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Lyanna Tarnish

"Underestimate me, if you like. It will be the last thing you ever do."

0 · 891 views · located in New New York

a character in “King of the Dolls”, as played by OurStars


Lyanna Tarnish || 20 || Female || Sapiosexual || King 3

"The real heroes aren't people doing things. The real heroes are people noticing things, paying attention."

The defining trait of Lyanna, and the one that marked her era of ruling her kingdom is her powerful intelligence and wit. From a young age, she was a snarky child with a profound love for questions and the hunt that transpired after they were asked. Honestly, this began with her being a curious little brat, constantly bugging others to answer her questions or aid her in her search. This persistently annoying nature of hers, common in curious children, is what led to her constant punishment at the hands of her less-than-sane father. Due to such punishments, the inquisitive personality was eventually molded into what is known today: a woman with an insatiable desire to know as much as possible and a rather sly way of doing things. Still, she is an intellectual, and would very likely spend all day simply reading, were that ever an option. Or, perhaps simply watching people would be entertainment enough for her, as there is something far more amusing about learning through watching. The fact of the matter is, Lyanna has always very much wanted to know things. It isn't necessarily a desire to know more than others, though that eventually came about as a side effect. The list of books that she has read is long, and the theories that she have studied are rather numerous as well. Whether it be war strategy, the uses of various herbs, or philosophical ramblings of a man pronounced mad long ago, she wants to know it all.

When it comes to her as a leader, this also applied to people, because she is very well aware of the fact that what a person doesn't know is very likely to get them killed in the end. It wasn't nosiness in her, necessarily, but a sense of urgency and caution that compelled her to have information on everyone around her, so that she might always have the upper hand. Before becoming king, the title used because she was the ultimate power, not the arm candy to the ultimate power, Lyanna had been known as the spider, because she had a rather thorough and elaborate web of spies, so efficient that a person could hardly sneeze before it was reported to the sharp-witted woman. Knowledge certainly is power, and can cut far deeper than any sword, if used properly. She can be a very manipulative force, knowing that a bit of flattery and false friendship can go a very long way in the game of thrones. While she does have pride, Lyanna is often willing to cast it aside if it means furthering her own cause.

Of course, her tongue is known to be rather biting as well, when she isn't being infuriatingly cryptic by using riddles to confuse and intimidate those who may plot against her. What had once been a childhood habit of haughtiness evolved into a witty way of speaking, which could easily transform into the use of words that stung more painfully than a wasp. While she is perfectly capable of being the image of civility when the situation called for it, such as when dealing with foreign affairs, Lyanna otherwise has the tendency to be a sarcastic woman who could cut a person down to size between sips from her wine goblet. She needed to be, because she hadn't the sword mastery to keep people in line otherwise. Her fierce wit, which could be either playful or bitter, helped to confirm that she was not some soft-hearted woman, incapable of ruling, as many of her enemies would have people believe. In fact, more often than sometimes she would be more cruel than necessary, if only to remind people that they could not underestimate her on account of what was between her legs.

There is more to Lyanna than her intelligence, however, and her philosophy is one of those things. The woman doesn't have time for anything superstitious, and regards the religious, superstitious, and reliant as fools who are too dependent on mysticism to focus on what is in front of them. While she once saw religion as something for people who needed support, she grew to view it as more of a scapegoat, something to justify behavior or to try and pray away wrongdoings without actual repentance of any sort. She is quite the realist, in the end, who believes in timing and skill, rather than the existence of luck. Probabilities and people are far more sensible, in her mind. Because, for all of her pessimism, Lyanna would rather believe in the power of people than the omnipotent nature of some unseen force. She believes that, in this world, sweat holds far more value than whispered prayers or a thousand four leaf clovers.

Sweat also holds more value than tears, for that matter. Lyanna refuses to show vulnerability to anyone, because she considers it to be the greatest of flaws, the one which may allow someone to run a blade through you, or poison through your bloodstream, before you even feel the pain. Thus, she masks any pain or misery with cruel taunts, playful banter, or cryptic messages. To allow herself to become emotional or dependent on another person would be the greatest failure, as far as she is concerned, and one transgression that she fully intends to never commit.

While she refuses to show vulnerability, Lyanna has always been something of a flirt, though she believes far more in lust than she does in any sort of affections beyond that. When she herself is nervous, she takes comfort in making others feel flustered, or in dominating a situation. She is a controller through and through, and dislikes any situation otherwise. Arrogance is backed by intelligence and the ability to control, after all, as she hardly has an unwavering pillar of support by her side. In her youth, she had many affairs, though she always maintained control in them, and cut it off as soon as she felt herself growing any attachment. This was a way to both protect and teach herself, because affections that one doesn't have control over are a very dangerous thing. Still, she can be rather possessive, even when willing to simply toss a thing, or person, to the side.

Intelligent || Cunning || Witty || Defensive || Pessimistic || Humanist || Guarded || Hard Working || Cautious || Controlling || Playful || Cryptic || Manipulative

"There is no shortage of fault to be found among our stars."


Lyanna Antoinette Tarnish was born into the kingdom of Yvon, a place with wealth that fluctuated based upon the king and the crops of the year. It was dividied into three main territories: the East, which was known for its mining and silks, the West, known for its bountiful trade, as it was the coastal region, and the South, where the majority of the kingdom's crops were grown and harvested. In the center of these three territories was the capitol city, Kingstone. It was the center of kingdom politics, and the place of residence for such people as the royal family, the master of coin, the leaders of the military, and such. Lyanna was born in Kingstone, into a somewhat unhappy era. It was the era of Gregory the Vicious, a king known for his vile temper and his apathy for the well being of the people. While the South flourished, trade diminished due to his poor relations with the monarchs of neighboring kingdoms, and the people were unhappy under his rule. Murmurs of rebellion were the background music to his reign, but were often crushed in cruel manners which, more often than not, lacked any form of subtlety. This is the king under which Lyanna was born, as well as the only father that she has ever known. Yes, Lyanna is, or perhaps was, the daughter of that much-hated king of Yvon. By association, she hardly had the love of her people, even whilst still a small, innocent child. Her mother was kind enough, but seemed to live in constant fear of her own husband, kept from fleeing only by threats against her daughter's life, and guards that were constantly with her- treating her like a queen, but watching her like a hostage.

It honestly didn't help that Lyanna was a frightfully inquisitive little soul, who had the tendency to pester people until answers were supplied. There were days when her father found this absolutely charming, and doted on her as though she were some rare and precious gift. Those days were somewhat rare, however, though they did keep her from ever being able to completely denounce him as her father. It was far more common for him to grow tired of her questions, or simply of her face, and have her locked in the dungeons, where she was treated only marginally better than a street urchin, kept in the dark, shivering on a cot to avoid the rats, whom she could hear scurrying across the floor at all hours of the night. The worse her father's mood, the longer she would be left in there, and it wasn't entirely unheard of for him to completely forget about his only child, and not call for her to be released for weeks at a time. She was only a girl, after all, and as thus did not demand much of his attention. It is due to this, due to her father's temperamental nature, that Lyanna grew up half prisoner and half princess, born in one world but raised with one foot in the other. Still, she was ever the clever girl, and learned eventually how to tread lightly in the court. She was half a child before she began to learn how to play the game of thrones- the noble, wretched game. Of course, no matter how carefully she planned her steps, there would still be the days when her father disliked her nose, or the shape of her eyes, or the fact that his queen had only ever borne him a daughter, not the son which he needed to continue the bloodline.

As Lyanna grew older, she became even more intelligent, and even more masterful in the game. She had learned the ways of the court, and could manipulate by the age of thirteen, capable of wrapping people around her finger rather easily. It did help that everyone desired her hand in marriage, knowing that her hand was the key to the throne, as the queen had grown to old to have another child, and the King, strangely, seemed to have no intent to discard her. The only person whom she could never manage to control continued to be her volatile father, who took turns doting on her and beating her down with curse words and the sheaths of swords. Both of which she learned to take gracefully, knowing that to do otherwise would be to risk an even more vile fate. Of course, she did face something like that when she was thirteen, and walking through the city with her guards. A riot started, and in the riot she was pulled, anger against her father and the corruption of the upper classes vented against the king's daughter. In that riot, she was defiled and beaten bloody, before finally being pulled away by her guards. A month later, she begged that her mother convince her father to allow her to take a vacation in the South, playing the part of traumatized. And she was, of course, but Lyanna was an intelligent girl, and there was more to it than that. She succeeded and went to a secluded area, where she remained on her own, with the exception of one serving maid and a cook, for nearly a year. Within that time, she gave birth to a bastard child, the DAUGHTER of some member of that riot whose face will never be remembered. The cook took the child and left it to a farmer in his wife, an elderly couple with no offspring of their own. The princess took a few extra months to recover, and returned to court, as though nothing had happened. She suppressed the memories, because there is no place in the game for a deflowered princess.

She grew up to be precisely the sort of player that one sees in the game- the sort who plays to win. When she was fifteen, she had an affair with a serving girl, but was discovered by a stable boy. He was dead within a week, though the causes of it remained something of a mystery to the court, who honestly couldn't care less about the fate of some common boy who cleaned up their horses' shit. After that, Lyanna was much more careful about what she did, and even began to acquire her own spies, ranging from lovestruck youths to greedy nobles who wanted her favor, so that she might marry their sons. No longer was she a pawn in the game, but one of the youngest players. And she saw the potential she had to change the country for the better, to undo the damage of her father's reign. She also saw how unlikely it was that she would have the chance to do so, given her gender. This was especially concerning when her mother passed away, and her father married a noblewoman of the East. In order to ensure that no son would be born, Lyanna had a serving girl put special herbs in the woman's food that caused infertility. She was willing to do whatever necessary to win the game, knowing that the alternative would be being married off to the highest bidder, so that she would watch helplessly, as her mother had, whilst some fool of a man greedily ravished the kingdom.

As it happened, her foolish father was assassinated before he could begin setting up these matches, as they had waited until her eighteenth birthday before beginning the courting process. Of course, the small counsel made the decision to say that he had died in a hunting accident, not wanting to give any ideas to the people of Yvon. While public mourning was required, the common folk celebrated behind closed doors, toasting to the gods for delivering them from the wretched, vicious King Gregory. They allowed Lyanna, after much coaxing, blackmail, and bribery, to ascend the throne on the condition that she actively seek a match, to find a suitable king to rule the kingdom. She agreed, of course, knowing very well that no such search would ever actually occur. But she played their games, feigning a near-marriage and then finding some excuse at the last minute. She was brilliant, of course, and they could never quite pin her to anything. The master of whispers was under her thumb, and she had more spies than birds in the sky.

Still, despite the fact that the land flourished under her rule, for she was far more intelligent and far less insane than her father had been, people insulted her and berated her for foolishly trying to play a man's game. Any sign of vulnerability of fault was a reason for further contesting of her right to reign, and so she learned to wear her intelligence and her biting words around her like a skin-tight armor. She was known as King Lyanna, for she was not her gender, but her ranking. Lyanna ruled a great nation, and yet struggled to maintain her position for the entirety of her reign, knowing that one sign of indecision, or even a glimpse of weakness, would be enough for the people to wrestle her off of the throne of Yvon. While she hardly had a line of spiked heads outside of her throne room, as her father infamously had, she was not hesitant to make an example of those who tried to bring her down. She manipulated people through blackmail and threats, but covered her tracks so brilliantly that nothing could be proven. She died at the age of thirty, after eleven years of ruling, because she had the slightest mistake in judgement. And that was in trusting the cook who had helped her secretly birth the bastard child all those years ago. The cook had been bought out, not nearly as genuine in her loyalties as Lyanna, in an uncharacteristic sign of optimism, had believed. In the end, Lyanna died of poisoning. She realized what was going on as soon as it was too late, and immediately excused herself from the table, because she didn't want people to see her die. Lyanna Antoinette Tarnish died at the age of thirty, running to her bedchambers. She was the first and last of the female kings of Yvon, as the throne was afterwards taken over by the most influential family of the South, due to her lack of heirs. She died without ever having met her son, and with last words that seemed rather strange for death, but fitting for the situation.

"Please excuse me, my lords and ladies. I have urgent matters to attend to."

"At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze."

Messing with People
Long Naps
Confidence in People
Strange Things

The Warmth
Summer Rain
Poor Answers
Low Self Esteem
Being Woken Up
Easy Things
The Impulsive King
Satisfaction (The pursuit of knowledge is often more enjoyable than the knowledge itself.)

"I'll never tell."
She gave birth to a bastard child after being raped during a riot. Given that it was a mob incident, the father went forever anonymous.
Lyanna used bribery and blackmail in order to ascend the throne.
When she was a youth, Lyanna had a brief affair with one of her serving girls. And with one of her serving boys, for that matter.
As a result of the first affair, she devised for a stable boy to be murdered.
She had a serving girl put herbs that cause infertility into her stepmother's food.

"There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Mostly."
Lyana is actually quite terrified of mice, as embarrassingly prissy as that sounds. Well, not mice, but rats. They were once companions of hers, but not welcome ones.
Despite being royalty and such, Lyanna is frightened of very large crowds, something which is a direct result of the riot incident from her past. She can address them, but not be part of them.
Although she seems to exude a natural confidence, and she is very self-assured in her own intelligence, Lyanna is frightened of being seen as only her gender, and not the rest of her. She had to claw her way to the throne, the first female leader of her kingdom, and is constantly on the lookout to make sure that she does not seem weak. Vulnerability, to her, is the ultimate flaw.

Crush N/A

"My paramour- oh, that's right. Nevermind."

"We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken."

Lyanna is both fascinated and enamored with the fact that people in this era, for the most part, are treated equally regardless of gender. She is also quite enchanted by modern styles, and has the tendency to wear shorts and pants, because she enjoys the freedom that they grant. She doesn't dress as conservatively as one might assume that a person from her time period would, but this is because she finds the more modern clothing to be a symbol of an age in which women are less restricted by rules.

