically over. People where exiting the cafeteria and either heading towards their rooms or going somewhere else. Fibi twirled in the hallway, singing her song that probably was louder than it should’ve been; her voice carrying on through the halls, and instantly sending a message to the oncoming people. Most of the people avoided her, while others ignored her. She began to make her to the library, more and likely to rent out a book with lots of pictures in it so she could re-draw them on the mattress.

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Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler
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”Do you want to make some together?” Fibi asked, and Rowen had to bite back a grimace. She’d only wanted to know if she could show her; a yes or a no would have sufficed for an answer. But that wasn’t how people worked, she supposed. She had to pause a moment to formulate some form of a polite refusal, staring down at the wood grain as though it would somehow speed up her thinking processes. Rowen’s wings folded into her back, and she was lost in thought for a good handful of seconds before her attention drifted back to reality. When she opened her mouth to speak, however, she caught only a glimpse of bouncing curls down below as they disappeared into the throngs of people jolted up from their seats to leave the room. There the girl was, again, lost among the confusion of human nature. Rowen huffed to herself. She was hopeless, wasn’t she? She hadn’t even noticed her as she’d left.

Perhaps it was all for the better that she hadn’t spoken, though, as it seemed as though reality was where the dreams that laced her words went to die. Keeping them silent inside her would keep them alive, wouldn’t it? Because anything was true so long as she could delude herself into thinking it. Once the truth crushed her ability to lie to herself, it was all over. Anything was possible when she was left with a question unanswered. Maybe the girl had forgotten about her in that moment when she’d decided to leave. Maybe she wouldn’t remember having wanted to make bracelets. Even though Rowen told herself that it was decidedly true, she knew she couldn’t justify it if anything ever came to the contrary. For all she knew of Fibi, she was off to find string and would be back any moment— and Rowen didn’t want to stick around to let their exchange sputter some more before dying away. She had to crush it now. In a halfhearted effort to clear her mind as she moved on, she crowned her own clean plate with Fibi’s sticky masterpiece.

Drifting through the crowd, Rowen was careful to avoid any of the breakfast-time stragglers, lest they be too chatty for her tastes. The crowd at this time usually didn’t pose much of a problem; it was, for the most part, the late-sleeping loners who couldn’t be bothered to be knocked out of their early morning stupor for a pointless conversation. In terms of drifting among social groups with no real intentions of talking to any of their members, it was certainly one of Rowen’s favorites. They hardly even spared her a glance in her passing towards the tray-disposal window. It was a wide, squat hole in the wall, hardly big enough to squeeze through even if she spread her wings wide and flat and pressed them hard into her back. She didn’t plan on squeezing through, that morning, though she had tried it on occasion. There wasn’t much to see: after setting her tray on the black belts just inside the window, it snaked to the right and dropped unceremoniously into a bathtub-sized blue bin just out of view.

In the days before she had bothered to explore it, she had originally thought the room much bigger. The window itself was a good twelve feet long, set into the back wall of the cafeteria just next to the serving areas. In reality, it was hardly any larger than the portion of her room underneath the sleeping area, built to be maneuvered by no more than one or two people. The impermeable tile enclosure housing the plates and castoff food, which made the perfect hideaway for her more drug-addled brethren, narrowed into a slender hallway no more than two feet wide. It could fit the bin and perhaps a person, provided they could unlock the keypad set into the door handle at the end of the inset. Rowen had found no particular use for it, and, as far as she was aware, it led only to the sections of the semi-circle not already visible as part of the lunchroom: the dishwashing area and the kitchen store-rooms, both well-guarded to prevent, respectively, the unknown and food theft. Even Rowen’s thirst for knowledge had dulled over time to not care about what was behind that door— it was something she’d long since giving up on unlocking, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she didn’t care; the question of why it didn’t bother her seemed to plague her more than unknown, which was a rarity she handled with some suspicion.

