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Coffee in Hell

The Medialoum


a part of Coffee in Hell, by WingedOctopus.


WingedOctopus holds sovereignty over The Medialoum, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

425 readers have been here.


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The Medialoum is a part of Coffee in Hell.

12 Characters Here

Cecil Caerwyn [2] "Oh, honestly."
Lilith Amaris [2] Whatever.
Genocide McCall [2] "I have only one fear, it is of losing you."
Charlie Fletcher [2] Well... alright, then.
Orpheus Hall [2] wip
Adrasteia Gasai [2] "No matter what changes, I'll still be me...and I can be whoever I want to be."
Mandisa Khalil [1] "Call me names all you like, it's not my job to blow sunshine up your @**~!"
Yuuji Yagami [1] "There is no such thing as Destiny. I refuse to believe I'm bound to an existence of only knowing loss."
Aroha Lightning [1] "You never miss the water till the well runs dry..."

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Character Portrait: Adrasteia Gasai
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'I once had a heart as good as new...'

Her head pounded and ached. No, her whole body ached. She was awake, but then again, couldn't move. She was completely still. Limp. She couldn't even open her eyes to see what the disaster had done.

'But now it's past from me to you...'

Her previously pretty white dress was now splotched with blood. Her hair was splattered all over the place on the where she lay on the ground. She had a soft red ribbon tangled up in her small fingers that formerly held up one of her pigtails. The other ribbon, she has no idea where it went. Probably someone out in the mess.

'Take care of it as I have done...'

She slowly moved her toes which were free from her shoes...wherever her shoes went. She could feel she was lying on shattered glass as she felt her toe gently tap a sharp piece of glass. She had no idea how she was going to get up now. She could feel the stinging of plenty little scratches on her arms and legs. And even though she had a phobia of scratches...Well, she couldn't remember that part.

'For you have two and I have none...'

The haunting song suddenly stopped ringing in Adrasteia's aching head as she slowly opened her eyes. She couldn't really see much because her thick pink hair was in her way. She quickly shut her eyes from the sun that was now slowly peeking out of the gray clouds. She slowly opened her eyes again, giving them more time to adjust to the sunlight. She still hated the fact that she was still so limp and weak...from...what? She's never felt so hopeless in her life as she laid the middle of shattered glass and the sunlight shining down on her broken body.

But she knew she was strong and she knew she wasn't just going to lay here. She slowly lifted her hands and flattened them straight on the ground beside her...even though she still couldn't hardly feel them. Her arms were shaky as she straightened them out and slowly lifted the upper half of her body off the ground. All the blood suddenly rushed to her head and her eyes squeezed shut as her arms gave out and she fell limp on the ground once again.

"Damn..." She silently managed to say as she opened her eyes again. Then she saw it. The blood stained pieces of glass. She knew she had a few scratches...but she knew they wouldn't bleed this much. Her black eyes widened as she brought her hand to her throbbing head and placed it gently on her cheek. She felt what she knew was blood. She swiftly removed her hand and looked at it, seeing the blood beginning to drip from her hand. Her head was bleeding...and not just bleeding....but really bleeding and it hurt.

She didn't bother touching the still-bleeding new wound on her head. She didn't want to feel any more pain. She knew she had a bad injury to her head...but she didn't know where she was. Aside from knowing she was lying on shattered glass, that is. She knew her name, what she was, and....well, that's it. She knew she was in this place for a reason...but it was quite hitting her. She was sure if someone reminded her where she was she would remember.

Was she alone again?

She remembers when she was all alone. When she had no family nor friends and she was just doing everything on her own. That was her life. Was it still like that? If it was, well then, screw it. She had always hated that life...even though she never showed it or said it. She slowly laid back down on the broken ground with her broken body and her broken mind. Maybe if she fell asleep, she'd wake up and everything would be back to normal. Whatever normal was before. She didn't know if anyone else was here or feeling what she was feeling right now. Confusion. But she just wanted to get out. She was hurting all over and the confusion wasn't making it feel any better. She slowly closed her eyes and tried to let sleep take her away.


