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[Ray_Murata]

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[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: HIT ME, COME GET ME (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Charles Sampaio
DATE: Mar, 10th, 2010
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Name: Charles Sampaio
Age: 16 years old
Birthday: May 8th.
Family: Carlos Sampaio (father, 38 )
Natalie Christine Sampaio (mother, 34)
Maria Luisa Sampaio (step mother, 30)
Clarissa Sampaio (half-sister, 4/5)
Terry Johnson (Mother’s boyfriend, 31)
Eyes: Honey-colored brown eyes. Big, round.
Hair: Dark brown hair, slightly wavy, reaching his ears.
Features: White skin with slight tan, big ears, small nose. Thick lips, thin eyebrows. Constant eyebags. Slightly crooked and not exactly clear-white teeth. Lots of scars on his arms and legs due to bike falls.
Accessories: Two ball closure ring piercings on left ear and a stretching, metal tunnel on his right earlobe.
Height: 5 feet eight (1.77 meters)
Weight: 148 pounds (67 kilograms)

▶ ▷ Ȼʜɑʀʟєʂ 『 Ȼʜɑʀʟιє 』 Ϩɑϻρɑιɵ ◀ ◁


Charles Sampaio arrived at his second job with the worst munchies he had had in days. He knew it from past experience that such hunger wasn’t actually real - It was more like a psychological wish for food, yet he couldn’t help himself – He had to eat something, or even better, lots of some things. He parked his bike at AM PM’s parking lot and entered the place, grabbing a pack of Doritos and a can of soda on his way to the balcony. “Night,” He greeted his workmate as he opened the can and took a long, long sip of it. He placed the can and his bike’s helmet on the balcony before opening the chips and devouring it like a starving kid.

“Bet you’ve been hitting some spliff…” The guy behind the balcony said as he cashed out the register. “And that’ll be one dollar and forty cents.”

“[******** off, Pete…” The teen spat, reaching his hand out for a chocolate bar. Peter was probably five years older than the sixteen years old Charles, though the other boy’s stature would usually make him look younger. Pete was at least three inches shorter than Charlie, who stood at five feet eight and weighted at least 148 pounds. Charlie wasn’t really strong, but he wasn’t of the skinny sort, either… Unlike his workmate, who was the stereotypical blonde and blue eyed American, Charlie had both brown hair and eyes. His eyes were quite round and big, with the obvious result of nights not slept right under them – He had dark and visible eyebags that almost looked permanent. His hair was slightly wavy and reached his way-too-big ears, covering at least part of them – It was rare for the boy to have his hair decently cut or to even bother about the fact it was almost always messy and unkept. Charlie’s small nose and thick lips were few of the things he had inherited from Natalie, his mother… Almost everything else, including the thin eyebrows and the slightly tanned skin, had been “given” to him by his father, Carlos Sampaio. “I’ll register these myself.” He told Pete, opening the balcony door and entering the employees' restricted access area.

Taking his backpack from his back, Charlie opened it and pulled his AM PM shirt. Getting rid of the Burger King tee he was still wearing, the boy changed from one work attire to another, keeping his old, shabby jeans and his sneakers. It had been only two months since he’d taken on two jobs, more or less the same time that had gone by since he’d run away from his mother’s house and dropped school. In an overall basis, the story of his life was way too complicated and only one person aside from his family knew half of it so far – His roommate.

Like many others, Charlie was the son of a Latin American man – His dad was originally a Brazilian who had immigrated to the USA at least some years before he was conceived. The fact Charles had been a “mistake” had never been a secret, for his mother had gotten pregnant when she was still eighteen years old. Gladly, the mistake wasn’t that of a horrible thing after all. Carlos, the woodworker, and Natalie, the cash register girl, married and lived happily ever after until yet another stupidity found them. Stupidity or bad luck, one could call it whatever they wanted, but a trivial and rampant car accident, of those types that happen every day and that don’t get any victim whatsoever aside from the bumper, got Charlie’s dad into jail. Reason? While the police registered the minor car incident, a major incident came to scene: Carlos was still an illegal immigrant. Papers and papers later, when Charles was still nine years old, his father was deported back to Brazil.

