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The process of making a video was probably one of the tougher parts. Editing came fairly natural to him at this point; not that his videos required any extremely fancy stuff. It was mainly just struggling with the puzzles that got him. The jump scares were probably the worst, though. He had screamed at the top of his lungs too many times to count, and the number of times he had nearly (or actually) hurt himself while jumping out of his chair was becoming ridiculous. The subscribers did enjoy seeing him scared though, and there was a certain thrill to it. That was why horror games were Felix's 'thing', after all. It was pointless to do something you disliked; especially in front of an audience.

Right now, however, editing his most recently recorded video was put on the back burner. Other things were going on, most importantly the contest that had ended recently. It hadn't been his idea, but he had signed up for it. It was something about 'Battle of the Channels'. He knew that at least one of the guys from the American gaming channel; Achievement Hunter- had signed up for it too, so it couldn't end up being that bad.

There was a side-contest too, a "play a game with your idol" type of deal. That was part of what he was actually looking forward too. It would hopefully be a fan; preferably not the rabid type. It would be so, so much easier if the person he would be playing with was sane. Not that he didn't appreciate the rabid fangirls; there was just a point where too much became too much. The video was just beginning to load onto Youtube when he went back to his private email account to check who had won again. To be honest, he had been a little bit sleep-deprived when he had first checked it. Sophie Rainton, that was right. He had gotten the surname mixed up, but now he could correct himself. His easy smile spread back onto his face, and he exited out of his account. Leaving his Google Chrome page idle, he pulled up Skype, and leaned back in his chair.

The loading page took a little bit longer, but he wasn't as concerned about that. Almost immediately upon checking his contacts, a request was brought up. It wasn't by any of the people on his private list, so it had to be the girl who had won the contest. Either that, or someone had been extremely lucky. The thought that she might've shared his account name hadn't really crossed his mind until then. He accepted the request with a single click, and there was a moments pause before the screen flickered to show someone else's webcam. The girl was attractive, by all standards. The thing that he noticed first though, before the attractiveness, was the fact that she looked a little concerned. Felix adjusted himself in his seat slightly, before speaking. "Hey,bro- sis. Bro?" A+ way of starting it off, sure. It probably gave her encouragement that she wasn't the only nervous one, however.

The prince was in a very, very irritable mood. Olivia had been able to tell from the very second she saw his face. Even the air of the room felt like trouble. If it was possible, she felt even smaller than before. She was treading in deep waters now, and there were sharks and a number of other, perhaps even more foul sea-beasts around her. Yet, the girl managed to keep her neutral facade up, face expressionless as she completed her walk towards the prince's bed. There was a brief moment where she realized that this was a most unseemly position; with the crown prince Joffrey in his bed, and her in his room. She brushed any such thoughts away swiftly, and set her wicker basket of medical supplies on the floor, careful not to upset or jostle anything. "Of course; Your Grace. I should have realized." Tone is polite and humble; body language the same. That became her mantra as she listened to what the prince was saying.

Of course; it didn't take that long to realize that the prince was greatly exaggerating. She had heard Mistress Flyrr talking about the boy's wounds- they weren't truly that awful. But if he wished to make his injury seem big, then she should respond in kind. Olivia thought perhaps that acting was her secondary trade; along with healing. It was nearly equally useful, as well. "Olivia, if it pleases you, Your Grace." She simply nodded in return to his requests (demands, rather) for new bandages and a massage. That was fair enough- she had done this countless times before with clientele who were almost as arrogant and rude. Yes, she could most definitely try to ease his anger.

Her thin fingers gently unwound the bandages around his arm, and she focused her mind on making her sympathy sound as realistic as humanly possible. The wound was just as her mentor had said; not by any means something to be confined to bed for. "Oh my..," came her low intone. She knelt slightly, reaching for the fresh linen bandages. "Your Grace, you surely must have fought bravely in the ambush, to have received such awful wounds." She gently wound the cloth back around it, trying her hardest not to grin. "Surely, the best place for someone who would set their dog on the crown prince would be the dungeons." Oooh, that was good. Perhaps she should take up improvisational acting as a hobby. She was certainly good at it. Flattery would be her game with the prince; at least for now.

Her fingers switched from redoing his bandages to his shoulder; where he said he had needed a massage. She began to work at the muscles, needing gently at where it felt most tense. Even though Olivia was attempting to coerce; she couldn't forget she was treading in deep waters. She most definitely did not want to get pulled in too deep. She gave a quick glance over to the table, where a few goblets sat; along with twin jugs of wine and water. The healer turned back to the prince, smiling softly. "Of course, Your Grace. Would you prefer water or wine?" The massages were perhaps one of the better parts of the job. It was one of the few skills that was shared in-between high-class prostitutes and physicians, for its relaxing properties. Some might call it unseemly; Olivia was not one of those people. There were some things that medicine and herbs could not fix, after all.

v i o l e t w a r r e n } ◝ ♕


The steady beat of the girl's feet against the side of the road became rythmatic. Her movements were in time with the song that kept incessantly playing in her head. For the most part, she didn't really look like someone who would walk or hitch-hike everywhere. She didn't really look like anyone, really- except for maybe a librarian-in-training or one of the shy theater tech kids at the local college. Between her mussed up dark brown hair, her loose t-shirt, and her darkwashed skinny jeans, she looked like any average girl in Beacon Hills. But, like most of her sort are, she was very far from average. Her "talent" was cursing other people- making them suffer. Perhaps they should've chosen someone more vindictive for the task (she didn't particularly care for hexing people) but her dice had already been rolled, and she had to make what she had work.

