[System]
15

Neno stands at 157.4 centimeters (5'2") and weighs 44 kilograms (97 pounds).

Sharp tongued and bitter, Neno is an abrasive person to be around. He's the type of person who speaks without filter and is a rather strict proponent of tough love. Despite what it sounds like, Neno was born to a caring mother that showered him in love, even though his father had vanished before his birth. Despite his tone, he isn't an actual bad person. He does concern himself with others. What he doesn't care about are the woe-is-me attitudes others have. He is rather self-conscious of his own appearance, much to his own chagrin.

Neno's vessel, Frigg, is a rather strange one. Rather than having any defined dormant form, Frigg is a single line of yarn. Because of this, Neno can freely manipulate the threads into whatever dormant form he wants.

Its active form is less ambiguous. It takes the shape of eight individual threads, all connected at the base. Because of Frigg's ability to manipulate and extend itself, the threads can be expanded or tightened at will, changing how Frigg can be used. Usually, Neno keeps one thread wrapped around each arm, while the rest follow him as a cape.

Thread ManipulationNeno can manipulate the threads of Frigg, controlling them as if they were alive. Additionally, he can expand and contract the gauge of each thread. Doing so changes the properties of it, however. Extremely thin thread acts like metal wire. It becomes incredibly hard, but is significantly more controllable. Extremely thick thread acts more as a large cotton ball, it being extremely soft but unable to do much. He can also extend the range of the thread, but it is proportionate to the gauge. His soft and wire threads can't extend much, but his regular thread can extend the most.

The only thing that Neno carries with him is a photo of his mother.

N/A

[User]
Esther von Degraff

---

Finally, the attack was over, with no casualties at all in their side, including the scout who only fell unconscious, not dead thankfully. Esther looked around with her characteristic bright smile as she saw everyone gather. She was glad that even though they were ambushed, they managed to come out unscathed.

Her smile didn't disappear as the captain gave her after-battle briefing, as she praised them for surviving their first battle. She was certainly proud of herself, as she had always thought she would run away or at least paralyzed in fear when she entered real combat. But today, she had proven to herself that she was capable of fighting just like the other cadets.

Her smile disappeared however when Althea sourly scolded her for her late arrival.

"I-I'm sorry!" she quickly apologized to the medic after the captain finished talking to her. "I-I was occupied with protecting the others you see!" Her eyes started to water. She really didn't want to disappoint her team mates. It's similar to how she didn't want to disappoint her grandfather, which was why she went to the academy in the first place. For all her cheerful personality, she actually had quite a low self-esteem inside.

She brought her lowered gaze back up, only to see that Althea wasn't really paying attention to her as she was occupied with the book on her hand. It seemed that the medic didn't really care that much about her blunder, which brightened her up somewhat. Curious, she got closer to her and took a peek at the book herself.

It seemed to be a journal of some sorts, the journal of the wounded scout it seemed. His name was Wagnil, and at first it was just some field reports that Althea quickly flipped over. But then, she flipped over to the page with a sketch of some soldiers. And they looked eerily similar to the soldiers they just defeated. So this poor man had seen this coming and was coming to warn them about the ambush? But in the sketch, they seemed to be guarding a coach and heading to Orello so he didn't know they were coming for them? After that, Althea flipped over some more pages about Wagnil rambling about their suspicious movements until she got to a page where he stated the conversation that he overheard from them, something about the special cargo they were guarding and how easy it was to get. And after that, some more scrawls that she couldn't make any sense whatsoever.

...No good... she's not good at deciphering this kind of stuff... her head started to ache when she put her mind into thinking about it...

"U-um, I-I'll go look around now!" she hastily declared to the medic before departing. She didn't want to be asked on what she thought by either her or the Captain on the journal, as she would just embarrass herself with just how shallow her analysis must be. So she decided she would do the Captain's orders to burn their unneeded equipment as she said they needed to leave no trace of their existence.

She headed straight to her tent, and sorting through her backpack, she found her spare dresses and undergarments. She had a thought of burning them as one of the "unnecessary" things they were supposed to discard but she quickly dismissed the thoughts. They were certainly essential, as she couldn't imagine herself wearing the same clothes for a prolonged period, especially with how dirty and sweaty they tend to get. So she looked around once more. Water bottle? Necessary. A box of cookies? Necessary for extra rations. Her secret mini-teddybear? Can't go to sleep without it.

In the end, she thought everything was essential so she ended up discarding not a single thing.

After that, she quickly headed back outside to do the captain's other order; searching the enemy for any intelligence or identification they could find.

This was no easy task for Esther either as when she got close to one of the enemy corpses, she quickly became squeamish at the thought of sorting through it. However, the captain's orders were absolute. That was one of the first things they drilled into her head when she first joined the academy. So she just had to be brave and tough herself up.

...In the end however, her efforts were in vain. None of them had any identification with them. They only had a similar tattoo on their lower necks, a really suspicious-looking tattoo of a snake curled around a dagger. She also noticed that they didn't all look like the Grand Duchy's people. One of the bodies she inspected looked like it belonged to an Alliance citizen. What's up with that?

Well, no matter. Her job was only to report her findings to the captain. Let her do all the thinking.

"Reporting in, Madam! The enemy didn't carry any identification with them! But they all have similar tattoos on their necks! A-and some of them looked like they came from the Alliance!" she shouted while giving a salute once she returned back to the captain.

@DracoLunaris

[Assistant]
Natus heard that the battle was over, he was still alert that there may be more enemies coming, but he had to use this time efficiently. He was trained to move without a trace, so he did not need to go back and cover his tracks, however his allies was not as professional.

He walked over to the grenadier, as he appeared to be the most important of the men in whatever hierarchy they served. He took out out his notebook and quickly copy the symbol on his body into it. He was not a great artist, but he had a steady hand and while he could not capture every detail of the design, he would be able to copy it enough that it would be recognizable. Perhaps if he was given enough time to study the design and create a copy, he could create a forgery of it, however he could not presume that he had the time for it.

After he had copied the symbol into his notebook, he took the next page of his notebook and created a meaningless symbol and took his dagger and dragged a blue line down it. He then cut off his hands and legs to hide to obscure the fact the man died from cut tendons and draw attention to the body, and then he slashed his throat. He took the piece of paper and forced into the man's clothing and then turned the body over into the dirt so that hopefully the piece of paper will survive the fire.

He walked over to the captain without a sound, even when he was not trying to be sneaky, it would be easy to miss the short cadet with his light steps in the dark. He did the proper salute and then said in a low, serious voice,  "Reporting. I have placed a tracking spell on a piece of paper and put it on the grenadiers body. Should they choose to investigate it and move it within a day's time, I will be able to know. If you will excuse me, there is still work to be done. I will now try to obscure our foot path."  he said, leaving to move the dirt to hide any trails either side might of made, and he took a pair of boots from the corpses of one of the enemies to make false foot prints to confuse the enemy. He considered using the shoes of one of his comrades, however in his previous experiences, that would upset them.

[User]
@KoL@Hammerman

TZI TI'AMTUM

"Gimme a jiffy!"

There wasn't much for Tzi to pack up; beyond the clothes on his back, his portable grill and his journal, there was little else that the giant young man really needed to bring places. So it was not long after their rout of their attacks that he answered Althea's call. His trident, wiped down with a raggedy cloth mere seconds prior, manifested in his hands once more, a twinkling steely colour now that the lifeblood of his enemies no longer coated its surface. That was some pretty good timing, because making a stretcher with a blood-encrusted weapon didn't sound too safe. Or very nice. It was real grotty.

He ambled casually over to where the medic was, muscled chest surprisingly covered for once. It wasn't uncommon (see: it was the normal thing for him) to catch sight of the 200cm tall man strolling around with his upper torso (excepting his mantle) laid bare to the light of the world. It was something that was less restrictive for him, less confining. Of course, it was also night time, and with the fires being put out, he needed the military uniform to keep himself warm.

"Those are some strange markings," he commented casually, trident pressed down against the earth so he could balance against it. His eyes were watching some of the bodies of the attackers while he waited for Althea to take his weapon. The tattoos were immediately evident. "They in a clan together or something?"

[Assistant]
Leblanc Farris
 [[ Location : Imperial Camp ]]

"Hmm, you are unfortunate...oh, you've already died?"

Leblanc blinked in a muted fashion as she sat upon the still corpse, disappointed the officer hadn't had a sturdier constitution. She wrenched her blade from the joint it had been ravaging and wiped it off on her victim's less blood drenched clothing, rather dissatisfied she hadn't been able to finish her work while he still drew breath.

The absence of screaming when she extracted the first femur bone really should have told her this, but once she was going there really was no stopping till the absense of conflict made this act of violation an enjoyable but moot point.

Leblanc flicked her tongue out and savored the scattered droplets she only now felt cling to her cheeks and noted the heavy taste of smoke was already permeating her taste buds. Arson hadn't been something she'd had any particular fondness for but she'd keep it in mind in the future if nothing else, as it was good backdrop for their rebuke of the attackers. As it were she rose to the sound of her own cracking joints and kicked the corpse onto its back to start rifling through for anything of interest.

