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

Latest Discussions: Platonic numbers » No complaints (a little bit of rappin) » Any multi-player roleplay videogamers here? » Needing a woman's perspective on a concept » Gluts and Gaps » Universal Basic Income » Impending Pursuit Q&A » Eudaimonia » Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Plato’s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation » Presuppositionalism »

Players Wanted: Players wanted for a science fiction adventure. » Players needed for Fantasy Romance reboot » One(1) male & Two(2) Female Roles OPEN <3 » Talmora: Kingdom of magic » Looking For A New Partner » Hellboy characters » 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life ٩( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. »


Atticus J. Locke

And just like that, he fell like Icarus, with the sun beating on his back.

0 · 305 views · located in The Medialoum

a character in “Coffee in Hell”, as played by Artik



I thought of angels
choking on their halos
get them drunk on rose water
see how dirty I can get them
pulling out their fragile teeth
and clip their tiny wings


Role: Love Potion #9 Male Angel #2
Nickname: Atticus. AJ if you're feeling friendly, Atti if you're feeling stupid.
Age: A stallion old enough to have been broken.
Gender: Of the Penal Variety
Sexuality: Prefers red lips and flattering hips.
Race: Angelic
Rank: Tier Three, and counting down.


Eyes: Probably looking like he's judging you, or sizing you up - even if just for a moment. But really those orbs are just a dull, steeled grey with the habit of taking in to many details and betraying him more often than he'd like to admit.
Hair: Atti has won his fair share of battles, but his hair is something he's never been able to conquer.
Height: Taller than most, and likely taller than you. 6'4".
Weight: 190lbs, give or take.
Skin Tone: Not quite sun-kissed, let's call it sun-bitten. The look of a man who spends to much time staring at the sun.
Build: Nothing remarkable going on here. Sure he's in shape but it's your generic lean muscle, a simple runner's build - nothing more, nothing less.
Body Markings: Atti sports an array of physical souvenirs, most of which speckle his back like freckles on a ginger. He just has no mind to keep track of which ones are old and which ones are still healing.
Voice : Strong, but raspy. Oddly enough, some find it to be reassuring and definitive. The kind of voice backed by an inherently protective nature.
Description: As far as Angels go, Atti's nothing special. What with his race being known for their glorious, shining splendor - his darker features come off as muted in comparison to his bright blonde haired and blue eyed brethren. He's remarkably average really, at least to the unobservant person. Slightly above average height, average semi athletic build, and an average, if not occasionally scruffy face. Catching the trend yet? There’s definitely something intimidating about him though, or maybe several somethings. For one thing, his stormy eyes are naturally narrow giving a dagger effect, which adds to his already intense stare. The same stare that tends to quietly notice even your most subtle quirks and mannerisms. For another, his stance and expression always have a predatory undercurrent, even if he appears to be completely relaxed. Much like a lion will appear at ease right before it pounces and sinks its teeth into your throat. His feathers have begun to transform, not one by one, but rather all at once - a pervasive fading from stark white to a dusty grey. If you didn't know any better, you'd say they just looked dirty and that maybe he just needs a bath. At the end of the day, harshly tanned dark skin, and perpetually disheveled locks complete the picture of the average looking, but not so average male.


  • hair: the feeling of someone's fingers running through it is a relaxing sensation. play with it enough and it'll put 'em right to sleep.
  • collector: of human odds and ends, things angels aren't generally exposed to. he's particularly fond of their literature and art, and currently has an extensive collection of both stacked up in his room.

  • claustrophobic: put 'em in a tight or enclosed space, and Atti becomes extremely irritable, restless, and tense.
  • inadequacy: always trying to prove himself, it's a fear Atti masks well, but one that always occupies the back of his mind.

  • piano: while atti can't be bothered to learn to read music - he can play well enough - having learned to play from his relatively brief time spent as a guardian angel.
  • storms: or bad weather in general. as far as he's concerned, it's the best time to fly.

  • showoffs: there's just something about people who desperately need to claim the limelight that innately bothers Atticus. it stems from his families public profile, to the point that he now shies away from being the center of attention. if it ever happens, it makes him really uneasy.
  • being cooped up: going along with his fear of tight spaces, atti can only sit around inside for so long. he prefers to be active, in some way or another the majority of the time. even if it's just reading or taking a walk.