As an individual with little want for others, Rowen had come to be well aware of her own tendencies. Among the most familiar was her curiosity: an unquenchable thing that flared up, much to her chagrin, in just over eighty percent of the least appropriate times. She had grown accustomed to having to feed her desire to know. An absence of her metaphorical mind-stomach’s growls was a refreshing silence, but it was an eerie one, regardless. It was curious that she wasn’t curious. Still, in following her lack of curiosity about the room, she set her plates down and moved on without event. Her footsteps were light and bounded up and down with an unrestrained energy seeping from her calloused soles. She’d eaten to fly that morning, and it was that she intended to do. Her bangles jingled with each step she took over polished wood and stone tile alike— though they made more noise on the latter, she noted. She silenced her footsteps in the hallway. They followed a path well-ingrained into her muscle memory, and she hardly needed to spare a glance around to know the turns. If she measured each step carefully enough, she could count: twenty-seven steps from the dining room, left, follow the wall for seventy-three. Right, then another forty straight forward. Turn right. Three steps. Left— she was passing the tiny washroom tucked away for those who needed it badly enough. Somehow, someone managed to find it and clean it, if only once a week. She’d never needed it; as it was located right outside the chapel, it was never far from the library, which housed its own— two, in fact, with one each for men and women.

Rowen took a sudden left and ducked through the open wooden door, arriving in a dimly-lit room made of stone and colored glass. The odd things carved into the wall proclaimed it a chapel, though she wasn’t completely sure what a chapel was. Everything she’d ever read had assumed she was already familiar with the concept; by result, she’d only ever learned that they housed weddings. Hardly any weddings had ever taken place in the Complex, so it made sense that the chapel, for the most part, served only to store an ever-growing community of dust bunnies communing under the benches. Even from the dictionary, she’d managed to glean nothing more than the fact that it was used to worship someone or other.

Statues of men nailed to posts loomed over the stone enclosure. Despite their strange imagery, they looked beautiful under the dappled color falling through the windows above. The men looked similar— perhaps they were brothers? Their smooth, somehow inhuman features gave away nothing of their story, only sitting in stony silence, expecting that she somehow already knew their story.

Above the brothers, however, posed her favorite image, by far: a winged man with yellow hair. His wings were white and unmottled by the black spots so prevalent on her own, and they hung at a funny angle, but she couldn’t help feeling some sort of kinship with the man despite his many oddities. As a ritual, it was always the open-air window above him Rowen perched on before taking off into the heat outside. Rowen gave a farewell glance to the dying brothers before turning her back to them, leaning forward, spreading her wings, and letting herself drop. Like a parachute, they caught the air and slowed her fall until she forced them down, up, then down again. Massive muscles for massive wings flexed and exerted their power to carry Rowen up, up higher until she was diving and catching the desert drift high above the chapel’s rather imposing, pointed roof. There was still higher a distance to climb before she would be able to land in a perch on the glass dome covering the library tower, and her spiralled trajectory soon carried her there. She spread her wings wide, coasting in on a practiced bout of residual energy left from flight. Rowen released her abdominals, holding her, in tandem with the wind, nearly parallel to the ground before tucking her knees to her chest.

One.
Rowen folded herself tighter. The glass dome, a fragile thing perplexingly strong in the desert sun, was hardly six meters away.

Two.
The dome neared. It was close enough for Rowen’s mind to switch to feet. At ten feet away, she released her arms from around her knees and spread her wings as wide as she could to catch the air and slow her down. Five feet, three feet.

Three.
Her feet pressed down into the glass, and Rowen had to catch herself from slamming face-first into the glass. She’d seen birds botch the landing all too many times. But she’d made it, and her face was fine, just as usual. The roof hadn’t cracked— it never had. Against the whipping breeze, she crawled over the roof until she found the single hinged panel and let it up before hopping down and in, drawing it shut on her way in. She folded her wings into her body and slipped through.

