For Tests and such
Experiment Log
- Thread starter Containment
- Start date
[div][attr="style","position:absolute;"]
[div][attr="style","position:relative;left:-181px;top:11px;width:150px;text-align:center;border-radius:15px;background-color:#4d433a;border:3px #95877d solid;color:#4b0101;padding:5px;font-family:high tower text;"]THE CRYPTID
[img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6a/b9/7b/6ab97bc8ee311d89b2a3da4ff4e93678.jpg[/URL]" style="width:150px; border-radius:15px;"]
Code by Illirica[/div][/div][div][googlefont="georgia"][attr="style","display:grid;grid-template-columns:16px auto 16px;grid-template-rows:16px auto 16px;grid-template-areas:'CornerTL Top CornerTR' 'Left Main Right' 'CornerBL Bottom CornerBR';background-color:#4d433a;padding:6px;border:1px #95877d solid;"]
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[div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"][font color="#95877d"][font size="6"][div align="center"]TODD FOWLER
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[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/99/f3/57/99f357968912bc071fb81e85fdf03e7e.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
[font size="2"]Name: Todd Oscar Fowler [has been legally changed once. Formerly [div][attr="style","color:black;background-color:black;display:inline;"]Lyle Nicolas Hart[/div].]
Date of Birth: 12.20.1996 [26 y/o.]
Hair: Dark brown. [Variable; see below.]
Eyes: Pale blue. [Variable; see below.]
Occupation: unemployed; jack-of-all-trades, but prefers physical labor.
Current Residence: Pittsburgh, PA.
Family: Unknown. [If alive, does not maintain contact.]
[font color="#4b0101"][font size="6"][div align="center"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"]CRYPTID[/div][/div][/font][/font]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/92/3b/aa/923baa5059dee4dde08dda36279d2b86.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
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[tbody]
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Aside from this, Todd has a limited healing factor. This functions best shortly after he's eaten, as it draws from energy his body has stored, but works on a less impressive level even when he's stretched thin.
Todd's figure is one of chronic malnourishment. This might come as a surprise to someone who has seen his superhuman strength or speed, as the condition is typically accompanied by weakness and lethargy; or by someone who has witnessed his avid appetite. The only food that nourishes him long-term is the human body. It does not need to be cooked, and Todd does not opt to do so. To gain all benefits, he must consume a significant part of it in one sitting, and usually manages all of it, which also serves to destroy almost all evidence of his actions. For non-human food, Todd seems to have an extraordinary metabolism, and the energy he receives from anything but his apparently required cannibalism passes quickly. His thin figure is usually obscured by numerous layers of clothing any time of year. As one symptom he does have from the malnutrition is the apparent inability to become warm, this does not appear to bother him.
His other significant metahuman feature is the ability to change shape at will. Todd can only adapt features from people whose DNA his body recalls -- that is, people he has eaten in their entirety or near-entirety. He may either alter his form completely, or borrow certain features, such as voice, hair color and texture, or eye shape and color. The act of changing shape does have an energy cost, and while Todd doesn't know the exact math, he can make a relatively accurate guess based on his personal experiences. Additionally, when adapting another person's full body structure, Todd must take into account the size difference between himself and that person. To increase his mass, he needs the reserved mass to do so. To decrease his mass, his body stores the excess until he returns to his natural form. If he is knocked unconscious or falls asleep, Todd reverts to his natural size and shape.[/td][td style="padding:6px;"]
His costume is simple: a hard PVC halloween mask, with bony ridges and an open, grinning mouth full of sharp teeth; a heavily padded black leather longcoat, both to conceal his narrow frame and to offer extra protection; thick, long, dark, but comfortable shirt and pants, with scraps of military surplus armor for dangerous situations; and black boots. Cryptid's weapon of choice is a pair of Indian bagh nakh , or tiger claws, which he found at a pawn shop back when he was first starting out. Affixed to a knucklebracer bar, these fit comfortably over his gloves. The sharpened claws align with his fingers when his hand is open and relaxed, and are "extended" when he closes his hand into a fist. Again, he has no formal training with the weapons, but years of experience with their use and function has given him ample time to learn whatever he can without an actual teacher.
While he is not licensed to own or carry a firearm, Todd has a handgun he lifted off its previous owner early in his career. He isn't a great shot, but he's not terrible, either. He doesn't usually carry it unless he expects more than a normal amount of trouble on patrol, as part of his non-lethal policy.
He has other items one might expect to find on a vigilante -- surplus police scanner, flashlight, zip ties, first aid kit, zippo lighter. Most of this fits in his pockets. His black duffel bag is for the other, more gruesome work he's required to undertake: a butcher's kit. In a pinch he can do everything with his bare hands or tiger claws, but the knives make the work faster. The tools he carries are a fillet knife, a bonesaw, a cleaver, a heavy steak knife, and a whetstone. He's only as good as the average person with any of these in a fight, except maybe the cleaver, which he can use in conjunction with his unusual strength if need be. If he's done everything right, though, he doesn't even have the duffel bag on him when he's in a confrontation. The bag is his most incriminating possession, and he keeps a close eye on it when he can, and hides it well when he can't.[/div][/td] [/tbody][/div]
[font color="#95877d"][font size="6"][div align="center"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"]PERSONALITY
[/div][/div][/font][/font]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/08/30/77/08307765dbd57aa30c4c9b3d320c0193.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
Todd Fowler is all about balances.
Jokes about a "balanced diet" would be too easy, and too lighthearted. That's only one aspect of his lifestyle that this affects. But, yes, one of the hardest balances he has to take into account -- and the one he tries the hardest to maintain -- is between people and food. That balance should be simple. If they're alive, it's a person. If it's dead, they're food. Except that's a very fine line that can be crossed with one punch if you know where to hit. Sure, people have crossed continents with broken bones or survived for years with failed organs, but all it really takes is one misaligned joint in the spine, or getting hit a little too hard over the head, and the body collapses.
Todd has by now realized that there are plenty of jobs out there that would allow him to eat sustainably. Hell, he could even get paid for it. It's weird that someone who engages in cannibalism would draw the line at mercenary work. Or even just refuse to become a run-of-the-mill serial killer with an otherwise normal life. There are probably more appetizing people out there than the common criminal or street scum, not that Todd's tastes are that refined.
Out of anyone, Todd has witnessed what happens to people who live on the wrong side of the road. He's no fool, he knows good people die horribly every day. He's seen it happen first hand -- once or twice at his own hands, much to his regret. But all that aside, he can't shake the feeling of cause and effect, that every action has consequences that will eventually catch up with him. Maybe it's just a superstition, even without any faith in reincarnation or gods to judge him. Maybe this is just an excuse for otherwise senseless personal guilt, a manifestation of a strange, self-oriented retributive justice. Although there might be one other, even stranger possibility even Todd has written off: the serial cannibal has a soft spot.
Now, he won't crumble at the slightest sob story, and he doesn't do extensive research on his victims. He can't afford philanthropy, and most volunteer work requires one too many background checks for him to be comfortable. He just... has standards. He'll help others when it doesn't jeopardize his work, safety, or habits, and he draws a line around torture and minors whenever he can. There are exceptions. Have been exceptions. He'll torture if that's the only way to get information, and admittedly he's not half bad at it, but he doesn't let himself enjoy it. And the rule about kids was a lot easier when there weren't teenagers hopping around in masks trying to do his job with more morals.
Todd has been able to learn to balance what ultimately boils down to his survival and his conscience. While the potential for food always lingers in the marrow of his bones, he's found ways to stave it off. He has hobbies. He's also allowed himself some more harmless habits to keep his addictive personality in check. He's a habitual cigarette smoker without a preference for brand. Black coffee can help him completely ignore the cold for hours at a time. And with his high metabolism, alcohol gives him a pleasant but temporary buzz even in large quantities.
Outside of his current odd job he'll try to keep to himself, but he's hardly rude or even standoffish, just quiet until approached. There's even a boundary between the Cryptid, a vigilante open to working with others in the field, and the hidden killer dragging people away to be dismembered and consumed. The only time that boundary is ever crossed is if he's starving, and it's line he's found himself crossing more and more recently.
He does have something like a normal life, outside of all that. He has an almost childish love for animals, even if he doesn't think owning a pet is a good idea with his lifestyle. He enjoys work that makes him move around or use his hands, and can often be found doing his own routine maintenance on his car or taking nature hikes if his current home has parks or trails. As his wardrobe might suggest, he frequents second-hand and thrift shops. He doesn't really have the time or space for sentimental dust-collectors and baubles, but it's not the worst way to pass the time and the clothes are cheap and concealing. It's not exactly fashionable, but the style lets him hide in plain sight while not raising questions beyond, "why suspenders?"
Although, yeah, the hat is a choice.
[font color="#95877d"][font size="6"][div align="center"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"]HISTORY
[/div][/div][/font][/font]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/426247770299432962/1109965523577483374/Toddsideways.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
[font color="#4b0101"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"][font size="2"]Are you looking for a confession? I don't give those out to just anybody.
I mean, given our situation, I'll be happy to answer your questions. You're looking for some kind of tragic backstory, right? 'How does someone become a monster like you?" That's a funny word. Monster. Is it monstrous to do what nature says? Sure, I've done some monstrous things. Don't ask -- I just told you, this ain't a confession. But would I be a monster without all that? If I just killed and ate the scum of the earth, clean and quick. Would that be monstrous?
I did promise answers, and it's not like you can prove anything I say from here, anyway. So where'd you want me to start? Take it from the top? My hometown, my parents - were they monsters like me? Maybe. Or maybe they were a different kind of monster. The normal kind that doesn't have a bone-deep, aching excuse for what they are. Or were.
Hey, if I say the words "foster care," will you look like I just explained everything? You shouldn't. Those were actually the most normal years of my life. The cold wasn't so bad back then. Sure, it wasn't pleasant. I never had a real home. The parents I ended up with treated us like wards of the state, but because of that we were at least cared for. They even got me counseling a few times. And with my medical symptoms -- never a diagnosis from either the shrinks or the doctors, but I'd had symptoms ever since my first home. I got plenty of families investigated. One of the reasons I got moved the first few times. What the inspectors thought was malnutrition just turned out to be what one guy called a "high metabolism." But even with all that, I stood out in a bad way. Aside from one little incident, I kept my nose clean. I adapted. I learned the rules. Make friends, keep your head down. Be respectful. Help if you can. If you can't stay out of the way. Not the best years of my life. Just normal.
And I ran as soon as I legally could. All it took to leave it behind was a name change, and the car I'd spent the money I could've been saving for college on. Hell, I didn't even finish high school. First week of January I'd gotten everything squared away. February saw me halfway to Montana. No, I hadn't decided that's where I was going. I had a whole year of wandering around before Billings. That's just where I thought to get an actual apartment. If I hadn't, I never would've met--
Ah. I told you. This ain't a confession.
I spent some time there. Some more time... not there. Maybe this is all about that, or that's got nothing to do with this. Not like you'll ever actually find out. No, I've already said too much to let you live anyway. What it comes down to is that my bones hurt. My organs hurt. And my throat hurts -- don't really spend this much time talking to food. Or anybody, these days, if I can help it. This isn't about my pain. Or yours. Don't worry too much. Dying's scary, but I've heard bleeding out's a lot like falling asleep. Too bad you won't be able to tell me. Anyway, thanks for the ear. It's been enough to tide me over for now. And... thanks for the rest, too.[/font][/font][/div]
[div][attr="style","position:relative;left:-181px;top:11px;width:150px;text-align:center;border-radius:15px;background-color:#4d433a;border:3px #95877d solid;color:#4b0101;padding:5px;font-family:high tower text;"]THE CRYPTID
[img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6a/b9/7b/6ab97bc8ee311d89b2a3da4ff4e93678.jpg[/URL]" style="width:150px; border-radius:15px;"]
Code by Illirica[/div][/div][div][googlefont="georgia"][attr="style","display:grid;grid-template-columns:16px auto 16px;grid-template-rows:16px auto 16px;grid-template-areas:'CornerTL Top CornerTR' 'Left Main Right' 'CornerBL Bottom CornerBR';background-color:#4d433a;padding:6px;border:1px #95877d solid;"]
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[div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"][font color="#95877d"][font size="6"][div align="center"]TODD FOWLER
[/div][/font][/font][/div]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/99/f3/57/99f357968912bc071fb81e85fdf03e7e.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
[font size="2"]Name: Todd Oscar Fowler [has been legally changed once. Formerly [div][attr="style","color:black;background-color:black;display:inline;"]Lyle Nicolas Hart[/div].]
Date of Birth: 12.20.1996 [26 y/o.]