Persona: Atticus is often high up, removed from the every day walks of life, and so focussed on the path in front of himself, he may not have noticed what passed him by. Ironically, much of the stamina that propels him up the mountain is fuelled by the need to be loved and lauded but he's gotten so far out of range, no one notices him. Climbing down the mountain may be trickier than its ascension. Not the most out going individual, it takes time and patience to get to know Atticus. He prefers to quietly observe and inquire, picking at other's brains rather than forgoing information about himself. Slightly enigmatic, he thinks more than he speaks - but when asked for an opinion, he can be pretty blunt and won't exactly beat around the bush. Does that dress make you look fat? Trick question! But if you were expecting a passive "No, of course not." - you might want to ask someone else. When it comes to the serious stuff, expect a smooth mask pulled straight from the sleeve or a well timed secondhand remark.

Put simply, Atticus is your typical protective older brother. One that means well, but goes about it in his own weird way. One who will hang back and let you learn the lessons he did, but when when it really counts, he'll fight for you tooth and nail. The kind of big brother that makes mistakes and then tries to hard to correct them, while pretending not to. Keeping that in mind, Atticus is a bit of a contradiction, two-natured if you will. He's the kind of fella that may seem relaxed and lazy, but if you're the perceptive type, it's obvious that he’s alert and ready to act. He likes to pretend that he’s aloof and snarky at times, but then he’ll readily do things for you if you ask. He moves like he has all day to do something, seeming indifferent or unmotivated but really he's quick and efficient. No warning, no hesitation, when action needs to be taken, he goes for it. His humor is dry and sarcastic in such a subtle way that it’s hard to pick up on unless you’ve been exposed to it a couple of times. His humorous comments come with a completely straight face, and no matter how absurd some of them may seem, it’s hard to discern if he’s really joking, unless you’re just good at that kind of thing. He’s confident, and determined, willing to fight until his last breath. It's him against the world sometimes, a man who feels as if he's always got something to prove. The resilient type, but one who doesn’t have much pride, though he likes to pretend he does.


  • stalwart: a loyal ally, Atti will protect those he cares for with an unwavering defense.
  • thicksin: he can also take a hit or four - be that physically, mentally or otherwise, without quivering or turning into a passive aggressive a little bitch.

  • stubborn: resolute in his opinions and decisions, Atti has trouble changing his mind once it's been made. he often takes time to think through his decisions, so it'll take more than just a silver tongue and patience to convince him he's wrong.
  • vicious: Atti's been known to get lost in the heat of battle and go a bit overboard, if provoked he can harbor a ferocity that occasionally borders cruelty.

History: Atticus is of noble blood, if you want to call it that. His family name at the very least is one that is well known for their various contributions to celestial society. His father's a councilman, a popular political figure that would be akin to a human senator or prestigious government official. Archibold Locke is known for his critical involvement in the pre-Great War battle strategies as well as a being strong proponent of the newly 'balanced world' plans His mother on the other hand was an outspoken social activist, and a beacon of positivity for the human race in so many ways. Mr. and Mrs. Locke - the political power couple. But the legacy doesn't end there, Isaac, Atticus' brother was previously a soldier and later served as a guard, vigilantly defending and escorting diplomats as they went about their duties. Now you might wonder what Atticus has contributed to this family heritage, and the answer is jack shit. Nothing considered worthy anyway - and that's not for lack of effort either. Years of this trend have left him casting a shadow on his own potential and his attempts to prove himself during the Great War did nothing to stave off his insecurities. If anything, they only made him desperate and impulsive - not a healthy combination in general, but especially not during a time of severe bloodshed. Over zealous, Atticus killed and bloodied his hands more than his fair share and with the strategic intel his father possessed, he was able eavesdrop and thusly target and ambush a high priority demon. This reckless act failed as one would expect, and resulted in his brother's untimely demise. A selfless sacrifice left Isaac Locke a martyr and Atticus Locke a grief and guilt ridden husk. The news never got out however, it seemed to die with both his brother and the demon they later fell to the sword. As far as he knows, only he knows the truth, and yet he's never had the heart to tell his anyone, especially not his parents.

A bitter resentment and jealously had been building and bubbling at the man's core for years, a sense of never being good enough will do that to you. But it was that vital moment on the battlefield that sealed Atti's fate. Those harbored emotions initially gave him a speckling of black here and there, one that contrasted his families gloriously white feathered backdrop. But ever since the the Great War, his wings as a whole have been slowly making a transformation all their own, giving rise to scandal. Because of the Locke's public profile, Atti has since been excluded from gatherings and appearances, heightening his black sheep status and making his unstable emotions fester quietly. To cope, he spent some time in the human world, dabbled, and distracted himself with the mundane. He befriended a human, and unwittingly became somewhat of a guardian angel - thusly staving off the decay of his wings temporarily. Time flies for humans though, and before long this woman - one he'd grown to love - regrettably passed away.