Finally— some peace among her books.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson. Character Portrait: Brandon Thanes
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Brandon had seen the note among his morning meal. Of course he was a curious young man, and most definitely would read the note later, but now, it was time to get some calories into his body. The morning bustle began as the residents of the Complex came to get their breakfast. A couple even said hi to Brandon. He was, in no way, popular. At least, not as massively popular as Marcus. He had friends, and he talked to them daily, but he never had crowds of people doting over him. Which Brandon very much enjoyed. Companionship was a lovely thing, but talk about overdose. The king of the Complex's social circles must have the patience of a god.

After taking a few bites of pancake and egg, Brandon removed a small orange bottle of pills from his pant's pocket. The pills were his medication. Brandon never liked to take the pills, because he knew what they did. The doctors say that Brandon's ability allows him to access around 35 percent of his brain, but that extra percentage is only good for using his ability. It can't retain knowledge, and doesn't get much exercise. The doctors also tell him that if his brain usage was 50 percent, the horrible side-effects would stop. But the meds wouldn't let that happen. They stopped Brandon from accidentally killing himself. Alas, it was his price to pay for his power, and he bared it bravely. Popping two small white pills in his mouth, Brandon takes a gulp of water and forces the medication down. It only takes a few minutes before he can feel his mind dull, just a little, but still noticeable.

Two tables over, Fibi sat, playing in the day's breakfast. The girl always managed to fascinate Brandon. Her eccentricities made her so interesting. And her ability to animate her makeshift creations was just as remarkable, even if the girl did brutally destroy them shortly after their birth. Brandon usually watched her make a mess on her plate most days, as it served to brighten his morning often. Although, he never talked to her. One of these days, he would. Fibi sat up from her art session to read from a small piece of paper. She wasn't being very subtle about it, so Brandon could see that it looked like the slip of paper he'd found. Though, he couldn't hear what Fibi said, as the chatter in the dining room was much too loud.

Rowen eventually came down from her balcony to talk to Fibi. Brandon never really took notice of her, probably because she was trying to keep it that way. All he knew was her name, and that she had very cool wings. The winged girl came over to Fibi, and shortly after, Fibi went straight under the table and began looking for something. An audible thump sounded from the area, and Brandon suppressed a chuckle when she got up, seemingly unfazed. He also followed her gaze to the area over the railing, where Marcus was dumping this week's admirer.

Not caring too much for the drama, Brandon finished his breakfast and sent his tray through the window at the back of the cafeteria. He made his way out into the hall, before the after-meal rush could sweep him through the halls. His destination was the library, to do some research on psychology.

Now, Brandon steps through the halls, rubber soles thumping lightly on the wood floor, heading towards the depository of knowledge. On his way, he passes the chapel. Brandon never understood the concept of religion, a concept which he gleaned from his research. All he knows is that the hope of life after death and the thought of a creator gave people purpose; purpose defines one's outlook on life, therefore, their own psychology. Shaking his head, Brandon passes through the double doors of the library, and heads off to the back, where he could read in peace. Once he sits down in a chair, Brandon pulls the note out, and gives it a read.

Somewhere,
a desert rose blooms


A note so cryptic and poetic it hurt. Sighing, Brandon grabs a stack of books. This little line would be a tough one to crack, but a satisfying challenge none the less. Although, when did they start giving out riddles at meals?

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Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
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It took Fibi a while before she reached the library, taking back way hallways as she pranced and twirled around in the dim-lighted area. She had founded these hallways when she was just a child, taking her now lost friend down here to play hide and go seek with her drawn-to-life creations. The walls had faded stick figures that looked to be various years old; yet, it still had that unique touch that could be found in most of Fibi’s creations. She hummed a tune out loud with her arms spread out away from her body; turning towards a door and going through it, she made her way to the library.