The marriage was soon over, but Charlie still had both a caring dad and a caring mom, each at their countries. When the boy turned eleven, he got a trip to Brazil as his birthday gift. The trip that was originally planned to last through his summer vacations was extended for a date-less return. In Brazil, his dad had engaged another woman: The very sweet Maria, who had a baby girl on the way. With the purpose of seeing his sister’s birth, and then with the purpose of learning Portuguese for real, his stay was extended until Charlie’s mother’s patience ran out. Carlos and Natalie fought on the phone or through emails on a daily basis – They couldn’t fight for the son through legal methods since each of them, resident of a different country, abided by a different law. At last, almost after three years and a half in Brazil, Carlos gave up on keeping his son. Charles was almost fifteen when he fled back to California.

Charlie’s mother, too, had acquired a new love affair. Unlike his step mother Maria, Terry was far from being a pleasant guy... Teenager Charles disliked almost every thing, if not the entire package, of which consisted his mother's boyfriend. It annoyed him how Terry looked like, how he spoke with a Texan accent, how he smoked as he drove his stinky, ugly Ford Mondeo. Above all, it annoyed him most how his mother was no longer "his", but Terry's. Unlike his father and Maria, who spoiled him, Natalie apparently believed him mature enough to take care of himself, no close watch needed. Would Charlie be a year older and at least three friends least lonely, he'd have liked the liberty quite a lot, but he had just come back from a different country, he had no friends or company whatsoever and he craved attention from a mother who would rather spend her time with annoying Terry. Natalie allotted Charlie's bad behavior towards Terry to his natural jealousy, giving it the shoulder most of the time. 'He's fifteen, it’s just hormones... He'll get over it'.

It wasn't at all a wrong statement, the only problem was that Charlie was not only spoiled but quite stubborn... Instead of working it out with his mother, instead of coming to his senses and giving Terry a chance, he started to spend less and less time at home. He took a part-time job at Burger King, and through a colleague here and a colleague there, he started doing pot. At school he was two years late - Not because he had not studied during his years in Brazil, but rather because American schools didn't want to accept the years he'd attended there. Learning things he had already learnt and sharing classrooms with 13 year-olds was like a living nightmare, which lead to obvious results: He ditched most of school days and, whenever he did go to school, he'd scare the s**t out of the younger kids and pick up constant fights with the older ones. He bought a cheap bike and joined a few races here and there, getting his whole body busted more than once. By the end of the school year, his lack of attendance and his shitty behavior granted him a big, epic failure at school, and that was when Charles lost it.

As if repeating the same grade again wasn't enough, his mother and Terry, informed by the school about his behavior, decided it was time to play the "parents", time to give him the "you have to focus on what's important for your future" and "you are a bright boy but you can't waste it all out" speeches. He needed no speech, no concern and, in fact, he didn't need anything from them anymore. With a false ID, a camp bag full of clothes and his screwed up bike, Charlie left home. For two weeks he ate at work, took shower at random places and slept in park benches. It was all cool until it started raining and his clothes were merging the "really stinky" level. In fact, he had nowhere to go, no one to talk to, and no will of coming back... Between one and other of the many acquisition of decent cannabis, Charlie absently mentioned his homeless state to Darien, the drug dealer from which he used to buy his bunch... He really wasn't expecting the man to actually offer him a place to stay.

The apartment was tiny, but at the time, it felt like living in a mansion. With the purpose of helping out with the bills, the brunet teen got himself the second job at AM PM's night shift. He wasn't 18 yet, but his boss was so not worried with checking on the documents that the false ID had been enough to trick the man. The runaway boy worked the afternoon part-time shift at burger king, left at six and hung around uselessly until it was eight, when he got to AM PM and there he stayed until it was four am. The shift was shitty, indeed, but the work was pretty chill. He didn't have to do almost anything for there was almost no customer at all after ten pm. Some random men, a few teenagers looking for drinks and more drinks and that was all about it. Most of the time, he'd sit around there and watch the time go by, thinking of random stuff... He'd go out and have a smoke (Marlboro, since it was his favorite brand) or watch the cars, trying to guess what year model they were. And those were basically the prospects for yet another night.