Height 5'9"

Lyanna is tall and slender, or rather stick thin. She lacks the womanly figure that most seem to find desirable, instead being much of the same straight up and down. That is to say, she has the figure of a pole, with a head spiked on top. A lovely image, of course, but given her upbringing, it does tend to be what comes to mind when she thinks of a pole.

Distinguishing Features
Well, the most distinct feature about this body Lyanna has been placed in would likely be the hair, which is cotton-candy pink all over, with a few traces of a shade so pale that it is nearly white. It certainly sets her out from the crowd, to some extent, and is how she can be easily distinguished. Other than that, the body lacks any tattoos or piercings, or anything else of that sort. Well, that isn't entirely true. For whatever reason, their is a small white bird just above the inside of her left wrist. It is rather simple and often overlooked by others, though she became somewhat fond of it after becoming accustomed to being alive again.

So begins...

Lyanna Tarnish's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Image Hayden took a side-step closer to the others whom he stood already close to. He wouldn't be satisfied, in fact, until he stood directly shoulder-to-shoulder with another, feeling some amount of safety contact with another person who wasn't currently poking him and prodding him. He stared quietly, eyeing the fancy, gold-plated name plaque on the mahogany desk in front of the group. "Roger Atwood," the owner of said name plaque, sat in the green-leathered, high-backed chair behind it, seeming pretty damn happy about himself, which only managed to make Hayden angrier.

"You're probably all a bit dazed, hmm?" Dr. Atwood sifted through eight manila folders that sat on his desk. "Motor skills are never functioning at one-hundred-percent this early after harvest, but unfortunately there isn't much we can do about that." The man shifted his weight in the chair as he fanned the folders across his desk. "Anyway, I am the head of the science department. My name is Dr. Roger Atwood, and you all are the ward of my department. Now, this is both fortunate for me, but depending on your willingness, could be most unfortunate for you. Your bodies are property of Heartland Industries, and you'll be used towards our experimentation for a new feature in our product. Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated."

Dr. Atwood was a thick man, not fat, necessarily, but he looked as though he could hold his own easily. His brown hair, thinning at the crown, was swept to one side neatly, and thin, wire-framed glasses sat on his crooked nose. He wore a suit, looking stuffy and supreme, as if that dark grey, pinstriped suit and dark green tie gave him all the authority in the world. That, and his fancy golden plaque, too. His bony hands made him look older, though they held a good steadiness from a long career of writing things down. His thin lips gave a plain, dry, hint of a smirk, though on the man it seemed very bored. Yet it seemed as though that was the closest thing the man could have ever gotten to a smile in the first place. The man was business, and moving on. Nothing more.

Hayden struggled to process the words coming from the head of the science department, but some of the words seemed foreign to him, and others seemed as if he'd been thrown a sentence out of context. Motor skills? Harvest? What was heartland industries, and what was this product they were talking about? His brain worked furiously to try and place pieces together, but he was still groggy since waking. Waking, yes, that was right, he'd almost forgotten. A flash of the blood on his hands ran through his mind, the crimson-stained spearhead sticking out from his gut. He'd been dead, and now suddenly he wasn't? He belonged to a company called Heartland? It wasn't making any sense.

He looked downward at his hands as he brought them up from his sides, inspecting this body which apparently didn't belong to him. The tattoos were new, for sure; girlish black and red designs of swirls and flowers and keys and pocket watches, coating one arm and spotted on the other. The clothes he sported were equally foreign to him; a loose black tee-shirt with a cluster of cartoon ghosts with "X"s for eyes on the front and Heartland's logo cut out of the back, pastel teal shorts, and black imitation converse all-stars. All the pieces of the outfit bore the same emblem for heartland in some place, much like all the stock clothing which came from the industry. His faint reflection in the wall of windows showed the rose headband which sported small silver spikes in between flowers which sat in the midst of white wavy hair, the silver heart icon which sat embedded in his neck, and especially the face which wasn't his. He almost thought someone else was staring back at him, but no. That was him, there was no doubt about it. Hayden found himself shaking slightly.

Shit, He couldn't help but think. They weren't kidding when they said it wasn't my body. The idea gave him no more comfort than the statement had, really, and he found himself staring and staring, half wanting it to be some kind of hallucination of his still slow mind, until finally, he drew his eyes away, back to the man behind the desk. "Wait," Hayden said, finally speaking up. Even like this, in such a drastic situation, he couldn't stand the idea of fading into the background and skipping out on the opportunity to speak out, draw attention to himself. "I don't understand--"

Dr. Atwood cut him off before he could elaborate. "I'm not going to start over for you, if that's what you want."

Hayden gritted his teeth, aggravated. "You mentioned experimentation, what exactly is the purpose of this and what are you doing with us? I was... I'm not supposed to be...." He bit his lip, frustrated with the idea. Putting it into real words only seemed to make the situation crazier, and he just wanted it to go away. To pretend it wasn't happening.

"Dead," Dr. Atwood stated plainly, as if coming back from death were plain as day. Even in this day and age, however, it really wasn't. "I'm aware. All of you were dead, and that is the purpose of our experimentation with you. We produce the bodies you all occupy, called Dolls, and we're looking into placing souls of the dead in them through our methods based on requests from buyers to have replicas of the dead, and the suggestion of looking into it from our CEO, Mr. Heartland. Unfortunately, as we took little care in the selection process with souls for experimentation, there's little possibility of any of you being released as items sold to the public. The bodies you occupy are good for little more than experimentation, which is quite a shame, really."

Hayden's fist balled up, his arm shaking just that much more with the forced motion, while he watched the man pick up one of the files and open it up. He felt awful, a terrible feeling in the pit of his gut. The confirmation from another party that his situation was real, and the realization that it wasn't just him... paired with what a "shame" it was to be taking up the uses of their stupid dolls? Bullshit! It wasn't his fault to be in this situation, and it wasn't any of the others in the group's fault either. If his body weren't so discombobulated, and had he been a more violent person, he would have stormed over to the man and punched him. Too bad.

"You, for instance," He continued, now that he'd found what he was looking for. "Standard albino model, small-medium size, pastel goth stock style, pansexual, minimal disposition, custom tattoos... Your body was going to be used as an advertiser for six months, to show off the possible options in the company headquarters store-front, and then be sold as a collector's model. A bit of a set-back, choosing it for the experiment, but most of the bodies were selected at random, so there were a lot of little blips like that."

Hayden bit his lip again. This man talking like it was some huge hassle for them. As if it wasn't some kind of terrible distress to be fucking dead and suddenly wake up again. His tenseness, his anger; it suddenly became washed over by a stark feeling of despair. He wasn't even really human, according to this man. He was a doll - something to be bought and sold, used and played with. The information was awful, and he wanted to slip away and cover his face, to go back to being dead. He didn't want to be burdened with his own death and his new "life" at the same time. Instead, because he knew none of those would come to pass, he turned his face and looked to the others in the group. Including him, there were eight. Four girls, four boys, and each of them uniquely beautiful, and each of them in the same exact situation that he was in. Part of him found comfort in that, and the other part was uncomfortable with it, as well. He didn't know who any of them were, and for all he knew, they could have been his worst enemies. He looked down, again, bringing one hand up to his throat and fingering the metallic raised emblem that stuck in his neck, feeling choked and sick.

"Anything else you'd like elaborated upon?" Dr. Atwood asked. Every word that came from his mouth seemed impatient and bored. He clearly wanted this to be over, like he had more important things to be getting on to. He closed Hayden's file and placed it back on the desk, before opening up the cover of each of the other's looking up at another member of the group of dolls as he did so. "What about the rest of you then? Anything still not clicking in your brains? Because if not, it's about time we got you all on the move to where you'll be staying under our observation."

Almost as if on cue, a woman in a lab coat stepped through the door. This woman, standing alone with a clipboard in her hand seemed to pose absolutely no threat, but while the door was in swing, Hayden caught a glimpse of the more burly men in lab coats just beyond it, who would be accompanying her. They, on the contrary, seemed like they could pose all the threat that they wanted. Escorts to the newest location. It was like being a prisoner, and after living as a king, his despair seemed only to further drench him.

Dr. Atwood brought his gaze back to the entire group for another moment. "Remember, though," He said. "Don't go getting any ideas. The emblem in your necks serves more purpose than just identifying you as a doll. Anyone can scan it with their smart phone and know your ownership details. You'll get sent straight back. I hope that's clear at the very least."

"We're going to move them to house three, alright?" The woman said, making her way over to Dr. Atwood so that she could gather the eight files from him.

"Yes, yes," Dr. Atwood responded. "I'll enter it in the database as soon as possible. I'll be meeting with the CEO today, so I'll be checking in tomorrow. You have the file which lists all the necessary checks I want done." The woman nodded once, before beginning to snatch the manila folders up from the desk. Dr. Atwood turned his gaze back to the group one last time. "Anything else before you're gone, then?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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As he slowly looked around the room, things constantly moving in and out of focus, Adrian noticed for the first time since his resurrection that something was missing. Something very important. Almost like... a piece of himself had simply vanished. He was numb, almost. He felt detached from his environment, as if he were observing the world through the eyes of another. He felt oddly cold. As if his blood had stopped pumping through his body. But... this didn't feel like his body. There were too many things wrong with it. It didn't feel right. Nothing on his body felt like it was truly his.

Thinking back, a lifetime ago, he tried to remember the last time he looked in a mirror. It took him a moment, but then, the image of himself popped up in his head. Tall, slim, curly black hair, with narrowed, piercing eyes as blue as ice, pale face twisted into a perpetual scowl. That was how he remembered himself. And that's how he liked himself. That was the image of a ruler, the ruler he used to be. And now... he lowered his head, looking downwards and observing one of his foreign, shaking hands. Like the rest of his surroundings, it too switched constantly from in focus to out of focus. He squinted, in an attempt to get a better look at it. His hand was... smaller than he remembered. Softer, too. He turned it over to scrutinize the back. The nails were not chipped at all. In fact, they were immaculate. He looked at the palm again. No jagged scar where he'd cut his hand open by smashing a wine glass that one time.

But his hands were certainly not the only things that felt and looked much too different for his liking. That was when he noticed an unfamiliar feeling on the back of his neck. It was a feeling of absence. He slowly raised a hand up to his head. Hair, naturally. He felt down the locks with that hand, and when they failed to fall past the nape of his neck, he froze up. His hair! His hair had been cut! The bastards! What was going on? The hair atop his head had lacked the curls that had made it once familiar, too. His hair was straight! Madness! What in the hell was going on? Out of pure irritated curiosity, he pulled a strand from the top of his head. It took him a bit to do so, though; his grip was weaker than he would have preferred. When he looked at the tiny strand, he felt himself run cold with shock.


His hair was red.


Before he had any more time to process this, he heard a voice. Adrian looked up sharply, and immediately wished he hadn't done so in that manner. Sudden movements weren't the best of ideas at that particular moment. He felt too fragile, and he sure as hell didn't like it. There was a man that was speaking. His lips moved, noise came out, Adrian heard English, but the words didn't register until a bit after the man was done talking. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn't like this man, and Adrian was inclined to believe it. "...Your bodies are property of Heartland Industries, and you'll be used towards our experimentation for a new feature in our product. Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated." Property. What the hell was this place? Who was this man, really? Some sort of slaver? Why was he dressed so oddly? Was he from a foreign country? Adrian's eyes widened. Had he been kidnapped? Was he going to be subjected to long and hard years of manual labor? Madness! He was a king, damn it! He wanted to go home, at once!

And that's when he remembered that he had been dead.

What an odd thing to forget, too. One would assume that Adrian of all people would not have forgotten the afterlife, for it was one of the only times in his entire existence in which he did not feel the burning fury that had made him the person he had been in life. His anger, his poisonous rage, the one thing that was his driving force when he had been alive, the one thing that dictated every action, simple or highly strategic. He'd forgotten how good it had felt to hate something, to want to murder everyone he saw, and the pleasure it brought him when he saw his enemies hit the ground screaming and begging. Oh, the anger. How he loved it. Or, at least, how he thought he loved it.

Of course! That was the answer! That was what he had been missing! It all suddenly made sense to Adrian. It had been much, much too long since he'd felt the white-hot fires of anger pulsing through his veins. But, the thing was, he couldn't decide if he'd really missed it or not. He began to remember how it had felt to be dead. It had felt... peaceful, in a way. Quiet. No cause for anger anymore. He'd felt relieved.

The man he did not like continued speaking, until a new voice chimed in. Adrian turned his head to find the source, and for the first time, he fully realized that there were more people. They all looked different, unique. They also appeared to be in the same circumstances that he was. Good.

The two of them went back and forth for a bit, and the next bit of the scene seemed to pass rather quickly; the only thing he caught was that there were apparently emblems in their necks. He reached a hand up to his neck instinctively. This was madness! He was no one's property, and he refused to be treated as an experiment. These people had torn him from the only place he'd ever felt at peace, and he was expected to cooperate?

Oh hell no.

"Anything else before you're gone, then?"

Without even having to think about it, as natural as breathing, Adrian flipped out, welcoming the anger back into his system once more.

"Anything else, huh? ANYTHING ELSE? How about you put me back where I GODDAM CAME FROM, HUH? How the HELL would you like it, PEASANT, if you were RIPPED from the only GODDAM place you were HAPPY IN? YOU TELL ME, MAGGOT." He took a great big breath before going on. "I demand to be sent back. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS? PUT. ME. BACK. RIGHT. NOW."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Mika Taylor

His balance was not right. Too heavy in the front. He kept wobbling forward like a stupid little deer. And he couldn't see. Everything was so blurry. Okay, they'd stopped now, and the colors were set in place. A lot of brown. Some flesh tones. A little glimmer of gold. Some green. Where the hell was he? It had been so soft and dark not so long ago, but now things were moving too fast for him to keep a handle of. Where was His Majesty? No, Hayden was dead. Very dead. He'd been dead for a...long time. He was dead too, he realized. He had to be. That painless darkness had to be death. But this couldn't be death. It was too bright. And now there were voices. A man's voice, deep and posh. A wealthy man, likely. Swaying on his feet, Mika tried to blink the fuzziness out of his eyes, only half listening to the words coming from the blurry flesh shape a few metres away from him.