The moment she had entered the library, she was instantly hushed; from the sounds of her loud and accented voice fading down to a calm whisper and the way she instantly lowered her hands to a walking gait once more, it was apparent that the hushes where not as nice as they could’ve been. It didn’t matter though, since Fibi instantly took up singing out loud once more once she had entered the art area of the library; her own world engulfing her once more.
“Un loup hurlera, seul, un loup hurlera, seul, au grand dam du loup solitaire, elle doit hurler seul.” She sang, her small voice carrying the French words out past the shelves of books she was looking at. Her slim, long fingers peered out of her sweat jacket, pulling out a small book with Italian written a crossed it. Fibi flipped through the pictures, holding it up in the air as she twirled around in the certain area, chasing people away from her or out of her way.

(Sorry for the short and crappy post; I was kind of brain-dead for this rp. >0<; )

The setting changes from The Cipher Complex to The Library

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson. Character Portrait: Brandon Thanes Character Portrait: Marcus Walker
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The library was filled with anything but silence in the after-breakfast-between-lunch rush, but then, Rowen hardly come expecting a soundless sanctuary. After years in the Cipher spent forming her cycle of habit, Rowen had come to realize that the places she'd once come to expect privacy from rarely offered anything of the sort. Strangely, however, she could find peace under the gaping dome of windows above, and that was enough. Making her way across the room, she pushed aside the stacks of books she'd accumulated the previous week and added the hardly-diminutive stack to the growing fortress surrounding the only ladder leading up to her haven atop the library. The books awaiting return were stacked like bricks, and like most shoddy, mortarless constructions, the teetering wall of books threatened to topple at her unsuspecting touch. Fortunately for Rowen, she was well aware of the precarious predicament she'd built herself into, and she told herself somewhere in the back of her mind that she'd return the books sometime that week.

Of course, that was what she'd said last week, and she'd told herself the same in the weeks and months before. She could hardly remember the titles of the books on the bottom. Unlike the books she had kept hostage in her room in the name of scientific inquiry, this wall of books had never moved on its own. Books outside the library were all too often found missing from where she had left them to die upside down and alone, but the mess she made here hardly did anything but gather dust over the course of the last few months. From the fact that the tower was still standing she could surmise that no one had bothered to climb the ladder in just as long— Rowen had a habit of either taking the domed ceiling's entrance or just staying in when the chance presented itself. Anyone else motivated and able to join her in her peace had done the former when she hadn't been doing the ladder; not once had she seen another soul in the atrium above the library.

It was, in a way, her own small secret, this sunlit place. When the sun hit the windows in all the right ways, it almost seemed as though the undergrowth slipping onto the tiled floor was forming the carpet of the lush meadows she'd so often read of. Lush meadows, too, had their own special places in the heart of secrets kept, so the atrium itself was more than just her surrogate home above the library— in a way, it was the very world itself, as well.

The atrium, despite its spacious composure, was in a perpetual state of clutter. One thing or another was always in bloom while something else had just died, so Rowan often left all the windows open to circulate the air and alleviate some of the humidity. The windows opened in a single circle within the shape of the dome, so when each was opened at once, end to end, the top of the building in itself resembled the flowers it housed within. This small perfection gave the entire level a character and a mystique of its own, and Rowen would swear it was half the reason she spent so much time up there, in the first place.

Today, however, the windows were closed. The humidity was hardly noticeable, for once, and she couldn't be bothered to tend to the greenery. Nestled between against a rather stunted willow and the dirt-holding terrace's brick wall, she was content to skim through the first book she had grabbed. She couldn't have read them all, with the stack she'd brought up last week. But skimming through it, she realized it wasn't anything new. Without something to read, sitting there was going to be a long, trying affair, so she stood up and searched the books scattered around the room for something to occupy herself with. One book after another, think and thin and too heavy to lift without a struggle, found its way into her hands, but not a single one stayed.

It occurred to Rowen that now might be a good time to get some new books. Internally, she groaned. Either she braved the people downstairs or she could sit here, bored, for hours while they all left.