Charlie placed his helmet along with his backpack before walking back to the balcony and opening the chocolate bar he had grabbed before. He watched as Pete started packing his stuff to leave. Running a hand through his wavy, dark brown hair, the runaway teen rested his fingers on his earlobe, playing with the tunnel.

“I’m heading off, then”, Peter stated, leaving for the “client’s” side of the balcony.

“Should of left a’redy.” Charlie mumbled as he chewed the chocolate.

“bye bye, f**.” Pete added, already reaching out for the front door. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Nah, thanks God no…. I don’t see you tomorrow…” The teen muttered to himself as he watched his workmate leave. “It’s my day off…” Charles wasn’t quite fond of many people and Pete certainly was not on the tiny list of people he could actually get along with. Finishing the chocolate bar and grabbing another pack of chips, the brunet boy sat on his chair, wondering if Darien had listened to him in the morning when he told the older man to come around that night. Shaking his head, he pushed hopes aside – He doubted Darien had paid any attention to his stupid suggestion.

[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: HIT ME, COME GET ME (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: REGULAR
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Charles Sampaio
DATE: Mar, 11th, 2010
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▶ ▷ Ȼʜɑʀʟєʂ 『 Ȼʜɑʀʟιє 』 Ϩɑϻρɑιɵ ◀ ◁


It was the second coke and god-only-knew what number of chips he was eating when he lifted his head hoping to get to the, what, forth customer of the night, if that much? Round brown eyes were startled to see that the person coming along wasn’t a customer, but rather Darien. Charlie let out a small smile with the corner of his lips, surprised with his roommate’s presence. “Man, you know just when to come around…” The teen said, throwing empty cans in the trash and leaving from the attendant’s balcony. It wasn’t at all hard to convince Charles of letting his boring work for something at least mildly interesting, let alone some weed and fun, such as Darien was suggesting. “I was getting bored to hell!”

Charlie walked over to the front door, opening it and popping his head out. Quickly, he checked both sides for the sign of any possible customers – It looked like not many people were interested in that convenience store at all. He closed the door and turned the sign from “open” to “closed”. Walking back inside, he opened the fridge and grabbed three cans of good ol’ Bud. “You know what the best part is? He asked his friend, biting his bottom lip before he added, not waiting for the other man’s answer. “Now I’m the one in charge of checking the camera tapes… I can erase them whenever I ******** want.” He explained, placing the beers on the counter and walking back inside. Turning off four out of the five lights, Charlie was sure that no one from the outside could take a peek at what was happening inside the store.

“Now, all you wanna drink, all you wanna eat, and all you wanna do.” Charlie said, arms wide open as to gesticulate that the place was entirely theirs. “Unless you had any other place in mind,” He added, a little uncertain as to whether or not Darien liked the idea of hitting the joints inside a dark, locked up AM PM.

[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: HIT ME, COME GET ME (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: REGULAR
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Charles Sampaio
DATE: Mar, 11th, 2010
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▶ ▷ Ȼʜɑʀʟєʂ 『 Ȼʜɑʀʟιє 』 Ϩɑϻρɑιɵ ◀ ◁


“Yeah, and all it took was playing nice and sucking up to the boss for a few weeks…” Charlie replied as Darien mentioned about all the privileges he had at his job. Pete was an arrogant b*****d and the two girls that worked the morning and afternoon shifts, from what he had heard from the boss, had the intellectual abilities of newborn donkeys. He wasn’t at all better, but at least he was skilled when it came down to deceiving people, making them think he was smart or trustable. Drinking a sip of a Budweiser and leaning his elbows on the counter, the runaway teen smirked to himself. “The man’s so gonna regret it one day…” It was the first time he was actually abusing his privileges, but he knew he’d do it again times and times after that and he also knew that he’d get caught eventually… Or, in case he was lucky enough, he’d get fired for unknown reasons. Yet, the thought of the future consequences didn’t trouble him the least. He wasn’t one bit afraid of getting busted or getting fired – He could work it out, get another shitty job or whatever… It was not like he had anything to lose anyway.