Hair: Dark brown. [Variable; see below.]
Eyes: Pale blue. [Variable; see below.]
Occupation: unemployed; jack-of-all-trades, but prefers physical labor.
Current Residence: Pittsburgh, PA.
Family: Unknown. [If alive, does not maintain contact.]
[font color="#4b0101"][font size="6"][div align="center"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"]CRYPTID[/div][/div][/font][/font]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/92/3b/aa/923baa5059dee4dde08dda36279d2b86.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
[div align="center"]
[div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"][font size="3"]ABILITIES[/font][/div]
Todd has a predator's biology. His senses are heightened above average, especially smell, with the capacity to track people by that alone. He has above average hearing as well, and can see marginally better in the dark than most people. His weight is primarily muscle mass, but even so, his strength and speed are clearly superhuman at full function. While he has plenty of experience in street fighting, his reflexes and the force of his hits make up for his lack of formal training. He has also learned to be creative in a fight, although despite his nature, or maybe because of it, he rarely uses deadly force. The strongest muscles and most durable bones in his body are located around his jaw. He possesses a bite force similar to a hyena's, capable of crushing bone. Aside from this, Todd has a limited healing factor. This functions best shortly after he's eaten, as it draws from energy his body has stored, but works on a less impressive level even when he's stretched thin.
Todd's figure is one of chronic malnourishment. This might come as a surprise to someone who has seen his superhuman strength or speed, as the condition is typically accompanied by weakness and lethargy; or by someone who has witnessed his avid appetite. The only food that nourishes him long-term is the human body. It does not need to be cooked, and Todd does not opt to do so. To gain all benefits, he must consume a significant part of it in one sitting, and usually manages all of it, which also serves to destroy almost all evidence of his actions. For non-human food, Todd seems to have an extraordinary metabolism, and the energy he receives from anything but his apparently required cannibalism passes quickly. His thin figure is usually obscured by numerous layers of clothing any time of year. As one symptom he does have from the malnutrition is the apparent inability to become warm, this does not appear to bother him.
His other significant metahuman feature is the ability to change shape at will. Todd can only adapt features from people whose DNA his body recalls -- that is, people he has eaten in their entirety or near-entirety. He may either alter his form completely, or borrow certain features, such as voice, hair color and texture, or eye shape and color. The act of changing shape does have an energy cost, and while Todd doesn't know the exact math, he can make a relatively accurate guess based on his personal experiences. Additionally, when adapting another person's full body structure, Todd must take into account the size difference between himself and that person. To increase his mass, he needs the reserved mass to do so. To decrease his mass, his body stores the excess until he returns to his natural form. If he is knocked unconscious or falls asleep, Todd reverts to his natural size and shape.[/td][td style="padding:6px;"]
[div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"][font size="3"]EQUIPMENT[/font][/div]
[div align="right"]Due to his wandering lifestyle, Todd has very few personal possessions he actually cares about. In terms of electronics he owns the works -- smartphone, laptop, personal camera (for his nature photography), car. His 2002 Malibu is his oldest possession, and in his mind, his most important. The car has taken him across the country. He maintains it with his own two hands whenever he can, and keeps a set of tools for this in his trunk. He doesn't bring the car with him when he's on patrol, for obvious reasons, but he has used it for storage of his Cryptid costume and kit in the past. His costume is simple: a hard PVC halloween mask, with bony ridges and an open, grinning mouth full of sharp teeth; a heavily padded black leather longcoat, both to conceal his narrow frame and to offer extra protection; thick, long, dark, but comfortable shirt and pants, with scraps of military surplus armor for dangerous situations; and black boots. Cryptid's weapon of choice is a pair of Indian bagh nakh , or tiger claws, which he found at a pawn shop back when he was first starting out. Affixed to a knucklebracer bar, these fit comfortably over his gloves. The sharpened claws align with his fingers when his hand is open and relaxed, and are "extended" when he closes his hand into a fist. Again, he has no formal training with the weapons, but years of experience with their use and function has given him ample time to learn whatever he can without an actual teacher.
While he is not licensed to own or carry a firearm, Todd has a handgun he lifted off its previous owner early in his career. He isn't a great shot, but he's not terrible, either. He doesn't usually carry it unless he expects more than a normal amount of trouble on patrol, as part of his non-lethal policy.
He has other items one might expect to find on a vigilante -- surplus police scanner, flashlight, zip ties, first aid kit, zippo lighter. Most of this fits in his pockets. His black duffel bag is for the other, more gruesome work he's required to undertake: a butcher's kit. In a pinch he can do everything with his bare hands or tiger claws, but the knives make the work faster. The tools he carries are a fillet knife, a bonesaw, a cleaver, a heavy steak knife, and a whetstone. He's only as good as the average person with any of these in a fight, except maybe the cleaver, which he can use in conjunction with his unusual strength if need be. If he's done everything right, though, he doesn't even have the duffel bag on him when he's in a confrontation. The bag is his most incriminating possession, and he keeps a close eye on it when he can, and hides it well when he can't.[/div][/td] [/tbody]
[font color="#95877d"][font size="6"][div align="center"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"]PERSONALITY
[/div][/div][/font][/font]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/08/30/77/08307765dbd57aa30c4c9b3d320c0193.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
Todd Fowler is all about balances.
Jokes about a "balanced diet" would be too easy, and too lighthearted. That's only one aspect of his lifestyle that this affects. But, yes, one of the hardest balances he has to take into account -- and the one he tries the hardest to maintain -- is between people and food. That balance should be simple. If they're alive, it's a person. If it's dead, they're food. Except that's a very fine line that can be crossed with one punch if you know where to hit. Sure, people have crossed continents with broken bones or survived for years with failed organs, but all it really takes is one misaligned joint in the spine, or getting hit a little too hard over the head, and the body collapses.
Todd has by now realized that there are plenty of jobs out there that would allow him to eat sustainably. Hell, he could even get paid for it. It's weird that someone who engages in cannibalism would draw the line at mercenary work. Or even just refuse to become a run-of-the-mill serial killer with an otherwise normal life. There are probably more appetizing people out there than the common criminal or street scum, not that Todd's tastes are that refined.
Out of anyone, Todd has witnessed what happens to people who live on the wrong side of the road. He's no fool, he knows good people die horribly every day. He's seen it happen first hand -- once or twice at his own hands, much to his regret. But all that aside, he can't shake the feeling of cause and effect, that every action has consequences that will eventually catch up with him. Maybe it's just a superstition, even without any faith in reincarnation or gods to judge him. Maybe this is just an excuse for otherwise senseless personal guilt, a manifestation of a strange, self-oriented retributive justice. Although there might be one other, even stranger possibility even Todd has written off: the serial cannibal has a soft spot.
Now, he won't crumble at the slightest sob story, and he doesn't do extensive research on his victims. He can't afford philanthropy, and most volunteer work requires one too many background checks for him to be comfortable. He just... has standards. He'll help others when it doesn't jeopardize his work, safety, or habits, and he draws a line around torture and minors whenever he can. There are exceptions. Have been exceptions. He'll torture if that's the only way to get information, and admittedly he's not half bad at it, but he doesn't let himself enjoy it. And the rule about kids was a lot easier when there weren't teenagers hopping around in masks trying to do his job with more morals.
Todd has been able to learn to balance what ultimately boils down to his survival and his conscience. While the potential for food always lingers in the marrow of his bones, he's found ways to stave it off. He has hobbies. He's also allowed himself some more harmless habits to keep his addictive personality in check. He's a habitual cigarette smoker without a preference for brand. Black coffee can help him completely ignore the cold for hours at a time. And with his high metabolism, alcohol gives him a pleasant but temporary buzz even in large quantities.
Outside of his current odd job he'll try to keep to himself, but he's hardly rude or even standoffish, just quiet until approached. There's even a boundary between the Cryptid, a vigilante open to working with others in the field, and the hidden killer dragging people away to be dismembered and consumed. The only time that boundary is ever crossed is if he's starving, and it's line he's found himself crossing more and more recently.
He does have something like a normal life, outside of all that. He has an almost childish love for animals, even if he doesn't think owning a pet is a good idea with his lifestyle. He enjoys work that makes him move around or use his hands, and can often be found doing his own routine maintenance on his car or taking nature hikes if his current home has parks or trails. As his wardrobe might suggest, he frequents second-hand and thrift shops. He doesn't really have the time or space for sentimental dust-collectors and baubles, but it's not the worst way to pass the time and the clothes are cheap and concealing. It's not exactly fashionable, but the style lets him hide in plain sight while not raising questions beyond, "why suspenders?"
Although, yeah, the hat is a choice.
[font color="#95877d"][font size="6"][div align="center"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"]HISTORY
[/div][/div][/font][/font]
[div align="center"][img src="[URL]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/426247770299432962/1109965523577483374/Toddsideways.jpg[/URL]" style="border:3px #4b0101 solid;border-radius:0px;float:center;max-width:98%;"][/div]
[font color="#4b0101"][div style="text-shadow: 2px 1px #393738;"][font size="2"]Are you looking for a confession? I don't give those out to just anybody.
I mean, given our situation, I'll be happy to answer your questions. You're looking for some kind of tragic backstory, right? 'How does someone become a monster like you?" That's a funny word. Monster. Is it monstrous to do what nature says? Sure, I've done some monstrous things. Don't ask -- I just told you, this ain't a confession. But would I be a monster without all that? If I just killed and ate the scum of the earth, clean and quick. Would that be monstrous?
I did promise answers, and it's not like you can prove anything I say from here, anyway. So where'd you want me to start? Take it from the top? My hometown, my parents - were they monsters like me? Maybe. Or maybe they were a different kind of monster. The normal kind that doesn't have a bone-deep, aching excuse for what they are. Or were.
Hey, if I say the words "foster care," will you look like I just explained everything? You shouldn't. Those were actually the most normal years of my life. The cold wasn't so bad back then. Sure, it wasn't pleasant. I never had a real home. The parents I ended up with treated us like wards of the state, but because of that we were at least cared for. They even got me counseling a few times. And with my medical symptoms -- never a diagnosis from either the shrinks or the doctors, but I'd had symptoms ever since my first home. I got plenty of families investigated. One of the reasons I got moved the first few times. What the inspectors thought was malnutrition just turned out to be what one guy called a "high metabolism." But even with all that, I stood out in a bad way. Aside from one little incident, I kept my nose clean. I adapted. I learned the rules. Make friends, keep your head down. Be respectful. Help if you can. If you can't stay out of the way. Not the best years of my life. Just normal.
And I ran as soon as I legally could. All it took to leave it behind was a name change, and the car I'd spent the money I could've been saving for college on. Hell, I didn't even finish high school. First week of January I'd gotten everything squared away. February saw me halfway to Montana. No, I hadn't decided that's where I was going. I had a whole year of wandering around before Billings. That's just where I thought to get an actual apartment. If I hadn't, I never would've met--
Ah. I told you. This ain't a confession.
I spent some time there. Some more time... not there. Maybe this is all about that, or that's got nothing to do with this. Not like you'll ever actually find out. No, I've already said too much to let you live anyway. What it comes down to is that my bones hurt. My organs hurt. And my throat hurts -- don't really spend this much time talking to food. Or anybody, these days, if I can help it. This isn't about my pain. Or yours. Don't worry too much. Dying's scary, but I've heard bleeding out's a lot like falling asleep. Too bad you won't be able to tell me. Anyway, thanks for the ear. It's been enough to tide me over for now. And... thanks for the rest, too.[/font][/font][/div]
Leviathan is secretly
[div="background-color:black;"][div="opacity:0;"]Micha IRL lol[/div][/div]. This is [[div="background-color:black;"][div="opacity:0;"]REDACTED[/div][/div]] information.
This is a test?
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog?
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog?
Last edited:
Wendigo
Member
TODD FOWLER
Name: Todd Oscar Fowler [has been legally changed once. Formerly
Lyle Nicolas Hart
.]Date of Birth: 12.20.1996 [26 y/o.]
Hair: Dark brown. [Variable; see below.]
Eyes: Pale blue. [Variable; see below.]
Occupation: mechanic.
Current Residence: Pittsburgh, PA.
Family: Unknown. [If alive, does not maintain contact.]
CRYPTID
ABILITIES
Todd has a predator's biology. His senses are heightened above average, especially smell, with the capacity to track people by that alone. He has above average hearing as well, and can see marginally better in the dark than most people. His weight is primarily muscle mass, but even so, his strength and speed are clearly superhuman at full function. While he has plenty of experience in street fighting, his reflexes and the force of his hits make up for his lack of formal training. He has also learned to be creative in a fight, although despite his nature, or maybe because of it, he rarely uses deadly force. The strongest muscles and most durable bones in his body are located around his jaw. He possesses a bite force similar to a hyena's, capable of crushing bone.
