[System]
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation/Preference: Bisexual, with an inclination towards men.
Mental Illness/Disorder/Etcetera: Borderline Personality Disorder, Psychosis

Personality: To describe Ezra as abrasive would be the understatement of the century. Inwardly self-destructive and outwardly misanthropic, the people he talks to often find themselves put off by his hostility. He doesn't abide by the rules, he doesn't play fairly, and he certainly doesn't let anyone think they can get one up on him. Ezra considers himself the alpha dog in any situation he's in, but when faced with truly confident or successful people, he can become flustered and defensive, lashing out with increasingly nonsensical insults. Despite that, Ezra is a capable manipulator when he needs to be, and has a knack for controlling people to get what he wants.

He's very often obsessive about the things he does, the things he thinks about, and the people he chooses to follow. If he likes something, chances are he'll let you know it, and if he doesn't, well, he's never been shy about voicing his opinion in that matter as well. Try as he might, he's never really had the best poker face in the world, and it tends to give him away more than not. Ezra is hard to like, much less to love, but underneath the layers of barbed distrust and anger, lies a young man deeply frustrated by his condition.

Appearance: With a height of 5'7", weighing in at around 135 pounds, Ezra isn't exactly the most imposing of figures. It doesn't help that he never stands up straight, either. His posture is terrible; shoulders rolled forward, knees bent, hands inside his pockets. No matter how many hours of sleep he gets a night, it's always fitful, as evident by the dark circles under his watery, blue eyes. There is an unhealthy pallor to his skin, even more so than usual, after a year spent in Remmington. This, combined with his lanky, blonde hair, gives him an overall appearance that would be best described as "washed out". Unless he is fully comfortable in his surroundings, he is usually unsmiling. It's not difficult to notice the way he suspiciously eyes people, watching their every move like a caged animal.

History/Background Info.: Ezra grew up in Bethesda, Maryland, the youngest child to a wealthy businessman and his beautiful wife. The Pinkertons, as one of the primary shipping magnates in North America, were, and continue to be, one of the richest and most influential names from the continent. From the day he was born, Ezra had everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. To outsiders, his life was enviable. But behind closed doors, things were quite different.

Ezra's parents were far too busy with work to deal with a child, and so tended to leave him and his siblings in the care of a nanny. This detachment between parent and child, perhaps, was why Ezra's unusual behaviour went undetected. People never seemed to like staying around Ezra for long; his carers had a curious habit of never lasting more than a month at a time - the frequency and intensity of his sometimes self-destructive tantrums driving them away from the Pinkerton estate. Shrugging it off as the unreliability of the working class, Ezra's parents turned a blind eye to these so-called "episodes". As far as they were concerned, there was nothing wrong with him - well, apart from being spoilt rotten, that is.

For years, the behaviour Ezra displayed was simply swept under the rug. After all, it simply wouldn't do to have the prestigious Pinkerton name sullied, would it? Still, it was only a matter of time until things came to a head. Slowly but surely, Ezra's psyche began to turn on him. As with all things, it started out small. Shadows lurking at the edge of his vision, the occasional whisper at the back of his mind. At first, he couldn't tell whether or not it was just his imagination - but these symptoms only worsened as time went by. Soon, Ezra began suffering from full-blown episodes of catatonia, and it was only then that his parents started to worry.

After multiple trips to the psychiatrist, it seemed like they had finally pinned down just what was wrong with Ezra. Diagnosed with BPD and Psychosis, he was sent home with nothing more than a bottle of mood stabilisers and antipsychotics. But then, barely a month later - that was when things spiralled out of control. The night before his eighteenth birthday, something in him snapped. Convinced that his entire family was out to get him, he retrieved a knife from the kitchen, fully intending to carve up everyone in the house before they could do anything to hurt him. Fortunately, however, Ezra's plans were stopped in his tracks when the knife was wrestled away from him by his first target - his father.

Despite their earlier reservations, Ezra's parents finally realised what they had to do. In a situation like this, seeking professional help would no doubt be the best course of action. Thus, after an extensive round of perusal and vetting, they finally settled on Remmington's Angels. Whether or not Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton were aware of the rumours surrounding the facility is anyone's guess, but two things were for sure - it keeps their son out of the public eye, and their reputation spotless.

Favorites/Interests/Hobbies: Cigarettes. They're one of the only things that calm him down, but he finds it nigh impossible to get his hands on any in Remmington.

Other/Special: Ezra is terrified of dogs. Whilst he isn't going to run screaming when he sees a chihuahua or corgi, anything larger is enough to scare the living daylights out of him.

---

[User]
As she replied, Alytra eyed him speculatively. He just sat there, right next to her, plopped his entitled little ass down as if he'd been invited. She hissed internally and glared at him ever so slightly, pulling her knees to her chest and making sure to leave as much space as possible in between her and her surprise guest of the evening. She was pleased, however, to have the chance for conversation with someone else who was fairly normal - or, at least, what she would consider MORE normal than the typical patient or staff member around Remmington's. Also, Alytra was both taken aback and pleased by the fact that the boy seemed to truly understand what she was experiencing. She noticed that he looked a little wobbly, as well.

"Name's Alytra," she muttered, disappointed by the fact that he could shed no more light on her current situation than had already been shed, "And... You are?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. Relief washed over her that she wasn't the only one to be at a loss when it came to names here. Alytra was distracted briefly as she saw Jason pass by the Lounge out of the corner of her eye, and she could have sworn that she saw him smile one of those menacing smiles... She quickly focused her attention back on the newcomer once he had passed, however, and waited patiently for his reply.

[Assistant]
Ezra might've been delusional, but he wasn't stupid. He could see the subtle curling of the lip, the way her eyes narrowed as he made himself at home on the couch. It was clear - to him, at least - that he wasn't all too welcomed here. Still, it took him every last ounce of willpower in his being to refrain from pointing out that The Lounge was a communal area. If the girl had truly desired to go down the path of the lone wolf, she'd be better off holing up inside a bathroom stall.

As this… 'Alytra' introduced herself, Ezra spent a few moments taking her in. She was pale, but not quite as much as he was, with a peppering of freckles all across her features. Of course, none of that were nearly as interesting as the purple hair - an oasis of colour in this wasteland. A compliment was right there on the tip of his tongue, though he couldn't bring himself to say it. Not just yet, at least. He wasn't about to get all buddy-buddy with some he'd just met. Especially not with someone who glared at him just for taking a seat.

"...Ezra. It's Ezra." The name sounded wrong between his teeth, and he rued the repetition. There was something dodgy about any assertion one felt obliged to make twice. But it had just been so long since anyone in this hellhole addressed him properly, his name beginning to make the strange transition into a dead language. Ezra was disquieted to realise that the staff had ceased to call him anything at all. He didn't know when or how it happened, but one thing was for sure, this was all because of that bitch, Dr. Remmington. No doubt this was another one of her little mind-games, and that toady of hers, Jason, had to be in on it, too.

Speak of the devil… there he was. Ezra would notice that ugly mug anywhere. He'd heard rumours of what Jason did to the other patients, but that was about as deep as it went. Ezra himself hadn't witnessed anything he did firsthand, though he'd certainly had his own run-ins with a separate kind of degenerate - the closeted kind with cigarettes to spare. For a moment, his mind nearly slips, nails digging into his palm to bring himself back to reality. No, no more getting lost in thought. There were other, more important things to deal with. Like the conversation he and Alytra were having, for example.

"So? What're you in here for, then?"

[User]
When he spoke, Alytra could tell that this boy had definitely picked up on her signals and noticed the way in which she had reacted to his taking a seat near her. His face appeared to display that, although he wasn't too fond of her facial expressions, that he understood. Of course, that was probably a common theme for anyone here at Remmington's. Since all of the patients had their space invaded quite often and without their own consent, Alytra pretty much assumed that the others would feel the same way that she did about close encounters with strangers. Or, maybe it was just her, being "moody", slipping from an exciting "up" state into a dreary "down".... She mentally checked herself and attempted to control the ugly effects her disorder to the best of her abilities, along with the medicine that was flowing through her veins, if it was even the correct dosage/kind.

It seemed, for a mere moment, that he was going to share something else with her, but hesitation reared its head, and instead, there was a brief pause, and then Alytra finally learned his name. It was a lovely name, Alytra thought to herself, the kind that would slip off the tip of one's tongue, if not for the hesitation that he had shown, and the awkward repetition of his name afterwards. Was he nervous? Of what? Alytra could be kind of intimidating, but she wasn't that scary.... Was she? She thought that she saw his palm twitch a bit while she waited for him to say more, but it could have easily been just her mind running rampant, full of unidentified chemicals from the drugs.

"Um, my mom sent me here a while ago. I have anxiety and I'm mildly bi-polar." she confided in him, honestly, albeit a bit begrudgingly. She wasn't particularly proud of her disorders, and hoped that it wouldn't scare him off. Although a bit panicky around people, Alytra thought that she was literally going to die without someone to make conversation with. "Why are you here?" She pried, curious about what such a clean-cut looking guy could wind up here for.