As his vision cleared, a painstakingly slow process, he caught a few words from the speaker. Unpleasant words like 'unfortunate' and 'property'. No, that did not sound pleasant at all. He felt his nails dig into the flesh of his palms as he bunched his fists. When had his nails gotten that long? And his hair. It was ticking his back. Uhg, he was likely extraordinarily unkempt. Although, weren't hair and nails the two things that grew even after a body was dead, before decomposition set in? It made sense, if he was back from the dead.

Once he could see with some clarity, he turned his head to gauge his surroundings. It looked like seven others stood in varying states of expression around him. There was one with abhorrently pink hair, one with redder hair that was still terribly unnatural, four dark haired ones, and a light haired one. The first two were obviously female, as was one of the dark haired ones, but as for the rest, they really seemed to slight to be proper men, though most of them were incredibly tall, seeing as they towered over him, and he was not short lad himself. The snow haired one in particular seemed quite feminine, thought. That white haired one began to speak, and Mika listened in inquisitively, forgetting that he was about to examine himself.

The man behind the desk made a bored sounding explanation to the white haired lad, which jolted a realization through Mika's body. He was not in his own flesh and blood. This was a new body. Which meant, if he was back and alive, that there was a possibility that his Majesty could be here as well, hidden in one of this garish bodies. A sense of choking excitement caught up in his throat, making him tense, looking around as if he could tell which one was Hayden merely with his eyes. This was a second chance. To protect His Majesty from being killed. Slate wiped clean. A do-over, even if in the strangest circumstances. He could seek forgiveness for his transgression. Everything was fixed! He didn't notice as the woman stepped in the room, as he was wrapped up in his nearly gleeful thoughts, but the sound of an enraged shout made him jump back into the present moment.

The creature yelling was a lad about a head or so taller than him, maybe a little less. The sound was enough to put Mika into a defensive stance, his shoulders tensed, ready to defend himself. It was a bit difficult though, since his center of balance wasn't quite right, and his vision was a bit fish eyed. That probably explained why his chest looked so strange in his peripherals. His vision was stretching everything out of shape. That made sense enough. He could examine himself later, anyway. Now he had to discern if this yelling boy was a threat and find Hayden. Two much more important tasks for certain.

The yelling served to be uninteresting, merely a petulant bawl, in Mika's opinion. That one was certainly not his king. But it was no threat in the slightest, unless the lad decided to start throwing things. But there were a few others between him and the lad, so they would likely take the brunt of the lad's anger before he did. No matter, unless one of those proved to be the King. Oh, that wouldn't be good. He should probably go about finding his king posthaste. But how? Perhaps just calling out and taking a chance would be the best course of action.

With complete disregard for everything else going on in the room, Mika spoke. "My Lord?" His voice wasn't particularly loud, but loud enough. It was also at a strange octave. Too high. Well, he hadn't spoken in a long time, so that was probably why. He coughed, trying to readjust his voice, and continued. "Hayden, My Lord, where are you?" There was a slight plaintive note to his voice, but it was hidden under his struggle to drop his voice down two octaves. It sounded so girlish. Too feminine. Strange. But it didn't matter, just as long as he got a reply. He looked around, his vision warping as he moved his head, and listened hard, hoping with all his might for a reply. He'd do anything, anything at all, just to have his King alive again, safe, and to apologize for his mistake. Just to fix everything that had happened.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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#, as written by Alyx

Kellan-Leigh, commonly Kellan, observed everyone around her curiously. Or at least, tried to observe them. Her eyes would blur a little bit every time, and all her senses felt dimmed.
They were all so inhumanly beautiful. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, feeling slightly insecure. Wait...why were her arms so scrawny? What happened to all her muscle? These were the arms of a noblewoman, not of a working knight like Kellan. She looked down at her arms--they were pale and delicate looking. Her fingers no longer had all those callouses from her constant practice and training.
She looked down at her feet in surprise. The ground was suddenly farther away, although many of the people around her were much taller than her--how had she become taller?
One of her hands automatically reached out to feel her hair. She pulled on it slightly, and was surprised when it gave--she had curls now. She also had bangs, long ones--she felt them, and they were straight. She could just barely see them...they were red? She pulled one of her curls to her sight, but it was a reddish violet. Did she have red and violet hair then? In that obscene, yet beautiful color?
She knew her old hair color had been an inky black, and her hair had been perfectly straight. Without bangs. And her eyes, they had been hazel. She looked at the panels of windows, squinting. Her eyes had looked hazel at first, but now they seemed blue. No, green. She frowned. Seems like she wasn't going to be able to tell what the color of her eyes was now.
The only things she had figured out for sure about her new form were that she was taller, not muscled, had curly hair with straight bangs in bright colors.
She now began to examine her clothing. She was wearing a--someone had called it a shirt earlier when they had been dressing her--a beautiful blue color, one without sleeves, that had rather a lot of ruffles. It was silky and smooth, but she felt exposed in it. It wasn't good for fighting in--it made her seem vulnerable. And it was such an odd design for a shirt. On her bottom half--they had called these shorts--was an odd material that was cut off rather short, and they were white. Her shoes at least were somewhat normal, boots of some kind.
What was going on? Kellan was completely out of her element. She was used to knowing everything, but here she knew almost nothing. She didn't know who these beautiful people around her were, but they were just as out-of-place and uncomfortable as she was. She wasn't even sure what happened to her body.
She tried to think back, to remember, but the last memory she had was of burning, of being so sick she had been delirious. That had been a terrible illness, and she wouldn't rest, trying to finish filing those reports. She had died because of that. She remembered dying--everything cutting off.
Then why was she here? Was this what life after death was like? Because, although she appreciated those few inches she had gained, she would rather have her old body, which she knew. This body was odd, and it felt so weak.
She finally noticed the man sitting behind the desk. She knew his type. Arrogant, full of himself. Condescending. There had been many people at court like that--who believed that a female knight was an abomination, and could not be as good as a male knight, and never better than a male knight.
She listened to the man, feeling her fury igniting as he continued to talk. They had been brought back to life as part of an experiment? They were to be used for experimentation? They were products, they were property, they were its? She looked at the man, her face blank but revulsion in her eyes.
This place was a factory, and the bodies they inhabited were manufactured. They were tests. They were expected to say 'How high?' when these people told them to jump? She started grinding her teeth, trying to curb her anger, and keep it in control. They were dead, and they had been brought back into these bodies as Dolls? They were shameful? They were toys to be bought and sold?
He was so impatient, wanting this to be done, trying to herd them over with his words to where that female was waiting for them, harmless but an irritating sight to Kellan. This woman was just going along with this? With raising the souls of the dead?
Kellan couldn't stand any more of this talk, of this entire situation. She walked forward until she was in front of his table brought her hands down on the desk with as much force as she could muster, smiling grimly with satisfaction as she heard a cracking noise come from it. Her current body may be weak, but it had potential. It was nowhere near as strong as the body she had trained for years, but it was still deceptively strong, and with practice and rigorous training, it might even be stronger than her old body.
She glared at the man, the glare that made hulking giants of men who were outnumbering her tremble. "Curses on your entire family. Curses on all of your descendants. What made you think you could do this?" Kellan asked furiously. She had completely lost her temper by this point. Even she no longer knew exactly what she was doing.
Seeing the man open his mouth, she intensified her glare. "No--don't answer. I don't give a damn. You're a proper bastard." Her voice was ice cold, yet injected with fury.
He smiled at her with that look, that look that meant that he found her antics amusing, and that she had no power to do anything. If it was possible, she became even angrier, shaking from the power of her fury, seeing red. She reached over the desk and grabbed the man by the throat. "We are not your little experiments. You may call us dolls, but we aren't dolls. We're people. We may be in these bodies that you've put us in, but that changes nothing. It was our personalities who made us who we are, and we are still the people who we were before we died."
She squeezed his neck for emphasis, tempted to kill him, but the man was so insignificant in the end. Instead, she made sure her nails dug into the flesh, drawing blood before letting go.
She was still angry. "Let us go. We aren't insignificant dolls, and we certainly aren't slime like you." She looked back at the beautiful people around her, stuck in the same situation.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Lyanna Tarnish || Female || 20 || The Intelligent King

A young-looking woman with bubblegum pink hair sends a glance towards the boy who takes a step forward to align himself with the rest of those who stand before a thick man. All that stands between that thick man and the line of confused people is a mahogany desk and an ornate name plaque. Already, the young woman finds herself resenting that desk, which he uses as a form of protection and authority, distancing himself from the people, who are lined up like convicts about to be publicly hanged. She finds his presumed power to be almost revolting, for it is, as far as she is concerned, a false sort of power. If a desk and a name plaque are what makes a person gain the brusque arrogance of the man before them, then she certainly is in a different kingdom entirely. His smugness is excruciatingly important, and every tiniest action of his seems to be one that belittles she and the people with her, his cocky contentment quite repulsive. Yes, every little thing about the man before her sickens the young woman slightly, though she refuses to allow herself to be pushed so far as anger. Anger is an emotion for common people, not for someone with the breeding, intelligence, and experience of the girl with the bubblegum hair. No. She has not been angry in her life for a very long time, and even when she has, it was quickly dealt with. Before she allows herself to become angry, she simply gets even, allowing the anger to turn to a cruel satisfaction. Anger clouds the mind and reveals weakness, because allowing yourself to be angry means allowing yourself to be under the control of others. She is well aware of this, because the girl with the bubblegum hair has manipulated people countless times before using such common and brutish emotions as anger and love.

Pink hair falls to her shoulders, an unnatural color that the girl noticed whilst walking to this room with the dreadful man. She had gained an awareness of her surroundings fairly quickly upon waking up, not allowing herself the luxury of a slow consciousness. Considering how selfish she is, the young woman rarely allows herself very much at all. A curious thing, but necessary due to the way she was born and such. She is, after all, Lyanna Antoinette Tarnish, only child of King Gregor the Vicious, and the first and last queen of the Yvon, a traditionally patriarchal kingdom. Queen Lyanna had, and still has, a reputation for manipulating her enemies in order to improve the growth of her kingdom, and is known for the cruel manner in which she presented herself, constructed for the sake of not being doubted on account of her gender. Centuries after her reign, people would learn more about Lyanna, such as the blackmail and bribery she used to secure her throne, or the underhanded tactics utilized in order to bring down enemies and other nations. They would learn of her affairs, her unfortunate childhood, her bastard son, and her hand in starting the war between her kingdom and that of King Jay Miako.

However, for all of her deceit and low tactics, she is still considered to be one of the greatest Queens of history, and one of the cleverest monarchs, regardless of gender. Not that the woman is aware of her reputation, or what has been uncovered about her life. For now, she is focused on ignoring her strangely colored hair, no longer the dark brown it had once been, and the paleness of her skin, which had once been a tan color. She lacks muscle now, as well, and has an unfamiliar tattoo of a bird over the inside of her white wrist. She ignores the fact that the clothing she wears would be considered rather indecent, being dressed in periwinkle shorts and a black shirt that ends at her midriff with cuts in the back that form the shape of a heart. And the thing that Lyanna ignores the most is the gaudy heart on her neck, one which she catches sight of in the faded reflection of her which can be seen in the window. She ignores these things because, for the time being, her attention is better given to the thick man with the mahogany shield and golden sword. As well as, for that matter, the other people in this line. None are familiar to her, the three other women and the four men not people that she can easily identify. Still, as she knows that her own features have been altered beyond recognition, it is only natural to assume that the others are victims of the same transformations.

While the thick man speaks, voice dripping with condescension, she says nothing. While the boy with features so fair that he seems like a ghost responds, she remains silent still. While the boy with red hair screams at the thick man, clearly the emotional sort, Lyanna is as quiet as a church mouse. Of course, during that little outbreak of his, she does note that he seems mostly harmless. She tends to decide that of most people who are willing to lose their temper, especially those who do it in public. Dangerous people are the ones that no one ever notices, quietly watching in the wings. There is a reason why she was known for having an incredibly elaborate and thorough web of spies, and it isn't because of a love for the patent. Subtleties are a great sort of weapon, and her spies were always the sort who could walk right past a person unnoticed, or say things but go unheard. Such qualities were ones that she treasured in underlings.

Amongst the loud, angry shouting of the red haired boy, for he seemed little more than a boy to her, a quiet call rings out. It comes from one of the other girls, the one with soft blond hair and crisp blue eyes. All of the people in this line are beautiful, and that girl is no exception. She seems to call out for one named Hayden, addressing this person as her lord. A female servant, then, I presume. Or knight? the observations lead her to wonder after her own personal knight, Jayden. Would she be here as well? Lyanna decides against calling for her, because an identity can be a precious thing, and she'd rather learn those of others before unintentionally revealing her own. She knows that simply asking after a name like Jayden might not be a real hint towards her identity, but is ever a cautious person. After all, knowing that she is a monarch, and that Hayden likely is as well, she runs through the names of kings named Hayden, and finds only one that sticks out to her: King Hayden Valkyrie.

Besides, to call out would be to interrupt the girl with the vividly red hair, as she begins to go on something of a rant against the thick man. Lyanna considers her to be hardly an improvement over the other red haired person, as she curses the man and demands that they be released. It seems such a great waste of breath, to say something so obviously pointless, and she can't make herself view this raging person, though she is not as angry as the other man, as any danger either. Angry and impulsive people are only dangerous when kept on the strings of a more calm and intelligent person, after all. At that moment, the girl with the red hair wraps her hand around the thick man's throat.