Charles watched as Darien lighted the joint, eyes diligently analyzing the way his roommate’s lips closed around the joint’s skin and pulled the smoke. At times way too frequent, the teen wondered if the snake bites could or would hurt someone who kissed Darien’s mouth. They looked potentially dangerous. Grinning, Charlie accepted the blunt that was handed to him. “Yeah, right… Lots of times…” He replied to Darien’s joke, shaking his head at the older man. “Like I had anyone to bang…” The brunet boy added, smiling wryly.

He took a couple of pulls, enjoying the smell, the taste and the feel of the weed. “Good stuff, this. What’s in it?” He questioned absently, uncomfortable with the previous subject. Aside from a slutty girl with whom he had had weird, teen sex a year before, Charles was practically a virgin… And he was pretty sure he was much less interested in girls than he was interested in Darien – He simply didn’t want to admit that at all, let alone to the man himself. It’d been a while since he realized he stared at Darien more than he should… He’d discreetly spy on his roommates’ body when the man walked around just on his shorts and he couldn’t help his weird desire for some sort of physical contact. Yet, aware as he was of his homosexual desires, he was far from wanting Darien to know about them. Gladly enough, Charlie was pretty sure his roommate hadn’t picked up on his admiring stares or eventual, silly remarks.

[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: LOVELESS (Group)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Tsuyoshi Shuugo
DATE: Feb, 21st, 2010
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The winter was close to an end and that was easy to notice for the snow had disappeared from the streets and the days were now graced with the shy presence of an early spring sun. The cold weather was still there, though, and still forced Tokyo citizen into long sleeved clothes and heavy attires. Unlike most people, however, Shuugo appreciated the winter and its cold breeze – Not as much as he enjoyed the fall, but enough to feel slightly disappointed with the upcoming arrival of the spring. Spring was too overrated… People from all around the world would come to Japan during the spring just to watch the blossoming of the Sakuras. He could understand how that trivial and natural ritual could appeal to the tourists, but to him, who was born and raised Japanese, worshiping those oh-so-common rosy flowers was a boring, repetitive task.

“Where the hell is Takashi? Wasn’t he supposed to be here already?”” The eighteen years old teen asked the cook as he entered the kitchen of “la nuit française” and threw the serving tray over one of the balconies. “I thought I told him I had an appointment today.” He added with noticeable anger in his voice as he got rid of his waiter attire.

“Calm down, Shuugo.” The cook said, leaving the pots and stove unattended for a while. “The guy’s only ten minutes late.”

“Yeah… Whatever. ” He muttered as he looked through the kitchen’s door window. It was a classy, French cuisine restaurant and, sure, there were other three waiters on shift that night, but Friday evenings were always a complication for the good, decent establishments. “The restaurant’s gonna have to handle hush hour without me. I said no overtime. I meant it when I said I couldn’t extend my shift today. ”

The cook made an unpleasant face and they both knew what it meant – the place was crowded. One waiter down would make a noticeable difference to their service. “What’s the urgent occasion?” The man asked, opening the stove and retrieving a very tasty looking fish from it. Almost at the same, another waiter entered the kitchen and retrieved to plates and drinks from the other cook, leaving almost immediately to deliver the order. “You got a date or something?”

“Ha. As if…” Shuugo replied playfully. “More like the opposite. I have a fight.” He explained, writing his check-out time at a notebook the employees had. The cook, Daichi, rolled his eyes. As far as their friendship went, Shuugo had confided in the cook a reason why he so often got to work with injuries all over his body. He had told the man he took wrestling fight lessons and enjoyed scheduling challenge fights with other wrestlers. It wasn’t the whole truth but it wasn’t a blatant lie either. “Do me a favor, Daichi?” He asked, leaving the notebook and the pen on the table.