[Assistant]
Ezra's eyes narrowed. Anxiety? Bipolar Disorder? Those weren't exactly things that got you committed to a mental institution, much less one like Remmington's. For a fleeting moment, he couldn't help but feel a sense of commiseration well up inside him. How long had she been here? Needless to say, Ezra had his own woes to wrangle, but there weren't many things in the world that made him feel this way. The abuse of power was something he'd always been wary of, and they had the audacity to call him crazy because of it. No one deserved to be in a place like this, no matter how incorruptible and virtuous they set themselves up to be. He knew better.

"Psychosis and BPD." Ezra stated, quite bluntly, voice monotonous with disinterest. His face was a mask of detachment, but if one looked closely, they'd see a flicker of uncertainty. Up until this very day, he still wasn't sure whether or not his suspicions were completely unfounded. Hushed voices and lowered gazes, those were the things that greeted him whenever he walked into a room at home. But he supposed that wasn't the only factor that led to his confinement; more like the straw that broke the camel's back, really. He still remembered how he stuck his head into the oven hours before they dragged him here - and he was so close to blacking out, too. The memory brought a wry, feeble smile to his lips, as he continued. "I tried to kill my family, and I guess they were tired of me trying to kill myself all the time."

Ezra would be lying if he said this revelation wasn't cathartic, and there was a sick sort of excitement as to how the girl would react mixed in there, as well. The therapists in here were useless - all they did was smile, nod, maybe scribble down some bullshit on a clipboard if they were feeling particularly productive that day. It was like talking to a brick wall, or rather, confiding in a goldfish. The therapists seemed to forget about everything he'd said by the time the next session rolled around. After a few months of this repetition, it was much easier for Ezra to simply clam up, and wait for the forty-five minutes to be over. With Alytra, though - or any other patient in Remmington's, for that matter - it was different. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, even if they'd never actually spoken to each other up until now.

"They tried to keep it hush-hush, but you might've seen it in the tabloids, once or twice." He vaguely recalled a headline splashed across the cover of OK! Magazine, and it would've almost been amusing, if not for its tastelessness. "I think it was something like: 'The Pinkertons: Richer Than God, But They Can't Hide The Crazy!'. You know, that might actually be my personal favourite."


[System]
* Age: 22
* Appearance: She doesn't look like you'd EXPECT a magus to look.
* Personality: Despite her long and illustrious family history and the pressures bought about by magecraft in any form, Ai has retained a sunny and flirtatious disposition. Yet it's not wise to write her off as a magus--like any other, she has pride in her abilities, and her ego regarding her family line can be quite overbearing when it's challenged. She also has no compunctions against resorting to the violent approach if that should simplify things--truly at odds with her attitude.
* Abilities: Naturally, as an innately talented mage, Ai has a grasp of the 'universal' basics including Reinforcement, but her focuses aside from that veer sharply away from Western forms of magic from that point. Naturally, given her famous ancestor, Ai focuses on onmyoudo, assuming an extremely orthodox approach to the discipline but also a wide depth of knowledge. She's capable of establishing bounded fields, using divination mechanisms to gather information, and exorcise spirits. The abilities she has a far deeper interest in are those related to curses and shikigami--to the extent that, were one to approach her at home, she has dozens of the latter around.
Only two accompany her at this particular juncture, made from a pair of songbirds and treated like disposable tools. One is nothing more than a means to accomplish reconnaissance and relay its findings back to Ai. The other has the ability to manifest a "Curse of Nature". Simply, the curse forces that in contact with to be forced back towards a state governed only by the World and not magecraft. Therefore, the bird can weaken stronger spells in sacrificing itself, or outright nullify weak ones.
The curse itself, as Ai is aware, is derived from an alternative attempt to allow omnyoudo to work against those things that normal exorcisms cannot, yet is generally considered a failure because of the difficulty of setting it up with sufficient power to counter older mysteries or more powerful spells--and woven through a bounded field, it would nullify the caster as well.
* History: Ai is descended from the famed Abe no Seimei, though the true line of descent has been lost to the public after the influence of Onmyodo on the Imperial Court waned, though her family still found itself involved in common politics up until the end of the Shogunate. A consequence is having a still-considerable amount of wealth and minimal desire to hide away in secret, with her father and younger brother both publicly working in shrines... though of course using no true magecraft in a way that would be detected. With Ai herself devoted to the study of magecraft, it was natural that she would be the one free to answer the Wizard-Marshall's summons.
Fortunate, too, as she is far better than her sibling.

[User]
Kumozaki Keisuke
"Medusa's sisters, you say...? Well, that's a bit of an unorthodox request. Honestly, I can't say I'd envy your position right now. Let's hope we won't have to come clean up a shipwreck and retrieve you in a few hours with the rest of the group," Keisuke quipped, turning his katana back into a ring and slipping in on as he spoke. "In any case, I'll be sure to keep the spine and brain intact if I can. Can't guarantee freshness, though, unless Medea decides to do us a favor and make a bed of ice to keep it on for a while. Best of luck to you; I'm sure you'll need it."

With that parting remark, Keisuke ended the call and slipped the device back into his pocket as he watched Nobunaga decide to actually go through with her earlier plans of making sashimi out of the sea serpent. He was tempted to point out how most people wouldn't even consider eating something like that off of a whim, but decided against saying that once Atalanta suggested that they try some of the sea serpent meat themselves—cooked, of course. He couldn't fault her; it was better that than accidentally catching some random, rare disease from consuming the meat raw. Servants didn't have to worry about that, all things considered. At the same time, though, he was not a Servant and did not have that excuse.

It seemed that annoying Medea was going to have to be necessary, one way or another.

"I don't deny that it's probably a once-in-a-lifetime chance, but I, personally, don't think it's safe for a human to just consume something like this on a whim. Since I was curious about what Medea was making down there anyhow, I may as well ask for some way to handle all our problems in one go: keeping the meat fresh, preserving the other materials, and maybe getting something just in case that meat has some fatally poisonous material inside," he said to Atalanta, raising his hand as if to motion to wait for a moment before he walked down below deck.

The small amount of purple smoke floating about at his feet was a bit disconcerting, but Keisuke was used to seeing things that were more volatile in his line of work. Without letting it faze him, Keisuke continued on to find the source of the smoke: a room that Medea had, it seemed, completely dedicated into changing into a miniature workshop. It made sense now why she had wanted to get back here so desperately, but that wasn't an issue at the moment. Medea herself was poring over the bones and the fins, and as far as Keisuke could tell by the hazily-lit room, Medea was in the middle of creating...

"A propeller?" he asked out loud, at which point Medea stopped working and slowly turned towards him.

"Yes, a propeller. I was surprised at how much apparently superfluous information was inserted into my head when I was summoned, but it seems to be somewhat useful. That only adds to my own variety of questions, but in any case... Did you need something?" she asked, placing the mechanism off to the side for a moment to address him.

"Yes. I'm sorry to be a bother, but could I ask for some method to keep the organic stuff cold so it doesn't rot on the seas? Also, Atalanta seems to want to want to cook some of the meat for us; do you have any idea as to if that creature is poisonous to eat or not? Well, that and if we could borrow some seasonings, but I doubt that you have any on board..."

"Hm... The first comment is a valid concern, and I will address that once this propeller is complete. As for cooking the serpent... That's certainly something that Archer might suggest. To allay your fears, I can calmly say that the meat is not poisonous to consume. I should note, though, that there may be some residual mana within, though that would only really be dangerous if you were to consume its offals. Seasonings... Remember, this used to be someone else's vessel. I only modified the rooms closer to the exit; there may be something of note further in the back," she responded, nodding in turn.

"You're being awfully polite to me. I thought that cooperation would only mean that you would work with us, but you've already done such a great deal. Is there any particular reason as to why?"

"Do you really think I can afford to be brusque in my current situation? Frankly, you're far more polite than a fair deal of people I've had the pleasure of dealing with in the past, and you control two Servants for whatever reason, one of whom is an Archer who I know just as well as she knows me; not only that, but you three are volunteering to help me of your own volition more than anything else. I would prefer we remain on cordial terms, at least until the current situation is resolved," she responded, motioning for Keisuke to leave her be. "In any case, I should finish restructuring these objects. Luckily, this seems to be far simpler than I expected; I should be done in roughly two hours and will supply you with an answer to that cooling problem soon after."

"Huh. Not just polite, but honest, to boot. Or, well, I assume. Not like I'm in a position to complain, though. Thanks; I'll leave you to your work, then," Keisuke said, bowing in a mixture of gratitude and respect before leaving the room. Following the Caster's directions, Keisuke made his way further into the ship and, after peering into a few rooms and looking around in curiosity, eventually did find a few odd spices in what seemed to be a storage of some sort. That would warrant a bit more exploration (and maybe disposal) in the future, but for the moment the Enforcer simply took what he had and left the lower deck.