Finding himself back in the city of angels not long before the plan for the Balanced World was put into effect, it was certainly to his surprise when the offer to be a 'Guardian' arrived at his door in the form of a scripted letter(one he still holds onto). Apparently someone knew of his mishap during the war, and that someone also saw his potential in taking care of others. Given the chance to redeem himself, Atticus was appointed as one of the Angelic Guardians. The relationships forged here were positive, some more than others. The condition of Atti's soul was on the up and up, at least until the attack stole important memories from the one's he's grown to really care for, 'melia in particular. Now, they've all got to rebuild almost everything, start from scratch - a distinctly uphill battle. This is not an easy task, especially when the one who had been helping him the most no longer remembers a damn thing. With frustrations running high, the slow process of gaining trust and sharing secrets begins anew - but things aren't the quite the same. She's different. Off. Lacking the crucial support and redemption he so desperately needed (and in a hurry), those cloudy wings are growing ashen again and Atticus finds himself on the ever-familiar self-hatred fueled downhill spiral his haphazard decisions put him on during the Great War. Talk about depressing.

  • Lo Synclare:
  • Orpheus Hall:
  • Amelia Finch:
  • Yuuji Yagami:
  • Cecil Caerwyn:
  • Aroha Lightning:
  • Genocide McCall:
  • Adrasteia Gesai:
  • Lilith Amaris:


So begins...

Atticus J. Locke's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mandisa Khalil Character Portrait: Amelia Finch Character Portrait: Aroha Lightning Character Portrait: Atticus J. Locke
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Aroha Lightning

Aroha remembered a massive flash that lit the sky of the Mediaolum, and then the ground shook. No, the entirety of Mediaolum shook, pulling Aroha out of the air as she flew on patrol. She remembered crashing into a tree, and then that's when she was knocked unconscious. Right now, however, she was conscious but still a little incoherent. Her brown hair had come free of it's headband it seemed, as all she could see was a short curtain of brown hair. She pulled the hair out of her eyes, revealing her face clearly. Aroha grunted as she pushed her self up, her hands slipping on the tree branch. Aroha gently dropped to the ground before checking herself over. Her clothes were a little torn, a few snowy white feathers were missing, and she had a few bruises, but Aroha was fine mostly. She had crashed near a small pond, where some children were playing. Well, they had been before the flash. Aroha looked for the small children, and saw them. Whenever she saw children normally, she had pity for them already, dying before their lives truly began. The three children were cowering beside the tree, their toy Brig Ship lying smashed on its side. Aroha furrowed her brow, and knelt beside them. "May I?" Aroha asked politely, her voice making the air around her feel as cozy as a roaring winter fire. One of the children nodded, the lush brown mess of curly hair atop his head bouncing as he did so. Aroha nodded in gratitude and picked up a few of her feathers and long strands of grass. With shaking hands, Aroha wove the feathers and grass strands together with the two broken halves of the ship, joining them all together. It was a messy job, and a temporary fix, but it lit up the children's faces to see their toy fixed. She handed it back to them, and was surprised as the children launched themselves into a hug with her. Aroha knew that the mess this... Thing had made would upset the balance immensely, so she gave a little back into the hug, wrapping her snowy white wings around the children.

Aroha walked off slowly, her bruised legs aching from the crash into the tree and from the small children launching themselves into her. She was starting to think a little clearer now. She picked up knocked over objects and people as she walked, gathering her thoughts. Aroha took flight, trying to get away from the noise. She looked over Mediaolum, and saw that the damage was mostly around the mansion where she lived with the other guardians. The other guardians. Aroha rushed towards the mansion, especially to one specific part of the mansion. Her large white wings beat quickly as she swooped and soared through the air as fast as she possibly could. The mansion wasn't very well off, and Aroha could only imagine what kind of damage had been done to the other guardians. Especially Mandisa. She flew to the front door and barged into the front hall. She could have just flown directly into Mandisa's room, but even in emergencies she wanted to keep her manners in check. The place was a mess. With hard work it could be cleaned up, but it really was atrocious. Aroha tucked her fluffed wings away, and rushed up the stairs, her red shoes lightly thudding as she ran as fast as she could to find Manidsa. She decided to check her room first, but called her name as she ran through the house. "DISA? DISAAAA?!" Aroha fretted as she took the long route to Disa's room, knowing fully she might well not be there. As she moved she put her hair behind her red hair band again, and observed the damage the flash had done on the place.