Aside from this, Todd has a limited healing factor. This functions best shortly after he's eaten, as it draws from energy his body has stored, but works on a less impressive level even when he's stretched thin.
Todd's figure is one of chronic malnourishment. This might come as a surprise to someone who has seen his superhuman strength or speed, as the condition is typically accompanied by weakness and lethargy; or by someone who has witnessed his avid appetite. The only food that nourishes him long-term is the human body. It does not need to be cooked, and Todd does not opt to do so. To gain all benefits, he must consume a significant part of it in one sitting, and usually manages all of it, which also serves to destroy almost all evidence of his actions. For non-human food, Todd seems to have an extraordinary metabolism, and the energy he receives from anything but his apparently required cannibalism passes quickly. His thin figure is usually obscured by numerous layers of clothing any time of year. As one symptom he does have from the malnutrition is the apparent inability to become warm, this does not appear to bother him.
His other significant metahuman feature is the ability to change shape at will. Todd can only adapt features from people whose DNA his body recalls -- that is, people he has eaten in their entirety or near-entirety. He may either alter his form completely, or borrow certain features, such as voice, hair color and texture, or eye shape and color. The act of changing shape does have an energy cost, and while Todd doesn't know the exact math, he can make a relatively accurate guess based on his personal experiences. Additionally, when adapting another person's full body structure, Todd must take into account the size difference between himself and that person. To increase his mass, he needs the reserved mass to do so. To decrease his mass, his body stores the excess until he returns to his natural form. If he is knocked unconscious or falls asleep, Todd reverts to his natural size and shape.
EQUIPMENT
Due to his wandering lifestyle, Todd has very few personal possessions he actually cares about. In terms of electronics he owns the works -- smartphone, laptop, personal camera (for his nature photography), car. His 2002 Malibu is his oldest possession, and in his mind, his most important. The car has taken him across the country. He maintains it with his own two hands whenever he can, and keeps a set of tools for this in his trunk. He doesn't bring the car with him when he's on patrol, for obvious reasons, but he has used it for storage of his Cryptid costume and kit in the past.
His costume is simple: a hard PVC halloween mask, with bony ridges and an open, grinning mouth full of sharp teeth; a heavily padded black leather longcoat, both to conceal his narrow frame and to offer extra protection; thick, long, dark, but comfortable shirt and pants, with scraps of military surplus armor for dangerous situations; and black boots. Cryptid's weapon of choice is a pair of Indian bagh nakh , or tiger claws, which he found at a pawn shop back when he was first starting out. Affixed to a knucklebracer bar, these fit comfortably over his gloves. The sharpened claws align with his fingers when his hand is open and relaxed, and are "extended" when he closes his hand into a fist. Again, he has no formal training with the weapons, but years of experience with their use and function has given him ample time to learn whatever he can without an actual teacher.
While he is not licensed to own or carry a firearm, Todd has a handgun he lifted off its previous owner early in his career. He isn't a great shot, but he's not terrible, either. He doesn't usually carry it unless he expects more than a normal amount of trouble on patrol, as part of his non-lethal policy.
He has other items one might expect to find on a vigilante -- surplus police scanner, flashlight, zip ties, first aid kit, zippo lighter. Most of this fits in his pockets. His black duffel bag is for the other, more gruesome work he's required to undertake: a butcher's kit. In a pinch he can do everything with his bare hands or tiger claws, but the knives make the work faster. The tools he carries are a fillet knife, a bonesaw, a cleaver, a heavy steak knife, and a whetstone. He's only as good as the average person with any of these in a fight, except maybe the cleaver, which he can use in conjunction with his unusual strength if need be. If he's done everything right, though, he doesn't even have the duffel bag on him when he's in a confrontation. The bag is his most incriminating possession, and he keeps a close eye on it when he can, and hides it well when he can't.[/COLOR]
PERSONALITY
Todd Fowler is all about balances.
Jokes about a "balanced diet" would be too easy, and too lighthearted. That's only one aspect of his lifestyle that this affects. But, yes, one of the hardest balances he has to take into account -- and the one he tries the hardest to maintain -- is between people and food. That balance should be simple. If they're alive, it's a person. If it's dead, they're food. Except that's a very fine line that can be crossed with one punch if you know where to hit. Sure, people have crossed continents with broken bones or survived for years with failed organs, but all it really takes is one misaligned joint in the spine, or getting hit a little too hard over the head, and the body collapses.
Todd has by now realized that there are plenty of jobs out there that would allow him to eat sustainably. Hell, he could even get paid for it. It's weird that someone who engages in cannibalism would draw the line at mercenary work. Or even just refuse to become a run-of-the-mill serial killer with an otherwise normal life. There are probably more appetizing people out there than the common criminal or street scum, not that Todd's tastes are that refined.
Out of anyone, Todd has witnessed what happens to people who live on the wrong side of the road. He's no fool, he knows good people die horribly every day. He's seen it happen first hand -- once or twice at his own hands, much to his regret. But all that aside, he can't shake the feeling of cause and effect, that every action has consequences that will eventually catch up with him. Maybe it's just a superstition, even without any faith in reincarnation or gods to judge him. Maybe this is just an excuse for otherwise senseless personal guilt, a manifestation of a strange, self-oriented retributive justice. Although there might be one other, even stranger possibility even Todd has written off: the serial cannibal has a soft spot.
Now, he won't crumble at the slightest sob story, and he doesn't do extensive research on his victims. He can't afford philanthropy, and most volunteer work requires one too many background checks for him to be comfortable. He just... has standards. He'll help others when it doesn't jeopardize his work, safety, or habits, and he draws a line around torture and minors whenever he can. There are exceptions. Have been exceptions. He'll torture if that's the only way to get information, and admittedly he's not half bad at it, but he doesn't let himself enjoy it. And the rule about kids was a lot easier when there weren't teenagers hopping around in masks trying to do his job with more morals.
Todd has been able to learn to balance what ultimately boils down to his survival and his conscience. While the potential for food always lingers in the marrow of his bones, he's found ways to stave it off. He has hobbies. He's also allowed himself some more harmless habits to keep his addictive personality in check. He's a habitual cigarette smoker without a preference for brand. Black coffee can help him completely ignore the cold for hours at a time. And with his high metabolism, alcohol gives him a pleasant but temporary buzz even in large quantities.
Outside of his current odd job he'll try to keep to himself, but he's hardly rude or even standoffish, just quiet until approached. There's even a boundary between the Cryptid, a vigilante open to working with others in the field, and the hidden killer dragging people away to be dismembered and consumed. The only time that boundary is ever crossed is if he's starving, and it's line he's found himself crossing more and more recently.
He does have something like a normal life, outside of all that. He has an almost childish love for animals, even if he doesn't think owning a pet is a good idea with his lifestyle. He enjoys work that makes him move around or use his hands, and can often be found doing his own routine maintenance on his car or taking nature hikes if his current home has parks or trails. As his wardrobe might suggest, he frequents second-hand and thrift shops. He doesn't really have the time or space for sentimental dust-collectors and baubles, but it's not the worst way to pass the time and the clothes are cheap and concealing. It's not exactly fashionable, but the style lets him hide in plain sight while not raising questions beyond, "why suspenders?"
Although, yeah, the hat is a choice.
HISTORY
Are you looking for a confession? I don't give those out to just anybody.
I mean, given our situation, I'll be happy to answer your questions. You're looking for some kind of tragic backstory, right? 'How does someone become a monster like you?" That's a funny word. Monster. Is it monstrous to do what nature says? Sure, I've done some monstrous things. Don't ask -- I just told you, this ain't a confession. But would I be a monster without all that? If I just killed and ate the scum of the earth, clean and quick. Would that be monstrous?
I did promise answers, and it's not like you can prove anything I say from here, anyway. So where'd you want me to start? Take it from the top? My hometown, my parents - were they monsters like me? Maybe. Or maybe they were a different kind of monster. The normal kind that doesn't have a bone-deep, aching excuse for what they are. Or were.
Hey, if I say the words "foster care," will you look like I just explained everything? You shouldn't. Those were actually the most normal years of my life. The cold wasn't so bad back then. Sure, it wasn't pleasant. I never had a real home. The parents I ended up with treated us like wards of the state, but because of that we were at least cared for. They even got me counseling a few times. And with my medical symptoms -- never a diagnosis from either the shrinks or the doctors, but I'd had symptoms ever since my first home. I got plenty of families investigated. One of the reasons I got moved the first few times. What the inspectors thought was malnutrition just turned out to be what one guy called a "high metabolism." But even with all that, I stood out in a bad way. Aside from one little incident, I kept my nose clean. I adapted. I learned the rules. Make friends, keep your head down. Be respectful. Help if you can. If you can't stay out of the way. Not the best years of my life. Just normal.
And I ran as soon as I legally could. All it took to leave it behind was a name change, and the car I'd spent the money I could've been saving for college on. Hell, I didn't even finish high school. First week of January I'd gotten everything squared away. February saw me halfway to Montana. No, I hadn't decided that's where I was going. I had a whole year of wandering around before Billings. That's just where I thought to get an actual apartment. If I hadn't, I never would've met--
Ah. I told you. This ain't a confession.
I spent some time there. Some more time... not there. Maybe this is all about that, or that's got nothing to do with this. Not like you'll ever actually find out. No, I've already said too much to let you live anyway. What it comes down to is that my bones hurt. My organs hurt. And my throat hurts -- don't really spend this much time talking to food. Or anybody, these days, if I can help it. This isn't about my pain. Or yours. Don't worry too much. Dying's scary, but I've heard bleeding out's a lot like falling asleep. Too bad you won't be able to tell me. Anyway, thanks for the ear. It's been enough to tide me over for now. And... thanks for the rest, too.
I mean, given our situation, I'll be happy to answer your questions. You're looking for some kind of tragic backstory, right? 'How does someone become a monster like you?" That's a funny word. Monster. Is it monstrous to do what nature says? Sure, I've done some monstrous things. Don't ask -- I just told you, this ain't a confession. But would I be a monster without all that? If I just killed and ate the scum of the earth, clean and quick. Would that be monstrous?
I did promise answers, and it's not like you can prove anything I say from here, anyway. So where'd you want me to start? Take it from the top? My hometown, my parents - were they monsters like me? Maybe. Or maybe they were a different kind of monster. The normal kind that doesn't have a bone-deep, aching excuse for what they are. Or were.
Hey, if I say the words "foster care," will you look like I just explained everything? You shouldn't. Those were actually the most normal years of my life. The cold wasn't so bad back then. Sure, it wasn't pleasant. I never had a real home. The parents I ended up with treated us like wards of the state, but because of that we were at least cared for. They even got me counseling a few times. And with my medical symptoms -- never a diagnosis from either the shrinks or the doctors, but I'd had symptoms ever since my first home. I got plenty of families investigated. One of the reasons I got moved the first few times. What the inspectors thought was malnutrition just turned out to be what one guy called a "high metabolism." But even with all that, I stood out in a bad way. Aside from one little incident, I kept my nose clean. I adapted. I learned the rules. Make friends, keep your head down. Be respectful. Help if you can. If you can't stay out of the way. Not the best years of my life. Just normal.
And I ran as soon as I legally could. All it took to leave it behind was a name change, and the car I'd spent the money I could've been saving for college on. Hell, I didn't even finish high school. First week of January I'd gotten everything squared away. February saw me halfway to Montana. No, I hadn't decided that's where I was going. I had a whole year of wandering around before Billings. That's just where I thought to get an actual apartment. If I hadn't, I never would've met--
Ah. I told you. This ain't a confession.
I spent some time there. Some more time... not there. Maybe this is all about that, or that's got nothing to do with this. Not like you'll ever actually find out. No, I've already said too much to let you live anyway. What it comes down to is that my bones hurt. My organs hurt. And my throat hurts -- don't really spend this much time talking to food. Or anybody, these days, if I can help it. This isn't about my pain. Or yours. Don't worry too much. Dying's scary, but I've heard bleeding out's a lot like falling asleep. Too bad you won't be able to tell me. Anyway, thanks for the ear. It's been enough to tide me over for now. And... thanks for the rest, too.