Casting aside armor, clothing, and spare munitions, his belongings were spartan in the extreme. Not a map or scrap of parchment with hastily scribbled instructions to glean some method to this madness. There was no doubt that they had some larger host or camp that they attacked from, if only to offer reason for their lack of provisions, and they were reasonably close if they could relay orders without needed extensive documentation to convey it.

"Nice tattoo." The slasher said with an inquisitive quirk of her head and crouched over corpse's neck, her knife twirling idly within her palm as she took a moment to decide whether to carve off the whole head or simply the patch of skin for the sake of proof to their ambush. She'd have done either were she not perplexed to hear over the crackle of flame and stamping of feet that the scout had somehow survived and would need to be carried onwards. "Slow. Very slow."

Leblanc lost interest in claiming a trophy and ambled back down the hillside towards the captain, where several other cadets where already giving their report. As would be expected of her, blood stained or not, her words were succinct and banal in tone with only the sharpness of her gaze to betray her attentive state.

"Foreigners. Matching armor and armaments suggests they aren't bandits, though mercenaries are a possibility. Organized but no written orders, suggesting either this is a routine ambush site for them or they deployed recently with clear direction...we should move with haste. Shall I scout ahead?"

, @TheWindel, @Er0r, @Crimmy, @Hammerman, @Leotamer, @Mercurial, @DracoLunaris, @Mega Birb, @SilverDawn

[User]
Neno
As their conflict ended, Neno finally righted himself. For the entire ordeal he had been on his back taking shelter from the occasional blast and blood-curdling scream. The captain spoke to all of them. Something about burning any identification, searching the enemy for anything that's essential, and gathering the rest.

Truthfully, he couldn't hear anything that the commander actually said over the distance between them, the ringing in his ears, and the beating of his own heart.

He decided to investigate the one he killed. Even looking at him, Neno was uncomfortable. The long thin wound stretching across his neck, only to stop at the disjointed nape. Only giving a cursory glance, Neno memorized as much about the man as he could. His facial appearance, the snake tattoo, everything that didn't require Neno to touch the man. Thankfully, he didn't look like he was an Arcadian, which was good enough for Neno. He quickly left the corpse to rot, heading back to the main group.

The others had already said their findings. Neno had nothing new to add to the group. Of course, he could have said something, but anything he could have said would have been rather redundant.


[System]
Nicknames/Aliases: None.

 Age: 17.

 Gender: Male.

 Primary: Runic magic.

Student.

Secondaries of Interest: Shadow, Weapon Infusement.

 Description: White button down shirt, black suitcoat, brown pants, purple tie, black dress shoes, reading glasses.

 Personality: Timid, ashamed of his aloof nature. Quirky, a tad reserved, will talk to others.

 Skills: He knows how to speak Runic language to invoke his spells.

 Weaknesses: He's not skilled at anything else besides the above. He is clumsy.

 Brief History: There is nothing outstanding about Herman. He is a regular kid with no real positive or negative qualities. He hopes to learn to control his magic so others will think him cool and/or respect him more. He was average in school and never displayed any excellent talents. He also worked a fast food job for a year where he also displayed no outright great ability, from which he got fired for his inability to service customers in a timely manner.

[User]
Despite being neither taller nor older nor otherwise more remarkable than any other parent or faculty member, Professor Maeve Brigid Byrne had a way of moving that compelled other people to get out of the way. Not so much out of respect, in all honesty, but rather the feeling that she was likely to shove anyone who did not.

She prowled through the crowd of registrants with a stiff back a deep frown, her emerald eyes taking on a predatory narrowness as she surveyed the incoming students. Her glare roved over bags and bodies alike, though exactly what she was on the lookout for was not immediately clear. A few individuals warranted a second glance, but nobody stuck out enough to deserve being properly tailed.

For the sake of meeting parents, the other staff members had talked her into tying her unruly red hair back and wearing a pantsuit that did little to flatter her broad shoulders: The intended "look" of the outfit was unclear, however, as Byrne resembled a pissed-off orange alley cat far more than she did a qualified teaching professional.

Standing in the midst of the bustling crowd, she found herself quite confused as to how she had been persuaded into the role of a professor: She did not like people, least of all teenagers, and least of the least, teens of the entitled variety.

And speaking of the devils.

The sound of thundering Norrevinters filled the hall, and Byrne's frown lines somehow managed to trough even deeper into her face. She turned on the balls of her feet to head out and let someone else take care of that godforsaken situation, and had very nearly made it out of the room when she caught sight of something far worse out of the corner of her eye:

It was striding through the front door in a pair of Italian leather shoes that likely cost more than her car, wearing a smile so self-assured she wanted to smack it clean off of his face.

A Sterling.

Larke, presumably, if her roster was correct.

The boy was dressed in a pair of pressed khaki trousers and a pale blue button-down shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. His jaw and face were cut as dashingly as any in his lineage, and the signature charm of his pedigree shone through as he managed to persuade the receptionist to crack her first smile all day. He smirked and said something. She laughed. He took the papers with an easy shrug of one shoulder, waved a lazy salute with the hand still holding his forms, and turned back to mingle with the rest of the crowd.

He held a black sport coat folded over one arm, but carried no bags with him. Those were handled, apparently, by the stout, black-haired man following behind him in a chauffeur's uniform. Larke passed off the forms to the man with a firm handshake and another convincingly genuine smile, and then the two were up the stairs toward the common room, and the dorms beyond.

Byrne shook her head. Lazy brat.

Her bitter glowering was cut short, however, as she caught sight of the collision preparing to take place in the reception area: If the Norrevinters stayed their course, they would be seeing far more of Sterling than was good for the building's structural integrity.

It was with a quiet groan that Maeve forced her best public relations smile (though it didn't really manage to touch her eyes,) and strode over to the ginger clan with purpose. She circled around so that she stood in the opposite direction of Sterling, and stopped about a foot out from the three giants.

 "Hilda? Hilda Norrevinter?" Maeve exclaimed, her jovial tone touched by just enough of an Irish accent to color her inflection,  "By God, it's been an age and a day! And is this the Kora we've all heard so much about?"  She extended a hand to the teen girl, being sure to keep the sound of internal screaming out of her throat.  "Grown a helluva lot since the last picture I saw, hasn't she?"

---

Larke, for his part, had simply decided to make the most of the whole atrocious situation. As he came up the stairs, he split from Ives, his driver, and took toward the common area while his help handled the task of depositing his bag. The room number was probably on the paper, anyhow.

His sharp green eyes roved over the scene with casual interest, not betraying any of the general disappointment he was holding in his chest. He did not need to look at the wall placard to know that the name Sterling would feature at the top: The fine leather couches and brushed-nickel lighting fixtures were all in excellent taste, as was the blown glass chandelier up above.

The bearskin rug and antlered armchairs were less so. In fact, were there less food in the room, Larke was certain they would still smell of the Norrevinter tribe.

But it was no matter. Larke was here, at the god-forsaken boot camp, and he would be here until his father so changed his mind.

That is to say, Larke Sterling would be in school here for a while.

He glanced about again, this time at people, and shot a smile toward a familiar face. "Mr. Heruscir! he said with a grin and a short wave of his hand, and strode over toward the boy. It was common practice for Larke to be dragged along to Council gatherings, and even more common for his father to hand him itemized lists of people he may meet in such places. Everyone likes the the sound of their own name, his father said, and everyone wants to buy from someone who says things they like.

He extended a hand in greeting to the young man, his posture relaxed and his free hand in his pocket. "It is Aaron Heruscir, or am I mistaking you for someone? I think I remember meeting you at the Yuletide ball a few years back. You were the guy with the great jokes." Not Larke's speed of joke, of course, but everyone loved to be flattered. He leaned up against an end table and cast a glance toward the growing crowd before turning back to his company. "Name's Larke, by the way. Sterling. Pleasure to re-make your acquaintance."

[Assistant]
The buzzing of his mobile phone registered dimly on his senses.
He reached over to pick it up, knocking over several things in the process. He read the message before glancing at the time.
Oh, shit...really?
He had overslept, on the all important first day of the school year. He scrambled off the couch he had crashed on the night before and haphazardly scraped together his papers that had consumed what was supposed to be his eight hours of beauty sleep. He sprayed on some deodorant and splashed some water on his face. No time to shave, so he'd just have to try and rock the rugged look. No doubt the bags under his eyes would betray the illusion.
He pulled on his coat and ran his hands through his hair, forming it into something approaching neat and tidy.
Way to make a good impression Ray...par for the course, old buddy!

He took a dignified power walk to the common room where all the new students would be congregating. He felt a pang of anxiety as the noise of milling students got louder. He didn't know how to deal with kids, nor even if he would be a decent teacher. How would the kids (or worse, their blue blooded parents) feel about a murderer teaching their children, he often fretted.
Sure, some of the faculty here had fought in the war and had certainly killed many cultists, but war was war. The cult declared it and the Council answered. What Ray had done...it just didn't bear repeating, he told himself.
One day it would stick.