Well, there was always dance. She could practice her dancing. Granted, she would have to clean the place up a bit and find a spot not covered with creeping vines— but she could do it. Right? Well, if she gathered the effort. Which wasn't going to happen. Rowen sat herself down again to think for a bit. It had hardly quieted in the minutes she'd spent bumbling around the place, and she doubted silence was going to come any faster. She didn't have a choice.

Also, she really needed to take those books down.

Rowen gathered a stack and extended her wings. She held a good number of books in a pile laid against her chin and chest. The stack was tall enough to cover three or four weeks: hard-backs, paperbacks, it consisted of whatever she could find in the vicinity. It would take her more than a couple trips to get them all down, but it would probably be worth it. Probably. Rowen was afraid to admit to herself that she couldn’t remember what the atrium actually looked like in its barest state, free of books and the mess she’d made.

When she pushed down to take off, however, her muscles screamed with the effort. They were already taxed enough carrying the hundred-pound, hollow-boned girl, and another handful of pounds thrown in by the books wasn’t about to help. The stack was too high and too heavy to fly with even carrying moderately sized loads. In the matter of transporting books, Rowen’s wings were clipped; she was bound to the ground. There was no point in climbing down the ladder, as she had no means of carrying them down, and risking the collapse of her book fort was hardly an inviting option. That left what was potentially hundreds of small trips taken to cover the hundreds of weeks of book rations Rowen had left for herself scattered about the room.

Ah, wonderful. She began to wonder why no one had ever bothered building stairs in the place.

It was then that her desperate eyes found it: there, in a tucked-away alcove long since smothered by the vines, was an odd black door she hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps she had always been so engrossed in reading, or perhaps she had never had need to notice such a thing, but now, on seeing it for the first time, a small flicker of joy was set alight in her heart. She slipped through the vines and let the door swing open to reveal a daunting metal cage. Made of nothing more than wrought-iron bars attached to a wood-and-metal floor, it exuded anything but an air of safety. The device looked like nothing more than a storage closet until she noticed the pulley lever attached to the inside and the sign reading “Elevator” just above the doorway. The function of the strange closet became obvious. She stacked up piles of books inside, first, before stepping in— it was best to lose the rickety cage and the pile of paper than her life, she concluded. When it held fast, she stepped inside.

Rowen had read about elevators, but she had never seen one before. The majority of the vertical transport in the Cipher was achieved via stairs or ladders, as there was no need for large-scale, automated transport. Rowen, however, would gladly take the opportunity to use one now. Though she was sure she hardly needed the extra ‘protection,’ she slid the doors shut just for the thrill of it and wrenched the lever down hard.

Almost inevitably, it wouldn’t move.

Rowen levered herself against it, and it creaked a bit, but it still moved hardly more than an inch. She had to hoist herself up onto it and sit on the thing before a deafening crack sounded and the elevator hummed to life. There was the most beautiful sinking feeling in her stomach as she dropped to the floor. It was like flying with her feet still stuck to the ground, and she was disappointed when the adventure was finally over. She opened the sliding grate and opened the outermost door, nearly falling into a heavy coughing fit when what must have been years of dust tumbled onto her head from the doorframe. It seemed as though the elevator had never been used.

The door opened out behind a bookshelf. The small space, through which Rowen could hardly fit her wings, was the perfect breeding grounds for spiders and any number of unpleasant things that liked to crop up in the moments she wasn’t watching where she tread. The elevator, loaded with books, would take more than a couple trips to rid it of its contents. Rowen picked up a new stack and shuffled out from behind the bookshelf, careful to take note of where this hidden treasure laid in wait— it was the wall farthest from the entrance, tucked behind a shelf of books on nothing more than strange modern art and drawing. Of the few glimpses she managed to catch of the books, the paint splotches on the spine were the first to come to her attention. She supposed even the strange art section had its clientele.