Making his way over to Atalanta, Keisuke laid out what he had in hand and nodded.

"She said it should be safe, we'll get some cooling for this once she's done, and we'll likely be seeing some more anachronisms attached to this ship. I wonder how much those modifications will alter the speed of this boat..." he said, trailing off as he looked at the other items on the ship. The blood in particular reminded him of the ritual to summon Servants...

All things considered, it might actually be a possibility to pull more from the Throne to help. There was the load on his own body to worry about, but the memory of Zelretch vaguely mentioning something about manipulating leylines on his first day or two there was still fresh in his mind. Maybe something had been done to him in regards to how much mana could be supplied to the Servants without... Well, killing him. He would have to ask about that later. For now, he wouldn't question it. Two hours in the middle of an ocean laden with mana from the Age of Gods... If there was a time to try something stupid, it was now. Probably.

But first, food. The curiosity at eating such a thing piqued his interest, even if he wasn't particularly inclined to eating fancy food in the first place. It was like... Eating fugu for the first time.
That was certainly an experience.

---

Ozymandias
The bold smile that Ozymandias held faltered for a moment as he watched Nero steer the ship towards the edge of a whirlpool, his eyes widening as he moved behind Nero to grab the wheel for a brief moment and shift it ever so slightly off to the side. The ship lurched off to the side, throwing a few unlucky pirates off as it swung around the whirlpool and launched itself further into the storm. The pharaoh stepped back and let out a sigh of relief, silently wishing those unfortunate souls luck in the afterlife as he looked at the sea again.

"You were almost perfect with that angle. Impressive, considering that you are a Saber and not a Rider like I am," he remarked, turning towards the ships crew and sticking out his staff. "Stand firm! If any of you slacken, your lives are more at risk than ours. The light of Ra will shine upon us once more soon enough!"

As that was occurring on the ship, the waters below where Artoria had thrust her blade immediately surged multiple times over, causing giant waves that would cause even the most seasoned sailor to balk to form. The momentary glimpse of the laser piercing some sort of beast's flesh would be fairly clear, and the thrashing under it all caused the storm to whip around even more. Whatever the creature was, it attempted to dive deeper into the sea in attempt to dodge being hit by the same attack twice. There was a stream of blood now forming from where the weapon had met its mark, but the dark waters melded with the blood to make that in and of itself a hard sight to distinguish—above the water, at least. At the very least, it seemed to be heading for deeper waters and away from Artoria; unluckily enough, that 'away' also happened to be towards the ship carrying the other Servants and crew.

@VitaVitaAR@Rin@Raineh Daze@Grey Star

[Assistant]
---

"You could just preserve it with salt and spices. We seem to have enough of both," Atalanta replied to the comment about cooling the remainders of the serpent. "That said, Medea can be very convenient when she's like that. Maybe not as dependable as Heracles, but close to it. In fact, you would be surprised with her cooking skills," she added in a nostalgia-heavy voice; the Aegean breeze and rocking waves bringing her mind back to the times of the Argo Expedition.

"Let's get this done before the night falls. That's not the same as the Calydonian Boar but it still is good meat," Atalanta said as she began to prepare their food, before taking a moment to go under the deck, only to return with a pitcher full of wine and bread that she smelled as soon as they stepped on the ship. "With this, we can have a proper meal fit for a hero of the Age of the Gods."

[User]
Saber - Arturia Pendragon

Her attack had hit its mark! The enormous creature beneath the water had been struck, the beam piercing through its flesh. Unfortunately, Saber had been unable to strike it in a vital area, and it surged beneath the waters deeper... by this point, the only way that the blonde knight could trace it was the trail of crimson it was leaving behind it. And it seemed that it was heading directly for the ship. Quite simply, this wasn't an acceptable outcome, and inwardly the girl cursed the fact that she hadn't foreseen this outcome. Placing the others in immediate danger... immediately, she broke into a sprint, back the way she came. She had to do her best to outpace the beast under the waves, leaping off the crest of one particularly large arc of water before driving onward, ducking low to make herself more aerodynamic against the winds.

She'd reach the boat first...!

And indeed, the shape of the ship became visible through the pouring rain and crashing waves. Taking a deep breath, Arturia opened her mouth, and...

"There is a creature beneath the water, approaching the boat!" cried Saber.

@PKMNB0Y@Raineh Daze

[Assistant]
The sound of Nero's wounded pride, it seemed, was something between a growl and a squeak as her course was corrected--entirely unnecessarily, she felt; there was no need to take the conservative line that the Rider was pushing for. The ship would be able to take the stresses, she was certain of it! There was only a small chance of being sucked into the icy depths and if they could stay afloat for a few seconds, the other Saber could come along for everyone to pile on top of.

Though maybe that would be a bit hard to manage. Fortunately, the Legatus had come running back, so if they did fall in, nobody would stay in the water for long.

Of course, with her arrival came warnings of a beast beneath them, in the water where their lack of arrows, harpoons, magical spells, or nautical beasts of their own would leave them completely unequipped to fight it off and avoid getting devoured. "I would have preferred to save this sight for something more impressive, but circumstances have forced my hand."

The passing breeze carried with it a scent of rose petals for only a second--and then the world was shifted. Gone was the sea, the ship that they had sailed upon. Only the Servants stood upon the stage in the immense theatre as petals fluttered in the air. Out in the seats sat the baffled pirates, the old man, and even their Master and the magus. Opposite them was what could only be described as a whale... thing.

A bit too large to effectively take out with but a sword, all things considered, at least with the style that such august surroundings demanded.

"Umu! Praefectus, Legatus, now that you have been brought to my stage, show me what you can do!"


[System]
Age: 17

Gender: Female

Race: Faunus (Cat)

Weapon:

The Aurora Ravager is a weapon of two identical energy swords powered by a dust core. Engineered to provide excellent movement speed both swords are able to slice through the air at incredible speeds. Combined with that, they can also fold the first two thirds up to be two energy pistols, which are quite useless in long range combat and are mostly used to penetrate weak spots.

Specialty: Skyra is fast. Very fast. And agile. Both of those features together make her seem like a dancer on the battlefield. Her trademark move is slashing upwards with both blades launching herself into the air, flipping back around, then striking downwards at lightning speed.
However she is absolutely unusable at long range engagements and against flying creatures, not from the ground anyway.
Due to her cat Faunus heritage, she is able to sneak up on her targets without making a sound, which makes her a decent assassin when needed.
In short: If you need a striker, who can quickly dispose of targets in a flash, call Skyra. If you have flying beasts or monsters not reachable by close combat, don't call her.

Semblance: Blade Storm: Skyra channels her aura to manifest around her which starts levitating her two swords and swirls them around herself creating an absolutely deadly whirlwind of blades, which, when cancelled, sends a shockwave out, knocking close enemies off their feet. With her weapons modified to fire arrows, Blade Storm is able to be channelled into the bow to accelerate the arrow to blistering speeds.

Personality: At first glance Skyra seems pretty easy to categorize. An energetic, sometimes pretty mean spirited, tomboy. That is mostly how she will behave in public. In private, however, she will open up a lot more, even to a point where she will constantly hug and snuggle those who are close and dear to her. Don't get her mad, though, or she might go into berserk-mode smashing everything that is not nailed down. When she is in that mode, only a hug will get her out of it before she loses steam.

Colour: Sunrise orange  (Colourcode: F02100)

Emblem: A whirlwind of orange swords

Appearance: Pretty much like this, just her hair should have sunrise-orange coloured tips and black-white furred ears. Also she is rather small, at 155cm ~5'1"

[User]
Gren Orchid

Gren spent the ride back in silence. Even when Shiro asked him his question, Gren said nothing. All he did was nod as a confirmation that he wouldn't say a thing. It's not as though Shiro was as subtle (Or willing to be subtle) as Gren was when it came to secrets. Speaking of secrets, what Gren was doing now was messaging his White Fang contacts through his wifi. He didn't blatantly just go to any old member tell him everything he wanted to say. No, he needed to be secretive, able to hide from the cyber police who would monitor him. And what a better way to be secretive than to be acting? Gren was on a roleplaying web site called "RPGuild", where he PM'd a few of his buddies about an upcoming side plot involving the capture of a pop singer. He named the location and a vague strategy of how to capture the sing he called "Bait-and-switch". A link was provided. He intended to take the pop star as she was a particular fan of Gren's character, also for her own safety after he uncovers a much more sinister plot worse than his fanboyism.

At some point Gren actually forgot that he was sending a secret message to his White Fang associates and actually went into great detail about his side plot. By the time the team arrived back to Beacon Gren was still elaborating on his side-plot-turned-into-a-big-mess with his GM. There Vale Authorities were already there to take in the Pops and the others for questioning. Pop's trial was going to take some time, but eventually he'll mysteriously "Disappear" in the hands of the White Fang. Now it was up to them to take care of it, though tomorrow he'll head to Pop's computer to take the research and ensure no one else steals the information but him.