Mistake, Lyanna thinks immediately. If she hadn't thought the girl a complete fool moments ago, she certainly does now. Had she not glimpsed the beefy guards from earlier? Is she completely ignoring the presence of the woman in the thin white coat? Has she completely lost her senses? Or, rather, had she possessed any to begin with? It doesn't seem so to Lyanna. And of course, the guards do rush in when she wraps her hand around his throat, pulling the girl away from the man and pinning her against the wall, pointing these strange metal things, presumably weapons, at her forehead threateningly. The barrels of those strange weapons leave Lyanna to hypothesize that they are some sort of projectiles- perhaps a small crossbow or something? Whatever they are, she doesn't envy the girl on the other side of them.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Death...It had been a strange but welcoming experience. Belton could feel himself floating around, uncaring, unfeeling. He didn't feel hungry, thirsty, angry, sad or even happy. He felt numb and empty. Compared to the usual stress he had to deal with when he was still with his King, death had been a welcoming change. It was like falling into a deep, undisturbed rest. Belton didn't even know how long he was sleeping when suddenly, he was awake again. At first, he began to feel something again. Uncomfortable, sometimes even flashes of pain. He hadn't understood what that meant. Was he being punished for the crimes he had committed when he had served his king?

However, that particular thought ended at soon as he opened his eyes and saw the light again. How long had he been sleeping? It seemed like ages ago. He had even forgotten the color of the world. Belton was bombarded with hundreds of different feelings, of being poked and feeling annoyed, of feeling angry and helpless when he realized he couldn't think straight. Not yet. He raised a hand sleepily, touching his face and then froze in shock. It felt... smooth. It wasn't supposed to feel smooth. Now that he mentioned it, Belton felt weaker than usual. He had demanded a mirror as soon as he realized that and when the mirror was brought in front of him, Belton felt his jar went slack but he couldn't even muster the strength to close it.

His scars, his beautiful, wonderful, perfect collection of scars was gone! And worse, he wasn't even in his own body, he was in a body of some pretty boy! Belton was supposed to be stronger, more muscular, with one eye and an impressive display of scars littering over his face and body, evidences that he had worked for his King, had done his missions, loyal to his King so much that he was proud to have those scars. All of that was gone! Disappeared! All that was left behind was a foreign body that was too weak and fragile with a girly heart tattoo on the neck. His eyes were yellow, too. If his King saw this pretty boy body he was in, Belton couldn't even fathom how disappointed the man would be.

After being poked and examined every inch by some men dressing in strange clothes, Belton was escorted like a prisoner to a room where another strange man would spill some nonsense about motor and heartland, not a single thing that the knight could understand. Belton remained silent like always. He didn't like this, being able to feel again. He wanted to be free. He wanted to stay dead. Where was his King anyway? Another thought suddenly struck Belton and it shook the powerful knight to the core. What if, what if his King hadn't come back? What if he wasn't here? What would Belton's life purpose be? He didn't want to be a property but with no king to serve and no crush to follow, he didn't have a purpose.

"-Dead, I'm aware. All of you were dead, and that is the purpose of our experimentation with you. We produce the bodies you all occupy, called Dolls, and we're looking into placing souls of the dead in them through our methods based on requests from buyers to have replicas of the dead, and the suggestion of looking into it from our CEO, Mr. Heartland. Unfortunately, as we took little care in the selection process with souls for experimentation, there's little possibility of any of you being released as items sold to the public. The bodies you occupy are good for little more than experimentation, which is quite a shame, really."

Belton had tuned out the man as soon as he heard the word 'dead'. Yeah, Belton was dead, alright... He was dead like a dead fish. It had been an intense battle, one that Belton died protecting his king from an arrow. It was a stupid way to die because now Belton could think of a hundred different ways that he could have saved his king without risking his life but well, what's done is done anyway and Belton had better concentrated on the present instead of the past. It didn't mean he wouldn't try to find his king though.

"Anything else, huh? ANYTHING ELSE? How about you put me back where I GODDAM CAME FROM, HUH? How the HELL would you like it, PEASANT, if you were RIPPED from the only GODDAM place you were HAPPY IN? YOU TELL ME, MAGGOT. I demand to be sent back. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS? PUT. ME. BACK. RIGHT. NOW."

Unable to pay attention to his surrounding because he was still groggy, Belton had missed half of the conversation and the other half was unimportant anyway. Therefore, it came as no surprise when Belton barely focused enough on the people or Dolls or whatever they were in the room. For the first time since the whole thing started, Belton was startled enough that his eyes snapped to the boy who had just yelled. Even if the boy's face was unfamiliar, with red hair and strange eyes and a scrawny figure that just screamed 'weakling', that way of talking was unmistakable. 'You are a pretty boy, too, Belton' The knight reminded himself and stepped forward.

"Your Majesty? King... Adrian?" Belton asked hesitantly, mentally grimaced when he heard a high voice spoke. Okay, so maybe not so high but his his voice used to be much lower than this. However, Belton thought with a grin, he rather liked the rough edge of this voice. It made him more intimidating. He looked around and stepped forward more boldly, reaching out a hand to grip the boy's shoulder, who Belton assumed was his King. His instinct said this boy was his king and the knight trusted it. After all, it had never failed him before.

"Your Majesty... Please calm down, sir... We shall find a way to get out of this situation" Belton whispered to the red-haired boy's ears, his grip was firm but not painful. The knight could already feel a headache coming along. Being dead for so long had made Belton forget what a pain in the ass it was like to prevent his king from exploding like a overloaded air balloon. Belton massaged his temper. Why did he have to have a crush on a king that could throw a worse tantrum than a five-year-old noble brat being denied of a toy? The reason had seriously escaped him. Pulling his King back gently, Belton continued, still in that strange voice "It's me, your majesty... Belton... Belton Reily"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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нαу∂єη ναℓкуяιє

Image Slowly, quietly, he felt like he was sinking. His knees knocked, his body shook, though he kept his calm despite it all. The sinking feeling wouldn't cause him to scrunch down, or cry, or moan, or fight. He'd simply sink down in himself, drown in a feeling quite unlike anything else; a strange, painful combination of isolation, memories, and fear. He still wasn't sure if he could trust a single soul in this group, and it was bad enough that a good half of them were completely exploding their shit all over the place. He almost would have hit them, slapped them and told them that their behavior would only further provoke more negative treatment, and that the best idea would be to plan something behind their back. It was too bad that he didn't fucking feel like it. Go ahead, he thought to himself. like shouting and hitting is going to do anything at all. You've got an opportune moment to try and weasel some answers out of him, and yet here we are, thinking irrationally.

Sure, he could in no way deny that he would have hit the guy, too, or possibly yelled, and certainly he was furious, he was confused, he was upset, but with the restraint of the girl who'd gotten physical, he couldn't help but shake his head, knowing it could have been avoided. He sighed, eyeing the girl with the clipboard, who, after fussing over her superior's wounds for a moment, had settled for organizing the files again. She'd be leading them, correct? Perhaps he could fish some information from her, instead, and perhaps she'd be a bit more polite with it. Besides, he had a few word definitions that he would feel more comfortable getting from someone else. The man behind the desk had been arrogant in his explanations from the get-go, and Hayden still was unfamiliar with a massive amount of nouns that were used by the man. Smart phone was one of them. He understood smart; clever, intelligent. But whatever a phone was... well, it seemed to draw in a different usage for the word? Rather than being used to describe the word, it was used more as if "smart" and "phone" comprised one word. How confusing. He found himself barely able to keep up, and had to assume the meanings of some of the more modern words being used.

How long had he been dead, anyway? A few years? Perhaps a hundred? certainly not more than that... The concept of what had happened seemed to be growing less and less obscure to him, which, it itself, was beginning to make him uneasy. At least some of the members of the group were managing to keep their heads, but he couldn't help to think that those who had snapped were going to make things difficult for him. Well, for everybody, certainly, but Hayden wasn't quite sure he cared about them yet.

"My Lord?" Came one of the voices in the group, though at first Hayden tried to dismiss it. He'd hear more than the one from the group utter something about their superior, looking to see if they were in their midst. Despite watching the short-tempered red-haired boy be suddenly consoled by his supposed knight, Hayden still couldn't help but to think that there was hardly a possibility of anyone from his own past to be here. He didn't remember anyone else dying... but that was it, wasn't it? Who could say how much time had passed? In fact, he mused, they were all dead, weren't they? It was a mixture of hopefulness and sorrow, and he almost didn't want to think about it anymore, but the soft voice came again. "Hayden, My Lord, where are you?"

Hayden's eyes widened and his back straightened. That was his name. Whoever it was, they'd called his name. He quickly scanned over the group trying to find the face of someone he knew, but it took less than a second before he recalled that no one would be recognizable. Even he was probably such a sight for anyone else. His old body.... If only he could have had it back. This ghostly, scrawny body, draped in thin, girlish clothing was hardly impressive, and he found himself trying to remember his old reflection. Dark curls and lightly tanned skin. He'd had such a strong face and piercing dark eyes. He'd been fierce and lean. Now.... oh god, he was nothing but a helpless wisp of a boy, now. He almost didn't want to answer his caller, to avoid such a humiliation of showing them what he was now, but it was too late, he'd already scanned the group at the mention of his name. It was quite obvious that he was answering to his own name.

Eventually, his eyes met his caller - a young, decently gorgeous like the rest of them, blonde girl - and he bit his lip trying to think of who it might have been. Mika? His favorite knight? No, that had to be too much to hope for, and besides, it wouldn't have made sense for Mika to have a girl's body. Would it? No, perhaps it was one of his female servants instead, one of the loyal ones, though he couldn't place who it might have been. Oh dear god, he thought to himself, trying his hardest to keep from contorting his expression at the thought. Please don't let it be my wife. That would be worse than not having anyone.

He took a mere moment, biting his lip, and glancing back to the woman with the clipboard. One of the bulkier men had let go of the girl with the deep red hair, allowing just the one to hold her restrained and free himself to help in case any of the others had any ideas. She was standing by the door and holding it open, looking calm and relaxed, despite her obvious position of having to transport violent, raging assholes.

"If you'll come with me, this way, I'll have you situated in one of our 'houses'," she said, and though she herself, with her messy black hair in a bun with a pencil stuck through it and big round-framed glasses pushed up on her nose, gave no look of hostility or harshness, it was her much more burly assistants which would take the job of herding the group through the door and on their way. "It's not very far, and I'm sure most of you need to take a break from all the standing. The first twenty-four hours can be very draining."

Hayden glanced back at the girl who'd called his name, and without thinking any more on the subject, he reached back to her, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her up next to him as he filed out with the others. The grab to her arm quickly shifted, as he simply linked arms with them, almost in a school-girlish fashion, just to keep this new connection to his past a bit closer. It was as if there was some security in that in itself.

"I'm not sure who you are," He said, not turning his head to face her, but simply looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "But honestly, as long as you aren't my wife, I'll be happy to see just about anyone."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Mika Taylor

Despite the chaos all around him, Mika was focused on one thing and one thing only. He needed a reply. From someone. Anyone. The enraged red-head male had been solaced by another, and Mika placed them as king and knight at the back of his mind, storing it for later use. He wasn't really paying attention to them now. He felt detached from the situation almost completely connected by only one strand. The hope that Hayden was here. If his king was not, well, there really wasn't any point in continuing to live, really. He could off himself at the nearest possible opportunity. Better than being a slave to this man behind the desk. But if Hayden was here, He could continue on to protect his Majesty. He remembered his death had occurred not long after his Majesty's, it would almost be blasphemy to continue being alive without his King.

He searched the group through the mess, but he didn't see anyone that stood out, anyone that could possible be his king. And no one was responding. Mika could feel his stomach sinking into his feet as he didn't hear a response. His shoulders slumped slightly, his throat clenching. He began shuffling towards the door as the woman urged them out to their houses or something like that. He could feel his knees starting to go weak and the edges of his being buzz as if they were fizzing out of existence. He blinked slowly. What would be the best way to do it? This body was obviously weak, maybe he could drown it. Or slit its wrists. Funny, he was thinking of his body as a separate entity. he wasn't even supposed to be here, he was just a separated body and an anomaly.

In the midst of his hopeless thoughts someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him over. Mika tensed, on guard. He looked up to see the snow haired boy. He felt the taller male's arm slide around his, linking them by the elbows. A strange gesture. But did that mean that this was Hayden? Mika decided to wait and see. The delicate male spoke, not looking down at him, but Mika's gut soared. Yes, it was Hayden. This was a second chance. While the arm linking was still a bit strange, an oddly intimate gesture, but Mika pushed that off. The other strange thing was the mention of his wife. Why would his Majesty think he could be his wife? Sure they were in different bodies, but that was a bit out there, wasn't it?

"It's Michael, your Majesty." Mika said, a slight, open mouthed smile on his face. This was probably the happiest he'd been since a year before his death. This hope, that he could make things better again, do things right, reconcile his failure. Keep Hayden safe. Mika was lost in his thoughts for a moment before it hit him. The high voice. The height. Hayden's comment about not being his wife. Oh no. Oh no, please no.

Mika pulled himself away from the thin white haired boy, so different from his King but his king nonetheless, and looked down. He was wearing a white, lacy dress with a mahogany-coloured belt. And he had breasts. No, it was just a trick of his eyes. Mika reached up with shaking hands and brought them to his chest. No, his bust was very real. He made a soft, dismayed sound that sounded like a muted scream. But that would mean...he dropped his hand to his groin to find himself very much lacking. There was no doubt about it. He was not in his own body. Not at all. He was in a woman's body. No. No. No no no. This could not be right. This had to be a bad dream.

His hands clenched into fists, and he squinched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. He had to get himself under control. But he could feel the floor dropping out from under him. This was bad. He couldn't protect his King like this. Not in this weak little woman's body. He made another sound, a weak little moan of internal pain, in complete shock. His body was seizing up, it was folding in on itself with disbelief. He was going to end up sucked into a tiny little point of existence, the weight on him was so great at this moment. Either that or he was going to puke. But there was nothing in his stomach to get rid of, so he just gagged a few times, his little body trembling.