He shouldered his way into the crowded common room, the noise of youth pounding his weary ear drums like a sledgehammer. Thankfully it was broken by the smell of the platter against the far wall. Above all was the smell of fresh ground coffee. He made for it like a buzzard on a fresh corpse. He poured himself a cup and took a long, deep mouthful of it, savoring the heat, the smell and the taste before refilling and hastily grabbing a croissant.
He turned around as he unceremoniously demolished the flaky pastry. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. He almost preferred the trenches. At least there everyone was the same size. There was no class or aristocracy, just the kinship of men and women who knew they could die at any moment.
Here Ray felt hopelessly alone. He was poor trash in comparison. The divide between him and the rich benefactors of the Marchand (and their equally smarmy offspring) was as apparent as if one were to stand on the edge of the grand canyon.
He guessed that in the end it really didn't matter. He straightened his posture and put on a stern outward gaze.

He looked around to try and find some familiar faces in the crowd. He of course spotted the last two people he was looking for, or at least the ones he was convinced liked him the least. He had been unable to get a read on either Oren Kovalenko or Maeve Brigid Byrne. They were both as stern and rigid as ancient pillars, but the way they interacted with one another was like idioglossia. He knew they fought in the war together and were close, but they were decorated special ops veterans. Ray had just been another grunt grateful to come out alive with a second chance. One would think that would at least afford him some warmth from them, but they were as cold to him as they were to just about anyone else. He generally tried not to think about it. For all he knew he had just gotten the wrong impression. As it was, he didn't know anybody terribly well yet; it just felt as though he wouldn't get to know either of them very easily.
He shouldered his way gingerly through the throng of new students, greeting casually those who introduced themselves to him.
He sat down on the chairs that he been set aside for the members of faculty and began to organize his papers. His curriculum, personal notes and schedules.
He glanced up every now and then for any other members of staff who might arrive. He didn't know the other staff members terribly well, due to their limited amount of time to interact and even then it was all business. He'd only managed something not unlike casual conversation with Jamie Lebeau. He had come across as a genuine and decent guy.

He managed to briefly meet the gaze of Professor Kovalenko. He nodded tersely at her and offered up a look as a sort of apology for his tardiness. He secretly hoped she wouldn't approach, as he was sure a scolding would follow. He was happy to trade barbs one on one in private, but in this kind of setting he'd just have to sit down and take the lashing.
This setting was entirely alien to him, at least from the perspective of a teacher. As a child, there had been nothing like this for him, not that he had known of anyway. He was put in a regular old public school, and had to keep his magic on the down-low.
He took a deep, sighing breath.
Better than having my eternal soul ripped from my body, I guess...

[User]
Woah, was she cute. Herman's unnaturally wide, nigh-oval shaped eyes grew larger beneath his equally oval shaped reading glasses. He pushed the bridge of his spectacles further up his bony nose before he stammered out a reply,

"Oh, uh... yeah. I'm--" a cough cut the middle of his poor attempt at a sentence, was it a faux or was it real? he stuttered on, "--Herman, uh... yeah, Tiller's the game, Herman's the--no, that's now how it goes!" He pitched a tight chortle that encapsulated his building anxiety, beads of sweat dripped down his neck. If there was any face left to save, he had to try...and so he forcefully deepened his voice and rekindled,

"Hey, Britney. Lookin' good today."

 That's how all the hot guys in the movies do it, was his immediate reaction. She probably thinks I'm weak and a douche now, huh? A quasi-relaxed poise lay itself over Herman's thin and rather undefined jaw. There may be some confusion as to whether he was embarrassed or constipated, or both. His first interaction had gone to nil, and his reputation was probably already ruined. He supposed it didn't matter, people were going to find out he wasn't good at much of anything sooner or later; he figured he'd might as well get it out in the open before people could start making him the butt of their jokes. Dick Gregory once said 'if you laugh about something before other folks can, the joke ain't funny no more.' Or something to a similar effect.

 All he knew is that he'd rather get inside than continue this painful exchange. Of course, he thought it rude to let a girl carry his luggage for him--he may be awkward, buffoonish even, but he was a gentlemen. Who knows, it might earn him back some of those ethereal "cool points." But he also didn't want to make himself seem too macho, he'd read in some magazine that girls don't like a man who thinks he can do everything by himself, so he let Britney drag one part of the suitcase while he picked up the back.

"Did I mention my name was Herman?" He gave a clownish, welcoming smile; at least as welcoming as he knew how. This was going to be a long year.

Allen J


[System]
Age: 23
Height: 5 ft 5
Weight: 150 lbs.
Allegiance: 'Hope'
Distinguishing Traits: Iris has a scar on her left hand, located on the wrist which was gained a few years back. No other scars but due to her pale skin Iris tends to bruise easily. Personality wise she is quite head strong, stubborn and isn't afraid to voice her opinion. Although she has light blue eyes in contrast to her fair skin in certain lights her eyes can be mistaken for grey.

Short Bio: Growing up in Aspiria sounded wonderful and it was if you were on the upper side. Iris however had grown up with her father on the rougher side, the commoner side of the city where you lived within your means. If you couldn't afford dinner well you wouldn't have dinner, it was as simple as that. It didn't really matter to her though because she had a loving family, her father worked hard day in and out and her mother kept the house maintained and food in their stomachs and it worked for them.
It all had changed when her mother fell ill and sadly passed away not long after. She had outright refused to use their money on medicine that would help her, and she was a stubborn woman a trait Iris had inherited. That death however sparked a rebellion, it fuelled her father's courage who gathered as many men, women and even teens that was willing to fight. He called it hope, hope for those wanting that better life.

Years had passed with many strikes; fights and a war had started between the two. Neither side wanted to relent, and her father Regis was focused on bringing down the hierarchy. His intentions had been pure at the start but since he was considered the leader of this rebellion, he had become accustomed to the ease of everything. Food on the table, weapons and money all donated to this cause and it fed his greed. He hungered for more, but no one knew that side. Not yet.

Now he had raised his daughter following his beliefs, ensuring that she bore just as much hatred for the higher ups as he did. He constantly twisted and manipulated her mind making her mother a martyr, ensuring that she believed it was their fault and that they had killed her mother and as Iris knew nothing else, she was left to believe such stories. Now being a young adult, she had trained herself to fight in this war, she could use a gun if needed but she much preferred being stealthy favouring a dagger. Using her size to her advantage and her skills in stealth she often gained information as leverage, but she had yet to kill someone, she had yet to have blood on her hands.

_________________________________________________________________________________

[User]
"I'll take that as a compliment then." Iris mused laughing as Miles gave her a teasing push being playful with her back, "Little old me? Better company than Jay and the crown Prince. My you are full of compliments for me today. I'll get some sort of ego hanging around you for too long." Chuckling as she shook her head in amusement finding it quite amusing he would boast such a thing, she didn't believe she was better company than the boys who were his best friends but it was nice to think it if even for a moment. "There it is, now I think I'm the best. I told you hanging around you would give me some sort of ego boost."

Smiling to herself as he kept the enthusiasm going, playing along with her at the idea she'd beat them all at cards. "Young apprentice." Chuckling as she grinned at the idea of wiping the floor with Cas if they played cards together, well she could think of better things to do with him than play cards but she was certain that it would be fun. "I still think I could beat you too, just you watch next game you will be begging me to stop as the humiliation will be too much for your fragile heart." They were bold words for her, she knew she was still getting the hang of playing the games, but she couldn't help but boast her new abilities. It was always fun having banter with Miles.

"Royal Tightass." Iris snorted at the nickname Miles consistently gave Cas, it was always amusing to her as she had never seen Cas be tight with anything. Not with her anyway, she didn't know if there had been other times, but she still found it amusing. Giving a small wave to Miles she could barely contain her excitement. Already she could feel the knots in her stomach, butterflies building up at the anticipation of seeing him. Though she knew she couldn't hug him or kiss him for that matter whilst Miles was around, perhaps they would get a brief moment alone? I wonder if he thought about that night together. Feeling her cheeks heat up at the thought, their last conversation burned in the back of her mind because at first it had been an innocent suggestion. To talk through what had happened and enjoy each other's company, she felt like she could open up to him but now the idea of that night together made her think of other things they could be doing.

Hearing the door go once more she could only assume it was Miles with Cas and the smile spread across her face as she eagerly sought him out, "Well well well, did the palace get boring your highness?" Smirking as she made the comment, she had to make that comment because it stopped her from leaving the sofa and going over to hug him. As much as she yearned it, she knew right now she had to just wait a little longer. At least she could see and talk to him though.

[Assistant]
"That was the idea," Miles grinned at Iris when she said he was building her ego. Really it was more of an excuse for him to compliment her without giving away his interest outright. Now that the lockdown was over, there was less of a reason for him to pretend like he didn't find her ridiculously hot, but he wanted to plan out how he was going to make a real move at least a little before he actually tried it. For now, he would just work less to hide his attraction, so she wouldn't be blindsided when he left nothing to the imagination later on.