As the team left the ship Shiro mentioned that he was going to stay back, seemingly to maintenance his weapon. It struck it odd to Gren that Shiro would want to do that here instead of say, back at the dorm or in one of the weapon shops. Gren figured that Shiro just didn't want to get in Sapphire's way however; it was likely that she too was going to head either to her room or to one of the workshops to either rest or make herself new weapons, respectively. Seeing that he had very little to do himself, Gren stepped up to his leader. "You'll be needing a weapon before tomorrow. Preferably something you're comfortable with. Do you need any help from me, Sapphire?"

Caravan Mission

The truck drivers remained inside the truck, though they did shout out to Oswald that they had some heavy duty chains in a container on the underside of the truck. If he looked for a few minute he'd find a plastic container with chains, hooks, and other gadgets that would be useful for hauling vehicles, or in this instance flipping it back on it's wheels. There were a few hook holds on the top of the truck they could attach hooks to, though it would require some acrobatics to climb up to them even with the truck on it's side.

Meanwhile back at the camp, the remaining schnee guardsmen took the opportunity to set up a kill zone in front of the mine. Specifically, it looked like they were ready to shoot anything that came out of the mine. There was only seven of them left, only two of them who were suffering from some sort of injury. The eldest one, the one that Diamond and Oswald spoke to, ordered the younger guardsman to get Team MODA. Their problems, as well as their mission, wasn't over yet.

Patrol Mission

The girl's intent to flood the streets started to break apart when Skyra first uprooted the girl's anchor, causing the anchor girl to get caught in her own rough torrent. She aligned herself quickly, but not quickly enough before she realized she was surrounded by Ebon's R-types. She pulled her anchors close to her to shield herself, but she couldn't shield every part of her. The lasers ripped through the water and into the girl. But before her Aura gave out, the water dropped, and the anchor girl was gone.

"That was a nice fight. But I have to ask; what exactly are you fighting for?"

The voice came from one of the women from anchor girl's gang. Anchor girl herself was in the arms of the tiger faunas, looking rather worse-for-wear but alive. The woman who speak was the one with gradient blond/purple hair. She wore sunglasses and was the second tallest in the group. She seemed to be the leader. The entire group had the literal high ground as most were standing on the roof of the various shops and vendors. One of the girls were missing.

At the Land of Walt the line for the Ursa Hammer game was getting short, so one of the carnies called out to Krysthane. "Hey pretty lady! Wanna play? Just hit the Ursa and get a free ice cream. Hit em hard enough and you'll even get a special prize! I gotta tell ya though, no one's gotten the prize yet, but it's so worth it! Come on, first swing's for free!" A big burly man tried to smash the ursa in the face, but he failed despite swinging so hard he actually broke the hammer. He did manage to get 80% of the way there however. The carny was unphased at the turn of events and simply pulled another rubber hammer out from a bucket near by. It was next to another bucket containing broken hammers. The big guy left dejected, but at least got ice cream.

[Assistant]
Napoli Fiordilatte - Dei Tour (Cafeteria)

"Just ignore Gratia, she's just jealous she didn't think of the idea. After all, she's way too poor to afford a decent pillow herself, as far as I'm concerned with my eyes closed on the people I can imagine the feathers came from just about anywhere," A large grin spread across Napoli's face, "Comfort is a thing to be enjoyed after all, and a Hunter's life is rough enough. Is it so wrong to have a nice pillow."

Turning his attention off of his irksome teammate, Napoli began speaking to his more level headed leader. "Come on Boss, it's not like I'm ask you to date anyone, just join in on the little bet. Speaking of which," Napoli once more turned his attention to Bianca, "In terms of what I can offer you. Well... let me think." There was a slight pause as a truly brilliant idea brewed within the confines of Napoli's beautiful mind. Napoli let out another chuckle as he began speaking again, this idea was just that brilliant.

"Bianca, if you're one the most beautiful women I've met, then that means I just have to be the wittiest mind you've ever met. If you win our little bet, you'll get a one of kind, signed Napoli Fiordilatte limited edition Joke Book, complete with an entire section on how to aggravate Gratia. I don't know about you, but I'd say that's a pretty priceless work of art. One for the history books."

I really am a genius.

All that said, Napoli did realize that he had to take his teammate's whisper into account, so it was time to slightly amend the terms and conditions. "So how about this for the bet, we give it two months, if you've found a suitable boy or girl via your flyers that you've been with for at least 2 weeks, you win the joke book. Otherwise I win the pillow. I'll even tip it a little in your favor, if you have a significant other by the end of the two months but it hasn't been two weeks, we'll let the bet go into overtime and make sure that relationship has time to finish it's two weeks."

"Sound good?"

Of course I don't see why it wouldn't. One of my most greatest ideas after all. Napoli mused to himself, as he reached for another slice of pizza. It was then that he felt it, an odd breeze was coming in and as a sniper the hunter was particularly intune with such phenomena. Knowing the speed and direction of the wind was pretty essential after all, and this breeze seemed to be originating from inside. Rather odd, but honestly he didn't care that much. In fact, it was rather amusing watching people chase after their plates, a comical scene really. He'd probably let this one go on for a little longer, let the others get worked up over it.

[User]
Bianca Nuit – A Dei Tour

"Oh it's not that bad Gratia, it's not like the feathers are still connected to me. For all I know if I don't give him a pillow we'll find him scavenging for my fallen feathers in a week or two." Bianca deduced. Besides, she knew that she had the softest feathers of anyone she'd ever met, so it only made sense that her teammates had pillows made of them. That way they had a leg up on the competition.

Bianca felt a graceful caress against her legs and she saw a few plates fly up in the distance. She pinned her left hand to her right thigh keeping her skirt where it ought to be and glanced around at the table.  "Well I know almost everyone's abilities at this table. And no one I know has the ability to make me flash the table across from us." Bianca said shooting a look that could kill a person towards Emerald.

But she didn't hold it, instead she diverted her attention back to Napoli.  "I'll tell you what, you've got a deal, I'll throw my flyers up and if I can find a partner before two months is up, that joke book is mine." Bianca said swiftly throwing a wink Gratia's way. Bianca didn't wink for flirtation techniques, although passerby might think so with the way she carried herself. But that was sort of the point. Instead Bianca was notifying Gratia there was a reason she was accepting this stupid bet. Seriously, the best pillow money could buy for a joke book.

 "Seriously though Emmy cut this shit out." Bianca snapped growing tired of holding her skirt down. Bianca found Beacon pretty alright, but more than anything she thirsted for adventure, battle, something. She wanted or rather, needed something to quell the thirst for a mission in her bones. She decided that once the group had finished their meal she would demand they search for a mission, her demands only worked every once in a while, typically when the group shared an interest in her demands. They may been a dysfunctional group, but they figure it out pretty well.

[Assistant]
IC: Emerald

Curses my plans have been foiled again!

The wind stopped as Emerald's ears drooped, she'd been far too obvious, the others had figured out it was her already. Still, to maintain her dignity she acted like nothing had happened and took a long swig of her soda. A realllyyy long swig...

She managed to chug the whole can, catching her breath as she finished. She grabbed another soda can, all that sugar.

Nyahahahaha...okay stop that. As she popped the can open and took a sip she wondered what to do next, she wasn't hungry anymore. The rest of the group all knew each other, had known each other for a long time. But Emmy? No she was just a stranger, she didn't know them and they didn't know her. It sort of made it difficult to engage in conversation.

With a heavy sigh Emerald put her head on the table, looking at the others sideways was sort of interesting...not really.

[User]
Skyra took a deep breath to get her stamina back. After she spun around on the heels of her boots, she lowered her swords, both still energized, though.
Then she huffed.
"You're the leader of this merry gang of circus clowns? We were tasked by the VPD to patrol the streets and stuff. As your... mate already guessed, we're hunters in training from Beacon. I would kindly ask you to keep out of trouble and all that majizz. I can't be arsed to fight anymore, if I don't have to."
She shrugged and yawned a bit.
This patrolling business was pretty boring, she thought, although she just had fought one of the more exciting battles of her career as a fighter.


[System]
Race: Human
Profession: Ranger
Age: 18

Personality:

Merrill is a grave young man that carries the world on his shoulders. He rarely speaks, and when he does so, it is with the barest minimum words that he can use to convey his meaning. He is a thoughtful young man, who takes the time to think about every situation from every possible angle. He is very hesitant to take action, and will only do so when he has considered the action and its possible consequences as far as he can.

One thing that he takes great pains to conceal from others are his abilities as a seer. He is very, very painfully aware that such abilities of divination and foresight, if discovered would lead to his instant execution with no questions asked because of the fears of magic. Because of this, Merrill is well aware of the fact that he is not just in danger himself, but he is also potentially a danger to everyone else around him, if his talent was to ever be discovered. Only a select few trusted souls know of Merrill's secret.

