<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">SENA HYOSO</span>​</div><br/>Sena could only chuckle at the twin's antics she shrugged in partial agreement "<b>Pepperoni is good too.</b>" yet she sighed with the signs of the cafeteria events calming down Sena lost interest in her original pizza plan, as deft hands wiped off the remnants of bean sauce, a deep red stained her cheek and black brow dampening it slightly from the juice. The tissue now sullied pink scrunched to a ball and was tossed aside as she hopped off, taking a second to look over her clothes and checking for any foodstuffs hiding in the fabric. Satisfied only a little was on her baggy trousers, she skated around the debris, blasting the hardstyle music as she did and found the toilets. Cleaning herself up before heading to the training area so she could test out her new, custom-built weapon.<br/><br/>It was unlike Sena to be so eager to train, caring little that morning for social interaction. The weapon, large as It was and left by her door the previous morning. It looked ordinary, a sword, with that of a gun handle where cartridges would slot inside a 6 piece and fired from the blade creating something of a hybrid between revolver and long-sword. A creation of Michael, something she had designed with him one evening. She had an interest in guns and swords, Korean style was preferred but Michael had experience with European swords.<br/><br/>In the training area one that she enjoyed the size of, and the many opportunities she took to the target dummies on the side. With a kick of her board, the head bumped into the wall with a resounding stop. Music was always a part of her training, finding the correct rhythm, so she scrolled through her phone and landed on NEFFEX a full playlist of their music. When the armoured dummy rolled up a few metres in front of her, its metal was dull and scratched from usage. The weapon strapped securely to her back was unfurled from its cloth strangling as if that of a newly grown limb had been revealed.<br/><br/>A weapon of midnight black, its obsidian blade glinted by the edge of its sharp tooth as if a great fang had been taken from the salivating mouth of a beast. Near the handle, the cylinder rested at the handle as a large bulge of steel clicked at every pull of her muscle. The blade was rested on the back of her shoulders. Its weight was modest, an untrained arm required strengthening before it could be used efficiently. But its leather-wrapped handle held a good grip as fingers flexed to a titan like a vice. It's leather-like that of a snakeskin, coiled around the interior metal.<br/><br/>Suddenly, like a blitz of movement onlookers would see a thrashing of unskilled swings, aiming at the body as a delicate weight hurled with the sword. Only the last of a gunshot rung clear, a whistle of released violence filled the space, piercing gentle eardrums. The dummies head was not only decapitated, it was sprinkled mostly in fragments. A chunk of metal clattered and spewed across the floor as a startled look passed her eyes, gazing at the destruction. The sword had a little kickback after the force behind the shot sent a sudden pain through her forearm. Shock turned to amazement as the blade once again found its owner's shoulders who sat off to the side in a lump of minor frustration as she could find little technique. A small break to let the body rest from her brief training. Cardio was not among her strengths.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">MICHAEL DARCY<br/>​</div>Out of the corridors leading down a winding hallway, a thunderstorm had entered the darkest corner. One strike, sharp, penetrating and intensely drawing another, and another following an even pattern, 2 strikes followed by an eerie silence. The sporadic noise followed the darkness leading to a small crack of light appearing from a heavy, metal door, smooth on the outside and light in colour, a ghostly silver. A shadow lifted in the light catching the far wall as if a tale of silhouettes danced and fluttered, black figures engaged meticulously in a silent play.<br/><br/>Then inside the dimension of creation, fire and ash, metal and earth a figure grew life. A young man by the name of Michael Darcy.<br/><br/>He lived an unobtrusive life, some would call him a hermit others a passionate soul with a clear goal in mindset by the events of his younger years. A blacksmith to some, a friend to others, his days consisted of creating weapons for the Elementals or helping design parts for projects. His workshop reflected his attitude, it was meticulous, nothing out of place, tables against walls were brimming with tools and pieces to be fitted to their final creation. A great anvil at the centre, residing by the forge. Swords were hanging from racks, guns sat at the back the ammunition was not made in his workshop because of the environment. Its heat was intense enough to burn the flesh of his back, as sweat drooled down his tanned skin, drenching the muscles of his arms and torso. When he is alone, Michael rarely wears a vest, to help with the scorching temperature of the room and to avoid the fabric from sticking to his body.<br/><br/>Michael was working on a spearhead for an elemental who preferred long-range, as he tempered the metal, moulding it in place with every strike of the hammer only to thrust it into the furnace as its steel burned bright and orange. It was a peaceful place, and one he called home.