After a few seconds he managed to catch himself and pull the shattered pieces of his realization back together, jolting back into motion before one of the men herding them onwards could push him forwards. He stumbled over his feet as he moved towards Hayden, in that white elegant body, and bowed his head. "I am sorry, my Lord, it won't happen again." He apologized for his moment of weakness. He just had to stop thinking about his new body and everything would be fine. Just fine. "How are you feeling, your Majesty?" He asked, focusing back at Hayden as he was supposed to. "Do you require anything?" A silly question, as both of them were in the same helpless situation currently, but it felt good to fall back into old habits.

He could still feel how his body was throwing him off balance, and how his chest hung heavy and his hips swung strangely as he walked, but he pushed those thoughts away, trying to lose awareness for his body. His duty was for his King and he had to push all else away. As a good and dutiful knight should do for his King.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Lyanna Tarnish || Female || The Intelligent

Lyanna artfully hides her growing disdain for the collection of people who have been thrust into this new, peculiar life and time period with her. They all present themselves as either raving lunatics, quick to scream and shout, or as those foolishly naive enough to call out to others around them, like small children wandering dark castle halls that grope around for a wall. Of course, if your hand misses by just an inch here, it is likely that you will run straight into a stone wall and bloody your empty little head. Pretty faces, but I'm afraid that they don't appear to live up to them. Their appearances are more clever and useful than their minds, it should seem, and that is always a bad sign, as always, the woman's unspoken thoughts are biting and, to some extent, judgmental. She accepts the fact that she doesn't know them well enough to make a proper impression quite yet, and that believing otherwise would be stupid in its own right, but allows herself the luxury of forming opinions about their actions thus far, and those opinions are hardly positive. Still, her mind moves like clockwork, quickly piecing together the identities of half of the group.

Of the identity of the raging ginger she is now certain, for another pretty fellow calls out to him and gives his own name as a peace offering of sorts, immediately making any slight chance of him retaining some measure of secrecy vanish faster than a thief on the streets. He is Adrian Alistair, a man with a reputation for a temper that explains his idiotic outbreak against the man hiding behind the mahogany desk. He doesn't literally hide, of course, but the desk is as good a wall as any other.

A monarch who died of the inability to calm down, a girl who attacks despite the presence of guards, and two more who call out like children searching for their mums. How encouraging, she continues in her mind dryly, though she is glad to see that at least three people have retained some measure of sanity, though one of them only does so by doing absolutely nothing whatsoever. The first is the incredibly pale young man, unfortunate enough to have someone who would give away his identity so carelessly. Not realizing her mistake, Lyanna decides that this person must be some serving girl, knowing that King Hayden Valkyrie was supposed to have had a thoughtful sort of knight. At least the serving girl has more wits about her than the hot-headed king, who rather reminds Lyanna of her father. King Gregor had been a notoriously temperamental man, driven by emotions to do such things as lock his own child in the dungeons for half of her life, or have his enemies publicly burned alive while their families were forced to watch.

From what she has heard, King Adrian was not quite so sporadic and insensible with his rulings. Still, the behavior he exhibits today leads her to doubt the accuracy of the information she has on him. Were she her younger self, in fact, she might have run away from him and cowered in the corner. But it was a very, very young Lyanna who would act in such a way, as the little princess of Yvon learned to grow up very quickly indeed. All royalty does, in one way or another, but her reasons were far more motivating than those of many others.

If Jayden is here, then Lyanna believes that she can guess which of the figures belong to her. Aside from the identities already revealed, she can rule out the violent girl with the red hair on the fact that Jayden has more sense than that--Lyanna has made sure of it. This leaves a pretty girl and an equally pretty boy, the former of whom has said nothing and the latter of whom has given no words other than a sarcastic quip. Her instinct is to say that it is the pretty girl, based simply on something about her posture and stature, but this is not enough evidence for her to act upon. If it were, she would quietly pull her aside later and tell her to keep their identities a secret until she says otherwise.

"Say nothing, little dove," Lyanna says in a voice only slightly above a whisper, though she is certain that Jayden will hear it and understand. No information is given away in the sentence unless one is Jayden, whom she always privately called little dove with a shred of fondness, for she considered the girl to be almost her daughter, despite their similarities in age. It is a relatively simple move, but clever all the same. While she says it, her expression remains completely neutral, the only sign of her high ranking being her dignified posture and manner of speaking- both things that one may find just as easily in a lower noblewomen or a knight of some sort. And it is all that she says before falling into observational silence.

The woman files out with the others, sparing the girl with the black bun a glance and a slight smile of amusement. As of yet, that girl is the person she appears to like best, despite being one of those who keep her here. Perhaps like is not the best word to use here, actually. Rather, she respects this young woman far more than anyone else as of yet, due to her calm nature, which Lyanna decides hides a brain behind slightly messy hair and over sized spectacles. She, at least, seems to be completely aware of everything around her.

In front of Lyanna, Hayden and the girl are speaking in hushed voices, though the quietest of whispers can't stop her from noticing the expression of shock on the girl's face as she suddenly grabs her bust before seeming to freeze up entirely. It vaguely reminds Lyanna of a wind up doll that has stopped, set again by the force of the burly men. Her mind flies through explanations before she settles on one, it based on the fact that King Adrian had a knight with him, and that the girl spoke with a manner higher than that of a common serving girl. Oh? Mixed up gender, perhaps? How curious. King Hayden had a knight, a thoughtful knight. Perhaps this one is that knight, despite her -or his- flustered nature? the idea is one that she decides to entertain for the moment, as it seems plausible given the bizarre nature of their situation.

I hope Jayden didn't turn into a man- she'd be far too happy about it.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Samantha Heartland Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair
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#, as written by Jynxii
Samantha Heartland

The grownups muffled voices had lost her interest twenty minutes ago. The child sat in a large high backed chair, her bare feet dangling in the air. In front of her stood a wall of television screens, each flickering from one part of the building to the next after a five second delay. Samantha's blue hues watched with keen interest one particular screen, and the only trouble was that the image kept jumping from monitor to monitor. Like a sick game of cat and mouse, her orbs darted from screen to screen, not wanting to miss a second.

On the screen, a group of new dolls, 'special' dolls, were just being debriefed. There was something about these new dolls. They didn't seem happy to be there, they seemed almost... scared. Samantha tucked her legs up under her brown cotton dress. Why did they look so unhappy? Suddenly, one of the dolls spoke out and addressed Dr. Attywood (as she calls him). Due to the surveillance settings, she could not hear what they had to say, but she could watch the reactions on their faces.

The doctor seemed overly bored, but Samantha knew that to be a common face on Dr. Attywood. He was all business, that was for sure, and he certainly never wanted to play with her. This made him an overall boring man in Samantha's opinion. "There's a lot riding on this, Jefferson," she heard her father say from behind her. Her father and Mr. Mark Jefferson had been having a heart-to-heart, as her father called it, in the security room for almost an hour. Her father had been livid when he found out Mr. Jeff had completely lost her the other day. It wasn't his fault that she was so good at hiding! Still, as always her father found someone else to deflect his anger upon.

Just then one of the dolls lunged across the desk and grabbed Dr. Attywood. "Daddy, daddy, look," she squealed, leaping from the chair to bounce on the ground and point at the D3 Monitor, "one of the Dolls is going to kill Dr.Attywood!" In her excitement, Samantha did not notice the look of shock on Jefferson's face. "Get this building under control, NOW!" Samantha could only giggle, it was funny when her father got upset. A little angry vein on the left side of his forehead would bulge out as if it were going to explode, and Samantha couldn't help herself. Without another word, Mr. Heartland stormed from the security office. "You did it now," Samantha chirped, watching with mild interest as Jefferson spoke rapidly into a headset and dialed some numbers into a keypad.

Already bored of him, Samantha turned back to the screen to see what was happening. Another one of the dolls must have just gotten done yelling, because he physically appeared to be fairly winded. The dolls began talking among themselves as Dr. Attywood was taken care of and then some dark haired lady with a clipboard was leading them away. No! Where are they going? Alarmed that she would lose sight of them, Samantha crawled back up into the chair to focus more intently on the screens that flickered and jumped in front of her. As the group was led down one particular hallway, Samantha suddenly knew where they were; and had a pretty good idea where they were headed.

A mischievous grin spread across her face as she slowly slipped her toes down onto the floor. "See you later, Jeffjeff!" After tugging with the door for a moment, not quite heavy enough to pull it open as easily as her father could, Samantha was able to slide into the busy highrise hallway. The security office was located just under her father's floor, which was a massive penthouse reserved for just him and her. Samantha tiptoed quietly through the hall to the elevator and slipped in amongst the tall black pant legs of the businessmen. She was going to see these new, 'special' dolls as her father called them. What's so special about them, anyway?

As the elevator made it's way, slowly floor by floor, Little Heartland decided that the best way to get a peek at these new dolls was to go to the observation lab, where she would have control over the monitors of their house. The only trick once she got there, would be to find out which house they had been put into. Luckily, she knew that House Five had recently been cleaned. The elevator set off a quick jingle to signify that the door was opening. Straining her neck to see around the tall shoulders, legs and briefcases, Samantha caught a glimpse of the floor number. B10. Her floor! " 'cuse me!" After shoving her way out of the crowded compartment, she skipped her way to the observation room.

Once there she was greeted by a cheerful looking intern. "Oh! Hello there, little girl, how can I help you? Are you lost?" Samantha offered her best smile, turning on the charm. "You must be new. I'm Samantha Heartland. Your boss's boss's boss's... boss's boss's boss's....boss's.." She stopped to pause a little, letting the confused expression on the woman's face turn to annoyance. "Boss's daughter." A coy smile split across her angelic features. "Well, you can't come in here, I'm sorry. It's for authorized personnel only." At first, Samantha's coy smile remained exactly where it was.. but something behind those startling blue eyes began to turn darker. "Author--," the woman started to take a step back, because the child's face had began to change to a bright red in color. "DR. GOLD!!!!!!!" The scream was so high pitched that the poor intern was forced to cover her ears. At once the observation door burst open, and a panicked looking Mr.Gold came stumbling out.

His white hair, defying gravity and sticking out in bizarre tuffs would have normally made Samantha giggle, but in this particular moment; she was completely oblivious. "For heaven's sake, child, what have you done to the girl?" Mr. Gold rushed to Samantha's side, cooing to her and asking what was wrong. Click. Instantly fat tears streamed down Samantha's face. "I-I-I said I wanted t-to come s-see you, and this mean, mean girl told me I-I wasn't allowed because... because I'm not attorized..." Mr.Gold jerked his head around to the shocked intern. "Get out," he growled. The woman, whose dry-erase name tag would reveal to be Amy, stood in disbelief. "But sir, I-... you said!" "I said, GET OUT! Before you get us both fired, you imbecile! This is the founder's daughter! Get out, GET OUT!"

After the brunette had left, Samantha slowly eased her tears away. "There, there, child. Of course you may come watch with me," the doctor cooed. Pleased, Samantha rewarded him with a smile, and a quick hug around the neck. Following after the elderly man, Samantha made herself comfortable in one of the many black roll chairs. Dr. Gold gave her a quick pat on the head, and then turned to dial into the green phone on the wall. "Yes. Yes, I will need a new intern sent down. DON'T ASK ME WHY, JUST DO IT!" Samantha giggled silently to herself as she flicked on a monitor to house five. Dr.Gold was a yeller. He liked to raise his voice, because he was old, and it made him feel as though he had some sort of power. Samantha would never know what it was like to only have interns as underlings. For her, everyone was inferior.

She turned on the rest of the monitors and to her grave disappointment; a group of ordinary dolls were fumbling about inside the screen. No, that's not them... It took her a few tries, but after toying around with settings and toggles she finally clicked over to House Three. The house was empty, but the lights were on, and fresh fruit was on the kitchen table. If they weren't there yet; she bet they would be soon.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Garret Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Annabelle 'Ivy' Smithson
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Jayson Miako
Your name remains the same,
All that has changed is this pretty face.

Jayson’s mind had still not grasped the idea that he had been dead, and now had a new body. His mouth felt dry as he looked around at the others. He shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair.
He scowled, watching the man behind the desk then his gaze shifted to the girl with the bun. His lips drew back into a snarl. She looked all too much like Annabeth. Jay suppressed the urge to growl at the woman, she was not Annabeth. While he had married the woman, there had always been ‘rumors’ their marriage wasn’t on the friendliest terms.

Jay swore under his breath, glaring at the woman. She seemed calm, resolute.

Probably because of those men behind her. Jay snarled silently to himself. He watched as the redheaded man addressed another, calling him a Knight. They seemed to talk for a while, Jayson watching with little interest. He heard a blonde headed girl and a wispy haired boy begin to speak. He watched as the others began to file out, although Jay seemed glued to the floor. He couldn’t move.

Jayson felt someone shove him out the door, causing him to almost fall onto the pink haired girl. He reacted instantly, grabbing the girl’s shoulder to steady himself or else he would have fallen on his face. He looked at the woman, removing his hand and looked ahead.

“Sorry,” He said gruffly, tossing her a quick glance. His attention shifted to a girl who looked like she was about to collapse and Jay raised his eyebrows as he wondered what she was so shaken up about. With the way she was acting, and her masculine name, Jay suspected a change in gender.

Hehe, that must be horrible. Jay thought to himself. He was glad he was still male, although if he had been placed in a female’s body people wouldn’t find it too odd that he liked men, right? He remembered this one boy in the city Jay resided in; he was never right in the head, believing he was a girl. He would wear dresses and eventually the townsfolk bludgeoned him death, beating him with stones.

Jay winced slightly at the thought, the father of the boy had been a good friend of Jayson’s and had lost all human connections after his only child’s death. Normally women would go into a great sadness, but the man had already been a widow.