{Winged's posts}

Her chest rose and fell slowly. Her hand lay in cold, clammy dirt... her fingers stirred, gray from dust residue.

There was a buzzing in Disa's ears that made her lips part. She... she felt like she was making noise, but there was too much ringing to be truly sure.

It was then that she became aware of her body. Her eyelids were gummy and stuck-together, throat as hoarse as if she'd been swallowing flames. She was lying on her side, cheek pressed into the ground, and her body was in a ball, knees jackknifed up to her chest, her spine curving in on itself, curled around her stomach and arms wrapped around herself. As if she were trying to become so small she would disappear.

And she also realized she had a long leg-length, and this position was terrible, considering that she was occupying a space that probably only half of her would want to fit in voluntarily.

Dully, she tried to open her eyes. An effort, as they felt glued together.

"H-hey." Too soft to be heard.

There was a sliver of light. She reached her hand up, trying to prop herself up in the miniscule space she had, and weakly braced her shoulder against the slab of... something that had fallen on top of her against the wall. It barely moved. Dirt and rocks poured through the cracks. Now claustrophobia was setting in. She pushed with all the strength in her still (admittedly watery) arms. Shoooove. Creaaaaak. Pour. She gritted her teeth, let out a whimper between them.

With a gasp, the rubble was forced aside, and light came through. She was in a room. Half of it was... blasted apart.

"A closet," Mandisa gasped, wincing and lifting a hand to her head, finding a mass of fuzzy curls; "Damn...." She tried to take a wobbly step on her knees and fell again. Half this... this bedroom was gone. Had she taken shelter in that closet? It looked like it... it hadn't gone to well. The door and... a stone column and some steel beams had fallen on top, blocked her in... if that one slab of wood hadn't braced above her head, would it have all fallen on...?

What... had happened?

Where am I? What is this? Why am I here? Where is this? I- I- I-

She gritted her teeth and wrapped her arms around herself. She stumbled left and lay in the soil and rubble.


While the rest of the household ran around in panic and horror, Amelia Finch was trapped somewhere between waking and slumber.

Nausea lanced through her body. Crawling, crawling, heaving up through her skin from the inside out, worse than demon poison, worse than hellfire. Yet all that she could think of was Atticus. If he was safe. She wanted to get up and find him, but her body would not obey.

The outside world was just a blur to the pale, skeletal angel. The noises of the screeching of birds and the creaking of branches and the falling of rubble all shifted and slid and melted together until Amelia's stomach heaved in nausea; sweat rolled down her emaciated, trembling frame. Her breaths came in wracking gasps. Nnnno, she tried to mewl. The lightning had rattled through her veins, an aftershock traveling through the ground, and her body felt as if it were shaking itself apart in waves.

She was outside. Near some scorched and smoking oaks. The woods on the property. Yet slabs of cement and scraps of furniture littered the ground (Bodies? No. No. God no. Where were the Guardians-- Atti?!). The world tilted and the contents of her stomach slid and she bent double over a nearby mattress, digging her sharp fingernails into the mattress and shredding the fluff that poured out like blood blood blood blood blood-- stop-- like blood from a wound.

Colors bled into one another. She gasped.

Her surroundings, her thoughts, a grayish mist. Dulling her mind. Her mind clung to her thoughts like liferafts, but they were rendered slippery-- slippery-- Attie-- The ground felt as if it were wrenched from beneath her feet; she fell to the ground, tumbling, couldn't hold on, couldn't think, mindless combinations of stutters poured from her mouth, a sweating, trembling jumble of sallow flesh stretched taught over brittle bones: might angel brought low, oh Lord.

She had been holding onto a name. She couldn't remember it anymore. No! Att-- what? Help. Angel boy, Ocean Eyes. Cotton strands of fluff filling up the spaces in her skull.

No. No. No no no no no. She was losing it she was losing it she was losing it she was losing it she was stop stop stop stop STOP STOP STOP STOP "ATTICUS!"

She hit the ground. Was she not on it before? Emptiness. No more waves. Nausea. Let out a shuddering breath and each muscle fell limply apart; her fingers uncurled themselves, facial expression went lax. Half her body was on the mattress, half beneath a blackened oak, and pearly hair trailed down her cheeks.

One last thought: I llllost it...

Then it was just white.

She tried to support herself on her arms, but slowly dawned.