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Syrica Hart

There are plenty of places, too many people, but something there is never enough of is common sense. Syrica isn't about to stand for that.

0 · 1,147 views · located in Wing City Gardens (South)

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by pantalimon

So begins...

Syrica Hart's Story

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Syrica Hart pulls a grey shirt on over her head, and looks in the mirror. Her hair, which is flaming red, is sticking out in all possible directions. Looking at her brush as though all hope is lost, she grabs its plastic handle and runs it through her tresses a few times. As she exits, smoothing her vibrant locks with one hand, she wonders exactly who she will run in to in the bar today...
She slides down the banister rather than taking the stairs, gracefully leaping to a table which she just as skillfully steps off of to the floor. After this splendid stunt, she takes a seat orders a beer. The Bar Tender scrunches his eyebrows, and says "We don't serve to minors..." She gives him a reproachful look, and replies "Today you do." The man disappears in to the back with a sigh, dutifully bringing her what she asked for.

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Syrica Hart sips the drink the unfortunate tender brought her, after observing him trip in to the fire and burn to death. Being herself, however, she did not help him. Now she thinks back on if this was the smartest choice, drinking the alcoholic beverage with a wistfulness that barely shows to anybody less attentive than she is.

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Syrica Hart turns to the machine, her cold green eyes surveying it with distain. "I'm sixteen, and in my eyes that's old enough. Of course, there are those that believe otherwise." Tilting the bottle up to down the rest, she stands up. "You wouldn't happen to be one of those, would you?" Her tone implies that if he says yes, she will think of him as an idiot.

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Syrica Hart takes a step back from the thing, an affronted look plastered upon her face. "Oh, woe is me, it appears the clocks are taking over out government. Laws are laws, you say?" She holds the bottle over her head.

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Syrica Hart shrugs nonchalantly, turning the bottle upside down to show the contents is currently in her stomach. "There's nothing in the bottle." She muses, a smirk curving the left corner of her lip. "Isn't that a shame?"

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Syrica Hart mutters under her breath "Then I guess I'll have to make sure I come when you're not bartending." She turns around, vaugely recognizing Tahira Ali, and taking a seat beside her. "Do I know you?" She asks, tapping her chin in thought.

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Syrica Hart folds her arms, sliding over a seat so Ovid can take the one offered to him. "No, I'm certain I've at least seen you before..." She thinks, noticing how the older woman's voice has gone quiet.

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Syrica Hart feels eyes on the back of her head, and looks up to Ovid with a slight smile. "Hi, I'm Syrica. Who're you?" She is distracted once more by Tahira and her words. "Oh, I remember. You're the woman who was in the paper!" She points a finger in to the air in realization. "Sorry for bothering you."

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Syrica Hart turns to face Ovid, crossing her legs on the stool and beaming openly. "It's been a while since I've met somebody my age, Ovid."

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Syrica Hart 's eyes dull for a second. "Yes." She says, looking down at her hands, which are sitting palms-up in her lap. "Do you?"

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Syrica Hart looks sharply up at Ovid, interested despite herself. "What can you do?" She asks, alert now that she's got something to focus on.

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Syrica Hart lifts her hands from her lap, splaying her fingers and moving so they're palm-up and a few inches in front of Ovid's face. She blinks. A spark shoots from her right eye, and instantly a small fire is cradled in between her hands. She blows on it gently to keep it going, and looks at Ovid. "This."

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Syrica Hart frowns as Ovid abruptly departs, leaving her to her own devices. She eyes the nearest wooden beam holding up the ceiling, wondering if anybody would mind just a little more light...

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Syrica Hart moves her flaming palm to the wood, a smirk curving her lips, As the beam ignites, she backs up and gets off of her stool. The girl with the flaming red hair turns around, letting the fire idling in her palm die out, and wondering who will first notice the fire eating away at the building.

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Syrica Hart 's attention is drawn to Aiden, who is bleeding and very sickly looking...Without another thought on the matter she takes the seat opposite from him and introduces herself. "I'm Syrica. And you are in need of medical assistance."

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Syrica Hart is already startled out of her witts by seeing this poor person suffering. "I really think you need some help. Please tell me what happened." Her sparkling green eyes plead with him."

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Syrica Hart 's eyebrows furrow, not knowing if Ever is a person, the beginning of a sentence, or a fragment of a word. "Alright, um, this is going to hurt but it'll help alot." She surveys his cuts, moving a glowing hand out and placing it on one of the wounds. A sizzle emits, as she burns it to get rid of anything that might be festering there, and seals it.

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Syrica Hart jumps as Aiden collapses on the table, having no idea what to do she simply removes her coat and places it over him, fretting under her breath.

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Syrica Hart rushes to the bar, desperately filling a glass of water and darting back to Aiden, before openning his mouth and pouring the liquid down his throat. She completed this action four times, on each repetition healing one of his wounds with her heated hand while she forced him to drink.

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Syrica Hart , afraid he was having an epileptic siezure, stopped healing his wounds. Thankfully for Aiden, however, she had closed up the last of them. "It's okay, close your eyes! You need sleep, and I can't burn that in to you. If you can't sleep, I get you some food...please tell me something!"