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Character Portrait: Yuuji Yagami Character Portrait: Adrasteia Gasai
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Yuuji Yagami

"... so you're saying she's dead?"

"Yes, that is correct. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Mr. Yagami."


The barrier between reality and the past had finally returned, a man's past ceased it's haunting for now. The young, brown-headed man's consciousness returned, slowly but very surely. His head was pounding with a pain in his head and back that rivaled a migraine and his other limbs weren't faring too much better either. He attempted to push himself up off the ground, a shock flying through his back and up to his head. Plus, he noticed something was on him as well.

Yuuji was not entirely crushed by whatever it was that was on top of him. Judging by the pain in his back, and how the debris was laying, he figured that it did, however, hit him. There was enough room between him and the object that he could roll himself onto his back (previously having been laying on his stomach) and inspect the debris. When he did, he noticed that it had to be a part of the ceiling. Certainly nothing else would make sense, plus he saw a gap for where lights were supposed to have been. The ceiling fell on him.... did something crash through it, or did it just give away? Yuuji briefly pondered the subject before realizing that it was not the time for that. He should get up.

This time, the young man pushed his feet from the ground to slide out of under the debris. Still, that pain from before became apparent in his back, but he continued on as it was nothing he hadn't felt before. From there, it was simple as standing up and dusting himself off. He wasn't crippled by whatever happened here, but GOD did his back hurt.


Dust had been kicked up and, now standing, Yuuji was gifted with his first breath of air being filled with it. He cupped a hand over his mouth and then started fanning the area right in front of him with his other as he looked around, still hacking just a bit. "... Hello?" he called out. It was probable that some of the other guardians were here too. He tried to think of what he was doing before he lost consciousness, but nothing came to mind. He must've hit his head a bit hard, but as far as he could tell, he wasn't forgetting anything else. His name, date of birth, his childhood, his teenhood, all the good things, all the bad things, and even life here in purgatory was still there. It's just the last hour he can't remember. Hopefully everyone else made it out oka---

Pink. A trait both Sai and Yuno shared with their hair...

"Hey, Yuuji..."


"I know it hurts to lose someone you love, but moving on is the best thing you can do. For their sake, man. You've been staring at that picture for the last two weeks!"

"...I can't move on. There's no reason."

Yuuji had been surveying the area with his eyes to get a bearing on the situation at hand. He had to compare the scenery to what he figured a room looked like after a bomb went off. There was a giant, scortched part of the ground near the middle of the room with smaller fires huddled around the impact. They, however, did not look as if they'd be a problem. The fires looked as if someone dropped a lit piece of paper on the ground and left it. It was likely they'd just burn out. More importantly, some furniture was flipped and a table was split in half. Once a chestnut brown like Yuuji's hair, the majority of this table was now charred coal. But the most devastating thing he witnessedd in the room was..... pink.

It was her hair. It was glowing from the sunlight peeking in from the hole made in the ceiling. There were clumps of red that he could see from where he was as well, but the pink stood out. But to Yuuji, who admired that hair so much, it standing out was nothing new to him. He had to make his way over there. He took a step, his body faulted as he did so. Each nerve in his body screamed at him to stop and slow down, that he was injured, but did he really even give two fucks? She was hurt! The compromise that Yuuji made with his body was a hurried hobble over to her location. He hoped she was alright. No, he knew she'd be alright. She can't die here, can she? Right? Plus, God can't take her away anymore. Nobody can take her away, they'd already had their fun when Yuuji was alive! If they did so again... after he had taken his life...... He'd go nuts.

Sai's eyes were closed shut but her chest was still rising and falling, albeit at a slightly erratic pace. Furthermore, her eyes seemed to clench shut every so often, indicating that she was having pain. But, as strange as it seemed, this was somewhat of a relief to Yuuji. She was still alive! Or... well, whatever you wanna call it.

"You couldn't save her? Yuuji, there wasn't anything you could do! He had a gun!"

"...It doesn't matter, I live, she-- no, THEY, both died!"