Merrill's goal and driving obsession is to learn more of his abilities as a seer. Primarily, he needs and wants to learn to control the talent, so he can tap into it and use it at will rather than have the ability take him at the most inopportune moments. On the odd occasion, he will go into a trance and seemingly lose control of his body - at these times he will speak in riddles and rhymes, often telling of an event still to happen, predict the weather, or divine some other obscure bit of information about another person that nobody else would know. When this passes he has no memory of the event afterwards. Merrill's biggest fear is that this will happen when he is around the others as something like that would cause his own imminent doom.

That is why above all else, he needs to learn to control his ability.

In addition to this, there is a certain amount of bitterness inside of Merrill in regards to his ability. Whereas most people would see an ability to tell the future as a blessing, to Merrill it is a curse. There is no worse fate in all the world than to know what is about to happen and know that you can do nothing at all to change it. To speak to a man and know he will die in the week, to know that two lovers are fated to split and be apart. To know your own destiny and have no control over it - there is nothing worse than that.

However, it is not all secrecy and gloom for Merrill. He is very loyal to his friends, and although he can count the number of his true friends on the fingers of one hand and still have fingers left over those friends he does have he will die for. But because of his secret, he will not learn to trust easily, and will not trust anyone unless he has absolutely no reservations of their intentions and believes that they will not betray him. In that way, he is perhaps overly cautious and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit paranoid.

Background:

Merrill was born in a small village near to Edsel, off the coast. Merrill was born the son of a travelling band of gypsies, and until his teenage years he was reasonably content with his life.

Until his latent "talent" manifested itself.

Over the next couple of years, Merrill's abilities became more and more prominent, and it became difficult to hide them. Eventually, it was Merrill's elder brother, Onlaron, who discovered the truth first. Onlaron did not share Merrill's fascination with it, and was in fact horrified. Although he did not tell anyone, he tried to swear the young Merrill to an oath of secrecy, impressing upon the impressionable youth how important it was to keep his ability secret. Merrill, not really understanding his brother's urgency, nevertheless agreed anyway, wanting to keep the peace.

However, some things would not be kept a secret, no matter how hard one tried. Merrill's family discovered the truth. His father turned the boy out, with nary enough food to last a week. Such was the fear and prejudice that one was met with in these times. And so it was that young Merrill left his home, friendless and alone, with no place in the world.

Fate would bring young Merrill to the village of Edhel, chased by dark shadows that he did not understand, but that he suspected wanted him for his strange power, and it was there he met Callie.......

Strengths:* Expert Hunter and Tracker
* Physically Strong
* Swordsman
* Stealthy

Weaknesses:* Cold and distant - having been turned out by his kin has changed Merrill. He does not trust and he keeps himself distant from others.
* Paranoia - In that it's not paranoid to think everyone is out to get you when, in fact, everyone is out to get you
* Fear of magic
* Out of his depth. Merrill is, to be polite, out of his depth. Despite his outward demeanour suggesting otherwise, he is not ready for the world to be thrust upon him.

Powers:* Mental Alarm (upcoming danger - limited by range)
* Animal Handling
* Animal Friendship
* Animal Companion
* Augury
* Seer Sight (divining an objects past by touching it)
* Foraging (inhospitable terrain)
* Endure harsh conditions
* Endure deadly conditions
* Limited Foresight (1/day)

[User]
Callie gasped in utter horror as she saw the fire mar his features as it devoured his body. When she heard his words about him being expendable she shook her head and whimpered "No...Nononononono....Put out the fire...!" When he let her go, she stood up and stared at him, when he whispered and then fell limp. She fell to her knees at the realization that he was dead.

This...This was her fault....!

She....She did this!

...She....She really was evil! She killed the one person who was willing to help her!!!

Tears started to blur her sight and she was ready to scream once more. How could she have been stupid?! HOW COULD SHE HAVE DONE THIS?!

Before she did though, she heard another voice, and she stood up, turning to see who the source was. She watched as a strange woman stepped out of the shadows. Callie let out her own wary question, her voice choking as she tried to hold tears back, "Who-Who are you?! What do you want?!"

Callie's own body tensed as the woman drew closer, her own eyes widened at the mention that the woman was here to kill Merrill. She watched as the woman placed a hand on Merrill's body, and Callie raised her own hand, ready to try and call fire again and she warned "If...If you do something awful to his body, I swear I'll--!" She stopped when the woman spoke once more, saying that it shouldn't be this way.

Callie watched as white light appeared, and it seemed to bring life back to Merrill. Callie's breath hitched. Merrill was alive! HE IS ALIVE!

Her creating became erratic as the tears forced their way through and she stared at the woman. Before Callie could say anything, she was gone. Once the woman was gone, Callie fell to her knees and cried.

[Assistant]
My name is Merrill Anwin. Once, long ago, I was just like you.

He wakes, to the sound of horses and the motion of wheels moving. Opening his eyes, the first thing he sees is the sight of a raven haired beauty looking to him with an expression of concern on her features. She was wearing a long, flowing dress of multi colours, a garment that framed her beautiful, lithe form to perfection. Hanging from her neck was a beautiful emerald set within a golden pendant. She had worn the amulet for as long as Merrill had known her.

Dulcimae. Sister. The Dark of the Moon.

Sitting up slowly, Merrill winces at the sudden shooting sensation of agony that knifed its way through his gut. Dulcimae stood, laying a hand on his chest to settle him, pressing him down gently.

"Not this way. It should not be this way. You took a nasty wound from the sword."

Dark eyes looked down at his bare chest as worry flickered across them. Glancing down, Merrill saw the bloodstained bandage wrapped around his bare torso as she continued.

"It could have been worse though. Despite the fact that the man struck from the shadows, you managed to react just in time to avoid the worst of the blow. Either you have cat-like reflexes, or you were born with the gift. Except we know that that is impossible of course."

Laughing softly, the expression not lessening the worry in her eyes, Dulcimae stood. She missed the brief, pained expression crossing Merrill's features as he grimaced, and not from the pain. In all the years of their people, there had only been one recorded instance of a male child born with the sight that had lived to adulthood, and that man had been hunted down and killed. Legend told of a prophecy that a male born child with the sight would bring about the doom of their kind.

Dukkar, or Darklings as they were called, often showed their abilities early, and such children were killed before they grew to adulthood, and old enough to be a threat.

Merrill tried to rose again, but Dulcimae shook her head, pressing him down gently once more. "Rest, brother. Please, for me. Mother and Father have things in hand. We will cross the border tonight. We are clear of the bandits."

Dulcimae's eyes reflected her worry. Since childhood, the siblings had been inseparable. Their bond was one of blood, and it was one that the dark land they lived in could not break. From an early age, the troublesome siblings had inflicted all sorts of mischief on their long-suffering kin. And yet, despite their mischievous antics, the twins were regarded with much fondness and love from their tight-knit community. The others saw the twins as a lucky omen. Merrill was the light of the sun to Dulcimae's dark of the moon. And in the dark land they lived in, there was little enough good left to hold on to.

Tonight, they would look to cross the border, to escape from the tyrannical, lord who hated them and their kind. They would leave this place where their kind were hunted down and butchered on the whim of the mad lord, to make a new life for themselves. Tonight, their lives would change forevermore.

And as he lay down, as he looked his sister in the eye, Merrill nodded, and simply replied, "Aye."

For him, his own reckoning would come soon. Merrill knew, deep down, that he could not hide his "condition" from the others much longer. Already, there were mutterings in the camp. There were whispers that Merrill possessed some strange power that they could not comprehend. Sighing sadly, he closed his eyes. He would miss them....especially his twin, whom he had never been apart from. Once he was gone, he would carry a hole in his heart.

Yet, he knew no other way.

The door closed softly behind her. Opening his eyes, Merrill looked towards the door, where she had stood only moments before. A soft whisper escaped his lips.

"Goodbye, my sister."

***

He wakes to the sound of her crying. As his eyes flicker open, he feels a strange weariness overtake him. The last thing he remembered was the fire. The fire.....and burning. Bringing his hands up to touch his face, Merrill looks to the sky. Tracing his fingers across his skin, he is almost surprised to find that it, and he, is still whole.....

But how could that be? I died.....I remember dying in fire.....

Sitting up slowly, holding his head in his hands, he blinks once....twice. This didn't make any sense. There wasn't even any pain, just the memory of it.....burning away at him. Moving his hands away, he blinks again, looking over to see Callie there, on her knees, crying.

"Callie," he whispers, as he moves over to her.

He places his arms around her, drawing her into him as he holds her tight. Squeezing his eyes tight, he holds her.

"Its ok Callie. Its ok.....its all going to be ok. I promise." Tears formed in his eyes, spilling as they fell.

"We survived.....it doesn't matter how, but we did it....." Bringing a trembling hand up, he runs it through her hair as he holds her head into his shoulder.

"We survived....." he whispers again.

In the distance, the fire still burned, but the rain was dampening it. Soon it would be nothing but smoke on the wind.