Heading out of his bedroom, he made his way to the front door, where one of the maids had just let Caspian inside the manor. "Hey, long time no see," he greeted the prince in a friendly manner, then quirked a brow when he noticed the color on his face. "You okay, man? You're looking a little flushed."

"I don't want to talk about it," Cas shook his head, shutting the topic down with a wince. Apparently his efforts to quell his embarrassment hadn't worked very well. He hoped the residual awkwardness would fade once he got his mind off the events at the gas station. Seeing Iris again would help. At the thought of her, he peered past Miles' shoulder down the hallway that led to his room, his heart fluttering with excitement. "Let's go sit down," he suggested to the other high born, waving a hand for him to follow as he strode toward the corridor.

"Okay," Miles complied without question, picking up on the prince's implied desire to meet up with Iris away from the maids that were milling about the public quarters of the building. They walked back to the bedroom, talking idly as Miles made one more attempt to ask why the prince had shown up to his place looking flustered. Of course, Cas shut him down stubbornly and took a few quick steps ahead to get to the door before his friend had a chance to pester him anymore. As soon as he opened it, he was greeted with the sight he had been awaiting for the whole week.

Stopping in the doorway, he couldn't help but stare as his eyes landed on Iris. She was sitting on the sofa, donning a beautiful, deep scarlet dress that cinched and flowed over her body in a way that both flattered her figure and highlighted the rosiness of her fair skin. Her golden blonde hair was loose and her blue eyes were especially striking in contrast with the bold color of her clothing. It almost felt like she had been posed just for him, and he nearly missed the words that left her perfectly shaped lips as he struggled to pick his jaw up off the floor.

"Um, yeah…" he managed to splutter after a moment, proceeding the rest of the way into the room with Miles following close behind. Clearing his throat, he smiled at her sheepishly, feeling strangely nervous around her when she looked so incredible. If possible, she was even more gorgeous in person than he'd made her out to be in his imagination while they'd been apart. He was bewildered how he had gotten so lucky that a woman like her was actually interested in him. If his friend hadn't been in the room with them, he would have been tempted to close the distance between them and have her on the sofa.

Chagrined by the direction of his own thoughts, he forced himself to speak, "Anyway, how have you been holding up? I hope Miles hasn't been giving you too hard of a time while you've been stuck here with him."

[User]
Hearing the splutter of Cas, she felt a satisfaction that he was clearly still interested in her, and her worries and thoughts had all been for nothing. There was no change between them, he didn't suddenly find her repulsive or no longer have feelings for her. Iris knew she had been silly, but again she couldn't help but worry over those things. Especially when she thought how he could have whomever he wanted, anyone would have happily thrown themselves at him, but he had chosen her even after she had betrayed him, he still wanted her and it made her feel giddy inside knowing this. Knowing that he thought she was worth it all.

I'm glad I wore this for him. Thinking to herself fondly as she looked at the sheepish smile and the way he cleared his throat knowing to herself that she had made the right choice. Seeking out his gaze she had to hold back her blush, try not to appear flustered because she couldn't let on that there was anything between them. Seeing him standing there before her was amazing, he looked healthy, well and a lot better than he had at the border and he also looked like most of his injuries had healed. Well she hoped they had.

"Honestly Miles was so boring." Iris smirked over at his friend just winding him up a little, "You just can't get good company these days." Finding herself laughing as she shook her head slightly to show that she was only messing around with a light-hearted joke. "I am only messing, honestly Miles has been lovely. Managed to find clothes around my size and put up with me for a whole week and I've made myself pretty comfortable on this sofa." Patting the cushion that had been her bed for the past week, but she didn't care because it was just as comfortable. The furnishings here were top quality and far better than anything in the districts, it certainly beat the floor of the bunker they had stayed in the first night.

"I actually think I've managed to get a bit more sleep too, which is a godsend considering this guy snores loud. I mean it, super loud I thought it was like a bear or something." Iris knew she was rambling a little and talking a little too much about her time with Miles, not that there was anything wrong with that, but she felt incredibly nervous around Cas. Seeing him stood there looking as handsome as ever, like nothing bad had happened to him it just made her nervous and ramble on like it was natural.

"Sorry, I'm talking too much…" Fiddling with the hem of her dress trying to hide how nervous she was with a laugh, she knew she must had looked stupid and she found her cheeks heating up ever so slightly. "How was your week? Did you get up too much at all? I don't suppose you've had to start up those boring lessons you used to complain about so much."

Way to go Iris, you look like a bumbling wreck, how he was ever attracted to me I don't understand.


[System]
K-9 Codename: Buck
Age: 25 (human years)
Species: Purebred German Shepherd
Personality: Intuitive, jokester, tends to be stubborn

[User]
A little boy, no younger than eight, was playing together with his little sister on their bedroom floor, a mystic place laden with mythical creatures, awesome monsters, swashbuckling adventurers, fair maidens and glorious legends. So long they were on their knees and with their dolls, action figures, plastic castles and other figurines, no troubles could ever worry the two; the stories would become ever more astonishing should mom or poppa join their quest, they never seemed to be too tired to chime in and take part in the adventure. As the months passed, both of them were less and less involved, coming home more and more tired, sad, angry even. It was hard trying to play and keep focus when there was a fight somewhere in the kitchen or in the living room, mom's voice always instilled fear in his and her sister's hearts. Poppa, whom had funny smell in his mouth as of late, kept insisting the Miles had to grow up soon and become the protector of the family and how times would turn dark and dangerous, much like the beginning of every quest; the pup had no idea what ever he meant through those speeches, but mom always cried afterwards and, no matter how big the fight had been earlier, they always made up. Other days, the old man insisted that humans are evil by nature and he should think twice before trusting any of their kind and that all of their smiles and good manners were nothing but charade.

"But daaad, I like humies! I want to be like them! My tail gets in the way a lot and my ears are tickly all the time and-"

His father couldn't take it anymore of that and struck the child's muzzle with the back of his palm.

"Don't you ever say that as long as I live, you hear me? You'd better be proud of who you are or they will stomp and kick you like an ordinary dog. You are not an ordinary dog!" He yelled, keeping Miles' snout close to his own by grabbing him by his collar. Stinking spittle went everywhere in the fur of his face, merging with the pooling tears of pain.

He couldn't possibly understand any of it. Not until the night he and his sister were startled by the thundering, chopping sound of multiple rotor blades closing in to their district. Soon, searchlights pierced through the curtains and lit up the room with a blinding white light, his sister promptly started to tremble and cry. There was a large racket all around, his mother running all over the place, a strange, distorted voice booming from outside, the wails of his sister; the next thing he knew, his father crashed in the room with a rifle in his left hand and a black vest over his flannel. He knelt beside the two children and clumsily embraced them before he turned his attention to Miles.

"Today is the day you need to grow up and start taking care of the girls for me, Miles. I'm sorry your childhood has to end this early, but if I could, I'd take you all away from the trouble out there."

"-dents are to evacuate their households immediately, lethal force has been authorized if you do not comply. This is the CPD acting under order thirteen-seven, all anthro residents are to evacuate their households immediately,-"

"D-dad, what's going on?" Miles asked, his voice shaking, his sister echoed his question.

"Humans. They've learned to hate us and treat us like animals, because we tried to be like them. Do not forget this day, for today they've showed their true face. Remember their face."

And he was off, his sister clung to his leg as he tried to leave, which he shoved off effortlessly and was never to be seen again. Mother quickly gathered whatever she could find of value in their house and grabbed the children to get out and face the true human nature. Miles swallowed a knot as he was looked straight in the eyes by a large frame of a person clad in padded kevlar armor, clutching an automatic rifle.

"It's the Longtails." The man uttered, looking straight down at Miles. "Put'em in."

He and Mel got separated from mom, screams of pain and fear were the only things he could remember from that night. Miles screamed with frustration too, knowing that he already failed his father; that and, he hated the fact that he was right. Mister Burke was the one who separated him and Mel from mom and poppa. Mr Burke is Joel's father, Joel was his best friend and only Joel knew where they were living.

There was a rhythmic clacking noise coming from a cramped, but still comfortable cubicle next to the corner of the giant, mostly empty room, as Miles kept flipping the black carabiner in his right palm. He was staring down at the framed photo of himself graduating the K-9 academy, where his academic cap sat at a certain angle on his head to allow his left year to point upwards; he held the diploma with a subtle disgust, yet, he had a smile on his muzzle as he looked straight at the camera lens. There was a shorter, nicely dressed and fairly pretty German Shepherd looping her arm through his own, brandishing a wide, toothy grin. It was a strange sight, seeing the snotty pup that kept stepping on her own dolls and fart loudly turning into a young, desirable lady; he was proud of her, in some aspects, but he was constantly plagued with worry and anxiety over her well being.

"Cut the racket, Buck, the officer's 'bout to come." Said a bloodhound over the cubicle wall, his ears and droopy skin flopping as he talked.

"Gotcha, boss." Miles muttered under his breath as he placed the carabiner on his desk.