The girl's name is Violet Warren, if it matters. She herself suspects it doesn't. There's literally only one reason for her walking along the side of the road towards Beacon Hills High, and that's because she doesn't own a car and she currently is employed there. The lack of a car is simple to explain, the employment less so. She never really bothered with getting her driver's license, and with all the moving she's had to do recently, there wasn't really a good time for her to have a car. Technically, she can drive, just not well, and not legally. The employment is necessary to get more integrated into town, to make the witch seem less shady. The school nurse was one of the very few positions open, and the only one she was qualified for. The director had been so eager to get a nurse onto their staff that they hadn't even questioned why she (a fairly young girl) would need the job. It worked out for Violet in the long run, though. Now she had a source of income and a way into the school.

Violet glanced up at the school building coming into view. She'd really have to find someone to carpool with, or otherwise she'd have to steal a car, because it had been a long walk up to the school. Her school back in France had been similar to Beacon Hills, in a way. There were differences, of course, but for the most part Violet felt comfortable working there. She had already been given a tour of the school, so for the most part she was well accquainted with the layout. Violet gave an awkward half-smile at a group of boys who must've mistaken her for a senior girl. Did she really look that young? Violet was uncertain if she should be flattered or distressed. Looking young was supposed to be a good thing, right? But being mistaken for a highschooler was... Slightly disappointing.

Violet was so caught up in her thoughts she barely noticed as she walked straight into a girl. Her brown eyes flared open, and she opened her mouth to apologize instinctively. "Ah, I am very sorry!" Her French accent became even more pronounced in her flustered haste. Violet bent over to pick up her own bag, which she had lost a grip on when she had collided with the girl. She closed her eyes and gave an awkward bow of her head, trying to concentrate on her accent not being as pronounced. "I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going. My apologies for inconveniencing you."

Chuck Hansen, despite the attitude he liked to put on, was more than capable of feeling guilty. Indeed, that was what he was feeling right now. Actually, he had been feeling it for a while now, ever since the Breach in the Pacific Rim had been closed. Most people would see that as reason to celebrate, but he thought of it as a reminder that he was most definitely not dead.

All people have the right to not feel guilty about being alive, but some choice few choose to ignore that right, and feel the heavy guilt about living when they could be dead. Chuck Hansen, however ironic it might've been, was one of those choice few. No matter how many pats on the back, or "thank you"s or "you saved us all"s he received, it really didn't make up for the fact that Marshal Stacker Pentecost had given up his own life so that he could live. Even his father's (not-so) quiet pride didn't do it. Perhaps it was just in his basic human nature. (Chuck wasn't really the type of person to suffer from survivor's guilt) Whatever it was, he was aiming to move through it, to press on like he always had. There was no disrespect towards Pentecost's memory- he just truly didn't want to be hung up about it.

In his need to get through his guilt, he often found himself down in the Kwoon Room, fighting against dummies until he was panting for breath and his knuckles were covered in blood, both dried and new. He tried not to focus on it, instead rerouting his attention onto the thoroughly pummeled training dummies. He let out a long breath, exhaling heavily as he bounced back and forth on his feet, keeping his body moving. They were going to put him back out in the field soon, if he was lucky at all. With a new partner, though, it might be difficult. His dad had found a new partner, one of the ex-Rangers- one of the Russian ones, he thought. He could vaguely remember him talking about it a while back. The re-recruits could potentially be an issue. From what he had heard, like Raleigh, the majority of them had left the Jaeger Program in incidents. His father had had the good sense not to bring back any of the ones who had been discharged, at the very least.

He dragged a hand over his face, wiping away the majority of his sweat. He definitely would have to take a shower later; he had neglected to after training yesterday, and he was already getting filthy from training nearly nonstop two days in a row without stopping to take shower breaks. So, it wasn't the most hygienic habit, he could agree on that. He gave another long and hefty sigh, and began to put the dummies back where he had found them. Chuck should probably just go ahead and take that shower now; he deserved (and truly needed) it.