"....Yuuji.... blaming yourself is pointless...."

"I could say the same thing about you! About everything! Just leave me alone....!"

"...Sai!" Yuuji's worried voice called out. He wasn't sure what she had hurt, so he gave her shoulder a soft nudge. "Sai... are you alright? Can you hear me, Sai?" he continued looking over her. He obviously noticed that she had a wound on her head. That concerned him greatly, but there was not much he could do about it. He was no doctor. He knew basic medical knowledge at best. It would be wiser to see if anything else was going to cause a problem. There were some scrapes, bruises, and cuts. Bloodied glass lay around her body. She could have really gotten cut up, but as far as he could tell... her head seemed to be the biggest problem. "Hey!" he said a bit louder this time. She needed to wake up with that damn head injury. "Sai, wake up..!"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mandisa Khalil Character Portrait: Amelia Finch Character Portrait: Aroha Lightning Character Portrait: Atticus J. Locke
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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.



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Character Portrait: Orpheus Hall Character Portrait: Charlie Fletcher Character Portrait: Lilith Amaris
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Lilith lay sprawled out on the stairs of the palace, unmoving. Oh, she was quite conscious, and she hadn't been harmed too badly, except that she had a rather large gash on her thigh and her right arm had landed in an unfortunate position. Every time she blinked, a searing pain tore through her head, white-hot, and her head rang like there were church bells inside it. How she knew what they sounded like, we'll never know. She didn't even go to church. With her good arm, Lilith shielded her eyes from the sunlight, but she was too weak. She smacked her hand down on the steps, a ripple of frustration running through her. Lilith pushed herself into a sitting position, surveying her surroundings. The Mediaolum was completely trashed- rubble was piled up into a mountain of jagged marble, broken glass sitting like thousands of piercing diamonds. Lilith attempted to lift her limp right arm, but as soon as she did so, a sensation like electricity coursed down her arm, sizzling and slicing at her nerves. "Fuck," she groaned, much to the horror of an elderly woman near her. She saw hurt souls nursing their wounds, or running to find someone. "Find someone..." she thought. Suddenly, the light in her eyes went on. Orpheus. If the Mediaolum was this wrecked, she hated to think about what had happened to Orpheus. She set out at a jog, but urgency pushed her to a sprint.

"Orpheus?" she called out. "Orpheus!" She stopped by anyone who looked as if they might be her beloved Pheesh, searching their faces desperately for the features that she found so dear to her now. Tendrils of Lilith's hair were plastered onto her forehead, and her leg was starting to bleed at an alarming rate. Not that it would really do anything, of course, she wasn't really alive in the first place. "Orpheus Hall, I swear to all that's unholy, if I find your scrawny ass, I'm going to kick you. Hard," she muttered under her breath, running her shaking fingers through her tangled hair. Lilith set out at a brisk pace, her right arm still hanging uselessly at her side. Underneath a tree, she saw a distinctly male, black-haired figure lying down, no sign of (after) life showing. "Oh, no, no, this is not Orpheus, please don't let this be Orpheus!" With great effort, Lilith used her one good arm to halfway turn the body onto its side. Lilith's blue eyes scanned their face anxiously, and then brought her hands up to her face as tears flowed down her cheeks, leaving a slick trail after them. Lilith looked back down at the face one last time, carefully examining every aspect of it. It wasn't Orpheus. Not the brown eyes, which had been open. Not the button nose. Not the full lips. Not the eyebrows. It wasn't him, and that's all that really mattered, wasn't it?

Lilith gently closed the boy's eyelids with her fingers, making him look as if he was asleep. Did he look like this when he had died? Had he looked so peaceful, like he was now? She made a mental note to see if this boy was really dead (again), and if he wasn't, then maybe she'd write him a get well soon card or something. "Or something," she thought to herself. With one last glance at the boy's body (and quite a bit more hope than before, might I add), Lilith took off. "Pheesh!"