Last edited:
Wendigo
Member
tep one to Testing: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Pellentesque condimentum lectus mattis vehicula vulputate. Suspendisse vehicula urna ac felis efficitur porttitor. Sed vitae semper tellus. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Pellentesque pretium felis quis mi convallis, at mattis diam ultricies. Pellentesque augue odio, finibus vel condimentum volutpat, congue in dolor. Nam cursus odio at hendrerit lobortis. Sed eget magna at dui consequat volutpat.Donec gravida orci nec rutrum aliquam. Donec pretium, magna a porttitor hendrerit, massa justo fermentum sapien, in rhoncus odio ante vitae metus. Vivamus sit amet mattis urna. Nunc facilisis est ipsum, vel fringilla est iaculis in. Nullam eu ullamcorper enim, posuere imperdiet leo. Vivamus feugiat leo eleifend sapien ultricies aliquam. Etiam vitae commodo lacus.
Suspendisse vel dignissim mauris, a ultrices libero. Nam ac neque ligula. Aliquam gravida mi at dui pellentesque ullamcorper. Mauris vel lacus nec sem mollis luctus. Vivamus sodales odio ut dui maximus ultrices. Nullam congue velit non nunc fringilla malesuada. Pellentesque nec nisi ultrices, commodo est a, sagittis ex.
Nulla convallis libero nulla, ut feugiat nulla maximus nec. Ut pretium sed nibh et varius. Nullam dapibus consectetur odio, id pharetra metus. Sed vel orci tellus. Morbi sodales magna nec convallis laoreet. Sed tincidunt, nisl a ultricies dignissim, diam lorem suscipit felis, id tristique dolor nulla blandit quam. Quisque luctus varius magna, non pulvinar turpis suscipit et. Duis dictum nisi non accumsan lobortis. Curabitur varius sed est eget ullamcorper. Nullam ultrices ornare felis, eget gravida magna sodales quis.
Last edited:
Wendigo
Member
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Morbi ut fringilla orci, at semper massa. Fusce posuere turpis eu sapien ultrices, eu ullamcorper purus interdum. Donec urna nisi, dapibus sed ullamcorper eu, mattis sit amet orci. Pellentesque porttitor dolor a pellentesque vulputate. Vestibulum tincidunt eleifend imperdiet. Donec maximus aliquam est ultrices dictum. Sed posuere, neque sit amet pellentesque luctus, sem lacus vulputate purus, non commodo tellus augue quis tortor. Aliquam eget facilisis lacus. Sed molestie nibh turpis, quis finibus orci molestie et. Sed mattis molestie augue et molestie. Aenean et placerat dolor. Donec rhoncus nisi nec risus ullamcorper, nec lobortis eros consequat.
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Integer malesuada sodales congue. Suspendisse vel dignissim magna. Morbi metus justo, aliquet eget laoreet in, tristique quis nisi. Donec quis nisl in neque imperdiet suscipit pharetra ullamcorper purus. Donec interdum nisi et lectus convallis faucibus. Nunc eget blandit urna, at mollis sapien. Etiam et semper diam. Vestibulum ex urna, auctor vitae placerat ut, pharetra id dui. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos.
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Integer malesuada sodales congue. Suspendisse vel dignissim magna. Morbi metus justo, aliquet eget laoreet in, tristique quis nisi. Donec quis nisl in neque imperdiet suscipit pharetra ullamcorper purus. Donec interdum nisi et lectus convallis faucibus. Nunc eget blandit urna, at mollis sapien. Etiam et semper diam. Vestibulum ex urna, auctor vitae placerat ut, pharetra id dui. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos.
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Wendigo
Member
Observation Point, Zion National Park, Utah.
Four months later.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed vel semper libero. Praesent pulvinar, magna quis aliquet tristique, lacus lorem fringilla turpis, non facilisis elit tortor fringilla velit. Duis purus odio, faucibus ac iaculis in, imperdiet ut sapien. Suspendisse quis nibh arcu. In id mollis erat. Etiam mollis diam ac ipsum aliquam fermentum. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.
Fusce cursus eget odio eget tincidunt. Vestibulum vel eros semper, lobortis quam in, venenatis erat. Nunc consectetur augue ac quam pulvinar, at dapibus quam cursus. Nullam quis lobortis nulla. Nam tincidunt nibh purus, nec pharetra sapien ullamcorper sit amet. Nullam maximus enim tellus, eu sagittis nibh porttitor in. Sed ut tellus ornare sapien eleifend convallis. Etiam dapibus massa vitae sodales dignissim. Quisque et nisl ante. Mauris auctor diam id sem pharetra, ut lobortis nunc tempor. Praesent vitae aliquam neque. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Nullam semper augue ut mi euismod pellentesque. Mauris scelerisque lectus tellus, ac varius enim rhoncus eget.
Suspendisse dignissim tristique gravida. Aliquam suscipit nisi erat, eget lacinia nunc porta vel. Proin porta maximus purus, eu malesuada purus commodo at. Nullam in libero non orci pulvinar pharetra at commodo turpis. Sed sed metus porta, semper libero gravida, luctus est. Sed malesuada nulla turpis, eget viverra justo efficitur et. Quisque nec condimentum turpis. Fusce tincidunt eros non nibh semper, et tincidunt justo pretium. Sed non rutrum sem. Pellentesque egestas felis ligula, euismod pulvinar erat vulputate vitae. Aenean sit amet dictum nisl. Curabitur porttitor condimentum ante, et porta nibh ultrices ut. Integer tincidunt nulla nec ornare sagittis.
Phasellus auctor justo vitae dui semper tempor. Nunc erat tortor, venenatis ac egestas a, tristique eget orci. Pellentesque id feugiat velit. Vivamus mattis pulvinar tortor a hendrerit. Nam magna ipsum, viverra rutrum ligula eget, rutrum tempor turpis. Etiam non justo id tellus lobortis malesuada. Praesent magna nunc, bibendum vel hendrerit egestas, accumsan eget urna. Quisque maximus, dolor a ultricies scelerisque, nulla sem vulputate libero, dapibus ultricies mi mi ac felis. Nulla pharetra ultrices sem sed vehicula. Ut at nisi pulvinar, sodales erat ut, tristique sem. Vivamus commodo nunc vitae nibh elementum bibendum. Nullam finibus tempus est, vel placerat lorem viverra sed. Nullam sollicitudin velit aliquam, feugiat eros facilisis, viverra massa. Etiam mattis fringilla facilisis. Nam tellus lectus, accumsan eleifend mi ac, volutpat lobortis urna.
“Donec congue, turpis id ultrices luctus, massa risus tincidunt velit, sit amet consequat mi ante sit amet quam.” Ut euismod elementum leo, at dignissim erat iaculis quis. Ut sed facilisis leo. Morbi velit lorem, sodales sed arcu at, scelerisque tempor lorem. Nam feugiat suscipit nisi id scelerisque. Nam malesuada nunc in magna blandit, eget tristique velit imperdiet. Etiam vel tristique justo. Mauris eu felis id nibh lobortis semper et maximus metus. Praesent vehicula nisl sed faucibus tristique. Nullam placerat at augue sed ullamcorper. Maecenas eget mi vel sapien suscipit gravida. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Praesent eu eros justo.
Praesent ligula orci, semper at malesuada a, commodo at nunc. Sed non aliquam libero.
Four months later.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed vel semper libero. Praesent pulvinar, magna quis aliquet tristique, lacus lorem fringilla turpis, non facilisis elit tortor fringilla velit. Duis purus odio, faucibus ac iaculis in, imperdiet ut sapien. Suspendisse quis nibh arcu. In id mollis erat. Etiam mollis diam ac ipsum aliquam fermentum. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.
Fusce cursus eget odio eget tincidunt. Vestibulum vel eros semper, lobortis quam in, venenatis erat. Nunc consectetur augue ac quam pulvinar, at dapibus quam cursus. Nullam quis lobortis nulla. Nam tincidunt nibh purus, nec pharetra sapien ullamcorper sit amet. Nullam maximus enim tellus, eu sagittis nibh porttitor in. Sed ut tellus ornare sapien eleifend convallis. Etiam dapibus massa vitae sodales dignissim. Quisque et nisl ante. Mauris auctor diam id sem pharetra, ut lobortis nunc tempor. Praesent vitae aliquam neque. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Nullam semper augue ut mi euismod pellentesque. Mauris scelerisque lectus tellus, ac varius enim rhoncus eget.
Suspendisse dignissim tristique gravida. Aliquam suscipit nisi erat, eget lacinia nunc porta vel. Proin porta maximus purus, eu malesuada purus commodo at. Nullam in libero non orci pulvinar pharetra at commodo turpis. Sed sed metus porta, semper libero gravida, luctus est. Sed malesuada nulla turpis, eget viverra justo efficitur et. Quisque nec condimentum turpis. Fusce tincidunt eros non nibh semper, et tincidunt justo pretium. Sed non rutrum sem. Pellentesque egestas felis ligula, euismod pulvinar erat vulputate vitae. Aenean sit amet dictum nisl. Curabitur porttitor condimentum ante, et porta nibh ultrices ut. Integer tincidunt nulla nec ornare sagittis.
Phasellus auctor justo vitae dui semper tempor. Nunc erat tortor, venenatis ac egestas a, tristique eget orci. Pellentesque id feugiat velit. Vivamus mattis pulvinar tortor a hendrerit. Nam magna ipsum, viverra rutrum ligula eget, rutrum tempor turpis. Etiam non justo id tellus lobortis malesuada. Praesent magna nunc, bibendum vel hendrerit egestas, accumsan eget urna. Quisque maximus, dolor a ultricies scelerisque, nulla sem vulputate libero, dapibus ultricies mi mi ac felis. Nulla pharetra ultrices sem sed vehicula. Ut at nisi pulvinar, sodales erat ut, tristique sem. Vivamus commodo nunc vitae nibh elementum bibendum. Nullam finibus tempus est, vel placerat lorem viverra sed. Nullam sollicitudin velit aliquam, feugiat eros facilisis, viverra massa. Etiam mattis fringilla facilisis. Nam tellus lectus, accumsan eleifend mi ac, volutpat lobortis urna.
“Donec congue, turpis id ultrices luctus, massa risus tincidunt velit, sit amet consequat mi ante sit amet quam.” Ut euismod elementum leo, at dignissim erat iaculis quis. Ut sed facilisis leo. Morbi velit lorem, sodales sed arcu at, scelerisque tempor lorem. Nam feugiat suscipit nisi id scelerisque. Nam malesuada nunc in magna blandit, eget tristique velit imperdiet. Etiam vel tristique justo. Mauris eu felis id nibh lobortis semper et maximus metus. Praesent vehicula nisl sed faucibus tristique. Nullam placerat at augue sed ullamcorper. Maecenas eget mi vel sapien suscipit gravida. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Praesent eu eros justo.
Praesent ligula orci, semper at malesuada a, commodo at nunc. Sed non aliquam libero.
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Arcane Eye
Member
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aliquam accumsan nibh sit amet turpis lobortis, ut bibendum neque consequat. Donec nec accumsan justo, molestie dapibus eros. Quisque lectus sapien, dapibus eget tortor quis, tristique posuere urna. Vivamus pulvinar in sapien vitae auctor. Nulla quis sodales arcu. Donec quis tellus massa. In porta porttitor metus eu suscipit. Ut aliquam, turpis non blandit dictum, neque ante lacinia dui, vitae pellentesque nisl magna vitae lorem. Fusce commodo suscipit ante id tincidunt. Morbi convallis dui vitae sem eleifend sagittis.
Duis quis lacinia velit. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque commodo, augue et lacinia imperdiet, tellus metus pellentesque mi, et commodo elit ligula et lacus. Sed non odio dignissim enim ultricies viverra. Nulla faucibus dolor in fermentum viverra. Suspendisse id odio sit amet tellus varius ornare sit amet eget enim. Cras tempus mi vel suscipit volutpat. Fusce tincidunt laoreet erat. Mauris faucibus mattis orci, et fringilla ante facilisis a.
Aliquam luctus arcu in consectetur sollicitudin. Curabitur sem elit, feugiat ornare tempus in, malesuada a eros. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Ut tristique dolor ac mattis venenatis. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae; Nunc lacus nisi, posuere a cursus in, efficitur et nisi. Maecenas ut erat lacus. Aenean ac neque nec dolor blandit blandit. Praesent pretium commodo sem ut mollis. Nullam sem nibh, auctor non faucibus ac, ornare sed nibh. Mauris eget gravida urna, in cursus velit. Nullam varius facilisis sapien, non porta dui gravida ut. Integer aliquet pellentesque magna. Praesent quis nisi interdum, fermentum odio ut, vehicula ligula. Proin fermentum dapibus nisl, quis dignissim ante pellentesque at. Curabitur congue felis ex, nec suscipit tortor dignissim ut.