[User]
Callie didn't stop crying, despite that Merrill was waking up, and was clearly alive. She couldn't stop crying. The events of this night...

The loss of her family...

The loss of her home...

The loss of her normal life...

And the near loss of someone who had been willing to help her...

They all just crashed down on Callie and the tears just would not stop flowing. She truly felt like she was just a child, as her magic surge had physically forced her into becoming.

When she felt him wrap his arms around her, she hugged back instinctively, and she buried her head into his shirt as the tears kept on coming.

As she cried, she could only manage to say the words through her sobbing, "I'm sorry...! I'm so sorry...!"

[Assistant]
Merrill shook his head, holding onto her.

"There's nothing to apologise for Callie. Nothing at all. It'll all be ok."

He hadn't ever had to comfort anyone before, and so Merrill was a little unsure about whether he was doing it properly. Eventually he settled for just patting her back awkwardly. The night was drawing on, and it had been a long night indeed..... In the distance the fire became nothing more than a damp smoulder.

Still holding Callie to him, Merrill lay his head on hers.

"You'll make it, I promise," he whispered to her.

***

The next thing he knew, sunlight was streaming down into the small grotto. Its light reflected off the surface of the water which ran next to him. His eyes flickered open slightly, taking in the small sliver of light that illuminated their surroundings. The feeling of a small weight on his chest drew his attention. Glancing down, Merrill saw Callie's head, still laying on him, her eyes closed. They must have both fallen asleep from their exertions the night before.

Wincing inwardly, Merrill stood, gently moving Callie off him and withdrawing his arm from around her.

That was inexcusable, an inner voice hissed at him. You were supposed to stand watch over her as she slept. The demon could have come back....or your sister, or worse. You could have lost your charge because of your incompetence.

Sighing softly, Merrill walked over to the river. Sitting down there on the riverbank, he crossed his legs, and he watched the river as it flowed eastwards.

And as he did, he reflected on the fact that that was the first night he could remember for a long long time that he didn't have any nightmares.


[System]
Age: 17

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Weapon:
Twin Daggers - Twin daggers, they respond to aura more easily than other material, allowing him to make his imbued strikes.

Dust imbued coat - The coat creates an after-image of him whenever he uses his Semblance. It looks really cool, and can be disorientating to fight, and makes it harder to keep track of him.

Lightning Pins - Throwing knives with a unique design to attract electricity. Using these knives he can set up his Lightning Rod skill's directions, giving him more versatility of approach. They can be used as ranged weapons as well, although they are weak in that regard. Due to their small size, he can carry a large amount of them, and throw a large amount of them with relative ease, and can dash to each one mid-flight, allowing him to really mix things up.

Specialty: Fast, i
ncredibly fast, coupled with his lightning-speed semblance, Jack Orpheus is nigh impossible to hurt or catch. His speciality is in distraction work, anti-personnel and duels. His incredible speed allows him to force opponents on their toes, and eventually pressure them until even a split second opening is created, which he will exploit, or against larger opponents, he can reach harder-to-strike areas much more quickly than others. It is reported he is fast enough to assault one opponent from more than 5 directions (thanks to his Lightning Rod skill he created). Obviously, even a little bit of damage on him will hamper his mobility, so even a minor strike on him can be a big thing.

Semblance:
 Midnight Lightning - Only called so because of it's black and navy blue appearance, it appears to eat the light around it, creating an ethereal or unnatural appearance. This semblance allows Jack to zip in straight lines at lightning speed, and usually without pause. As he passes opponents with it, he is able to slash at opponents, and can even imbue his blades with his Semblance in order to make his strikes sharper and deadlier. He has a special technique with his Semblance called "Lightning Rod", allowing him to do multi-directional dashes as long as he hits a reference point, such as a tree, poles, etc. Against larger opponents, he can even use their limbs, allowing him to deal extra damage as well as maintain mobility.

Midnight Railgun - By zipping around with his semblance, he builds up his aura and eventually glows slightly. The brighter he glows, the stronger the attack. Railgun is executed as a long range rushing attack in a straight line, and it's maximum range is a sniper rifle's. He can charge it manually like a power-up stance, allowing him to prepare an entry, or charge it in the midst of battle by using his semblance.

The move has an insane amount of power, and when used he becomes essentially a living light-speed bullet when fully charged, but can still be used at low charges, but that would mean he would have to charge it up again once used.

Full charge is shown by a change in hair and eyes, as well as his aura becoming very visible around him.

Personality: An incredibly fast mind equipped with wit and mouth that talks fast enough to keep up with it. He is often seen as an idiot due to how he is usually unable to read atmosphere, possibly because he sets his own pace, which turns out to be faster than many can keep up with. He can be seen as tactless, but he is not without merit. He doesn't seem to mind the little things, and he is able to work together and cooperate, on the other hand, others may find him disagreeable. He handles himself and others in a largely informal way, so he also comes off as rather rude.

Appearance: I'm gonna draw a new one. You're gonna have to wait till next week though due to assignments.

Color: Midnight Blue

Emblem: Twin lightning bolts in a V shape.

[User]
Luke Schwarz -- Mission Control
Gonna get down on FRIDAY

---

One black-haired member of the contingent of four walking down to the pavilion bright and early, or at least what counted as bright and early to a former high-schooler who really wished he could schedule classes on his own time blocks as opposed to having periods to fill, yawned and raised his arms to the sky, stretching languidly with an oddly relaxed demeanor for a Friday morning at Beacon.

The week had passed by quicker than he had expected, and had been, in very basic terms, an entirely average week. There were highs--

* Language.
* Psychology.
* Newfound understanding of mathematics.
* Getting to know the class a little better.

--and there were lows--

* Practice.
* Ending up unable to show Beryl Harken to the pool.
* Missing an oppurtunity to convince Beryl Harken to ride double when they headed for the pool
* Being acutely aware that his scalp was under constant scrutiny by one or more Vignobles--
	+ Whenever possible.

--But in its totality, the week was a normal, balanced week. While it may have seemed at first glance to have been strange from the get-go, especially judging from the events told about Monday, through the objective, 20/20 lens of hindsight, he had come to recognize that it was actually entirely normal for a day in Beacon. High concentrations of extraordinary individuals lead to high concentrations of extraordinary events. As such, what was extraordinary to him quickly and suddenly became ordinary. Unusual became usual. Outlandish became routine.

And he had begun to adapt. Not as quickly as he was sure his mother had, or his sister would, but that being said, he had been faced with a far more jarring transition than to simply be eased into the program by Signal.

That also being said, he was an obstinate young man by nature, almost foolishly so. The adaptation had been going at a slow burn rather than the typically foretold explosion of freedom and change one was purportedly to experience in colleges, or college-like settings. He still found himself surprised, for example, to learn that one of his classmates, the leader of Team RWBY, was a girl barely a year, if even that, older than his little sister at Signal. He was surprised to learn that he shared a class with a famous athlete, on team JNPR.

I hated that cereal, though...

Count Chocula to the grave.

Lucas Schwarz, 18-year-old-hunter-in-training-and-sophist-at-large, was, as we just established, still obstinately finding surprise in things even as he was adjusting to life amongst his peers at Beacon, and acknowledge daily (hourly) wackiness as the status quo. So with that in mind, then, it should come as little surprise that he found himself very surprised when he woke up Friday morning.

As everyone knew, even well before they transferred or enrolled into Beacon properly, Fridays were dedicated to mission days. At least once a week, a team would go out and gain field experience. This was not the surprise being described, for even the desultory, foolish, easily-surprised Lucas Schwarz was privy to the weekly routine in terms of his classes.

His last mission was arguably the worst experience of his life. By necessity and unfortunate timing, he was in both senses of the phrase thrown into the fire on his first day of school. Having likely set a record for "World's shortest span of time between departing and arriving from and to Beacon's Airdock", before he could even unpack he was en route to the Underground Casino. From start to finish, he had felt as though he would snap from his own sheer tension-- everything from simply slipping under the notice of a very bored security officer to the climactic confrontation with the ringleaders themselves, he thought himself a hair's breadth from losing it.

He'd had his hand crushed in a closing steel door, and nearly fallen victim to the same fate in his entirety to the automated version. He'd had to bring his A-game combat performance to fight not one, but two senior officers of the White Fang contingent stationed within, after drawing literally every eye in the casino onto himself by making the most overblown scene he could imagine.

Maybe I should join theatre--

No.

I'm not thespian enough.

He'd had more close encounters with fire than he dared dream to happen in a year fending the two of them off, and the very closest one had come from poor Cian, under the hallucinatory effects of Morgan's Semblance. Were it not for his teammates exploitation of cognitive dissonance and their opponent's willingness to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, it was likely that Officer Murphy would have dropped into a much bloodier mess.

Would it have been a complete rout? Maybe not. their leader's own combat prowess was formidable, and with that lightning-like speed of his he was probably more than capable of taking out Morgan before she could work her semblance's powers upon him as well, especially if he had taken out their ringleader by his lonesome.