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#, as written by Artik

The world spun something fierce. The black sheep of celestial politics blinked three - five - many times, rapid fire - but still the lightning strike left him seeing nothing but spots that flooded vision. Dizzy, calloused hands dug into the ground searching for some stability. As a ragged breath was sucked in, Atticus racked his brain trying to figure out why the ground held so much animosity for him. Just moments before he'd been - well - he certainly hadn't been on his hands and knees, as various other Guardians came to, or shouted about names of loved ones. Disa. Sai. Had that just been his name added to the concerned calls or was he just hearing things? It was hard to tell with all the ringing.


Mumbled, breathless sound escaped as weight shifted and muscles rolled, the angel finally on his feet while debris fell from his shoulders. A warm, quickly turning cold liquid, dripped from hairline to ear. A stray hand swept and smeared, but none of it was of any consequence. Bare feet were already moving, trudging forward with a distinctly disoriented swagger to their step. Brows furrowed in a confused concentration as drywall obstacles were traversed, and toppled over bureaus were scaled like hurtles. There was some inner motivation fueling him now, some tick in the back of his head. She had to be okay, right? Had to be. But where was she? Where was anyone for that matter? One thing at a time.


Fingers ran up the male's face, brushing hair up and away as he simultaneously shook his head and recovered from a bout of nausea. Knocking arms with with the face of an angel he generally tried to avoid, steeled orbs flickered up unsteady catching sight of a panicked Aroha. There wasn't much time to stop and exchange pleasantries, but Atticus knew enough that head-strong woman was just as vulnerable as he was right now and there was some solidarity in seeing another Guardian completely intact and breathing. No words were uttered on his end, but the silent urgency was kicking both angels in the ass as he turned the corner and shouldered the still standing front door open. The air still felt hot and tense, as if the charged particles that had just shattered their tranquil atmosphere still lingered from the shock.

Head on the swivel, Atticus looked this way and that - frantic. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon...'Meila, where the hell are you? No one else in sight, the boy banged a left quicker now. As long legs carried him from Point Him to Point Her, worry built in the pit of his stomach, bubbled and began to spread through his veins making his skin tingle and his heart race. Adrenaline pumped on overdrive now and the few scratches and scrapes did nothing to slow his sprint. Taking in the wreckage, Atticus scoured his surroundings with a growing focus, the disorientation slowly but surely dissipating. Logic and rationale combated feeling with practiced endurance but the bravado fell when he heard that desperate shout in a much to familiar voice.


So much for stoicism - not at a time like this. A slight alteration to the angel's trajectory had him arriving beside his sweetheart within the minute, tearing off a stray branch and shoving it aside. A bird beat of of the sky, Ameila lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, out cold. Grey optics widened, shifting her petite frame with caution and care, fingers brushing cool skin and feather alike. She was breathing - barely - the type of shallow breaths one equates to slumber, but he certainly knew better. A would-be Sleeping Beauty, in an unfortunate situation, the femme was soon scooped up bridal style by the man who took his job as Guardian a bit to seriously. Atticus cradled the fairy tale princess against his chest, tasting the sweet salve of relief on his lips if only for the moment.

"'Melia..hey, hey...I'm here, alright? You're safe. ..You're safe.."


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Character Portrait: Charlie Fletcher
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He was back in Stockwell, crouched with a group of boys around a firecracker that someone had snuck in. It was Guy Fawkes Day, after all, and what was it without explosives? They'd lit the end of it, and everyone held their breath as the spark grew nearer and nearer towards the firecracker itself. "Madam Stockwell won't like this," a skinny, bespectacled boy by the name of James fretted. "Oh, shut up, Jimmy. Don't ya see we're just tryin' to, ah, celebrate Mr. Fawkes?" one of the older boys sniggered. Charlie's eyes flitted around the room nervously. He knew, he knew that this was bad, and he knew that they'd all get one hell of a whipping, but he wanted to fit in. He wanted to be like everyone else. "Oy, shut it, the lot of you! It's gonna go off," the oldest boy, Robert (who insisted that everyone call him "Robber") snapped. Everyone watched with eager anticipation as the fiery little spark flirted with the boundary between the wick and the explosive- even James drew a little closer. Charlie's heart beat faster, and faster, and he saw the little thing about to go off, and he couldn't, and hisheartbeatfasterandharderuntilitwasabouttoburst! With a spectacular bang, the firecracker went off, filling the entire room with a blinding, brilliant light. Multicolored lights floated through his vision as a thick smoke filled the room. Charlie choked on it, a cough rising in his throat. "Well, that was just bully!" Robber exclaimed happily. "What did you boys do?" a rough female voice demanded as everyone in the entire room, save for Robber, blanched.