Aliquam luctus arcu in consectetur sollicitudin. Curabitur sem elit, feugiat ornare tempus in, malesuada a eros. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Ut tristique dolor ac mattis venenatis. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae; Nunc lacus nisi, posuere a cursus in, efficitur et nisi. Maecenas ut erat lacus. Aenean ac neque nec dolor blandit blandit. Praesent pretium commodo sem ut mollis. Nullam sem nibh, auctor non faucibus ac, ornare sed nibh. Mauris eget gravida urna, in cursus velit. Nullam varius facilisis sapien, non porta dui gravida ut. Integer aliquet pellentesque magna. Praesent quis nisi interdum, fermentum odio ut, vehicula ligula. Proin fermentum dapibus nisl, quis dignissim ante pellentesque at. Curabitur congue felis ex, nec suscipit tortor dignissim ut.
Quisque et accumsan nunc. Donec nec iaculis arcu. Phasellus sed purus a lorem finibus condimentum eget eget ligula. Pellentesque a feugiat sem, non maximus libero. Maecenas non nisl vel leo pharetra consequat. Curabitur dictum sem id turpis imperdiet, sit amet pretium nulla consequat. Sed nulla urna, vulputate vitae laoreet consequat, pretium at mauris. Suspendisse sit amet ante mollis, scelerisque ante sit amet, aliquet sem. Curabitur at ullamcorper justo. Sed a viverra nibh. Mauris eget elementum est. Sed nibh tellus, mollis eget pulvinar sed, molestie ac nunc. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Mauris condimentum lacus vel ipsum feugiat, et tincidunt mi fringilla. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
Etiam convallis eget nibh venenatis auctor. Mauris orci turpis, tincidunt vitae tellus vitae, pharetra tempus turpis. Fusce sollicitudin euismod odio, vel sodales metus mollis quis. Aliquam ut consequat risus. Sed varius nisl eget condimentum eleifend. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Mauris et euismod turpis. Praesent viverra ligula et arcu maximus, malesuada mollis libero congue. Nam et iaculis risus, vel facilisis urna. Pellentesque auctor ac risus a luctus. Vivamus rutrum metus ut felis aliquet consectetur.
Duis quis lacinia velit. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque commodo, augue et lacinia imperdiet, tellus metus pellentesque mi, et commodo elit ligula et lacus. Sed non odio dignissim enim ultricies viverra. Nulla faucibus dolor in fermentum viverra. Suspendisse id odio sit amet tellus varius ornare sit amet eget enim. Cras tempus mi vel suscipit volutpat. Fusce tincidunt laoreet erat. Mauris faucibus mattis orci, et fringilla ante facilisis a.
Aliquam luctus arcu in consectetur sollicitudin. Curabitur sem elit, feugiat ornare tempus in, malesuada a eros. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Ut tristique dolor ac mattis venenatis. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae; Nunc lacus nisi, posuere a cursus in, efficitur et nisi. Maecenas ut erat lacus. Aenean ac neque nec dolor blandit blandit. Praesent pretium commodo sem ut mollis. Nullam sem nibh, auctor non faucibus ac, ornare sed nibh. Mauris eget gravida urna, in cursus velit. Nullam varius facilisis sapien, non porta dui gravida ut. Integer aliquet pellentesque magna. Praesent quis nisi interdum, fermentum odio ut, vehicula ligula. Proin fermentum dapibus nisl, quis dignissim ante pellentesque at. Curabitur congue felis ex, nec suscipit tortor dignissim ut.
LINES UNSAID LINES UNSAID LINES UNSAID
Quisque et accumsan nunc. Donec nec iaculis arcu. Phasellus sed purus a lorem finibus condimentum eget eget ligula. Pellentesque a feugiat sem, non maximus libero. Maecenas non nisl vel leo pharetra consequat. Curabitur dictum sem id turpis imperdiet, sit amet pretium nulla consequat. Sed nulla urna, vulputate vitae laoreet consequat, pretium at mauris. Suspendisse sit amet ante mollis, scelerisque ante sit amet, aliquet sem. Curabitur at ullamcorper justo. Sed a viverra nibh. Mauris eget elementum est. Sed nibh tellus, mollis eget pulvinar sed, molestie ac nunc. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Mauris condimentum lacus vel ipsum feugiat, et tincidunt mi fringilla. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
Etiam convallis eget nibh venenatis auctor. Mauris orci turpis, tincidunt vitae tellus vitae, pharetra tempus turpis. Fusce sollicitudin euismod odio, vel sodales metus mollis quis. Aliquam ut consequat risus. Sed varius nisl eget condimentum eleifend. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Mauris et euismod turpis. Praesent viverra ligula et arcu maximus, malesuada mollis libero congue. Nam et iaculis risus, vel facilisis urna. Pellentesque auctor ac risus a luctus. Vivamus rutrum metus ut felis aliquet consectetur.
Arcane Eye
Member
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aliquam accumsan nibh sit amet turpis lobortis, ut bibendum neque consequat. Donec nec accumsan justo, molestie dapibus eros. Quisque lectus sapien, dapibus eget tortor quis, tristique posuere urna. Vivamus pulvinar in sapien vitae auctor. Nulla quis sodales arcu. Donec quis tellus massa. In porta porttitor metus eu suscipit. Ut aliquam, turpis non blandit dictum, neque ante lacinia dui, vitae pellentesque nisl magna vitae lorem. Fusce commodo suscipit ante id tincidunt. Morbi convallis dui vitae sem eleifend sagittis.
Duis quis lacinia velit. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque commodo, augue et lacinia imperdiet, tellus metus pellentesque mi, et commodo elit ligula et lacus. Sed non odio dignissim enim ultricies viverra. Nulla faucibus dolor in fermentum viverra. Suspendisse id odio sit amet tellus varius ornare sit amet eget enim. Cras tempus mi vel suscipit volutpat. Fusce tincidunt laoreet erat. Mauris faucibus mattis orci, et fringilla ante facilisis a.
Aliquam luctus arcu in consectetur sollicitudin. Curabitur sem elit, feugiat ornare tempus in, malesuada a eros. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Ut tristique dolor ac mattis venenatis. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae; Nunc lacus nisi, posuere a cursus in, efficitur et nisi. Maecenas ut erat lacus. Aenean ac neque nec dolor blandit blandit. Praesent pretium commodo sem ut mollis. Nullam sem nibh, auctor non faucibus ac, ornare sed nibh. Mauris eget gravida urna, in cursus velit. Nullam varius facilisis sapien, non porta dui gravida ut. Integer aliquet pellentesque magna. Praesent quis nisi interdum, fermentum odio ut, vehicula ligula. Proin fermentum dapibus nisl, quis dignissim ante pellentesque at. Curabitur congue felis ex, nec suscipit tortor dignissim ut.Aliquam luctus arcu in consectetur sollicitudin. Curabitur sem elit, feugiat ornare tempus in, malesuada a eros. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Ut tristique dolor ac mattis venenatis. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae; Nunc lacus nisi, posuere a cursus in, efficitur et nisi. Maecenas ut erat lacus. Aenean ac neque nec dolor blandit blandit. Praesent pretium commodo sem ut mollis. Nullam sem nibh, auctor non faucibus ac, ornare sed nibh. Mauris eget gravida urna, in cursus velit. Nullam varius facilisis sapien, non porta dui gravida ut. Integer aliquet pellentesque magna. Praesent quis nisi interdum, fermentum odio ut, vehicula ligula. Proin fermentum dapibus nisl, quis dignissim ante pellentesque at. Curabitur congue felis ex, nec suscipit tortor dignissim ut.
Quisque et accumsan nunc. Donec nec iaculis arcu. Phasellus sed purus a lorem finibus condimentum eget eget ligula. Pellentesque a feugiat sem, non maximus libero. Maecenas non nisl vel leo pharetra consequat. Curabitur dictum sem id turpis imperdiet, sit amet pretium nulla consequat. Sed nulla urna, vulputate vitae laoreet consequat, pretium at mauris. Suspendisse sit amet ante mollis, scelerisque ante sit amet, aliquet sem. Curabitur at ullamcorper justo. Sed a viverra nibh. Mauris eget elementum est. Sed nibh tellus, mollis eget pulvinar sed, molestie ac nunc. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Mauris condimentum lacus vel ipsum feugiat, et tincidunt mi fringilla. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
Etiam convallis eget nibh venenatis auctor. Mauris orci turpis, tincidunt vitae tellus vitae, pharetra tempus turpis. Fusce sollicitudin euismod odio, vel sodales metus mollis quis. Aliquam ut consequat risus. Sed varius nisl eget condimentum eleifend. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Mauris et euismod turpis. Praesent viverra ligula et arcu maximus, malesuada mollis libero congue. Nam et iaculis risus, vel facilisis urna. Pellentesque auctor ac risus a luctus. Vivamus rutrum metus ut felis aliquet consectetur.
Duis quis lacinia velit. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque commodo, augue et lacinia imperdiet, tellus metus pellentesque mi, et commodo elit ligula et lacus. Sed non odio dignissim enim ultricies viverra. Nulla faucibus dolor in fermentum viverra. Suspendisse id odio sit amet tellus varius ornare sit amet eget enim. Cras tempus mi vel suscipit volutpat. Fusce tincidunt laoreet erat. Mauris faucibus mattis orci, et fringilla ante facilisis a.
Aliquam luctus arcu in consectetur sollicitudin. Curabitur sem elit, feugiat ornare tempus in, malesuada a eros. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Ut tristique dolor ac mattis venenatis. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae; Nunc lacus nisi, posuere a cursus in, efficitur et nisi. Maecenas ut erat lacus. Aenean ac neque nec dolor blandit blandit. Praesent pretium commodo sem ut mollis. Nullam sem nibh, auctor non faucibus ac, ornare sed nibh. Mauris eget gravida urna, in cursus velit. Nullam varius facilisis sapien, non porta dui gravida ut. Integer aliquet pellentesque magna. Praesent quis nisi interdum, fermentum odio ut, vehicula ligula. Proin fermentum dapibus nisl, quis dignissim ante pellentesque at. Curabitur congue felis ex, nec suscipit tortor dignissim ut.
LINES UNSAID LINES UNSAID
LINES UNSAID LINES UNSAID
LINES UNSAID LINES UNSAID
Quisque et accumsan nunc. Donec nec iaculis arcu. Phasellus sed purus a lorem finibus condimentum eget eget ligula. Pellentesque a feugiat sem, non maximus libero. Maecenas non nisl vel leo pharetra consequat. Curabitur dictum sem id turpis imperdiet, sit amet pretium nulla consequat. Sed nulla urna, vulputate vitae laoreet consequat, pretium at mauris. Suspendisse sit amet ante mollis, scelerisque ante sit amet, aliquet sem. Curabitur at ullamcorper justo. Sed a viverra nibh. Mauris eget elementum est. Sed nibh tellus, mollis eget pulvinar sed, molestie ac nunc. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Mauris condimentum lacus vel ipsum feugiat, et tincidunt mi fringilla. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
Etiam convallis eget nibh venenatis auctor. Mauris orci turpis, tincidunt vitae tellus vitae, pharetra tempus turpis. Fusce sollicitudin euismod odio, vel sodales metus mollis quis. Aliquam ut consequat risus. Sed varius nisl eget condimentum eleifend. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Mauris et euismod turpis. Praesent viverra ligula et arcu maximus, malesuada mollis libero congue. Nam et iaculis risus, vel facilisis urna. Pellentesque auctor ac risus a luctus. Vivamus rutrum metus ut felis aliquet consectetur.
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The following is a post translated for legibility. Code and post by Stitches. I take no credit for this post.
Obsidian was angry, but above that, he was heartbroken. The fury he felt could only barely compete with the sorrow. He walked in the door to the housing above the Emerald. They had long since converted the original apartments above it into a single “family” home. The top floors were open rooms and bedrooms connected via hallways and the first floor was the heart of their home. He dropped his keys into the dish on the entryway table as he passed it, moving on autopilot. In his arms, he carried a large cardboard box.
Inside that box was Malachite.
His hands shook as he put the box gently down on the counter. He swallowed, trying to hold back the tears. He sat down in the chair right in front of the box. He opened it back up, and from the top, he removed a piece of medical-grade plastic. A heart valve, just like the one that rested in his own chest. Across the top were fracture lines, from where it had been cracked. And dug deep into the plastic were teeth marks. He looked down at it, sitting still as a board.
Pain radiated through him, physical in its realness. It suffocated him. It filled his lungs with air that had nowhere to go, air that filled his lungs to the brim as he breathed in a harsh breath. He was paralyzed, the piece of Malachite’s heart held in his hand. He felt his lungs begin to scream as he choked on the tears he was holding back, as his throat began to swell.