Nonetheless:

It was an experience that I had reservations upon the idea of repeating.

So what, then, was the surprise?

It may have been Jack, eternal lover of a good fight, influencing him and his judgement.

It may have been Cian, whose eagerness to better herself and put that incident behind her, spurring him on in turn as he watched her leave in the evenings for the firing range, helmet in tow.

It may have been Mokuren, her seemingly-constant absences, distant nature, and unrepentantly strange sayings leaving him with more questions than answers about her character, ones he thought may be illuminated in a context so much more reliant on actions than words.

It may have simply been his own mind, tired of dredging up singular facts and formulae from the flood of information he had absorbed through each and every class, longing for a change of pace. A type of insanity that came from without, rather than generated from within as it tried to keep up, furiously collating information in the most valiant effort put forth in the XXth century.

Whatever the reasoning may have been, the surprise came all the same to the black-haired man:

He was looking forward to their mission today. Even in the face of the hard times the first was, he still felt a curious breed of excitement overtake him as he shook off the cobwebs when JCML rolled into the pavilion at precisely 8:50 AM, just ahead of a lively team of Seniors.

As a team, they approached one of the many information terminals, and as if hearing them coming, it flared to life.

Gray eyes casting their vision over the screen as it flashed for them, he searched for the now all too familiar combination of JCML in the headers, blinking when he found none. He scanned again, noting that a certain few clumps of letters were in pairs--

Wait.

He picked out the three secondary names, his face impassive even as his mind began to comprehend the meaning behind their placement. JNPR, with CODE. IFRA, with KNVS. And finally, nonchalantly tacking itself onto a mission he felt a tad guilty for not reading anyways in the first place-- JCML, with BASL.

And now IFRA, too.

A typo?

"A joint mission," he noted carefully, to the team as a whole. "And S-Rank. It looks like we're going to have our work cut out for us, if they plan on sending two teams in, with senior backup."

As he awaited the response from his teammates, he looked over his shoulder on either side, in search of four specific pairs of eyes.

* Benjamin Lloyd
* Amaranth Desire
* Sangue Naga
* Lorena Negasi

"Good thing it's with BASL. They seem to have good heads on their shoulders, and I'm pretty sure we all know how well they do in fights." he continued with a touch of wry humor, relating back to that first wild Monday session of sparring.

[Assistant]
IC: Emerald Felicia - Dorms -

"Guys are you ready!? Because I've been ready to go for an hour!" Emerald exclaimed quite early in the morning, uncharacteristically alert and hyperactive for how early it was, she normally wasn't much of a morning person. Nevertheless she went to bed earlier than usual Thursday night, and woken up before the rest of her team.

To say she'd been anticipating her first mission was an understatement, she'd gone to bed with her heart thumping in her chest, and when she woke up it had been beating even faster. She was ready to kick ass and shoot some Grimm! She'd showered, gotten dressed, eaten, and grabbed her gear in less than an hour, that had to be a record breaker for her.

The last four days had been a bit of a blur for her, nothing of note had really happened between then and now, save for the agonizing wait for Friday. But now that wait was over! Emerald looked her outfit over, making sure everything was put on correctly and that her shoes were properly tied and that her shotguns were filled to the brim with ammo and properly cleaned and functional. Of course she'd checked this last night, and a few times this morning already. But it never hurt to check for the fifth time!

Emerald looked back at her team, by now they were all either ready, or just about. She couldn't wait in the dorm any longer, so she opened the door. "I'm gonna start heading towards the mission brief!" With those parting words she clipped her weapons onto her arms and headed out the door, moving at a brisk pace toward the Commons.

I wonder how many Grimm we're gonna kill...well that's a silly question, all of them!

She giggled to herself as she dodged random students rushing through the hallways. The atmosphere of the school felt very tense, she could almost sense the anxiety from the other students, it was very stimulating!

Before she even realised it she was at the designated meeting place set by Esther Vanhomrigh. And speaking of Ms. Vanhomrigh, there she was, waiting for them! Emerald had never personally met Esther, but Emerald wasn't one to be shy!

"Good morning!" Emerald waved with one of her arms, shotgun and all.

[User]
Jack Orpheus | Mission Control with BASL

Jack had attended classes as normal, and from thereafter went out shopping for a snack before he would head to HQ. Out of all the other students, he was the one seen going out and hitting the town the most, either for a quick bite to eat, or a cheap thrill at the arcade, or simply browsing some of the stores to see what new stock they had. His wonderment of such simple things were testament to his rather poor upbringing. Such a topic he would not willingly share. His mind wandered to this from time to time, he wondered how the other kids were doing. Unlike him, they weren't talented in any form of combat.

Heavy thoughts aside he found himself returning and heading up to mission control eating a bag of potato chips. After the regular processes were done to go on through he spotted Luke on one of the terminals.

"Hey Luke, they have these new sweet potato chips now, and they're awesome, you should try some", he was saying, as he stepped beside Luke to look at the monitor.

"Huh... I didn't know it was a joint mission. That might be fun", he noted... As they waited for the other team members, their own and BASL, he stood there in waiting silence for a moment, before slowly thrusting the bag of chips closer to Luke.

"You want one?"


[System]
Age: 17

Heritage: The son of Hatter Madrail. Ghent's mother was murdered a few years after he was born.

Adoptive parents: Frederick and Elise Preston. Elise was the first to find Hatter's son; she was astonished to discover him in the woods near their home, disoriented and impossibly lost.

Appearance: Thick, medium length black hair. The style is unpredictable, but the layers sometimes give it an unruly appearance. His bangs fall in front of his eyes, which are blue in color and have a sharp, piercing quality to them. The rest of his features are dark and seem to contrast against his paler-than-should-be skin. He has a lithe build and currently stands at 5'9", but has about a year left to grow.

Distinguishing Marks: A few light freckles running across the bridge of his nose. A more noticeable one is underneath his left eye. He has a small scar underneath his jaw.

Clothes Wear: Whatever's comfortable. He usually wears hoodies, jeans, worn out sneakers, and three quarter/graphic t-shirts.

Abilities: Strength and magic, both inherited from his race. As far as magic goes, Ghent was completely unaware of the ability until Drust and Elayra came to earth. Understandably, he is inexperienced but has the potential to become better with practice.

Weapons: A staff, given to him on page 13.

Personality: It's no secret that Ghent can be a pain. He isn't malicious, but he enjoys pushing the buttons of others in order to get a reaction out of them. His sarcasm usually lands him in trouble, but his past experiences haven't been enough for him to keep his mouth shut. Despite his immaturity, he has a good heart. Ghent has lazy tendencies, but can be hard working with proper motivation.

Major Positive Traits: Compassionate. Empathetic. Hardworking (sometimes).

Major Negative Traits: Sarcastic. Cocky. Klutz. Impulsive. Awkward.

Weaknesses: At times, Ghent doubts himself and his abilities. The fear of failure usually prevents him from achieving success. Having lived in two worlds, he struggles with deciding where he belongs and where his loyalties lie.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: Fidgets a lot, often with the drawstrings of his hoodies. When he's faced with a situation he can't wrap his mind around, he will pace and/or mumble to himself until he can make sense of what's happening.  Tags: "Cut me some slack!" "Great." "Wait, what?"

Fears: Ghosts. Failure. Being unable to return home. Wonderland in general.

Short Bio: Ghent's story could have been a tragic one, had he not been found. He was discovered in a forest as a toddler, and later adopted by the very family that took him in.
 For much of his childhood, Ghent lived in the comforts of a small farmhouse in the country. Life was serene, quiet, and good. He grew up happy and healthy, with a mother who doted on him and a dedicated, hardworking father.
 Things changed when they moved. Seeking better employment, Mr. Preston uprooted his family to the city, which is where they remained for the years that followed.
 The city posed many differences and challenges, but Ghent learned to adapt and knew his way around. Unfortunately, street smarts didn't help much in school.
 As Ghent grew older, the nightmares and flashbacks became more frequent. Different events or images would trigger a memory, many of which involved Elayra and Drust. The memories confused and frightened Ghent. He never forgot Wonderland, but he learned to stop talking about it after his parents sought him professional help. It was something his mother made the mistake of telling her longtime friend, Mrs. Saxon.
 News spread and rumors started. High school proved to be Ghent's biggest obstacle. He became an easy target for jokes and ridicule, and his grades began to suffer for it.
 Motivated by money and the desire to help his family financially, he began to take on odd jobs. His fifth job turned out to be his favorite: a part-time shift at Frank's Book Barn.
 Even there, Ghent wasn't free from Wonderland. Flashbacks would hit him at the most inconvenient times…and they didn't cease until became reunited with two important faces from his past.

Other Important Characters

Name: Henry

Age: 14

Appearance:  Henry is thin, wiry, with no muscle tone whatsoever. He makes an effort to look neat, but his untamed shock of ginger hair betrays him by looking a mess and his freckles are out of control. When reading, he wears thick black glasses over his large, brown eyes that give him an owlish appearance.