“If I was in Hell, I want to go back.” Jayson muttered to himself. Death had been peaceful, quiet. Jayson didn’t believe he was in Hell, or Heaven. Actually, Jayson never believed in religion, another thing he was well known for.

Ivy Smithson

Ivy rolled her eyes as she bounded down the stairs to where her father was calling for her. He greeted her with a bright grin and a hug, “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He said as he let go his daughter, watching the young woman raise an eyebrow and cross her arms.

“Oh, really,” She asked skeptically, watching him. “What is it?”

Her father shook his head, “I can’t tell you.” He said, playfully patting her head.

Ivy swatted him away, “Well fine, show me.” She said, already dreading whatever it was. A year ago her father had gotten her a cat, and while Ivy liked the cat, it never liked her. The animal suffered from many things, and had to be put down a few months later.

“We have to go get it, the drive isn’t long.” Her dad said, bounding to the car. Ivy let out a small groan, her dad was so odd. Having been a writer, lotto winner and a business man by day, her dad was all sorts of crazy. He wrote the weirdest stories, although a lot had to do with horror. She shivered, remembering the last novel her father asked her to read before he sent it off for publishing.

It wasn’t a very nice story, to say the least.

Ivy slipped into the car, watching her dad as he turned on the radio and did a little dance in his seat.

“How are we related, again?” Ivy asked, watching her father in amusement.

“Well, it was on me and your mom’s anniversary-” He started, only to be cut off by Ivy.

“I don’t want to know!” She said, glaring at her dad as he laughed at her.

“Oh, your face!”

The remainder of the ride was in silence, Ivy watching the world outside pass by, her father humming to some old song. She really didn’t know what they were getting, but she had a vague idea it could be a doll. Her parents had been worried how she had no friends, always keeping herself locked up in her room, and she really hoped that wasn’t it.

She didn’t like dolls all too much; they were lifeless and seemed to always be told what to do. No emotions, at least their neighbors doll was like that.Finally, her father pulled up to a house, parking and dragging Ivy to the door.

“Can you tell me now?” She asked, but her father shook his head, waiting for whoever was on the other side of the door.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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#, as written by Alyx

As she was being restrained, Kellan realized immediately that she had made a mistake. A big mistake. She had foolishly let her anger take over, and now they would be suspicious about her. They wouldn't trust her, and it was more imperative now for her to learn the way things worked here, so she could figure out the best way to manipulate all these people. And it seemed like this world had a lot of new technology to offer. Learning about it would certainly be helpful. And then she would plan a way to get out of this place, this Heartland Industries.
She gently flexed an arm, keeping a careful eye on the man restraining her. She would also have to build all her muscles up again and find a way to arm herself. It was probable that weaponry in whatever time and age this was had changed, considering the technology that was available to these humans, and perhaps it would be easier to find something. Decades, perhaps centuries, must have passed since her death, considering the changes in technology, language, and clothing. In the meanwhile, she'd have to strengthen her body so she'd be ready. Kellan narrowed her eyes, wondering where everyone was being taken.
She examined all of the people as best as she could. All of the dolls, now that some had names that were familiar to her. There was King Adrian, whose hair now certainly suited his temper, and his knight Belton, who was as calm as his master was riled up. There was King Hayden, who looked incredibly delicate in his new form, and it seemed to be his knight Mika who he had linked arms with, although the knight had ended up in a dainty woman's body that wasn't suited to him.
That left two women and a man who she didn't know.
The woman with the pink hair was clever. She gave Kellan the feeling that inside that head, grand plans were being drawn up. Whoever that woman was, and Kellan did have a few guesses, she was one to be watched. It was quite possible that she was malevolent and the look in the other woman's eyes made it clear to Kellan--she had to be watched.
The other woman had a vaguely familiar air about her. It was like Kellan had met her somewhere before, but until she named herself or did something that gave her away, Kellan would know nothing.
The man was quiet. He had muttered only a few words that she couldn't discern, besides his apology to the pink-haired woman. He also had a familiar feel to him, but Kellan couldn't place it. She would wait. Eventually, it would all be revealed.
She thought back to the identified four. They were all knights and kings from her time period. She herself was a royal knight, the personal knight of King Jayson, or Jay, as she'd call him privately, when no one was there to hear them. She did love him--during her service as his knight, they had grown close, and she sometimes felt like an older sister to the king.
But Jay...would Jay be here? Just because the odds seemed to indicate it didn't mean that it had to be so. It would be nice to have a familiar figure in her new life, some stability, but Kellan could survive just fine without familiarity as well. All she really needed was her wits and all of her various skills. And her old body would be nice to have, though that wouldn't happen.
The man holding her shoved her through the doorway behind the other dolls. Kellan sighed very lightly before meekly following all the others, still being restrained.
If Jay was here, he needed to be silent at least until she could figure out who everyone was. Just because the people she had met so far were pleasant, ones that her kingdom had not had hostile relations with, there could just as easily be a bad one among them. One like Lyanna. While the woman was exceedingly clever, and while Kellan had to admire the way her mind worked, she had also never gotten along with Jay, and Kellan was nothing if not loyal to her king.
Kellan sighed lightly once again, closing her eyes and walking carefully, wishing that the man restraining her would loosen his grip slightly. Her bones felt weak in this body. She couldn't help but feel that if the man squeezed any harder, the bones would snap.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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нαу∂єη ναℓкуяιє

Image "It's Michael, your Majesty," The girl replied to him. Hayden's eyes immediately widened, and he immediately turned fully towards the girl who'd claimed to be his knight. He had plenty of reason to be surprised, after all. It hadn't seemed that anyone else had been saddled with the misfortune of the wrong gender of body, as far as Hayden had been able to tell so far. Gosh, they really had chose bodies at random, then.

The girl who'd claimed to be his knight pulled away from him suddenly, and looked down at her body for what must have been the first time. Her - or, rather, his - hands flew to his chest, as if testing whether the feminine bust could possibly be a mirage. As they landed on the soft, round truth, Michael's hand dropped down to his groin, obviously finding himself lacking quite a bit. It was at that point that the poor man trapped within a girl's body began to dry heave, seeming to panic. Hayden wasn't quite so sure what to do with himself, and he found himself simply standing and staring, stopped in the middle of the hallway. He opened his mouth, trying to see if he could speak some words of consolation to his unfortunate knight, but he found none. If only he had shut his mouth then, rather than try to force out words, as the only words which came out were simply the first ones to come into his head.

"Holy breasts," he uttered, and immediately clamped his hand over his mouth. The statement would, in no way, help the current situation. But honestly... oh god. Oh god. He could only imagine what it would be like to have suddenly been placed into a woman's body. It was enough of a shock to have an unfamiliar body, but for it to be that unfamiliar... He suddenly recalled the girlish features he'd seen in the reflection on the window panes; girlish tattoos and roses in his hair, an all-too-thin and un-masculine body. Just in case, he found himself dropping the hand from his mouth and running it over his own chest, and felt more relief than he ever thought he would to be feeling that typical flat chest.

In a moment, Michael was moving again, and Hayden continued the stride as well, knowing that the burly men at the back of the group would be forcing them along if they stood still for any longer. Hayden swallowed, turning his head forward once again with just his eyes following his knight. Michael was uneasy, stumbling, and still seemed shaken up quite a bit, though he tried his very best to grab back composure, to move on from the issue. Hayden couldn't help but give the man some credit for that.

"I am sorry, my Lord, it won't happen again." Mika said, trying to act as if nothing were wrong. "How are you feeling, your Majesty? Do you require anything?"

Give him credit, yes, Hayden could certainly do that. But he didn't liked that he was trying to ignore his own problem. Hayden's situation was hardly so... severe... Yes, he was scrawny, delicate, pale as a ghost, but he was fine. And he knew he was fine. His knight, however, seemed far from fine. Hayden averted his eyes, letting them fall onto the path through the hallways instead.

"Don't be sorry," Hayden responded softly, and after a moment, he turned to face his knight, giving small, solemn smile. "Honestly, look at me; I am fine. Don't belittle your own problem, because that isn't going to make it go away. I'm adjusting, I always do in new situations, so don't worry." He sighed, trying to think while he turned his head away from the petite blonde in which his connection to the past resided. Even keeping such an open mind to the possibility that if these people were able to put Michael into that body, that they could put him into a different one, he had doubts that they actually would. It had already become quite clear that they didn't really care when it came to who ended up in what for a new body.

Hayden bit his lip for a moment, before his eyes drew back over to Michael, looking at him through the corner of his eyes once again.

"Come on," He said finally, grabbing Mika's wrist and beginning to pick up the pace, eyes back to where he was going. "I want to be at the front of the group."

Hayden practically dragged the poor boy-girl, despite knowing that he was still having some trouble with movement. He simply weaved through the others, trying to get ahead of them. But as he brushed past one of the others - too distracted to see who it was - he cringed at the sudden and unexpected contact. He kept moving through his sudden reaction, despite knowing full well that the tenseness that ran through his entire body could be seen both on his face, and probably felt through the grip he had on Mika's wrist. He wasn't aware, however, that a small, audible wince had escaped him as well. That touch... if felt painful. It hadn't been like what he'd been doing earlier, when he'd moved closer to the group, when he'd grabbed his knight to bring him in close. A fire burst through that spot, running deep, and piercing him through the gut. He felt an immense amount of fear in that one small moment, and then he was pushing it down again, letting it simmer through his abdomen and pretending it wasn't there. He made a small mental note to himself that he would not be allowing anyone to touch him without telling him first.

Before long, he'd managed to drag Mika up with him to the front, walking alongside the girl with the clipboard. Her stride didn't slow, or even speed up, and she hardly seemed surprised to have him up there.

"Hello, there," He greeted to her, fighting the remnants of the mental pain that still rung through him, and his hand still gripped his knight's hand, though he gave her a charming smile. Upon examination of the girl one more time, he found what he assumed was her name upon a little plastic card hanging on her coat. "K Randall?" He inquired, tilting his head to one side. Only a few hours had he been awake in this body, and still, he managed to play it's features well.

"That would be me, yes," She replied, giving back a polite, if not somewhat amused smile. "Dr. Katelyn Randall. And you're Hayden."

"King," He emphasized, "Would be my accurate title, just as yours is apparently 'Doctor.'"

"Tell me, then," She continued, "What exactly are you a king of?"

Hayden smiled to himself, though it was a bit solemn. She had a point, as his kingdom was completely gone. In a way, he was nothing but a slave. His high standing was nothing but the past, and there was hardly anything left. "Myself, I suppose," he finally answered.

"Not a bad answer," she replied, giving a slight nod. "Is there something you wanted to discuss, then?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Hayden responded. His face turned forward again, and his eyes went to the corners again, towards Mika. "Aside from most of the big problems, of course."

"Well, anything you'd like to discuss, I'll be around the house most hours of the day. That way if you'd like some more private time to ask questions, you'll have it." Dr. Katelyn said, her final statement, before giving another polite smile at him and moving slightly ahead, opening the door to a large wing of the third floor. That was how the houses' numbers worked, in accordance with the floors they were on. When the group entered, it was full of cleanly, white decor, and the immediate room in which they entered was a large seating area with what would have looked like to them like simply a big flat black rectangle mounted on the wall. The rest of the 'house' sported four rooms, eight full-size beds, two full bathrooms, a simple dining area, a limited kitchen, an authorized-personnel-only examination room, and cameras everywhere they could possibly be.

"I'll let you all get situated for a while, and then I'll be calling in each of you to the examination room to check your vitals and--" she held herself back, realizing she should keep things simple for now. "Just for a small checkup."

Hayden eyed the room quietly for a moment while she spoke, slowly moving back the locked room near the back of the house. His eyes went back to her just as she was ducking out, disappearing into the back. Likewise, the more burly men released the girl with the red hair, and promptly aid Dr. Katelyn in wherever she was going. Hayden's eyes traveled back to the door, almost ready to consider what was stopping them from leaving, but no... It would be locked. Their captors weren't that stupid. But neither was he, and there was always a way around a lock. It just required a lot of planning. Finally, he looked back to his knight, and noticed that his grip remained around Michael's wrist without loosening.

"Sorry," Hayden uttered, furrowing his brows and releasing him, offering up an apologetic smile. "Are you alright for now?" He knew his knight was far from alright, and the issue about knowing what pronoun to use was beginning to give him a headache, but at the very least he could be sure that his Knight didn't have any more immediate problems.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Mika Taylor

Mika, so involved in his little panic session, had barely registered his king's utterance, or the following clap of the man's hand covering his mouth. A little after the fact, though, it assured him. His King was just as surprised as he was, so his breach wasn't too terribly bad. Perhaps, if it had happened to someone else,the situation might have been funny. As it was, Mika didn't much feel like laughing at the moment. No surprise there, really. He had to keep reminding himself to ignore the strange sensation of being trapped in this ungainly body. Shapely women looked pretty, but he decided that it wasn't very fun to walk around as one. Combat would prove much more difficult this way. At least some of the threats, the other dolls, were just as twiggy looking as His Highness was, which hopefully meant they'd be slightly easier to take out. He needed some kind of advantage to balance out this feminine form, anyway.

After his inquires to the King's health the delicate face turned away, averted towards the ground. Mika's mouth stretched into a thin line of worry, a bit more difficult since his lips were fuller than they used to be. The response he finally gleaned was soft, coupled with his Majesty turning to face his knight. Looking up at him, it was quite evident that Mika was having trouble understanding what had just been said. 'Don't be sorry.' But he was sorry? He'd breached etiquette. Which required an apology on his part. Hayden continued, elaborating on his first statement.