With that, Rowen set to work, slipping through the library to seek out the drop-bin while trying to avoid the gaze of the passers-by. Underneath the stack of books, her face was invisible, and she walked the library like she ran the place. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

If she didn’t, she swore to the sky above that someone would ask her to help find a book.


[[ OOC: Tagging you all, since you're all in here. Do what you will. Sorry it took so long— I had no idea who was supposed to be posting. Guilt. Guilt. ]]

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The Cipher Complex

The Cipher Complex by AiteCipher

Vast and white.

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Locations where Mobs and Items might appear.

Events

You can schedule events for your players to create notifications and schedule times for everyone to plan around.

Permissions

Add and remove other people from your Universe.

The Forge

Use your INK to craft new artifacts in Chaotic-Systematic. Once created, Items cannot be changed, but they can be bought and sold in the marketplace.

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The Market

Buy, sell, and even craft your own items in this universe.

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View All » Add Character » 4 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler
Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
Character Portrait: Brandon Thanes

Newest

Character Portrait: Brandon Thanes
Brandon Thanes

Let your mind roam free. Keep it bottled up, and you'll surely burst.

Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.

"Fantasy and Reality almost always collide in our world."

Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler
Rowen "Sparrow" Butler

Dance with a passion; live with a fury; and never stop asking why.

Trending

Character Portrait: Brandon Thanes
Brandon Thanes

Let your mind roam free. Keep it bottled up, and you'll surely burst.

Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler
Rowen "Sparrow" Butler

Dance with a passion; live with a fury; and never stop asking why.

Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.

"Fantasy and Reality almost always collide in our world."

Most Followed

Character Portrait: Rowen "Sparrow" Butler
Rowen "Sparrow" Butler

Dance with a passion; live with a fury; and never stop asking why.

Character Portrait: Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.
Felicia (Fibi) Marie Thompson.

"Fantasy and Reality almost always collide in our world."

Character Portrait: Brandon Thanes
Brandon Thanes

Let your mind roam free. Keep it bottled up, and you'll surely burst.


View All » Places

The Cipher Complex

The Cipher Complex by AiteCipher

Vast and white.

The Dining Room

The Dining Room by AiteCipher

Lunch is served— the same way as always.

The Library

The Library by AiteCipher

Books and documents of all sorts can be found inside the Complex's surprisingly massive library.

The Bedrooms

The Bedrooms by AiteCipher

Compact single bedrooms designed to encourage the use of the Complex rather than staying alone by one's self.

The Library

Books and documents of all sorts can be found inside the Complex's surprisingly massive library.

The Bedrooms

Compact single bedrooms designed to encourage the use of the Complex rather than staying alone by one's self.

Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » Chaotic-Systematic: Out of Character

Discussions

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Most recent OOC posts in Chaotic-Systematic

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

Yeah, but I'll just erase the picture. :P I get my pictures from google, so there's always a chance that it may not show up. XD

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

Ah! And SGL123, your picture has anti-hotlinking turned on, so it doesn't show up :( Do you still have the link?

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

Ah, well— Rowen's a pretty name.
And I look forward to it!

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

The name and the dancer part. :D Well, then that's a surprise. XD It's not that much of a famous book- kinda like a no-name. :3
Oh, and I'll post soon. :P

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

@NikkiEnvy: You don't need to reserve, since you can just submit her whenever you're ready. I look forward to it~

@SillyGooseLee123: Nope, though I have half-read My Sister's Keeper, if that counts? And Google's not turning up anything of use with the title :( So is it the name, the personality, or the dancer part?

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

AiteChiper,
I recently read a book a while back, and I realized that your character strangely resembles the main lead. :D Have you ever read Brother's Keeper? :P

Re: Chaotic-Systematic

Can I reserve a female character? Sounds like it'll be a great storyline!

Chaotic-Systematic

This is the auto-generated OOC topic for the roleplay "Chaotic-Systematic"

You may edit this first post as you see fit.