Charlie's eyes flew open, still choking on something, his lungs heavy with smoke. The sky was a heather gray, the same color of his sweater. His head pounded, and he felt blood trickle down his forehead. He lifted up his hand to gingerly dab at it, and winced as his nails accidentally made contact with the cut. Charlie clutched his head as a jolt of pain shot through his skull like lightning. "Lightning," he mused. Lightning like that firecracker. Damage done all around him like it had done in the splintering hardwood floor of that awful institution.

But no. Charlie was not in Stockwell, but he did not seem to be anywhere. At least, not that he could tell. "Where am I?" he asked to no one in particular, his voice gravelly and strained from his earlier coughing fit. He hoisted himself up with a grunt and looked at his surroundings. Unimpressed, Charlie started walking along, hoping to find someone who'd tell him where he was. His foot caught onto something, and he fell, his arms splayed out to attempt to catch his fall. Charlie looked behind him, and to his utmost horror, he'd tripped over someone's outstretched arm. "What is this place?"


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Character Portrait: Genocide McCall Character Portrait: Cecil Caerwyn
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The air was crackling with tension, white hot and explosive just like the lightning that had struck the large structure in the middle of The Medialoum. Odd Came a inquiring thought from a dark haired man, standing with his hands in his pockets with a cigarette hanging from his lips. The ground rumbled with thunder, rattling his chest, bushes shivering around him as if quivering in fear. Chewing the end of his cigarette Genocide turned his shoulders to gaze towards the palace, shoulders hunched, unaware of the chaos hat ensued after the bolt of electricity. In fact, he was no where near the castle like building, about half a mile away buying a bottle of wine for this evenings dinner. "What a sight, nearly scared me out of my skin." Came the shrill voice of the plum woman who was selling to him. His dark eyes flicked to her, torn away from the palace as his lip twitched up in he beginnings of a sneer.

"Keep the change," Genocide practically growled as he snatched the bottle by its neck and placed the bill in the lady's hand. Lifting his cigarette from his lips he exhaled slowly, allowing the smoke out through his nose, eyes narrowing on the palace. With a shrug he returned the half smoked cigarette back at the corner of his lips. Genocide pulled up the hood of his jacket as small raindrops began to drop from the sky, pitter pattering on the warm cement beneath the demon's shoes. He tucked the bottle inside his jacket, under one arm, protecting it from sight and the intensifying rain as he retreated to the haven of the Medialoum palace.

By the time he reached one of the numerous entrances and exits his clothing was soaked and cigarette near gone. Standing under the patio he shook out his hood and jacket as best as possible, revealing a mop of dark hair and small, pointy ears. Scrunching his nose he fumbled with the door knob, finally pushing his way inside, only to meet complete insanity. Familiar faces ran around in a mad scramble, bewilderment and fear stinking the air as the demon kicked the door closed behind him. What in the seven rings of Hell was going on around here?!

Shouts were indicating that there were injured people, time slowing to a near stand still as Genocide made one connection to the next. The cigarette butt dropped from his mouth, as did the wine bottle from his hand, both hitting the ground at the same time. The wine painted the white tiles of the palace blood red, the shattering of glass ringing in the demon's hypersensitive ears. "Where is he?" He barely recognized his voice as he took unsure steps down the hall, a sense of panic overcoming him as his brisk walk turned into a frantic run. "Cecil!" Genocide called out, searching the faces of those he passed, pushing and shouldering his way through.

"Where is he?!"