Soon enough, the emotions inside him began to spill over. He tipped his head back and screamed before dissolving into tears. He tasted blood in his mouth as he tightened his grip on the heart valve. He clutched the piece of plastic close to his chest, the edges digging deep into his gloved hand. Full body sobs wracked his form as he cried, his head falling forward. He reached up and removed his glasses, setting them to the side on the table.
Then, when they were out of the way enough that he wouldn’t hit them, he slammed his hand hard into the table with another scream. This time, he heard footsteps on the staircase, feet running down. From the sounds of it, it was likely every one of his family members.
He sat up straight, his breath coming in fast as he tried to stop crying. The sorrow, the pain, the rage in his chest demanded nothing less than tears, however, and so they continued to slip down his face as he stood from his chair. He turned to see the others all stepping into the room. Sulphur had been the first one down the stairs, followed closely by Rhodie. Next had come Lapis, hand in hand with Topaz. Hematite had brought up the rear, and was holding onto the banister on the bottom step of the stairs.
There was a variety of expressions looking back at him, but he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He looked at the ground, his heart pounding in his ears as the tears slipped down his wide-eyed face. He held the piece of Malachite’s heart up, and in a soft voice that trembled with rage and pain, he said, “Mal is dead. Malachite is dead. Someone ate him.”
He passed the valve off to Sulphur, whose face had frozen in a wide-eyed look of shock. It took a moment before everyone started to move, starting with Rhody. She ran straight over to Hematite and started to cry, burying her face in his chest. The man swooped her up in a tight hug, trying to soothe her even as his expression fell into one of anger and shock. Sulphur started to closely examine the bite marks on the piece of plastic in his hands.
Lapis was the first to speak, her hand tightening around Topaz’s as she started to shake. “What do you mean? He’s dead? But he just went to spend a few days with Katherine. How did this happen?”
“I don’t know, Lapis. I… I don’t have any answers. His phone was missing. All that was there was the keys in the Jeep and this box full of– this box.” He whipped his eyes with the palm of his gloved hand, trying to stem the crying. He failed, and it continued. He finally looked up to everyone, and the first person he saw was Topaz.
Obsidian was angry, but above that, he was heartbroken. The fury he felt could only barely compete with the sorrow. He walked in the door to the housing above the Emerald. They had long since converted the original apartments above it into a single “family” home. The top floors were open rooms and bedrooms connected via hallways and the first floor was the heart of their home. He dropped his keys into the dish on the entryway table as he passed it, moving on autopilot. In his arms, he carried a large cardboard box.
Inside that box was Malachite.
His hands shook as he put the box gently down on the counter. He swallowed, trying to hold back the tears. He sat down in the chair right in front of the box. He opened it back up, and from the top, he removed a piece of medical-grade plastic. A heart valve, just like the one that rested in his own chest. Across the top were fracture lines, from where it had been cracked. And dug deep into the plastic were teeth marks. He looked down at it, sitting still as a board.
Pain radiated through him, physical in its realness. It suffocated him. It filled his lungs with air that had nowhere to go, air that filled his lungs to the brim as he breathed in a harsh breath. He was paralyzed, the piece of Malachite’s heart held in his hand. He felt his lungs begin to scream as he choked on the tears he was holding back, as his throat began to swell.
Soon enough, the emotions inside him began to spill over. He tipped his head back and screamed before dissolving into tears. He tasted blood in his mouth as he tightened his grip on the heart valve. He clutched the piece of plastic close to his chest, the edges digging deep into his gloved hand. Full body sobs wracked his form as he cried, his head falling forward. He reached up and removed his glasses, setting them to the side on the table.
Then, when they were out of the way enough that he wouldn’t hit them, he slammed his hand hard into the table with another scream. This time, he heard footsteps on the staircase, feet running down. From the sounds of it, it was likely every one of his family members.
He sat up straight, his breath coming in fast as he tried to stop crying. The sorrow, the pain, the rage in his chest demanded nothing less than tears, however, and so they continued to slip down his face as he stood from his chair. He turned to see the others all stepping into the room. Sulphur had been the first one down the stairs, followed closely by Rhodie. Next had come Lapis, hand in hand with Topaz. Hematite had brought up the rear, and was holding onto the banister on the bottom step of the stairs.
There was a variety of expressions looking back at him, but he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He looked at the ground, his heart pounding in his ears as the tears slipped down his wide-eyed face. He held the piece of Malachite’s heart up, and in a soft voice that trembled with rage and pain, he said, “Mal is dead. Malachite is dead. Someone ate him.”
He passed the valve off to Sulphur, whose face had frozen in a wide-eyed look of shock. It took a moment before everyone started to move, starting with Rhody. She ran straight over to Hematite and started to cry, burying her face in his chest. The man swooped her up in a tight hug, trying to soothe her even as his expression fell into one of anger and shock. Sulphur started to closely examine the bite marks on the piece of plastic in his hands.
Lapis was the first to speak, her hand tightening around Topaz’s as she started to shake. “What do you mean? He’s dead? But he just went to spend a few days with Katherine. How did this happen?”
“I don’t know, Lapis. I… I don’t have any answers. His phone was missing. All that was there was the keys in the Jeep and this box full of– this box.” He whipped his eyes with the palm of his gloved hand, trying to stem the crying. He failed, and it continued. He finally looked up to everyone, and the first person he saw was Topaz.
Wendigo
Member
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For many Japanese, min'yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.
The Leader
- Name: Mary Tsukimi
- Alias: Min’yo
- Age: 30 years
- Height: 4’11”
- Weight: 90 lbs.
Japanese American female. Black hair, type 1a, typically worn up in a loose bun. Dark brown eyes, monolid, typically traced in black eyeliner. Min’yo exclusively wears white clothing; the ability to keep this clothing clean even during her activities is a sign of discipline for herself. Her usual white sleeveless top shows off the moon cycle tattoo on her left arm.
Min’yo is capable of limited nitrokinesis, or the control of nitrogen in its gaseous state. This grants her limited flight, aided by her choice not to wear armor and her metahuman hollow bone structure, which leaves her vulnerable to physical attacks. This also gives her the ability to form air currents as shields large enough to cover a 15ft radius, centered out to 20ft away from herself. She has also used this ability to carry handheld-sized objects, like a wallet or cell phone.
Her personal arsenal is simple: a rattan bo staff and a lower-face Oni mask, painted in reflective white and black. She has a comms earpiece that connects her directly to Symphony.
Mary was the perfect daughter. She was pretty, smart, and – more than anything – she was a good kid. Sure, she was small and frail, and had an aggressive streak, especially in her kobudō classes. But her grades were impeccable, and she never argued. She did everything asked of her. She was as perfect as humanly possible, when she was born imperfect. Twice in her life, her father called her yokai. Those two times stuck in her head.
She tried to be perfect when she left home – when she went to college, she went into chemistry. The sciences should be safe, she assured her parents. With chemistry, she could go into medicine, become a doctor. They didn’t approve, but neither of them called her yokai, so she took it as approval. She finished her first degree at Berkeley, and then started to pursue her masters, chasing the praise of the people she thought she loved.
That’s when she met Garnet.
Garnet was everything Mary wasn’t. Confident, assured her entire life that she was good, that she was worth it. A bitch unlike anyone she’d ever met. Someone who didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Someone whose abilities were praised, even rewarded. Someone with a group of people who understood the strength metas can hold over ordinary people who thought of them as demons.
Mary followed her, blindly. Everything she’d never known she’d wanted, everything she’d never been and everything she realized she wanted to be.
So Mary joined Slate. She cut off contact with her parents, dropped out of the prestige school, and changed her name: Selenite, which could clear blocked energy, activate suppressed powers, and clear the air for those around her.
It didn’t take long for Selenite to become disillusioned with her conception of her new friend. Garnet was loud, self-absorbed, and too blinded by her conceit to lead even the small group entrusted to her. After less than a year, the scales fell from Selenite’s eyes, and she left Slate. Not without preparation. Not without knowing what she was doing. She knew better than to just walk away.
Five years ago, Selenite died, her tracker crushed, her body never found. The person who survived her wasn’t Mary anymore. It was time for a new start, and while it began with mercenary work, it wasn’t long before she found her crowd in Gregory and Juliette Bletcher-Faul.
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An elaborate instrumental composition in three or more movements, similar in form to a sonata but written for an orchestra and usually of far grander proportions and more varied elements.
The Brains
- Name: Gregory Bletcher-Faul
- Alias: Symphony
- Age: 26 years
- Height: 5’11”
- Weight: 165 lbs.
Caucasian male. Brown hair and beard, type 1b, trimmed short. Deep-set green eyes. His clothes typically consist of a colored collared shirt and dress slacks, sometimes with a leather coat hiding his shoulder holster and Colt. He has bars 198 and 199 of Beethoven’s “Sonata 14, 3rd Movement” tattooed onto the back of his hands.
Symphony possesses a mind capable of hyper-resourcefulness, the ability to categorize and effectively use all materials available to him in a situation. This function makes him highly adaptive to his situations, and enables him to be the thinker of the team. He can improvise weapons from limited (and sometimes improbable) materials, plan escape routes in a glance, and categorize superficial weaknesses in an opponent, among similar talents. However, this is his only ability; lacking metahuman strength, skill, or durability, he has to rely entirely on his wit and equipment at hand for survival without the rest of the team to direct.
Symphony is one of two Resonants regularly armed with a gun – a Colt 1911 classic painted a jewel-tone green, usually hidden in a chest holster when he’s carrying. With his eye for detail, he also occasionally takes up the sniper position for the team’s less blaze-of-glory endeavors. As such, he possesses a Accuracy International AWM rifle and the necessary ammunition.
However, most of the time Symph can settle for improvised weaponry crafted from the items he carries in a large satchel at his side for accessibility. Most of the items inside are completely innocuous: empty bottles, office supplies, dollar store cooking tools, first aid equipment, explosives extracted from legal firecrackers. To hide his identity, he has a simple red bandanna he uses to cover his nose and mouth. He has an earpiece that connects him directly to Min’yo.
Gregory never quite fit. Too extraordinary to fit in with normal kids, never extraordinary enough to be given the same treatment as other metas. While that treatment sometimes included fear and even hate, it was better than the limbo he found himself in by high school, in his mind. He wasn’t a natural loner. But enough people knew he was a meta for them to give him the same wide berth they gave the two or three more obviously powered students.
He was an inventor, bent on going into engineering to at least do something with himself. It was never about making the world a better place. It was about being useful, about forcing a niche open for himself. With all that time to himself, he studied. He taught himself languages – French, Spanish, Japanese, Latin. He took advanced mathematics and geometry courses from the local college. He applied these skills in encryption and codes – though he never had a use for them.
Juliette changed all of that. She was everything he wasn’t: obviously a meta, outgoing, popular despite her failing grades and rebel attitude. And while he’d never approach first, when she asked him out, he couldn’t find a reason to say no.
The Bonnie and Clyde thing wasn’t her idea, but she latched onto it like a dog on a bone. It was all downhill from there. At seventeen, the duo were outlaws with a reputation. By twenty-one, they’d gotten their names into enough mercenary networks to start working with others.
Gregory first contacted Min’yo for guns. He knew the meaning of her name, and she looked like it suited her. She had ways of raiding shipments from a particular group without getting caught. That was how he got his Colt, though it wouldn’t be painted its signature green until much later. He liked Min enough to invite her on a job with him and Juliette. She agreed, on the condition that they not use their real names.
And so the Resonants were formed: Min’yo, Symphony, and Techno, anarchists extraordinaire.
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Techno tracks mainly progress over manipulation of timbral characteristics of synthesizer presets and, unlike forms of EDM that tend to be produced with synthesizer keyboards, techno does not always strictly adhere to the harmonic practice of Western music and such structures are often ignored in favor of timbral manipulation alone.
The Brawn
- Name: Juliette Bletcher-Faul
- Alias: Techno
- Age: 26 years
- Height: 6’0”
- Weight: 175 lbs.
Caucasian female. Two-toned 1c hair: black front and bangs, tawny back, worn long and either down or in a ponytail. Distinctly violet downturned eyes, black-lined with heavy mascara. Muscular, with an apple-shaped figure. Wears an old army jacket, spiked collar, heavy black boots and loose black jeans. Elbows and knees tattooed with cyberpunk joint designs; hands tattooed similarly, except for ring and pinky fingers; under ears tattooed with circuitry designs; back where torso and neck meet tattooed with partial cybernetic spine. Numerous piercings.