Apparently this new body flushed easily because Mika could feel heat spreading across his face. Hayden was at least acting normally, which backed his claim that he was fine. He had always been good at acclimating to new situations. He was just so calm about everything, which helped Michael to calm down further. He closed his eyes fora second as they walked, gathering himself. Though his Majesty had told him not to worry, he couldn't help it. Hayden had already died once, he couldn't let it happen again. He'd just have to acclimate to this new obstacle. It would make him stronger. He would utilize it as an element of surprise. His own brutal fighting style in the body of a small girl. No one would ever suspect such a thing. Which unrealistic, those thoughts kept him level headed. He opened his eyes, composing himself.

He could feel Hayden's eyes on him and when he turned his head he saw the effeminate male looking at him from the corners of his eyes. He straightened, ready for whatever his King would have for him. Hayden suddenly grabbed his wrist with a summon and began pulling him along at a faster pace. Mika stumbled, his newly short legs not quite able to keep up, but he managed to keep his feet. He had to keep a run to prevent himself from falling over as they weaved through the people. There was another piece of Hayden, that single-mindedness. It took a large amount of his focus to prevent himself from running into each and every one of the people they passed, but he still felt his Majesty's slim hand tighten over his wrist, which made his own body go alert. What was the matter? He could not inquire, however, because he was out of breath and unable to catch his Majesty's attention in such a state. It would not be wise to let the others in the hall know that something was wrong anyway. He'd have to ask later.

Finally, after a long period of frantic traveling, or at least, it felt like a long time to Mika, they slowed, keeping pace with a woman with a clipboard. The one who'd been talking earlier. His Majesty likely had something planned. He could still feel lingering tenseness in the hand that was circled around his wrist like a shackle, and knew that Hayden hadn't quite recovered from whatever had suddenly ailed him. Which put that problem high on the urgent list. He would ask about it the moment he could speak without a ragged breath interrupting every syllable. This stupid body had no lung capacity.

He leaned against Hayden's arm as they walked, trying not to swoon from lack of air. That would be completely and utterly embarrassing. As it was his chest was heaving and his face was reddish. He listened to the conversation Hayden was having with the clipboard girl as well as he could, catching a few things. He straightened as they entered through a doorway into a blindly white room with a large black thing mounted on the wall. He payed little attention to the scenery, more interested in forcing himself to stop panting. He supposed the clipboard woman and the large men had left at some point during that ordeal as the next thing he knew he felt Hayden's hand releasing his wrist.

"I am alright, my Lord" He said with a dip of his head, rolling his wrist to bring feeling back into his hand. He nearly moved back out of instinct, he was very close to the taller man, he wasn't big on close proximity, but he had to ask after Hayden's health, something better left to privacy. To prevent eavesdroppers. "When we were walking...." He said, his voice dropping much softer than it previously had been. "Are you in pain, my Lord?" his eyes dropped down to Hayden's mid-torso. He could still remember what Hayden, in his real body, not this willowy white ghost's body, had looked like with that wound, ashen, dead. Then he looked back up. He had to tip his head back slightly to look his Majesty in the face, anxiety in his eyes. He had no idea how the pain could translate past death, ghost pains, maybe, but it was the only thing he could think of. Worth a shot.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Lyanna Tarnish || Female || The Intelligent

There was a sudden weight against Lyanna's shoulder, making it push forward slightly and causing her to nearly stumble, though a leg quickly shoots out to support the new weight. Clearly, whoever has fallen on her didn't have the common sense to do the same, causing them to need to take her shoulder in support. Her eyes flicker towards her shoulder to see a pale hand that is quickly pulled away, although someone is jerking their hand away from a fire to prevent injury or something along those lines. Of course, the reasoning has more to do with pride, she presumes, given that all of the people here have given signs of aristocracy or servitude to the aristocracy. Lyanna's attention turns briefly towards the pretty young man who had briefly used her shoulder for support, remembering him as the one whose identity is as of yet a mystery to her. His voice is gruff as he apologizes and turns his attention away, but Lyanna remains irritated by the clumsiness that he has displayed. Honestly, can't they get used to these new bodies already? she muses, clearly impatience with those who are still adjusting to their new physiology.

Her eyes are then caught by one of the redhaired girls, who seems to be taking a moment to observe her. Immediately, Lyanna shifts her expression to one that betrays nothing, in order to fit her current plan of keeping her identity a mystery. She gives the girl a level stare, eyes unwavering, before turning her attention elsewhere, deciding that prolonged interaction is something to be saved for later. As of now, she would prefer to discern the identities of the remaining members of the party. Of course, that red head is among those whose identities remain unknown, but she doesn't seem much of a threat. After all, Lyanna still regards her as an impulsive little fool, if a pretty one, and therefore harmless until a more intelligent person has her under their thumb. Naturally, she entertains the concept of being that person, but given that everyone appears to have a person close to them nearby, she will put a hold on that until figuring out the personality of the one to whom she is connected. Is it the clumsy pretty boy? The silent girl? Only time will tell. Well, that's a saying that those who don't have observational skills as keen as hers might use, anyway. Perhaps there is a sliver of accuracy in it, though behavior is far more telling than time.

"Interesting company?" Lyanna murmurs in response to the pretty boy's idle comments, seeing no harm in saying those two words. Her death had been one of complete peace and nothingness- a cross between hell and heaven, as far as she was concerned. Of course, Lyanna had been the non religious leader of a very religious country, and thus knows of religion in only a very detached way. The idea of someone having complete control over her, and there being nothing she could do about it, properly scared her away from life as a religious fanatic. That, and a father who was very religious and locked her in the dungeon as a hobby. Not that this is particularly important, other than causing her to believe that the death she was allotted was one that all experience. After all, wouldn't she otherwise be sentenced to some variation of hell? In her life, she murdered, lusted, lied, betrayed, stole, and all of the other things generally frowned upon by most religions. Being given peace seems to disprove the idea of any sort of higher being, unless that higher being is highly unprejudiced.

She watches as King Hayden weaves to the front and engages the woman with the bun in some sort of conversation. Hopefully he learns nothing of importance, Lyanna decides to herself as they enter into a new building of sorts, decorated in stark whites and other pale colors. It makes her feel like she is back in that dreadfully cold place where she had woken up only hours ago, beneath bright lights and the sharp tools of strangers. The very thought breaks through her cool exterior and produces a chill to run down her spine. She watches as Hayden and his knight speak in hushed tones, her eyebrow raising at this immediate need for private conversation.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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Good Lord, he'd not been this angry in a very, very long time.

In reality, he actually had no way of knowing how long it had been, exactly, since he'd been this angry. All he knew was, last time he had been, there'd been a flash of extreme pain bursting from his head, and then, well, the pain had been gone, and so had he. Needless to say, that was something he didn't want to happen again. Could it, though? Even if he'd wanted it too? He was in a different body (a very displeasing one at that- he was a king, not a boy). Was this some kind of god-given second chance?

If it was, he didn't want it.

He turned from his knight, crossed his arms, and glared at the floor. Hell, even the floor was pissing him off. It didn't look normal; it was covered in some kind of weird material that he was unfamiliar with, similar to just about every other damn thing he'd seen thus far. Why was everything so weird? Surely this was some circle of Hell, because this was most definitely a punishment of otherworldly proportions.

He looked up at the stout man, the one he wanted to repeatedly stab in the throat with a fork. What in the name of the almighty was that heinous attire he was wearing? He was obviously in Hell, so maybe this man was some sort of demon! Adrian's eyes widened through his scowl. What if he was Satan? Adrian blinked. This hellion looked nothing like he thought the devil would. And, if this were Hell, where was the pit of fire, and why wasn't he burning in it? What if it wasn't Hell after all? What if it was Limbo?

He continued to mentally ramble, and thus, he had pretty much no idea what was going on. At all. This was a strategy he'd come up with in life to keep from flipping out at times that even he felt were inappropriate. Granted, it only really worked on selective occasions, and, oddly enough, this was one of them. That really wasn't the result he had been expecting; as upset as he was, he'd have thought he would have been bashing heads by that point. But, he supposed, he'd never been in such a weak and, though he hated to realize, terrified state before, not even in life. Maybe it was only natural that his damned fear took precedence over his ever-present anger. For the first time in ages, he didn't know if he wanted to scream, cry, kill something, or curl up in a corner-

"If you'll come with me, this way, I'll have you situated in one of our 'houses'." Adrian's gaze snapped immediately to the odd female. His eyes widened as he got a better look at her. Sweet baby Jesus what the hell was she wearing? Adrian had never seen a more confusing outfit on someone who was supposed to be a female. Was she some sort of... foreign Lady of the Evening? Of course, not that he would know, but... erm... "It's not very far, and I'm sure most of you need to take a break from all the standing. The first twenty-four hours can be very draining."

As others began filing out of the room, Adrian felt terror spike in his gut. He had a horrible feeling about all of this, and it was getting worse with each passing moment. He looked around wildly for a second as a couple of burly musclemen hustled the stragglers from the room. He'd never been this upset before; he didn't think. But it wasn't just anger now. More and more was becoming fear, and he did not like that at all. Nevertheless, it was so, and, thoroughly intimidated by the large men, he shuffled along near the back of the group, it was more fright that kept him from going off on one of those musclemen than anything. He didn't want to get hurt, or die, or whatever, but, at the same time, he wanted to express how upset he was.

They couldn't have reached their destination soon enough. A door revealed a rather spacious room (although everything still looked quite odd). The strumpe- the lady said something- he was to busy containing himself to hear. But soon, she was gone, and the beautiful people were left to their own devices.

The first thing he did was reach out and touch a wall. It felt weird, as expected. What was it made of? Not stone. Not wood. Either way, he put pressure on this hand for a moment before withdrawing it completely. He began to feel sick in the chest then, and leaned his shoulder up against the wall, soon using the wall and the wall alone to keep him standing. The expression on his face was a mix of anger, nausea, fear, and sadness, and he kept himself from making any noises. They might've come out like sobs. 'Extremely upset' didn't cover how he felt.

He wanted out, and he wanted out bad.

I'd write for Sunny but I'm so exhausted please don't kill me kthxbai


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Jayson 'Jay' Miako
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Jayson Miako

Jayson looked over at the pink haired girl, a smirk quirking at her question. Jayson found the question thoroughly amusing. Jayson had never believed in Hell or Heaven, yet he still used those places as a way to express himself.
“Interesting company?” The woman asked him, causing the bemused smirk to broaden. If Hell were, indeed, a place; Jayson could believe the company there would be very interesting.

“Always,” The raven haired boy replied, tossing the girl a quick glance before looking around. As everything else in this building, the room was foreign and strange to him. The ground was covered in some fabric; the color a, rather bland, beige. The walls looked smooth, not wood or stone.

Jay pursed his lips, walking past the entrance and then looked around more. The dining hall was just as strange and futuristic as everything else since he was ‘brought back to life’. Jay then went down a hall, opening the nearest door. His brow furrowed as he looked inside the small room.

Closest to him was a porcelain bowl, strange knobs and a pipe sticking out of the top. He twisted one of the knobs out of curiosity and was surprised to find water began to flow freely out of the pipe. Another odd thing was that the bowl did not fill with the water, but it simply drained away through little holes in the bowl.
“Such a waste,” Jay said, shaking his head. He had no idea where the water went, but knew it dealt with some futuristic technology. Jayson testily put his hand in the water.

Searing pain shot from his fingers as the made contact with the water. Jumping back, the boy had to bite his lip from crying out. As he looked at the bowl, he saw steam come up from the bowl. His lips made an ‘O’ as he realized the water was hot.
“Well, that’s interesting.” The fact that they did not need fire to heat the water was interesting to Jay. Turning off the water, Jayson looked at the other Knob, turning it on. Water poured out of the pipe once again.

“What’s the point in that?” He thought, tentatively putting his hand under the water once again. The boy got a shock as frigid water ran over his fingers, removing the burning sensation in his hand. After looking around the room for a while longer, he left and went back towards where the others were. Everyone seemed a little defeated, even scared.

He decided they weren’t much of company, so he went through another door into a wide room. He saw something glowing in the room and walked over to it. He tapped the little contraption, watching in awe as the Heartland brand came up onto the screen.

“Are you in need of assistance?” A female’s voice came through the device.

“No, I think not.” Jayson said, walking away from the device.
Jayson needed to do something.

He needed to find his knight.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Kellan-Leigh Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Belton Reily
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нαу∂єη ναℓкуяιє

Image "I am alright, my Lord," Mika responded, and Hayden nodded, giving a light smile at the affirmation.

"Good, I'm glad," He responded, giving a slightly bashful look that he'd continued the action for so long, and looking apologetic. "I know I was holding on quite tightly for a while there."

"When we were walking...." Mika suddenly commented, dropping that girlish voice down a little lower, making it a bit softer to avoid anyone listening in. Hayden dropped the bashful smile, slightly worried about the new topic, and slightly just surprised that it would be brought up as if it were such a pressing issue. "Are you in pain, my Lord?" Hayden watched as his knight's eyes trailed down to his torso, and self-consciously, Hayden put his hand over the spot where he'd felt the deepest pain, the center of his mid-section, just above the navel.

He bit his lip a moment before shaking his head in denial of any pain, before finally giving his old friend a smile, as if that would eliminate any doubt from his Knight's mind that he was perfectly fine. He dropped his hand from it's place and shoved it in the pockets of his pastel teal shorts.

"I'm alright, now," He said, his voice matching Mika's whisper, though keeping it upbeat and carefree. "It was nothing, really! The pain's all but gone now. But..." He hesitated, shifting his weight on his feet while he looked over his shoulder at the others in the room for a moment. The girl with the pink hair was calm enough, it seemed. The boy with the red hair looked like the situation was getting mighty heavy for him, and then the boy with black hair had suddenly begun to wander around. The others, likewise, were doing other things, very similar to the three basic concepts; absolutely nothing, freaking the fuck out, and taking a look around the place. He looked back at his knight as soon as he was sure that they were going to keep their fucking distance.