The demon's bellow echoed out, over the voices of the many others, startling even himself in his desperate search for his curly haired love.

"Where! Is! Cecil!

OOC:Hey guys, finally posted (Whew! Glad I got that off my chest!) lemme know if you need anything changed. I am human, so to speak, and often make mistakes. It wont hurt my feelings, much, to go back and fix something. Im bound to get something wrong eventually!


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Character Portrait: Orpheus Hall Character Portrait: Lilith Amaris
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The smell was the first thing he sensed-the only thing that seemed to refresh what he had of his memory. It was blood, and a lot of it. He hadn't even opened his eyes or made any movement out of his current position, mainly because he was still trying to figure out what that was. He didn't recall where he was, or who he was for that matter. Everything felt foreign, whether it was the blood drying on his skin or the sharp pain in his back. His body ached, as well as a dull pressure that squeezed his head. As he regained his consciousness he also regained the feeling in every nerve of his body unfortunately for the situation given. Though he didn't remember, he'd fallen off the roof of his house.
Raven-black eyelashes parted, exposing a faint sliver of blue iris to the outside world. Through the half-open ocular, he noted that the balance of colors in the sky had shifted now to oranges and yellows, the red and purple receding as they were wont to do upon the dawn’s breaking. He wondered if it even were dawn, considering the darkness that wrapped itself beneath the light. He didn't know what time of day it was, nor could he see the sun directly. He had an uneasy feeling that the destruction and rubble that laid around hadn't always been there.
His eye fell closed again, and Orpheus returned to his meditations, heedless of the faint breeze that teased his uncanny black hair and the fabric of his loose red shirt. With any will he still had he used to straighten, and dug the palms of his hands into the ground to prop himself up against the wall of the building. His breathing was constant, but shallow and quivering. Nothing came back to him really, though he wasn't aware anything should have.
He knew he'd was old. Very old. He'd been around for a long time. He felt ancient clocks of time clicking and chiming in his head, in his whole body, but no recollection of how he'd spent the many centuries. He didn't ask himself many questions, in fear he'd have very little answers. He didn't have any idea what to ask either. Everything felt strange, yet at the same time he didn't know anything else. There were a few basic ideas of knowledge in his mind, but anything of personal matter was blank.
Something- or someone, caught his attention. Orpheus, it called. He recognised the name as his own, though moments before he wouldn't have been able to say he had one.
He search the area, only looking but no effort to get up. He didn't know who was calling him, or why for that matter. His caution worried him, wary of the fact that he should know a lot more than he did. Though it seemed he'd regain it slowly with time. He debated calling out to it, but instead let out a cough that stung in his chest. He spit out a coppery taste of blood beside him, and let his body relax in an effort to release some pain. Orpheus used the wall he'd been leaning on to stand, but only got most of the way before having to completely use it for support. Where was he, anyway?


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Character Portrait: Genocide McCall Character Portrait: Cecil Caerwyn
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Nothing about that day should have been unusual. Yes, there was a storm carrying on outside, but weather came and went, and, in all fairness, it didn't seem like much of a portent of doom. Just another rainy day that made for excellent reading and, if Cecil was completely honest with himself (which he often wasn't), excellent cuddling weather as well, so a storm hardly seemed like an ill omen. In fact, the day had been going wonderfully. No one had any issues that they needed Cecil to solve in the Mediaolum, no one harassing him while he tried to get work done, no one invading his privacy unless you counted Genocide who, Cecil supposed with a blush that he would deny until the end of the world, wasn't so much invading as visiting previously conquered lands.

That was why he was caught entirely off guard, dropping the tome in his hand to the ground with an loud crash, by that… that sensation. The sensation was hard to describe, and goodness knows that Cecil had tried to explain it many times, but the best he could get was calling it a tingling sensation, raising goose bumps along his arms in its wake and causing his wings to twitch anxiously. It didn't feel particularly bad, more like his entire body threatening to fall asleep simultaneously, but he'd felt the sensation far too many times before to simply discount it. It was the sensation he'd felt so many years ago when his town had been attacked, before each sneak attack during the Great War, even here in the Mediaolum during the times he'd been caught up in dangerous business.