Techno possesses the ability to create pulses of electronics disruption similar to EMPs. These pulses can happen anywhere between the range of a 1ft minimum-20ft maximum radius centered on herself, and interferes with all electronic technology caught inside the radius. She generates a much weaker pulse passively, so that any electronics she carries on her person for more than a day die from exposure. Her body is somewhat denser than most people’s, just enough to reduce damage from hand-to-hand attacks.
Like her husband, Techno is usually armed when the team is engaged in an activity. Her usual choice of weapon is a battle rifle, spray painted an obnoxious shade of purple. She’s liable to discard her rifle at the end of a heist or similar activity. She wears a layer of Kevlar soft armor, military surplus, and carries a pair of knucklebracers that have seen their fair share of close quarters combat. Her mask is a cyberpunk style rebrather – not electronic, but decorated with glow-in-the-dark neon purple paint.
Juliette had always been tough. She had no choice – not when she was that obvious. Her dad never let her forget how strong she was, and she took everything her dad said to heart. She was stronger than the harsh words from the other kids, echoed from their parents. She was stronger than the looks she got when she decided to compound her natural weirdness with a punk dress code and attitude. She was stronger than the human bullies she made a point to pound on, even when it landed her in more detentions than she could count. She was stronger than the judgment of the entire world around her, all her walls built sturdy and heavy.
The first person she met who was stronger than her was a nerd, just barely as tall as she was, with such an ordinary face you’d miss the glint in his eyes if you didn’t pay attention. From the first second she saw that glint, she knew she’d do anything for Gregory Faul. She didn’t even question when he suggested they run away together, live out violent fantasies. Bite back at the world that was always trying to tear them down. She trusted him, and they made a good fucking team, the two of them. Brains and brawn. All they really lacked was a direction. And they got that from Greg’s new friend Min.
Techno loved what Min’yo had to offer. As Min put it: people would always fear them for what they were. Why not prove that point, and make a killing on the side?
The three of them were a dynamic set of misfits. They wreaked havoc on the world around them, bouncing from place to place, doing small jobs, for the most part. Robberies for businessmen holding grudges. Property destruction for rival gangs. Intimidation here, acquisition there. They weren’t a big name, by any means, no more than she and Greg had been in their Bonnie and Clyde era. But it was a hell of an outlet, and she’d be content doing it for the rest of her life.
And, as she likes to boast, they’ve gotten pretty fucking good at it, too.
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A cartoonish wall of noise that embraces catchy tunes and memorable hooks. The music zooms between beauty and ugliness, as shimmery melodies collide with mangled instrumentation.
The Demolitionist
- Name: Laura Clarke
- Alias: Hyperpop
- Age: 21 years old
- Height: 5’6”
- Weight: 130 lbs
Caucasian female. Type 2c blonde hair, apparently grown out from a former pixie cut. Round seafoam eyes. Gymnast build, long limbs and definite center of balance. When her arms or legs are visible, watercolor tattoos in every color of the rainbow can be seen across her skin.
Hyperpop can generate shockwaves by clapping her hands – striking her palms together. She cannot control the intensity of this shockwave. While she’s never had the force measured in a lab, the force is enough to knock over and wind an adult male at a radius of 5ft, and can shatter glass out to a radius of at least 15ft. Any contact between her hands creates this shockwave; as a result, she usually wears a pair of padded gloves to prevent accidents. To accommodate for this shockwave, her body is considerably more durable than the average human, meaning she can take a lot of hits and do a lot of damage in turn. This makes “Pop” one of the front line members of the Resonants.
Pop’s mask is the lower half of a skull, bedazzled and decorated with craftwork butterflies. She usually wears a turquoise full-body leotard and tights, with purple ballet slippers. Her gloves are a rainbow of pastels, lightly padded to avoid any accidents.
Laura was normal. She was normal, and she was popular.
Blonde, blue-green eyes that made boys swoon, a taste for the bright and pastel, she might as well have been a barbie doll. Ace student, brilliant watercolor painter, class president, gymnastics champion on her way to the Olympics, if her coach was to be believed. She had everything a teenager could ever want.
She was fifteen when, during a routine exercise, she clapped her hands and sent two other students flying from the high-bar, as well as herself. One of them never walked again. Neither she nor the other ever did gymnastics.
Just like that, overnight, Laura fell from grace. She went from a paragon of teenage dreams to an outcast, a symbol of why freaks like her were dangerous. Her parents got nervous, overprotective, with sudden constrictions. They gave her gloves, and they watched her like hawks, like she couldn’t protect herself if another student tried anything. They wouldn’t try anything. They were too scared of her to try anything.
She lasted two years. When she wasn’t even asked to prom at seventeen, she decided enough was enough. Sure, she hadn’t graduated, but she didn’t need a flimsy piece of paper to know that her academics hadn’t been changed like the rest of her life. She left a note on the kitchen counter when she left.
At the bus station two towns away, she met someone else. Nervous as anything. She thought they’d just heard of her, knew what she’d done, knew what a freak she was. That was until she weaseled out why they were so nervous. They weren’t jittery because they thought she was a freak – they were jittery because they were just like her. Because they’d never fit in anywhere, and the world was hostile to people like them. Because they’d been sheltered and overprotected for too long, and needed something new.
Coby traveled with her for a while. The pair scraped by on pickpocketing and jobs at shady corner stores who didn’t ask their ages, as long as they could man a desk. Honestly, Laura loved the change from her comfy life. The risk, the adventure, the danger. She was enough of an adrenaline junkie for both of them.
So when she saw the Resonants on their shitty motel TV, she knew she’d found her calling.
They weren’t hard to find. They’d already gotten into the habit of making a splash, and Laura knew how to make an entrance. It didn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped, but the bumps were what made the ride worthwhile. After some pestering and persuading, they agreed to take her on. Min’yo said something about her passion, and that was all the newly dubbed Hyperpop needed to hear.
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Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.
The Scout
- Name: Coby Weber
- Alias: Psychedelia
- Age: 20 years
- Height: 5’7”
- Weight: 140lbs
African American, masculine nonbinary [he/they]. Black hair type 4c, worn in dreadlocks. Silver tapered eyes. Undefined lanky build, not physically fit as most of the Resonants are. They are typically seen in thick gray clothing unless deliberately sent to scout an area.
Psychedelia’s sense of touch is extremely advanced, to the point where they can “see” out to a range of 30ft away from themself in all directions through uncovered skin. In an enclosed space, this enables him to map out rooms in passing, and spacial information is stored more quickly in their long-term memory for later use. The side effect of this ability, however, is that unless specific circumstances are met, “Psych” is in a constant state of overstimulation. Things that are tactilely soft, such as plush toys or sweaters made from certain materials, work to soothe this, but this effectively blinds them.
When he needs a mask, Psych typically wears a plain gray gaiter made of a soft material. Due to their condition, they have no martial training, so they don’t carry a weapon or wear uncomfortable armor. What he does carry is a small backpack in the shape of a peacock jumping spider, made of a plush material. Inside is usually a change of lightweight clothes, some cash, and a cell phone with a direct connection to Symph.
It wasn’t possible for Coby to do anything blindly, except follow. He was used to trusting people. He knew, even when his mother didn’t tell him, how hard he was to raise. How he couldn’t help because he couldn’t touch. She was always soft enough for him, though. She never complained, and he never flinched away from her. That was love. That was trust.
He wasn’t ready when the cancer took her. He was fourteen. Looking back, he knew he wouldn’t’ve ever been ready. He loved her too much, she loved him too much.
The real world was just too much.
Nobody was gentle with him, when they put him into foster care, up for adoption. But nobody wanted to take a meta kid with anxiety issues, either. Especially not one who’d started to just ignore binaries. They thought he thought he was special. He knew he was just a burden. He hated taking the initiative, hated having to save himself. He’d hoped it would pass. It took him two years to realize it wouldn’t, and that he couldn’t take two more. Two years to pack up everything that ever meant anything to him, and go to the bus stop. He’d been about to talk himself into going back when he met Laura.
She was exactly what he needed, at the time. Strong enough to make the tough calls. Lax enough to let him say no if the call was too tough. They had a learning curve, that was for sure. And he wasn’t sure about her ideas, wild as they were. But he followed her, at first because it was easier to follow.
And then, because he realized he had a family.
Min’yo never looked disappointed in him. “They’ll do,” she’d told Laura – Hyperpop – when she’d come back to the motel with the Resonants. She didn’t even know what Coby could do yet, but something in her eyes said she had a feeling about how his life had gone so far.
Techno could be smothering, sure, but it didn’t take long to learn where her edges softened. She tried to remember about distance, he knew, but she was an anchor for all of them, a big, squishy middle that didn’t take shit from anybody. And Symph made sure that whatever he could teach Coby, he would.
When their first heist came around, Psychedelia found themself volunteering to help however they could. Scout and driver. They’d calmed their nerves, and were almost as ready as Hyperpop for the first big job.
And despite their doubts, they’ve never looked back.
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For many Japanese, min'yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.
The Leader
- Name: Mary Tsukimi
- Alias: Min’yo
- Age: 30 years
- Height: 4’11”
- Weight: 90 lbs.
Japanese American female. Black hair, type 1a, typically worn up in a loose bun. Dark brown eyes, monolid, typically traced in black eyeliner. Min’yo exclusively wears white clothing; the ability to keep this clothing clean even during her activities is a sign of discipline for herself. Her usual white sleeveless top shows off the moon cycle tattoo on her left arm.
Min’yo is capable of limited nitrokinesis, or the control of nitrogen in its gaseous state. This grants her limited flight, aided by her choice not to wear armor and her metahuman hollow bone structure, which leaves her vulnerable to physical attacks. This also gives her the ability to form air currents as shields large enough to cover a 15ft radius, centered out to 20ft away from herself. She has also used this ability to carry handheld-sized objects, like a wallet or cell phone.
Her personal arsenal is simple: a rattan bo staff and a lower-face Oni mask, painted in reflective white and black. She has a comms earpiece that connects her directly to Symphony.
Mary was the perfect daughter. She was pretty, smart, and – more than anything – she was a good kid. Sure, she was small and frail, and had an aggressive streak, especially in her kobudō classes. But her grades were impeccable. She never argued. She did everything asked of her. She was as perfect as humanly possible, when she was born imperfect, born inhuman. Twice in her life, her father called her yōkai. Those two times stuck in her head.
She tried to be perfect when she left home – when she went to college, she went into chemistry. The sciences should be safe, she assured her parents. With chemistry, she could go into medicine, become a doctor. They didn’t approve, but neither of them called her yōkai, so she applied, entered, and finished her first degree at Berkeley. Then she moved on to graduate studies to pursue her master’s, chasing the praise of the people she thought she loved.
That’s when she met Garnet.
Garnet was everything Mary wasn’t. Confident, assured her entire life that she was good, that she was worthwhile. A bitch unlike anyone she’d ever met. Someone who didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Someone whose abilities were praised, even rewarded. Someone with a group of people who understood the strength metas can hold over ordinary people who thought of them as demons.
Mary followed her, blindly. Everything she’d never known she’d wanted, everything she’d never been and everything she realized she wanted to be, was finally in her reach, and she finally loosened her self-restraints to reach out for them.
So Mary joined Slate. She cut off contact with her parents, dropped out of the prestige school, and changed her name: Selenite, which could clear blocked energy, activate suppressed powers, and purify the air for those around her.
It didn’t take long for Selenite to become disillusioned with her conception of her new friend, however. Garnet was loud, self-absorbed, and too blinded by her conceit to lead even the small group entrusted to her. After less than a year, the scales fell from Selenite’s eyes, and she simply left Slate. Not without preparation. Not without knowing what she was doing. She knew that nobody really left, even if they walked away. But leave she did.
Five years ago, Selenite died, her tracking implant crushed, her body never found. The person who survived her wasn’t Mary anymore. It was time for a new start, and while it began with mercenary work, it wasn’t long before she found her crowd in Gregory and Juliette Bletcher-Faul.
An elaborate instrumental composition in three or more movements, similar in form to a sonata but written for an orchestra and usually of far grander proportions and more varied elements.
The Brains
- Name: Gregory Bletcher-Faul
- Alias: Symphony
- Age: 26 years
- Height: 5’11”
- Weight: 165 lbs.
Caucasian male. Brown hair and beard, type 1b, trimmed short. Deep-set green eyes. His clothes typically consist of a colored collared shirt and dress slacks, sometimes with a leather coat hiding his shoulder holster and Colt. He has bars 198 and 199 of Beethoven’s “Sonata 14, 3rd Movement” tattooed onto the back of his hands.