He made sure his uniform was in pristine condition, fitting the sleeves and collar around his wrists and neck. He peered into the black monitor to straighten the fur on his face and the hair on the top of his head. It didn't matter who was the next officer he had to work with, he had to make sure he looked as best as he could, else he could face even more ridicule than normal. His previous partner did pay mind to his attire, forcing Miles to make a habit out of tidying himself up before patrols and ops. A pain in the ass, but that pain could turn into electrocution if he disobeyed. He threw a glance over to the opposite wall of the room, where his face was nailed under the title "2
nd
 best K-9 hound"; he smirked every time when he looked at it, finding it funny there was such a thing as 2
nd
 and 3
rd
 place for the best employee of the month. The first place was occupied by "Scout", the bloodhound that just snarled at him. They made a pretty good photo of you he remembered talking to his colleague your ears are drooping through the frame and all the way on the ground, just like in reality! Since that day, Scout has been a tad more pissed than usual.

Miles stood up, sighing through his nostrils and rubbed his eyes, dread creeping up his throat as he waited for the new police officer to pick him up. He didn't know if he was ready to cope with another McNeil, but he sure hoped he was commissioned to a better officer.

[Assistant]
There she stood, rather nervous, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it. Her mouth was dry, she lifted her water bottle to her lips and took a long gulp. This was they day she was assigned a K-9. She had been told many things about them, and how she must be strict, they are just humanised dogs that could talk. She was taught how and when to use the electric shock control on the collar, and exactly how much of a shock to give what different disciplines. She was given her remote for the K-9's collar. Christa clipped it onto her belt and tugged at it to make sure it was secure. She got a thumbs up and the go ahead into the kennels from her lieutenant. Her hound was awaiting collection.

She wasnt quite sure why she was so nervous. She had a flash back to when she was just a child. She had a good Anthro friend, she was a lop eared rabbit. Ruby, was her name. She smiled fondly as she remembered when they were playing in a puddle of mud. She remembered having to help her blow dry her fur and break the mud out. She stifled back a giggle as she remembered her fond memories of her old friend. The her smile faded as she remembered on day going to her home to call on her friend and she was gone. Just gone. Her and her entire family, disappeared, she had no idea where they had gone.

Christa shook her head as she brought herself back into concentrating on what was at hand. A security guard gave her access to the kennels. She took a deep breath and walked in. As she walked down the isles she felt eyes glaring at her. She did feel sorry for all the Anthros in cages... It was no life to live constantly caged. She knew that these Anthros... these people had just as much intellect as humans did. She didnt believe in treating them any less than she would anyone else, she was always brought up that way. Her father died before she was born but it was an anthro that helped him get to a hospital to be cared for. He was stabbed in the street by a group of young adult humans. It was the same lady whoms daughter she became best friends with, she saw a lot of Rubys mother as she often helped her mother as she was a single parent.

This was why she wanted to become a police officer, this was why she wanted to be part of the K-9 squad. She stopped and turned, looking into the cage she saw her new partner. "K-9 Miles Longtail. Pleased to meet you, I'm officer Christa Parks." She said politely with a small smile spreading across her lips. The security guard cam and unlocked the cell door. Christa offered her hand out to shake. She was hoping that this would be the start of a good friendship.

[User]
Hearing the door open, he walked over to the grates separating his own kennel from the rest, stood straight and still and saluted. Showtime he thought, feeling a chuckle of dismay trying to coax his muzzle open while he waited for the officer to arrive at his own little workplace. Darker and darker thoughts nagged him, fearing that he'll either have to cope with a fat, stupid and abusive officer of the law, or a slim, perverted and downright cruel mongrel of a man; he somehow contained his surprise when a womanly figure made its way in his field of view, his eyes nearly darted right down at her, but doing so could end up in a backhand slap over his nose. As soon as she greeted herself, Miles took the liberty to break his aimless stare and find her eyes; seeing her smile turned a gut in his abdomen, not knowing how to interpret that gesture of hers. He couldn't tell any form of hidden motive in her eyes, since her smile seemed to be as honest as possible. He swallowed dryly before he would open his mouth to talk, but he was promptly interrupted by Christa's offer to handshake. Confused, he blinked a few times before he responded with his own furred hand, feeling the softness of her skin as the fine fur brushed against it. He didn't shake too vigorously, or too limp, it was a proper introduction to the policewoman.

"It is an honor, ma'am." He replied courteously, unable to choke a small smile.

Crap, he thought,what is it that makes me smile like a dumb dog? The guard allowed Miles to get out of the cage without the extra security measure of handcuffing him, but instead, prepared a stun baton in case Miles tried anything smart. He followed the woman on the way out from the K-9 kennel, keeping silent most of the time; it was a good occasion to check her out and nodded to himself, approving of her body. If I'll get flayed alive, at least I'll have a nice view, he thought as they just exited the building.

Once out, Miles turned his head in the direction of the wind and whiffed at it, trying to catch any interesting scents floating in the air, but as usual, it was a mix of exhaust gas, perfume, freshly cut grass and feces. Especially feces. He stretched his back and arms, now that he had enough room to maneuver. After he readjusted the electroshock collar on his neck, he faced the officer and hid the sigh that came out on its own.

"What districts are we patrolling today, ma'am?" He asked, but as soon as he saw her flinch, his instinct snapped and told him she's a rookie. She never worked with a K-9 in her life. This is going to be a breeze.

"First timer with a K-9? If you allow me, ma'am, I could give you some suggestions: I know how to sit, roll, fetch, make poopy in the back yard, play dead. I still need to learn no to chew on things, but other than that, I'm pretty good at stuff. I'm not a call boy, though, I don't find the collar that kinky."

I sure hope she does have some faint sense of humor.


[System]
---

Appearance:
Ian stands at roughly 5 foot 10 with a lightly muscular physique. His skin is slightly tanned and his eyes are a piercing blue. His hair is bright blonde and reaches down past his shoulders in an unstyled fashion.
Age: 17
Likes:
Winning. Riding horses. Darts. Pool. Old Music.
Dislikes:
Tea. His handwriting. Room temperature milk.
Quirk:
-Secretly smokes.
-Has a scar on his right pectoral from falling off his horse.
-Takes anti-depressants daily.
Bio/Personality:
Ian was born in Australia to a Scottish mother and an Australian father. His mother, a successful business woman was not a major part of Ian's life for the most part, and would often come home too late to see him or just too late for him to care. His father owned a ranch, which the family stayed on. Ian got his first horse at the age of 10, which he named "Dollar" after what his idol, John Wayne name his horse. He rode the horse practically everyday and even got a part time job from his dad in helping him teach others how to ride horses as a teen.

School was difficult for Ian. While his parents tried to get him into a normal school, it proved much too difficult to transport him day in and day out. Eventually they resorted to getting him home schooled. He didn't care much, he'd made a small group of friends during his short time at school who he kept in contact with for ages after he had left. Of course, this group didn't expand very much as time went on and he was left on his own quite a lot of the time which he determines was the root of his depression.

At around the age of 16 he was forced to move to America after his mother received a promotion and was sent to work there. He begged and pleaded to be left on the ranch with his horse, but alas it was hopeless. He was enrolled in a local highschool and has been living as best he can since then.
Other:
Theme

[User]
10 am
 "Welcome Campers!" Excitement could almost be physically seen bursting from Amber as the campers filed out of the bus. "Welcome to Camp Turtle Shell! I'm Amber and we are all so happy to have you guys here!" She grabbed a large handful of leaflets from her tote bag. "Take one and pass it along please. These are to help you learn the rules, regulations, and safety tips so that way each and every person can have the best time possible!" Getting to see their faces for the first time was her favorite part of the job. "I know everything might seem a bit confusing at first, but I just know we are all going to get along super well! I'm sure you are all tired from the bus ride, but don't worry, we have you up and energized in no time!" Amber gestured to the large field on the left. "That is the sports field where we'll be holding a small kickball game in an hour if anyone's interested. For now though go ahead and get settled in your cabins and feel free to explore! I have taken the liberty of posting who goes where on the bulletin board in the main building to my right and the cabins are on the pathway behind me. Everyone's dismissed!" That went smoothly, i'm so good at my job!

[Assistant]
When Darren had stepped of the bus, he was busy playing super smash bros on his Nintendo DS. Little Mac was his favourite and he was right in the middle of an awesome combo when the head of the camp started talking. He sighed as he turned off his DS and shoved it into his pocket before listening to Amber. It's too early for her to be this happy... or was it late? Darren forgot the time. He shrugged at the thought before taking the leaflet. He did indeed take one and passed it on as he began reading it. His ears perked at the sound of kickball. That sounded fun, was it like rugby? Might be worth a try. He looked around and saw the building that supposedly had the bulletin.

After Darren finally got to look at the board, he discovered he was in Cabin 10. Sounds fun. He followed the signs to the cabin and stepped inside. Darren just picked the first bed he saw and began unpacking. In retrospect, this place might not be so bad after all.