The Australian Jaeger pilot pushed the final dummy back into place, and began to head back towards the dorms where the Jaeger pilots were staying. He was used to them by now- he had lived there since the Shatterdome in Sydney had closed down. He passed by a familiar face, blonde hair and blue eyes. He blinked, and looked back at the person he had just passed. Milo Bardon glanced back at him, equally surprised. Chuck paused for a second, but then picked up the pace and continued to his room, trying to ignore the person he had just seen. It really hadn't even come to him that, yes, of course the French twins would be there. He opened the door in a hurry, and slammed it behind him as he went inside. He turned on the shower, shedding his clothes as quickly as possible. Chuck entered the shower, waiting as the cold water turned scalding on his skin. He closed his eyes, and let the water fall down his body.

His shower was quick and near spartanistic. He was out within five minutes, feeling significantly better. Chuck put on clean clothes, frowning as the water made getting them on more difficult. He exited his room, only to stumble right upon the other Bardon twin, the one whom with he had had a bit more intimate relationship with.

Seeing her after all these years was near equivalent to seeing a ghost again. His mind blanked for a second, and then he opened his mouth to speak. "Maddie." It wasn't particularly loud, but he had a feeling that if she noticed him at all, she would hear what he had said. The Australian Ranger felt kind of dumbstruck; he really hadn't been expecting to see her again; especially not in circumstances like these. Chuck ran a hand through his still damp hair, causing some of it to stand on end.

Violet ran a hand through her mussed up locks, combing some of the snarls out with her fingernails. It was a mark of her stress, when she began to purposefully hurt her hair. She wasn't exactly being overworked; (at least, not yet) but dealing with an extremely quick move had left her feeling thoroughly exhausted. It was like an extreme form of jet-lag, at least for her. At the very least, there hadn't really been a lot for her to do, except for hitting the Kwoon Combat Room. She attempted to give a smile towards the Marshal, though it probably came out as extremely forced. If he was going to be formal, then it was only appropriate that she was as well.

When the Marshal asked for permission to enter her room, Violet blanked. She hadn't really gotten to finding permanent spots for the clothes she had, except for her civvies. Her formal uniform and her more fancy clothes were still in packaging on her desk, along with the few other items she had brought with her. Not much time had been given as a forewarning, so it was mainly the necessities. She stuttered out a response, "o-of course, sir." She stepped backwards and into the room, her eye flicking out to the tipped-over chair next to her.

Violet swiftly picked it up, trying to right it to its former position by her desk. The Marshal had said something about thanking her for coming out here, blah-blah, the usual greetings and what not. Violet made the split second decision to lie again. "Ah, it was no trouble at all, Marshal." God, she was really going to hell for this. She was constantly being surrounded by people who could see through her lies. Violet had learned that most of the time it came from them lying as well. Her complacent, sweet smile was back on her face. "I haven't fully unpacked yet, sir." She glanced down at her boots, trying to quietly kick the chair back into where it had been before Violet had accidentally tipped it over. She could theoratically right it by herself, but she didn't really want to call attention to it.

Again, she repeated her question. "Is there something that you required of me, sir?" The odds were extremely unlikely that he had visited her simply to check and see on how she was doing. She assumed he wasn't visiting all of the Rangers, either.

The pizza has to be there yesterday.

That is her driving force, that is the reason why she's even tempted to use her Strangely Specific Skillset for her ******** job.

Because she works for the most classy pizza delivery company on the island of Manhattan, and people are just really damn impatient sometimes. But, I mean, if there was anyone who could manage the job, it would definitely have to be Olivia Fuller, because there's no one else on Manhattan who can beat her record of time it takes to get across the city. For her, it's approximately half a second, and for everyone else it's five minutes. She doesn't tell them how she does it, no matter how much they beg and hound after her for her secret, because if they knew, they wouldn't trust her.

Because the reason that Olivia can deliver a pizza in half a second is that she can teleport.

And they'd lock her up and stick needles in her and keep her prisoner for the rest of her life if she let anyone know. Not that they could catch her, but just the thought of getting needles prodded into her is enough to keep her paranoid. Not even her mom knows. (Not that Olivia'd trust her with any secret, much less this one.)

And she's delivering a pizza when she hears the people start to scream.

So she isn't even paying attention when she receives the payment for the pizza, she's focused on coiling up her energy to burst straight into the staff room of the hospital.

And as soon as she touches ground with the sanitized floors, she realizes she's going to have to cover up her face. Olivia ripped a cheap surgical mask out of a box, and snapped it around her face, pulling her baseball cap down low. Her black ponytail was still clearly visible, but ******** it, there were more important things going on. Just by creeping over to the window, she could hear the angry Italian, and she instantly realizes that the ******** mafia has decided to take over the hospital, and by the looks of it, set some s**t on fire.

It takes Olivia approximately two more seconds to teleport to the third floor for pediatrics, and at that point she's winded like she's just sprinted a mile, wheezing like she's having an asthma attack. She stumbles into the main area, and motions for a nurse to come over to her. "Aaaaargh s**t, uhmm. People, downstairs. They have guns, and I think they're starting a fire." Olivia leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving as she tried to inhale air. "Do you have a juice box on you? I'm really ********' thirsty."