But he wouldn't panic because it could be nothing, he reasoned, bending over to pick up his heavy book. This was the Mediaolum after all, not a war zone, and, besides, this was the house of the Guardians where the biggest danger tended to be annoying people, angels, and/or demons bothering him. Yes, there must be a reasonable explanation to all of this because today was so utterly pleasant. And the day was pleasant- it was just too bad that the storm raging outside didn't get the memo.

Cecil heard what happened before anything else, a deafening crash echoing throughout the halls nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. There was no time to question or wonder what had just happened because immediately following the booming noise was another sound. The angel couldn't place it at first, but as it neared him the answer became obvious. It was the sound of rocks and mortar tumbling to the floor, of screaming people calling for help or mercy. The roof was caving in. He could see it now, hairline cracks racing along the ceiling above him, quickly broadening into larger gaps. The roof wasn't falling all at once, spreading out instead from the epicenter of the initial impact.

Cecil's wings spread out, feathers touching the walls around him as he made to retreat backwards with one mighty flap, but he was too late. The ceiling buckled above him and brought with it stone raining painfully down upon him, burying him in debris and dust until one well-placed rock cracked against his skull. Red, red blood began to sprout from within his blonde locks, trailing steadily down his face, and, unable to move, Cecil watched the single bead of blood make its way down the tip of his nose before he was swallowed into unconsciousness.

Well, that wasn't quite right. He felt conscious, but it was like the pain had disappeared and now only darkness surrounded him. And he couldn't quite… Couldn't quite grasp onto his thoughts… What had just happened…? He struggled to remember, but the memories, silvery wisps in his own mind, were scuttling away from his grasp, teasing him, taunting him, disappearing into some dark corner of his mind. No, no, this couldn't be happening. Already bits and pieces of his memory were darting away from his mind, leaving him feeling desperate and empty and not knowing why. Desperate and empty.. he almost gave a hysteric laugh. That sounded utterly dirty, a joke in the making for one of the girls or Atti… What girls? Atti…? At a…? At where? He was so confused now, so, so confused.

Where was Genocide? Cecil clasped desperately onto that train of thought, fearful that it too would vanish. Genocide made sense. His friend, his lover, his… his other half. But, now, that memory was trying to escape now too, Cecil realized in horror. No, no, he couldn't forget his Geni. He couldn't. Who would he be without him? Oh, Heavenly Father, he couldn't. He couldn't let this happen- Genocide! Genocide! He had to remember Genocide! The cigarette smoke that seemed to constantly swirl around him, that charming grin, all of the little things he'd done for him, done to him. Genocide! Genocide. Genocide… genocide. Genocide? He felt empty, but what did that have to do with mass murder?

The moment Cecil awoke, he felt like he was being suffocated and crushed simultaneously. Why…? Oh. It was because he was being suffocated and crushed simultaneously. Cecil struggled desperately from within the debris despite the aches and pains darting around his body and the intense throbbing pain in his head. He soon surfaced, gasping for breath, and looked around. It was chaos, crumbled bits of what appeared to be ceiling surrounding him like he was in a massive ruin and rain steadily beating down on him from the gaping hole above. Where was he? Hadn't he just been home? Yes, yes, it was right after he'd been… been demoted. He wasn't thinking straight... how had be gotten here? Where was here? Oh, God, he'd been hit in the head again. This couldn't be happening again! Cecil struggled to hear something, anything because no, no, he couldn't be deaf again.

"Where! Is! Cecil! Oh, thank the Good Lord, a voice. A voice that he agreed with. Yes, where was Cecil? Oh, wait. Cecil jerked his head upwards, immediately regretting it as the pain in his head increased tenfold. That was someone calling for him. Probably. Maybe wherever he was had another Cecil?

"Hello…?" It wasn't much of a shout, or much of a thing too shout if someone was looking for him, but it was the most he could manage at the moment without exacerbating his aching head.