[User]
Around One Year Ago
The Wilson Ranch
Australia

Ian straddled 'Dollar' his prized horse into the stable as he fanned himself with his hat. He dismounted and closed the gate behind him as he exited the stable and headed towards the large wooden house that drifted to the right ever so slightly with the wind. The house was built by, Ian's great grandfather in the early 20th century. Of course, the price of owning, let alone building a 2 story house back then was much less than what it was today. And the mere fact that it had stood this long was a testament to the old guys skill as a craftsman.

He entered the house, wiping the sweat from his brow and moving into the kitchen, stopping slowly in the door way as he met his parent's gaze from their chairs behind the dining table.
"Take a seat, Ian" Spoke his mother, in a surprisingly calm voice for such a highly strung woman. This was what really got Ian's suspicions aroused. The only time he'd heard his mother speak in a tone even close to calm was during Christmas, and even then she was flustered over getting Christmas dinner ready. He sat opposite his parents, setting his hat down on the table.
"What's happened?" He asked, expecting the worst.
"Nothings happened, son it's just we have some" His father glanced at his wife, a twinge of confusion spreading across his brow. "News..." There was an awkward silence as Ian's mother regained her composure and began explaining things.
"I've been offered a job in America, Ian and I'm taking it" She said in her regular stern voice, a stark contrast to the false calm one she had put on previously.
"You're leaving?!" He practically shouted, almost jumping from his chair in shock. Another look between his parents told him there was much more going on than he was lead to believe.
"Well, that's not all I'm afraid, son" spoke his father. "You're going with your mother to America, to get a proper education." His voice was as serious as he could make it, but any detective worth his coin could hear the sadness in his tone.
"What?!" Yelled Ian, shooting up like a bullet and almost knocking his chair over. "What about Dollar? What about my mates? What about the ranch?!" His questions flew out like a machine gun, one after another never being answered until he finally stopped.
"I'll be taking care of Dollar and the ranch, Ian, I've already hired a new stable hand to help with the workload. And you'll just have to make new friends" Ian clenched his fist in a mixture of rage, shock and fear.

10 Am
Camp Turtle Shell

Ian brushed his long blond hair out of his eye as he hopped off the bus, spreading a tiny shock-wave of dust outwards as he landed on the beaten path. He carried a sports bag over his shoulder with everything he needed. He patted his pocket, checking the packet of cigarettes was still secure. He had no clue how he'd survive this place without his cigarettes. School was one thing, but a camp with an overtly joyous and bubbly councillor was another. She also seemed to be a few years older than Ian himself as well, a small smile crept over his lips at the thought of himself doing the same job in just a few years.

'Kickball' sounded alright. Ian was a bit confused as to what it was though as he thought Americans called Football soccer. He wondered if it was a different sport altogether. Nevertheless, he found his cabin number and headed there, being sure to check out any secluded areas on his way there. The camp didn't even allow mobile phones, he highly doubted they'd be alright with smoking. He opened the cabin door to see his new cabin mate. He hesitated a second, swinging his band from his shoulder and onto the nearest bed before speaking.
"Here, you don't know what kickball is do you?" He said, small talk was never one of his strong points. He unzipped his bag and began unpacking as he went on.
"Is it just football or is it like what rounders is to baseball?" He quickly grabbed the anti depressants from his bag and shoved them into his bedside cabinet, hoping that his new cabin mate hadn't seen them. As much as he bigged himself up to be someone who didn't care about appearances, he did, in fact, care about if people saw his 'medication'. He stayed in the crouched position he had taken to open the bedside cabinet and emptied a few of the pills out into his hand before pouring them out into the empty space within the cigarette packet in his pocket before returning to his regular stance.


[System]
Basics
--------------------
Age: 24

Birthday: June 10th

Gender: Male

Personality: Nicholas believes in strong, well-balanced teamwork. He usually tries to take a leadership role, but if someone showing more confidence and toughness than him comes along, he quickly falls behind. He doesn't say much, but once he gets talking, he can't stop.

Notable traits: Overprotective, sharp-witted

--------------------
Appearance
--------------------
General: Not the most handsome person, but not too hard on the eyes, either. He's got a pretty average weight and, due to the recent goings-on, a muscular build.

Skin tone: Tanned

Hair color: Light brown

Eye color: Dark brown

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 170lbs

Other: N/A

---------------------
Miscellaneous
---------------------
Biography: Before the disease began to spread in his hometown, Nicholas lived with his parents and ten-year-old sister. He worked as a roofer while attending college to work with computers. Since most of the residents in the town have become infected, he's taken refuge in a warehouse with his little sister and sick mother.

Equipment: On hand, two machetes, a combat knife, a rifle, a 24-pack of bottled water, various canned foods, and three blankets. Warehouse has various goods stocked.

Living relatives: Mother (Melinda), little sister (Alisa)

Other: He can lift, push, and pull up to 280lbs.

[User]
Oh, God. How awful that this man had seen his father die. Mattie wasn't entirely sure what it was like exactly to even have a father, but it must have been traumatic to watch that. She, for once, was grateful that her parents had died before she ever got to know them. Her gait was relaxed, though, when Nicholas spoke about how no one in his group was hurt and that the infected didn't seem to like the warehouse. Now this was a place she could hang around!

Swiftly her mind was changed by a very pale-looking little girl lunging for her. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph and company!" she shrieked and dove sideways clumsily just in time to avoid a face-full of dead person teeth. After that there was no hesitation. The crowbar swung in a wide arc and connected with the girl's head, sending a splatter of old-smelling blood into the air and making the attacker sprawl pathetically on the ground. Not sure if the child would get up again, Mattie ran into the warehouse after Nicholas with her chest heaving. She wasn't thinking right now. She was just getting ready to bash more dead brains in.

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she spotted a gun of some sort on the far side, as well as an older woman. "I'll distract her!" she shouted, raised the crowbar, and charged.

[Assistant]
"No!" Nicholas yelled. "I-I mean-" he didn't finish. Instead, he shut his mouth and made a dash for the rifle. He'd briefly wondered if Alisa survived, but by the blood stains on Mattie's clothes, he could determine otherwise.

"I'm sorry mom," he mumbled as he loaded the rifle. He lifted it up and aimed for his mother's head, finger off the trigger. He made an annoyed tsk sound, because Mattie was in the way. Then, he figured he shouldn't get annoyed because she was trying to help him. So he aimed, waited, and fired.

Only to miss.

His mother turned around, not paying Mattie anymore mind. She started after him and he cursed under his breath, quickly and clumsily trying to re-load this stupid, ancient, one-shot rifle that he didn't even remember where he got it from. He backed up, successfully reloaded the rifle, and shot his...mother right in the head.

After being hit, the woman stopped walking. She swayed a bit, and her eyes changed. She looked at Nicholas with a pained expression and said, "Nicholas? Why are you hurting me?" before dropping to the ground.

[User]
Mattie had gotten a couple of hits on the woman, but it was nothing like the single hit that had sent most of Alisa's head into the air. Her breath came heavily as she stared at the corpse on the ground in front of her. For a while, she was too shocked and horrified to say or do anything. Then a memory started to register, and her fingers tightened around the crowbar while her expression turned into a snarl.

"You said no one was hurt and that the damn things were pushed away from this place!" she shouted at Nicholas. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Deep breaths, Mattie. She struggled to keep her head clear enough not to try beating this man to death with the crowbar; after all he had a gun now. "I mean, I knew the people who weren't turned into zombies were screwed in the head, but you've probably hit humanity's new low." She backed toward the door.

[Assistant]
Nicholas dropped the rifle on the ground, staring at his dead, undead, then dead again mother. Her voice replayed those words over and over again in his head, even as he felt his face heat up with anger and humiliation at Mattie's string of obscenities. He took several deep breaths through his nose, trying to get his breathing and his anger under control. His head was fuzzy, his vision not blurred but not focused. He looked at Mattie as she backed toward the exit, and he felt like he might cry.

"Don't go," his voice betrayed him and he choked on his words. "My mom was sick. I didn't know this would happen. My sister..." he stopped, realizing now that everyone he knew was probably dead. He hadn't had the opportunity to check up on any of his other friends or relatives. He just knew that now, his immediate family was dead and there was a girl getting ready to haul tail out the door and down the street at any wrong move Nicholas made or wrong tone of voice he used.

"I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he said, rubbing his moist eyes with his fists. "God. I just wanted to save her."

He looked at Mattie, and again he begged, "Don't go..."

[User]
Mattie let out an angry huff and glared at Nicholas. Was she still angry? Absolutely. But at the same time, she had to admit that the guy had just lost both his sister and his mother in the course of a few minutes. She put her hand on her hip, not sure what to say to him, but feeling slightly less inclined to smash his face into a wall. For most, being alone was the worst feeling in the world, and as pissed off as she was she felt it would be way too cold to just leave him. And it was true, wanting to save his mother had been noble, even if it wasn't the the most practical decision.

Finally she spoke. "I don't exactly have anywhere to go, anyway. But don't lie again, alright? We could both have ended up just like them." Mattie knew she was going to have to deal with grieving on Nicholas' part now, and she had absolutely no experience or know-how with it. She took a deep breath. "We have to get the bodies away. And I need new clothes, preferably without any bloodstains." Her voice shook a little. She herself felt close to bursting into tears, but she'd do that later.