Clothes wear: Henry wears an odd mix of clothing. Most of his clothes are hand-me-downs from previous cousins, including Ghent. When his options are limited, he can be found wearing faded graphic t-shirts (he favors Disney ones) and jeans that have been rolled up at the cuffs in order to fit.

Personality: Despite a rocky home life, Henry remains optimistic, but he has a sensitive side that results in him crying at the drop of a hat. Although he has a sweet, childlike innocence about him, he isn't foolish. He's remarkably intelligent and has a great love for reading and learning. Because of his OCD, Henry is always cleaning and organizing, and likes to keep busy in order to make himself useful. His desire for perfect order can be a little overwhelming at times, but he means no ill intent and has great respect for his family and friends.

Bio: Henry is an only child who never longed for the company of a sibling. Growing up in the country, he had plenty of family and cousins to spend his time with. The families all lived quite close in the rural area, including the Preston family.
 Even as a toddler, Henry was fascinated by Ghent and seemed to gravitate towards him, viewing him as an older brother figure. To the delight of their parents, the three year age gap and a difference in personality didn't prevent the two boys from getting along.
 After the Preston family moved to the city, Henry was heartbroken. The families kept in touch when possible, making multiple visits during the holidays. The visits lessened over the years, but Henry took it upon himself to keep in touch through any means possible. To Elise's delight (and to Frederick and Ghent's dismay) Henry has been known to leave long rambling phone messages, sends more texts than a teenage girl, and writes letters so long, they need to be mailed in multiple envelopes.
 Henry is the only one Ghent continued to trust with his few memories of Wonderland. Their efforts to uncover the mystery were admirable, but brought nothing but disappointment and wild theories. Eventually, a disgruntled Ghent gave up, but Henry continued to search for the truth behind his cousin's past.

[User]
Ghent mentally counted each time Elayra disappeared underneath the water. One, two, three times. He wondered how many attempts it would take her before she found the dagger or gave up. When she emerged for the fourth time, he looked in her direction. From what he could tell, she was in the correct location. He hoped she would find the weapon soon, if only for his sake.
 The boy secured the bandaging around his wrist, watching in amazement as the collection of debris steadily grew on the bank. Sticks, a mirror, an assortment of bottles and cans…at least Earth wasn't the only world with pollution.
 Forcing his attention back to his injuries, Ghent began to clean at the bloodied marks around his neck. He winced as he heard the girl emerge from the water a fifth time, her agitation evident even in her breaths.
 Finally, the blonde gave up. Ghent swallowed uneasily as she began to make her way toward the bank, her hands empty. Finished with the moondrop milk, he fit the stopper in its place and returned the bottle to the box. He wanted to be done and out of the way before she got back.
 A loud clang sounded nearby, making Ghent's heart do a somersault. He whipped his head around to find the culprit, scowling when he realized Elayra was responsible. He almost scolded her, but changed his mind when he saw her take her frustration out a bottle.
 Taking a breath, the boy braced himself for Elayra's wrath. The lost dagger would undoubtedly be a source of tension for a while. He didn't make eye contact as she approached, his mouth set in a grim line. He glanced at her when she stopped and regretted it instantly. The contempt in her eyes spoke volumes.
 Unnerved, Ghent looked away. He didn't see the point in pleading his case. If saving Elayra's life wasn't enough to cut him a bit of slack, nothing was. He only hoped his silence would be enough until she cooled down.
 The silence was broken by Elayra, who pointed out that he was still wet. Ghent's mouth fell when she ordered him to remove his clothes, but then she tossed a pair of pants at him.
 "Er…" Ghent contemplated pointing out the obvious. The pants wouldn't fit him. He wasn't even sure if they'd stay up. He lifted the too-long trousers in front of himself, the legs unraveling. The fabric seemed to go on forever. Casting a skeptical look in Elayra's direction, he held the pants up higher to show her the length. "Aren't these a little big?"

[Assistant]
Without waiting for Ghent's response, Elayra plunged her arm back into the bag. Her movements were jerky, heated, as she tried to recall what Drust's spare daggers looked like to call one to her from the pack's depths. She thought he had a stiletto, but she wasn't entirely sure if it had been his, or borrowed.
 Her search and thoughts stopped at Ghent's complaints. A Drust-worthy sneer curled over her lips as she glowered up at him.
 "Would you rather just stand around in your damp underwear?" she snapped. "They need to dry. We can't leave them behind, but they'll make everything else in your pack wet." Her hand closed in a fist inside Drust's bag. Instead of grasping air, she recognized the shape of a hilt against her palm. "So shut up," she pulled it out and pointed the sheathed tip of the dagger she'd found threateningly at Ghent, "and figure it out."
 She slapped the top flap of Drust's bag shut. She looked to the stiletto dagger as she slid the blade from its thin metal and leather scabbard, examining it with a critical eye.
 It was nice enough, she supposed. The silvery metal turned the hilt into a spiral, ending in a small, elegant round pummel. Its blade's length matched what she'd grown accustomed to, only significantly thinner. Its edges glinted in the sunlight, sharp enough for use, but, in Elayra's eye, it was due for a date with a whetstone.
 She tested its weight in her hand. Even with its entire metal construction, it felt lighter than her lost weapon. It felt… wrong. Like she was betraying her other dagger. Betraying the trust of who it once belonged to. More importantly, betrayed Drust by losing it.
 Her lips tightened and she gripped the hilt and scabbard harder. It shouldn't matter this much to her. Not like this, at any rate. And yet, it did.
 Until the moment Ghent had confirmed the news, Elayra hadn't realized exactly how much she cared where the dagger had come from. Or, perhaps, it was the when. A right of passage of knowing Drust trusted her enough to pass on such a fine, meaningful weapon to her. It felt as if she'd lost some small part of herself.
 With a growling huff at her unwanted emotions, she threw the stiletto toward the first-aid box. The force embedded over half its blade into the earth an inch from the box. Right where she'd aimed. At least its balance was decent enough for throwing.

[User]
Ghent's face flushed. Elayra had the uncanny ability to make him feel like an idiot. He stared at the sheathed dagger being pointed at him, his expression darkening.
 "Fine." The response was bitter, clipped. He didn't want to spend another second in her company. Clutching the lengthily pants at his side, he stalked away from the girl, never looking back.
 Ghent's footsteps became slower and more reluctant the closer he got to the woods. He looked around tentatively, staying alert for any indication of danger. He checked behind each tree and shrub as he passed it, his paranoia multiplying now that he was alone. He hated that he felt so vulnerable without Drust and Elayra nearby.
 Finding a spot he deemed suitable for changing out of his clothes, Ghent disappeared behind a collection of tightly packed trees. He hung Drust's pants on a low hanging branch and started by removing his hoodie. The fabric was soaked and heavy from water, but Ghent barely noticed. He was too busy mulling over his latest fight with Elayra.
 Why did she make such a big deal out of it? Ghent shook his head, still baffled by her reaction. He tossed the hoodie aside, and it landed with a muffled thump.
 Grumbling, Ghent grabbed the hem of his faded Batman t-shirt and worked to pull it over his head. His skin felt cold and clammy underneath, an uncomfortable sensation that made him miss the warmth of Drust's cloak. He wrung out the shirt and hung it next to the pants, planning to put it on again before he rejoined with Elayra. He didn't feel quite confident enough to be in her presence half-naked with nothing but ill-fitting trousers.
 His eyes trailed down to his torso, and he scowled. An ugly bruise resided where Drust had kicked him during their first of many fights.
 "They'll kill me before the stupid queen does..." Ghent mumbled dejectedly. Realizing what he'd said, his hand shot up to his mouth. He hadn't meant to insult their enemy out loud.
 Ghent gulped. He looked over his shoulder, double-checking that his comment hadn't summoned a shadowmire – or worse – her.
 After a tense pause in which he barely breathed, Ghent exhaled. He peeled off his socks and sneakers, looking around as he did so. He added them to the pile before working on removing his clingy jeans.
 Ghent wrung out one pant leg, a few unsatisfying droplets of water dripping from the stubborn material. He tossed them aside and looked down at his boxers, hesitating. Before he had a chance to remove his last article of clothing, a realization dawned upon him.
 He could use magic.
 Ghent blinked, amazed at his inability to remember a gift so extraordinary. It was the obvious solution to his problem. It could become the solution to most of his problems once he learned more focus words.
 "It was Ignis-something…" Ghent folded his arms across his bare chest, thinking back to the campfire in the Safe Zone. He conjured fire once without trouble, he was fairly certain he could do it again. He mumbled a few words similar to the focus word until one sounded right. "…Igniculous." That was it. He'd bet his staff on it.
 Stepping over his pile of discarded clothing, Ghent eyed the trees for a branch thick enough to use as a torch. If all went according to his wild, harebrained scheme, his clothes would be dry before Drust got back.