Symphony possesses a mind capable of hyper-resourcefulness, the ability to categorize and effectively use all materials available to him in a situation. This function makes him highly adaptive to his situations, and enables him to be the thinker of the team. He can improvise weapons from limited (and sometimes improbable) materials, plan escape routes in a glance, and categorize superficial weaknesses in an opponent, among similar talents. However, this is his only ability; lacking metahuman strength, skill, or durability, he has to rely entirely on his wit and equipment at hand for survival without the rest of the team to direct.
Symphony is one of two Resonants regularly armed with a gun – a Colt 1911 classic painted a jewel-tone green, usually hidden in a chest holster when he’s carrying. With his eye for detail, he also occasionally takes up the sniper position for the team’s less blaze-of-glory endeavors. As such, he possesses a Accuracy International AWM rifle and the necessary ammunition.
However, most of the time Symph can settle for improvised weaponry crafted from the items he carries in a large satchel at his side for accessibility. Most of the items inside are completely innocuous: empty bottles, office supplies, dollar store cooking tools, first aid equipment, explosives extracted from legal firecrackers. To hide his identity, he has a simple red bandanna he uses to cover his nose and mouth. He has an earpiece that connects him directly to Min’yo.
Gregory never quite fit. Too extraordinary to fit in with normal kids, never extraordinary enough to be given the same treatment as other metas. While that treatment sometimes included fear and even hate, it was better than the limbo he found himself in by high school, in his mind. He wasn’t a natural loner. But enough people knew he was a meta for them to give him the same wide berth they gave the two or three more obviously powered students.
He was an inventor, bent on going into engineering to at least do something with himself. It was never about making the world a better place. It was about being useful, about forcing a niche open for himself. With all that time to himself, he studied. He taught himself languages – French, Spanish, Japanese, Latin. He took advanced mathematics and geometry courses from the local college. He applied these skills in encryption and codes – though he never had a use for them.
Juliette changed all of that. She was everything he wasn’t: obviously a meta, outgoing, popular despite her failing grades and rebel attitude. And while he’d never approach first, when she asked him out, he couldn’t find a reason to say no.
The Bonnie and Clyde thing wasn’t her idea, but she latched onto it like a dog on a bone. It was all downhill from there. At seventeen, the duo were outlaws with a reputation. By twenty-one, they’d gotten their names into enough mercenary networks to start working with others.
Gregory first contacted Min’yo for guns. He knew the meaning of her name, and she looked like it suited her. She had ways of raiding shipments from a particular group without getting caught. That was how he got his Colt, though it wouldn’t be painted its signature green until much later. He liked Min enough to invite her on a job with him and Juliette. She agreed, on the condition that they not use their real names.
And so the Resonants were formed: Min’yo, Techno, and Symphony.
Techno tracks mainly progress over manipulation of timbral characteristics of synthesizer presets and, unlike forms of EDM that tend to be produced with synthesizer keyboards, techno does not always strictly adhere to the harmonic practice of Western music and such structures are often ignored in favor of timbral manipulation alone.
The Brawn
- Name: Juliette Bletcher-Faul
- Alias: Techno
- Age: 26 years
- Height: 6’0”
- Weight: 175 lbs.
Caucasian female. Two-toned 1c hair: black front and bangs, tawny back, worn long and either down or in a ponytail. Distinctly violet downturned eyes, black-lined with heavy mascara. Muscular, with an apple-shaped figure. Wears an old army jacket, spiked collar, heavy black boots and loose black jeans. Elbows and knees tattooed with cyberpunk joint designs; hands tattooed similarly, except for ring and pinky fingers; under ears tattooed with circuitry designs; back where torso and neck meet tattooed with partial cybernetic spine. Numerous piercings.
Techno possesses the ability to create pulses of electronics disruption similar to EMPs. These pulses can happen anywhere between the range of a 1ft minimum-20ft maximum radius centered on herself, and interferes with all electronic technology caught inside the radius. She generates a much weaker pulse passively, so that any electronics she carries on her person for more than a day die from exposure. Her body is somewhat denser than most people’s, just enough to reduce damage from hand-to-hand attacks.
Like her husband, Techno is usually armed when the team is engaged in an activity. Her usual choice of weapon is a battle rifle, spray painted an obnoxious shade of purple. She’s liable to discard her rifle at the end of a heist or similar activity. She wears a layer of Kevlar soft armor, military surplus, and carries a pair of knucklebracers that have seen their fair share of close quarters combat. Her mask is a cyberpunk style respirator – not electronic, but decorated with glow-in-the-dark neon purple paint.
Juliette had always been tough. She had no choice – not when she was that obvious. Her dad never let her forget how strong she was, and she took everything her dad said to heart. She was stronger than the harsh words from the other kids, echoed from their parents. She was stronger than the looks she got when she decided to compound her natural weirdness with a punk dress code and attitude. She was stronger than the human bullies she made a point to pound on, even when it landed her in more detentions than she could count. She was stronger than the judgment of the entire world around her, all her walls built sturdy and heavy.
The first person she met who was stronger than her was a nerd, just barely as tall as she was, with such an ordinary face you’d miss the glint in his eyes if you didn’t pay attention. From the first second she saw that glint, she knew she’d do anything for Gregory Faul. She didn’t even question when he suggested they run away together, live out violent fantasies. Bite back at the world that was always trying to tear them down. She trusted him, and they made a good fucking team, the two of them. Brains and brawn. All they really lacked was a direction. And they got that from Greg’s new friend Min.
Techno loved what Min’yo had to offer. As Min put it: people would always fear them for what they were. Why not prove that point, and make a killing on the side?
The three of them were a dynamic set of misfits. They wreaked havoc on the world around them, bouncing from place to place, doing small jobs, for the most part. Robberies for businessmen holding grudges. Property destruction for rival gangs. Intimidation here, acquisition there. They weren’t a big name, by any means, no more than she and Greg had been in their Bonnie and Clyde era. But it was a hell of an outlet, and she’d be content doing it for the rest of her life.
And, as she likes to boast, they’ve gotten pretty fucking good at it, too.
A cartoonish wall of noise that embraces catchy tunes and memorable hooks. The music zooms between beauty and ugliness, as shimmery melodies collide with mangled instrumentation.
The Demolitionist
- Name: Laura Clarke
- Alias: Hyperpop
- Age: 21 years old
- Height: 5’6”
- Weight: 130 lbs
Caucasian female. Type 2c blonde hair, apparently grown out from a former pixie cut. Round seafoam eyes. Gymnast build, long limbs and definite center of balance. When her arms or legs are visible, watercolor tattoos in every color of the rainbow can be seen across her skin.
Hyperpop can generate shockwaves by clapping her hands – striking her palms together. She cannot control the intensity of this shockwave. While she’s never had the force measured in a lab, the force is enough to knock over and wind an adult male at a radius of 5ft, and can shatter glass out to a radius of at least 15ft. Any contact between her hands creates this shockwave; as a result, she usually wears a pair of padded gloves to prevent accidents. To accommodate for this shockwave, her body is considerably more durable than the average human, meaning she can take a lot of hits and do a lot of damage in turn. This makes “Pop” one of the front line members of the Resonants.
Pop’s mask is the lower half of a skull, bedazzled and decorated with craftwork butterflies. She usually wears a turquoise full-body leotard and tights, with purple ballet slippers. Her gloves are a rainbow of pastels, lightly padded to avoid any accidents.
Blonde, blue-green eyes that made boys swoon, a taste for the bright and pastel, she might as well have been a barbie doll. Ace student, brilliant watercolor painter, class president, gymnastics champion on her way to the Olympics, if her coach was to be believed. She had everything a teenager could ever want.
She was fifteen when, during a routine exercise, she clapped her hands and sent two other students flying from the high-bar, as well as herself. One of them never walked again. Neither she nor the other ever did gymnastics.
Just like that, overnight, Laura fell from grace. She went from a paragon of teenage dreams to an outcast, a symbol of why freaks like her were dangerous. Her parents got nervous, overprotective, with sudden constrictions. They gave her gloves, and they watched her like hawks, like she couldn’t protect herself if another student tried anything. They wouldn’t try anything. They were too scared of her to try anything.
She lasted two years. When she wasn’t even asked to prom at seventeen, she decided enough was enough. Sure, she hadn’t graduated, but she didn’t need a flimsy piece of paper to know that her academics hadn’t been changed like the rest of her life. She left a note on the kitchen counter when she left.
At the bus station two towns away, she met someone else. Nervous as anything. She thought they’d just heard of her, knew what she’d done, knew what a freak she was. That was until she weaseled out why they were so nervous. They weren’t jittery because they thought she was a freak – they were jittery because they were just like her. Because they’d never fit in anywhere, and the world was hostile to people like them. Because they’d been sheltered and overprotected for too long, and needed something new.
Coby traveled with her for a while. The pair scraped by on pickpocketing and jobs at shady corner stores who didn’t ask their ages, as long as they could man a desk. Honestly, Laura loved the change from her comfy life. The risk, the adventure, the danger. She was enough of an adrenaline junkie for both of them.
So when she saw the Resonants on their shitty motel TV, she knew she’d found her calling.
They weren’t hard to find. They’d already gotten into the habit of making a splash, and Laura knew how to make an entrance. It didn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped, but the bumps were what made the ride worthwhile. After some pestering and persuading, they agreed to take her on. Min’yo said something about her passion, and that was all the newly dubbed Hyperpop needed to hear.
Exotic instrumentation, with a particular fondness for the sitar and tabla, is common. Songs often have more disjunctive song structures, key and time signature changes, modal melodies and drones than contemporary pop music. Surreal, whimsical, esoterically or literary-inspired lyrics are often used.
The Scout
- Name: Coby Weber
- Alias: Psychedelia
- Age: 20 years
- Height: 5’7”
- Weight: 140lbs
African American, masculine nonbinary [he/they]. Black hair type 4c, worn in dreadlocks. Silver tapered eyes. Undefined lanky build, not physically fit as most of the Resonants are. They are typically seen in thick gray clothing unless deliberately sent to scout an area.
Psychedelia’s sense of touch is extremely advanced, to the point where they can “see” out to a range of 30ft away from themself in all directions through uncovered skin. In an enclosed space, this enables him to map out rooms in passing, and spacial information is stored more quickly in their long-term memory for later use. The side effect of this ability, however, is that unless specific circumstances are met, “Psych” is in a constant state of overstimulation. Things that are tactilely soft, such as plush toys or sweaters made from certain materials, work to soothe this, but this effectively blinds them.
When he needs a mask, Psych typically wears a plain gray gaiter made of a soft material. Due to their condition, they have no martial training, so they don’t carry a weapon or wear uncomfortable armor. What he does carry is a small backpack in the shape of a peacock jumping spider, made of a plush material. Inside is usually a change of lightweight clothes, some cash, and a cell phone with a direct connection to Symph.
It wasn’t possible for Coby to do anything blindly, except follow. He was used to trusting people. He knew, even when his mother didn’t tell him, how hard he was to raise. How he couldn’t help because he couldn’t touch. She was always soft enough for him, though. She never complained, and he never flinched away from her. That was love. That was trust.
He wasn’t ready when the cancer took her. He was fourteen. Looking back, he knew he wouldn’t’ve ever been ready. He loved her too much, she loved him too much.
The real world was just too much.
Nobody was gentle with him, when they put him into foster care, up for adoption. But nobody wanted to take a meta kid with anxiety issues, either. Especially not one who’d started to just ignore binaries. They thought he thought he was special. He knew he was just a burden. He hated taking the initiative, hated having to save himself. He’d hoped it would pass. It took him two years to realize it wouldn’t, and that he couldn’t take two more. Two years to pack up everything that ever meant anything to him, and go to the bus stop. He’d been about to talk himself into going back when he met Laura.
She was exactly what he needed, at the time. Strong enough to make the tough calls. Lax enough to let him say no if the call was too tough. They had a learning curve, that was for sure. And he wasn’t sure about her ideas, wild as they were. But he followed her, at first because it was easier to follow.
And then, because he realized he had a family.
Min’yo never looked disappointed in him. “They’ll do,” she’d told Laura – Hyperpop – when she’d come back to the motel with the Resonants. She didn’t even know what Coby could do yet, but something in her eyes said she had a feeling about how his life had gone so far.
Techno could be smothering, sure, but it didn’t take long to learn where her edges softened. She tried to remember about distance, he knew, but she was an anchor for all of them, a big, squishy middle that didn’t take shit from anybody. And Symph made sure that whatever he could teach Coby, he would.
When their first heist came around, Psychedelia found themself volunteering to help however they could. Scout and driver. They’d calmed their nerves, and were almost as ready as Hyperpop for the first big job.
And despite their doubts, they’ve never looked back.