[Assistant]
"Don't touch your face at all for now. It spreads that way," he muttered. Wearily, and feeling drained of all strength emotionally and physically, Nicholas grabbed his mother's hands and dragged her past Mattie and out into the street. Then, he followed the same procedure with his sister. He went back into the warehouse and retrieved a bottle of lighter fluid and a box of matches. Without hesitation, mostly because he didn't want to look at their lifeless bodies, he threw a lit match onto them and backed away when they burst into flames. He stared for only a minute before he turned around.

"Fire's what completely kills them," he told her. "Smashing their heads in and even shooting them in the head doesn't work, it only knocks them out. They get right back up within a few hours. Only if you take their heads off or burn them."

He nodded and walked past her, back into the building. He gathered the four backpacks that he, his mother, and his sister had been carrying (he carried two) and emptied them. His two machetes and a combat knife that he'd forgotten about clinked onto the floor. He put them in one of the bags, along with his rifle (which obviously stuck out of the top of the bag) and a small pile of remaining ammunition. He wasn't a big gun person so he had no idea what to do when he ran out of bullets.

Nicholas stuffed two of the blankets into another bag, careful not to put his mother's in with them. He managed to fit three bottles of water into the bag along with the blankets, then moved onto the next one. He crammed as many cans of Spam and black-eye peas out of two of the boxes he'd taken from the warehouse's shelves. In the next bag, he carefully put a few loafs of bread on top of a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese (because he wasn't sure if they were ever going to have the opportunity to make the macaroni and cheese.)

He put the backpack with the canned foods on his back, and carried the one with the weapons in his hand. He looked at Mattie and said, "You can carry the other two. They're the lightest."

[User]
Mattie shuddered from her head to her toes. The fact that he brought it up made her face itch, and as with most itches, it took just about all of her willpower not to scratch at it. Her spine felt cold as she turned around and watched the bodies burn, the wretched smell swirling up into her nostrils. She leaned on the wall and watched Nicholas pack the backpacks through half-lidded eyes. She'd been hoping to sleep all day and just be too boring and lazy to attract anyone's attention. And then this had happened.

Then when he told her to carry the lighter backpacks--was that a jab?-- she threw aside her blood-spattered crowbar with a loud metallic clatter. "You saying I'm weak, you little asshole? Give me one of the heavier ones. We're equals." With that, she snatched the weapon-filled backpack from his hand and shouldered it. Then she grabbed one of the lighter backpacks and headed outside. She still wasn't quite sure if she wanted to trek around with this guy, but since he had entrusted her with two packs full of supplies she felt kind of stuck with him.

The weight of the pack made her grunt with effort, but her stubborn expression made it clear that she wouldn't take any other option.

[Assistant]
Nicholas felt a lump in his throat, discourage by the miscommunication. "I just- I didn't want to make you-" he sighed, giving up. He hadn't meant her any harm at all. He just wanted to carry the heavier ones so that she wouldn't have to. Not to mention, she unnecessarily, once again, used obscenities and then proceeded to insult him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling his chest ache. He had no one now, and Mattie didn't seem to like him. It was understandable, he reckoned. He did lie to her. He really didn't mean her any harm, though. So, now he was stuck with a girl that seemed to hate him, after just having to burn the bodies of his ten year old sister and his mother. He took a deep breath through his nose, shut his eyes for a brief moment, and then started walking down the street.

"There's a refuge camp around here somewhere. Or, so I heard. After half the population of this town got infected, I heard something about it on the radio. I didn't pay attention to it, though. I guess I should have. I just thought my dad was gonna take care of everything." He shrugged. "But we see how that turned out."

He felt shivers down his spine. It was weird to be walking out in the open. This part of town didn't have many trees around. It was pretty much open fields for what seemed like miles, but really wasn't that far. There wasn't a single living, dead, or undead body in sight. Where had all the infected gone?

"Do you think they die?" he asked her, briefly looking over his shoulder. "Come up here beside me."

[User]
Grudgingly, Mattie followed him, wondering about the refuge camp. She hadn't had access to radio for a long time, so she hadn't heard anything about it, and she wished that she had. She told herself to be a little easier on Nicholas, and followed (in no apparent hurry) to stand beside him. She sighed, feeling that she would have to speak calmly at this point or risk being turned away.

"They must die," she said, but with a tinge of uncertainty; these things were like nothing she'd ever seen or experienced, and not in a good way. "Whatever's infecting them turns their own body against itself, and if that happens I'm sure everything would fail. Maybe it's like...a ramped-up version of rabies." She hesitated. "Then again, if you shoot a rabid dog in the head, it stays dead... so I don't know."

She changed the subject, as she wasn't very keen on speculating something so unsettling. "It's either we find the camp or head to the country and live off the land, if it hasn't been overrun. And keep in mind...living in groups can help, but if one person gets sick, it's very likely to spread. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if it's already full of zombies. Not all these people are careful about who they let in. If they are careful, I'm not getting in, not like this," she added, gesturing to the round splotches of blood on her shirt.

[Assistant]
"Yeah, I know," he said, referring to her comment about her soiled clothing. "We're gonna find you something to wear. Let's just kind of get moving a bit. I know it's probably disgusting," he looked over at her. "Here, let's try here."

They hadn't walked very far, but Nicholas randomly chose a house to stop in. He imagined that Mattie was very uncomfortable in her blood-stained clothing. He wouldn't want to be walking around wearing them, either.


[System]
Age: 16

Gender: Female

Personality: A fairly quiet and reserved girl, not for reasons such as shyness but from indifference. Thisa prefers to stay out of the daily affairs of others, sometimes life can be troublesome enough without bringing in someone else's issues. That said Thisa is normal socially, friends come easily enough and a conversation is welcomed, even she can get lonely. Due to her naturally reclusive nature, Thisa is slow to anger and can be extremely patient in fact she can't remember the last time she has ever been angry, which is what she may say. When pushed Thisa has a very harsh temper, when truly angry she can and will become quite aggressive. A good analogy would be to describe her as a stick of dynamite with a very long fuse, it'll take a while but the results would still be drastic. There one true fire way to get Thisa talking is to mention technology, its one subject she can never get enough of.

Talent: Skilled Mechanic: Thisa for her age makes a great mechanic, and a small time inventor. If its physical Thisa can understand it and even reconstruct it just with a few quick glances. Her skills have also been somewhat lucrative with people coming to her for repairs on broken down items. Her prowess in mechanics don't translate quite into computers, sure she's competent in their operation but otherwise is about average.

Ability: Finely-Tuned Mechanisms: Thisa's ability comes around the idea of creation, she can manipulate inorganic matter into virtually any machine, and theoretically of any size. There are limits of course, to create something requires an equivalent exchange, the middle of a grass field leads to very little useable material, which limits or even completely nullifies her usefulness while a junkyard can lead to endless opportunities. Another thing the initial creation of a machine taxes the body, two factors are considered, the size of the machine and the complexity. A small pulley system has almost no affect on her stamina, something of human size would be very draining at the least, and something like a full semi truck can leave her almost comatose.

There is also a limit to the number of machines that can operate at once, how many again depends on the size and complexity. Once this said limit is passed machines start to break apart, or even meet a violent end for the more volatile creations. When a machine is deassembled the matter that made it up returns back to its original form, that is unless the machine is destroyed by force.

Bio: Thisa is a single child who hails for a standard middle class home. From an early age her parents pushed "constructive toys" onto her, ones such as Legos or Lincoln Logs. Her father worked as an automobile technician, and her mother an aerospace engineer, because of their own success they wanted to pass it down to their daughter. Thisa took well to the toys eventually progressing from simple plastic pieces to tool kits and personal projects. Thisa created a scrapbook filled with designs and other miscellaneous drawings, some of which became a reality. One such was a robotic arm designed for a competition, a simple middle school level one so needless to say Thisa's arm won without contest. Moving onto the present day Thisa is a fresh transfer, Saint Dmyphna's Highschool offered great opportunities despite the cost of moving out there in the first place, and while Thisa isn't much for people the prospect of meeting new people was still exciting in of itself.

[User]
As the assault went on Thisa was just as enraged, they had the audacity to attack her, but no... they weren't attacking her, it was the knight. The knight kept a defensive posture, using its shield to attempt to take the brunt of the damage, and more specifically to keep her out of the crossfire. The knight only retaliated when a student got too close, and even then it was only to drive the person away rather then to land a killing blow. It was then that Thisa realized what was happening, she was the aggressor in all of this, the bad guy, the villain. Her vision skewed, the battlefield became nothing but a distortion of color, she was blinded. Through all the chaos Thisa heard one thing she forgot about, Harold. She had no idea how he got past the knight but he did and was right there, not that Thisa could see him. It was enough just to hear his voice and to feel his presence to break her resolve and as a result to dissipate her anger.