"I don't think I want anyone touching me," He said, and his hands were drawn from his pockets so that he could cross his arms, trying to play the comment off as a selfish one, rather than a fearful one. "Not without my permission, anyway, and not unless I can either see them doing it, or they tell me first."

He bit his lip, his position suddenly becoming a little more relaxed while he brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, a bit uncomfortable with what he knew he was about to say.

"I," He began, a little shaky about bringing up the topic. "Well, I... I would announce the rule to everyone quite blatantly, but I don't know if you even enforce that in your current condition?" His eyes widened slightly in realization that he probably should have just forgotten about saying that part, and that it was probably incredibly rude to be reminding his knight of his problem. "I'm sorry, does that sound insensitive to your situation??"

He sighed, before looking back at everyone else again, though he kept his words aimed at Mika. "I guess there's not much to do, anyway, until we take some time to figure things out and all. I'll try to assess more and make a plan with you tonight when everyone else is asleep." I don't think I'll be able to get to sleep anyway, he thought to himself. Not with all these people in the same place, he couldn't. Not when he didn't trust them, and certainly not when they could easily just be a hop skip and a jump away from sneaking up on him and doing... something. He wasn't sure what, but that was part of what made the idea even more uneasy. Especially when just a touch gave him such a reminder of his death. Never seeing his killer, and never seeing it coming, really did a number on his mental state.

"For now, at least," He continued, his voice no longer very hushed, as the words were not quite so important. "I wonder if there's any food around."

And he suddenly decided that he'd join the number that was wandering.

There was a short hall before the area opened up into a kitchen-dining area. The kind like peasants have, Hayden noted, as his old home was a palace with many dining halls and a big kitchen with an eating area designated only for staff to have their meals. But perhaps all homes were like this now-a-days, who could say. The table sported a bowl of fruit, and as he passed over to the cabinet-covered wall, he snatched a green apple from the top, biting into it as he took a place in front of a big white closet. Pulling on the handle, and opening it, however, he felt a shiver go down his spine, the blast of cold emanating from inside the closet was almost unbearable to his delicate new flesh, and though he took note of the foods inside, he shut the door quickly, deciding that he didn't want anything that cold in the first place.

He left the kitchen after, as he needed no investigation to tell him that there would be no knives sitting around the kitchen, and jumping slightly when he heard the sudden sound of rushing water, but passing it up as he spied the black haired boy playing with the running water which flowed from a pipe in what appeared to be the room designated for getting clean and revealing oneself. He took another bite of the apple, deciding to pass into one of the other rooms, which sat just beyond an interesting door with wavy glass panels settled in white wood. The thick glass's texture made the faint colors from beyond the door visible, but the actual objects inside were not. It seemed that the other doors were the same.

Hayden plopped down on the fluffy white comforter of the bed closest to the door for a moment, running his free hand on the linens, and almost amazed at the softness, and the high quality material. At least it would be nice to lay in, even if he wouldn't be getting much sleep. When his eyes trailed to the wall in front of him, now, he took note of the two big dressers, and the black rectangle mounted on the wall in between them. What was that even for? He stood, making his way over to it and feeling around the edges until his hands ran into some notches. They seemed to be... press-able. So, as any typical person would, he pushed the buttons, and jolted back as the screen flashed on, offering a little lady in a towel as she shaved her legs with the oddest smile on her face until she suddenly gained a look of pain, the screen turned black and white, and a deep voice offered, "Are you tired of getting cut shaving?"

Hayden pressed another of the buttons, and the channel changed. Now, the screen offered something else. This setting seemed to be darker, and gave an air of mystery. The two men, splattered in blood with weapons in their hands traveled along the side of a black road, going back and forth about something they were hunting. The little symbol in the corner of the screen said 'supernatural,' and Hayden was sure that everything about the box was surely supernatural in itself. He pressed the button which had turned it on once again, and watched as it clicked off. He'd surely ask Dr. Katelyn about what the box was when he spoke with her later.

Turning back to the bed he'd been sitting on and taking another bite of the apple, he spied at the light-wooded headboard, noticing a little sliver plaque which had been slid into place that offered a name on it. After speaking with Katelyn, it seemed they must have retrieved the names of the people they were pulling into new bodies, at the very least. Those were probably in those files. Perhaps though, it was only the first names? He noted as he noticed the singular name on the silver plaque in all capital letters. This one... This one belonged to him! What luck to have stumbled upon his own, he noted, though suddenly he began to panic. They had assigned beds? He glanced at the other bed in the room, and didn't recognize the name as belonging to his Knight. He didn't process whose name it was, but the fact that it didn't belong to Mika filled him with dread and paranoia.

He bit his lip, wandering until he managed to find Mika again. He gave the boy in a girl's body a serious look, and though it seemed like the kind of complaint a young child would make, he stated it with complete dread for the situation. Who knew which one of these mental cases he was going to be sharing with! Not that he wasn't a mental case himself, he supposed, but it still was cause to worry with his current situation of ghost pain and fear.

"This is terrible," He stated. "There are assigned beds and we aren't sharing a room."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor
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Mika Taylor

Mika examined his king closely, the worry evident on the gentle curve of his features. Hayden lifted a pale hand to his midsection, right where the...wound...had been. The male shook his head after a decisive moment, and Mika relaxed slightly. But still, there had been a significant reaction, and he wanted to know what had caused his Majesty's discomfort. Though he wasn't in much a state to do anything, he still had to do his best to serve his king no matter what. The whisper sounded light enough and Mika could do nothing but believe his king. The trailed off words gave him a pause for a moment. What was wrong? Panic spiked in his system for a moment.

Then Hayden spoke again, folding his arms over his chest with a bit of his old haughtiness. Didn't want to be touched? Mika could understand that. hey couldn't trust any of the others anyway, it would probably be best to stay as far away from them as they could. The mannerism also soothed him a bit. If Hayden was back to normal then things would be fine. "Yes, your Majesty." He agreed, falling back to old habits. For a quiet lad he'd always been most agreeable when it came to his King.

Hayden continued with words that made Mika grimace slightly. It was true, of course, he was in no state to protect his king, not until he got used to this body. "You are fine, your Majesty." he said, dipping his head. He didn't like these apologies. He wasn't deserving of them anyway. "I will start training to accustom myself to this body and alert you when I am sufficiently prepared to enforce what you wish." He would train with every ounce of his strength, do everything he could to get used to this new centre of balance.

His Majesty kept looking behind him as if tracking the other occupants of the room, which put Mika on his guard, his own eyes darting from one perfect figure to another. They were all beautiful china figures and it was abhorrent to think that he looked just the same as them. thankfully most of them seemed on the taller side, which meant he could utilize his own height and work out some strategies to make it an advantage. He turned his green-eyed attention to his King again as the male spoke. A night of planning sounded like a wise decision. It would give them an opportunity to catch their bearings and clear their minds. And scope out the potential threats. Mika nodded obediently, his mind already darting. Hayden's voice returned to a normal level and Mika watched anxiously as his King turned and walked away. His first instinct was to follow, but he wasn't sure if Hayden wanted him to or not. He didn't want to smother his King, though he was extremely anxious as to the male's health, especially in this strange place. He stood restlessly for a moment, casting about in all directions. His gaze settled briefly on the pink haired woman. He'd felt her eyes settle on him more than once. There was something unsettling about her. He would have to keep an eye out for that one.

His gaze had rested on the woman for a moment, but it quickly fluttered away to alight on all the strange thing she saw around him. What was this ethereal place? He'd paid little attention to anything in his surroundings, but perhaps it would be wise to familiarize himself with everything and gain control of his body at the same time. He gingerly walked to examine the black box mounted on the wall, stretching up to tap it with his manicured nails. It made a strange sound. Glass. It was made of glass and something...else. He couldn't place it. It wasn't metal, but it seemed to hold similar properties, judging by the shine. He tipped his head at it for a moment before turning to examine the snowy furniture. They were of a curious material, impossibly soft but firm to the touch. He cautiously settled into one, remembering a moment too late that he was wearing a dress and his legs needed to be together. He quickly crossed his delicate ankles and looked around.

After a few seconds he began stretching slowly and systematically, testing out the new alignment of his muscles. His back especially felt weird to stretch, muscles moving in slightly different ways. He checking his arm range, which was limited by his breasts. He'd have to become strong enough to dual wield if he wanted all his range back. And he needed to find or craft some weapons as well. These hands were too delicate to do any decent hand to hand combat. The body was much better suited to stealth, though that was not Mika's fighting style in the slightest.

He would put himself on a training regimen for his new body as soon as he could catch some time completely alone, and maybe find some pants. the dress was giving him an uncomfortable breeze in an unpleasant place, one that he was not used to at all. And he was wary of that pink haired girl. He used his forefinger to tilt his head left and right, feeling the joints in his neck pop, then stretching his back, enjoying the line of musical cracks the movement caused. This body seemed very flexible, which would be good if he could learn how to utilize it. It really wouldn't help if he needed to go on the offense though, which was needed so he could defend his Majesty.

Speaking of his Majesty, Mika looked up as the male returned to the room. He offered a small smile until he noticed the expression on the pale male's face. Worry and stress. He stood abruptly, instinctively smoothing his skirt. The King's next words gave him the same expression. They weren't sharing a room. That wasn't good at all. How could he protect his King if he couldn't keep guard at night? And he wasn't in his old body, which would have been sufficient to cow who ever Hayden's roommate was into docility. His mouth tightened into a thin line. What could they do about it? He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously, furrowing his brow. It would be no use to ask the to accommodate, as they hadn't even been kind enough to put him in the right sex of body, and what other options were there?

"What can we do?" He said, trying to keep the edge of hopelessness out of his voice. This had really been a terrible day right from the start. He half wished he could go back to being dead, but his duty was to Hayden and he could not forsake it.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hayden Valkyrie Character Portrait: Lyanna Tarnish Character Portrait: Mika Taylor Character Portrait: Adrian Alistair Character Portrait: Angel Aberdeen
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Lyanna Tarnish || The Intelligent

Lyanna walks over and runs her hands over the kitchen counter tops, which are marble but incredibly smooth to the touch. The action is rather absentminded, for she is far more focused on the small white box with the dark window on it. There is a handle, but even as she grabs and pulls at it, the door remains completely shut. Curious, the young woman pushes a button, causing it to pop open, giving her a small fright that the collected young woman does her best to hide as soon as it has come, only briefly glancing over her shoulder to ensure that no one had seen it. Within the box is merely a rotating glass plate, leaving her to assume that the device is for storage of food that the cooks do not desire to be ruined. How simple, she muses, closing it again and deciding that, for now, it would be in her best interest to watch others examine things. After all, something in this white box of a place may be dangerous, and she hardly desires to be the person who injures themselves because they can't keep their hands off of the new and the shiny.

Besides, she sees a shoulder that seems to be raking heavily, and it draws her attention away form the devices. The young woman is far more interested in people than in objects, especially as people make the objects. Why steal the sword when you can steal the man who makes it? She follows the noise and glances around the corner and into a corridor, where one of the people from before, the one she had identified as King Adrian, is leaned against the wall, trembling slightly. She can't see his face, but he is releasing noises that seem something like sobs. Immediately, her eyebrow shoots up, somewhat amused that a king with a reputation such as his can act in such a manner. Of course, all people are the same in their core- that's what makes them so easy to manipulate. Back in her own era, some mused that perhaps Lyanna had not truly been human, but a demon offspring brought about by the witchcraft that her father was rumored to dabble in. How else could they explain a woman being powerful, or her constantly cold and merciless persona? If someone is not vulnerable, they must be inhuman- especially as a woman. Lyanna hadn't minded this rumor- it made her people all the more submissive, after all.

"Are you well, my lord?" she asks. It is clear to Lyanna that people don't know what is going on, though she's surmised that there appear to be pairs of knights and kings, and thus may be prone to believe anyone who tells them that they are of their service. Not that she would so blatantly make a lie- but if these people are inclined to think her a peasant, and therefore perfectly harmless, she certainly will not object. Lyanna may be proud, but she is perfectly welling to set that aside if it can benefit her in the long term. Besides, she remains unsure as to who her own knight is, or where she is, and it is perfectly possible that her knight has not come with her at all, is it not? Oh, yes, handicapped from the beginning, that would be quite lovely. Not that I'm not accustomed to it, she thinks with some bitterness in her mental voice, though her expression retains a false look of open hope, as though she is hoping that Adrian is who he is. Ha.

Lyanna leans her head slightly, as though trying to look around at Adrian's face, which remains turned away from her. "My apologies, I will go," she says, every part the meek serving girl. Having snuck out quite a bit in her youth, mostly to visit some of the more attractive servers after dusk, she can do it quite well. Of course, deception has come easily to Lyanna ever since she had to master it to keep herself out of those wretched dungeons that, for the record, her father was rather careless about cleaning and keeping free of rodents. You'd think he could do that much, given that they were practically his only child's chambers, but no. Well, she had gotten her revenge, to some extent, by keeping him from ever fathering a child by her stepmother. She'd had more control over the court than her father by the age of fifteen. She'd had more spies, more connections, and more followers. Everyone preferred the charming princess to her vicious father, and that was the way she had kept it until reaching true power.

Deciding that she shouldn't try and force her act, instead just giving little hints here and there to her being nothing more than a rather intelligent serving girl or daughter of some obscure noble, Lyanna does her best impression of an underling and slides away, this time finding herself near King Hayden and his knight, as well as a girl whom she has yet to identify, who speak to them and wears a rather simple garb. "Pardon me, my lord, but did you mention assigned rooms?" Lyanna asks, keeping her eyes on their feet, only now and then glancing up, because she knows that the knight had seen her looking before, and wouldn't buy for a completely downcast look. Well, unless he believed her to be one of those more manipulative young serving girls, or a noble's daughter. She'd go for the latter. "Are there plates of some sort, then?" she inquires further, immediately raising her eyes more and deciding that she should try and remove hers.

Seven hells. What's the point of being clever about things when they are going to post your name on a sign?