Holy hell what was she doing? None of this was right, she caused a WAR to break out in the cafeteria... over nothing but her own rage. Thisa blinked trying to make sense of what was happening beyond the mixture of colors, but she didn't need to see, she fully knew what was happening it had to end. With a downward swipe of her hand she gave the command, the knight's service was complete. The process was quick, the robot regressed back into its primal state of molten metal, and then back into its component pieces, all the metal that was once used as the knight's body. Before the dismantling the knight contacted Harold one more time, *"My service is complete, I leave my stead to you. Protect the Maker."*

The world started spinning, before she knew it Thisa was on her knees, her stamina all but gone and her mind emotionally fried. She whispered perhaps to herself or perhaps to Harold standing next to her, *"I'm sorry... just... so sorry for what I did..."* with that Thisa fell to her side now curled into the fetal position. She was still conscious much to her dismay, if only everything never happened, if only she wasn't there to observe what happened next. Thisa couldn't see him but she heard Jason's booming voice, she didn't need to know who he was to know he was a ruler. She closed her eyes ready for whatever penalty was coming her way.

[Assistant]
Even though this girl, Belle, had reassured her that her messy habits wasn't anything she should be conscious of, Poppy still grabbed a napkin and swiped it over her face, removing tomato sauce from her lips. The blonde leaned her weight on her elbow that was digging into the table, telling herself to eat slowly and savor the taste. Yet still, she devoured it at a pace most would turn their noses at. The silence became awkward for Poppy, but she figured that the other girl didn't feel it at all – she seemed so relaxed.

"Um, ah, uh…" She meant to finish her sentence and ask what it is that Belle was working on; however, the commotion had gained her undivided attention.

Forks and knives suddenly flew up as shouting occurred and Poppy ducked her head down, placing her hands protectively over her head. It would suck if she died by a fork, seriously. Peeking through her sloppy bangs, she managed to see the knight that had materialized over a girl's anger. That was when chaos erupted: people laughed and then fought, did nothing and then did everything. Colors swirled in a mass of powers, fire and ice, flight and speed. It was all a blur for Poppy as she attempted to press her face into the table. It was only when, after all the shouting and yelling had stopped, that Poppy lifted her head. There was nothing more to attack – the knight was gone.

"Should we, ah, go see what, um, happened?" Poppy inquired, looking at Belle expectantly.

[User]
The flashes and booms stopped as the students backed away from the dismantled pile of metal that used to be the Knight. Soon a tense silence settled down in the cafeteria. Their eyes turned to the crouched Thisa. It was obvious she was behind it all, seeing as she was the closest one to the pile that wasn't facing it.

The sound of clapping resonated throughout the area, and all eyes turned to the source. It was Henrietta, and she didn't look pleased. A boy and a girl were walking side-by-side next to her. They were Winston Chill's two Lieutenants, and they did not look anymore pleased to be with Henrietta as she did with them.

The four Rulers present and the representatives gathered in front of the crowd. Jason put a groggy Louise down and crossed his arms. "Okay, so, anyone going to bother telling me what happened here?"

Henrietta spoke up: "Michael was pulling his usual stunts, ended up getting the girl pissed and she brought out a big metal knight . . . in defense. That thing wouldn't attack unless attacked, so trying to bring it down was pointless; it wouldn't have done a thing."

The girl representative of Winston glared at Michael. "I warned you to stop doing that, Michael. Eventually something like this was going to happen if you kept those little pranks of yours up."

The boy shuffled his feet and looked away guiltily. Anderson and Lietman took their places at his right and left respectively. Jason shook his head. "That still doesn't change the fact that the girl lost it and . . . well, brought that thing out. Not even Lietman with all his hotheaded stupidity would use his abilities to vent. This girl did however."

Henrietta said nothing. He was right of course. She approached Thisa and stared down at her, a hand on her hip. "Listen, I understand that you were angry, in fact, a lot of people are annoyed when Michael pull stuff like that, but one of the first things that everyone here who gains abilities has to understand is this: Never, ever get hostile with your powers unless it's a formal challenge with witnesses and duels. I hope you realize that you could kill someone with your abilities."

"It only takes one little slip to snuff out someone's life after all."

The boy representative turned to Louise. "Well, Marshal, you're in charge of dispensing justice here when the Rulers are involved. What is your verdict?"

Louise, a tired expression on her face, walked towards Thisa and motioned to Michael to come forward. The boy jumped and ran forward, obviously frightened of the small girl. Henrietta shook her head, as if trying to get rid of unpleasant memories and backed away as Louise approached.

"Hello, girl. My name is Louise Sophoro. Today, I'll be your judge, jury and executioner. Nice to meet you~" she stated in a dull drawl.

[Assistant]
Noting how the conversation between the appearent leaders in the area, Harold quickly observed how everyone both respected, and possibly feared the slip of a girl that was walking towards Thisa right now. (She's **tiny**....this will not end well....). Harold sighed slightly to himself, before he shakenly walked in front of the crouched Thisa. His heart was racing with this decision, but he wouldn't abandon Thisa like this. And even if he could only lift a portion of her burden, he'd do it anyway. (For such is the duty, honor, and pleasure of true friends).

Harold coughed once, right after Louis stated just what she was to Thisa, and as calmly as possible, stepped directly in her way. "Ahm....I apologize for being a bother Ms....Louise? I unfortunately am not privy to your last name, and as such shall work with what I have already obtained. However, Ms. Louise, I am unable to allow you to grant punishment on Thisa alone. As well, this incident also involved both myself...." Harold narrowed his eyes at Michael, his eyes awash with unhidden displeasure and even anger: "....and the **child** that is standing next to the *blondie*." Harold was....not pleased with Leitman or Michael at all. They'd been the main reasons beyond himself that had invoked Thisa's anger. They also were responsible for this situation, and the fact that this supposed *leader* was punishing Thisa first just lit a passion Harold rarely felt nowadays. His passion for vengence, and his passion for responsibility. To Harold, these two deserved not just punishment, but even worse punishment than Thisa. They'd be the **cause** of the situation. (Maybe, if they didn't act like *little children* we wouldn't have had to deal with this situation *in the first fucking place*!).

Harold made a slightly hasty decision, but one he felt like he had to support. "Ms. Louise, how about I forsake my laptop in return for handling a portion of Thisa's punishment as well?" Harold felt a part of his soul being ripped out of his chest just then. He felt like he had betrayed his best friend. But he had another best friend, and he felt that his first one would be understanding to his plight here. He also hoped that Thisa would be alright after this. It wouldn't boad well for him if his first friend in a long time were to....well....anything but stay with him really. Plus, it's not like Harold had any prior knowledge to all the rules, written or unwritten in the school yet. This **was** amazingly his first day here still.

[User]
Louise grinned. Simultaneously, several things happened.

Henrietta 'eeped'.

Everyone stampeded for the door.

Jason was already gone.

Anderson sank to his knees.

Lietman turned pale white and started trembling.

Michael started _crying_.

Winston's representatives were on the floor hugging each other, trying their best not to stare at the incarnation of evil before them.

The small girl approached Harold slowly. She still bore her grin, and had the air of a predator approaching it's prey.

"Since when have I ever stated that I was punishing just . . . whatever her name is? Oh no, oh no no _no_. _Everyone_ involved is getting a piece of the pie. From Michael and his little lackeys to the girl. In any case . . . the girl still gets the worst outcome. Why? Because even if she was provoked, that _still_ doesn't change the fact that _only_ _she_ used her ability with violent intent. You want to play knight in shining armor, boy? Well then, tell me this: why did you not do a thing when Lietman came in and shook her down? Why did you not approach her, protect her and reassure her?

"You somehow think this will be okay if you share her punishment? What would that do? The fact is you _failed to help her when she needed it most_.

"If you _really_ cared for her, you would have stopped all this from happening in the first place."

[Assistant]
Thisa kept her eyes closed through the beginning of the hastily started "trial" everything that has been said was true... the knight was defensive even if she herself did not mean it to. She wasn't the one who started it all, it was Micheal and his shadow tricks. Problem is in the end Thisa herself was the one who summoned the knight, it was her who destabilized the cafeteria, it really was her who escalated the entire situation to a full out battle. Thisa waited for the verdict wordlessly, expecting the worse as she deserved, when Harold... Harold of all people stepped up. She felt his presence before she heard his voice, the same one that convinced her while in a rage fueled state to end the conflict. Thisa looked up to Harold, he was standing in front of Louise, even a newcomer like Thisa knew of Louise's reputation, it was hard not to. Her eyes widened as she realized Harold was trying to take blame for himself, oh no, no, no he can't he didn't deserve it.

With a grunt Thisa rose to her feet, it was hard, her legs felt like lead and she feared she would topple over at a second's notice, but she had to stop Harold. She ambled closer, however she was too late Thisa recoiled at the barrage of words thrown by Louise, it had to hurt Harold... just had to. She reached Harold and pulled his arm towards her, "Don't do anything, that's all I ask. Don't try punishing yourself for my sake, I don't want that. Please." Thisa let go of Harold to face Louise herself head on, "Do what must be done to me." That was it, clean, simple and direct as that. Pleading meant nothing, not at least with one ruthless as Louise...