“Tell Takashi I’m going to chop his head off next time he ******** up.”

“Yeah, fine…” The cook said, waving his workmate goodbye. “Try not to come to work with a disabled arm or leg tomorrow, will you?”

“Easy!” The young man replied from afar, already exiting to the changing room and opening his locker. He quickly grabbed his hoodie and jeans, changing his clothes in record-time agility and throwing his work attire into his backpack. His jeans were torn on both his knees and pockets and his hoodie was dark blue with “NY” written on it. He also wore black wristbands on each of his wrists in order to hide his “name” from the customers. Once he was done, he grabbed his helmet, closed his locker and rushed out of the restaurant.

The ride wasn’t long and his powered new Yamaha bike didn’t let down on him on the velocity requirement, so in a matter of twenty minutes or less, Shuugo found himself in front of the pub. It was an underground little pub by the end of Shinjuku and he liked it there because of the rock & roll music… Every now and then there were some indie or garage bands playing and rocking their styles to the few customers of the pub. This night wasn’t an exception – Shuugo knew a punkish, teen-band would be coming to perform. He parked his bike and walked to the pub’s door – He wasn’t going in just yet. The anti-smoke law was a pain in the a** to both him and Lulu (or Ruru, how Shuugo oftenly pronounced), and because of it, whenever they scheduled to meet up, they’d wait outside, smoking a good ol’ cigarette as they waited for the other. This night, even though he had left the restaurant in a hurry, he was the first to arrive.

He pulled the cig pack and the zippo lighter from his pocket, quickly and skillfully retrieving a cigarette and lightening it with a long, pleasing drag. He was glad Lulu understood his connection with tobacco and how that damned herb could feel so good. Actually, he was glad about many things concerning Lulu – Especially, he loved how the other guy could go up to extremes to avoid losing. They had a very good connection between them when it came down to fighting, and it was exactly because of such that they had scheduled that meeting. They could reckon some serious thinking would be needed on the idea of fighting together with Nameless sacrifice, the guy from whom they had lost one week prior.

He checked his Sony Ericson mobile for the time, noticing that Lulu was fifteen minutes late already…. Lighting yet another cigarette, he wondered if Lulu and him would be able to come to a decision before Nameless Sacrifice arrived. After all, Lulu didn’t know it, but he had also invited the third party, only he had told Nameless Sacrifice they’d be meeting up at eight, forty minutes later than he had scheduled with his partner, Defeatless sacrifice.



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[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: LOVELESS (Group)
TYPE OF POST: REGULAR
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Tsuyoshi Shuugo
DATE: Feb, 25th, 2010
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Checking his wrist watch again, Shuugo furrowed. He couldn’t deny he was getting angry with the fact Lucian was late – Not because he hated waiting, for sometimes waiting could actually be a good thing, but rather because he was starting to think that maybe his Sacrifice had either forgotten about their meeting or didn’t give a ******** about it at all, which was even worse than forgetting… Absently, he fished the slim, dark blue Sony device from his jeans pockets and flipped it open – He was half-way through a “Where the hell are you?” text message when he felt it: The presence of another one. He was glad his cigarette was on his left hand because, had it been on his mouth, he’d had left it fall to the floor. The first feeling that gave out the nearby presence of another fighter was always a weird, high-pitching noise right inside his ears… The stronger the fighter was, the higher the noise – Sometimes it could actually hurt. Ignoring the cell phone and the text message, the young man lifted up his head and searched the surroundings for the one person who, he was sure, had a power much like his own.

At least a minute elapsed before that distant silhouette of a man appeared from a corner of the street – There was no doubt that the young man coming around had to be the fighter… There was some sort of invisible aura that emanated from them all and that only others alike could see. Shuugo flipped his cell phone close, taking it back to his pocket and bringing the cigarette back to his mouth as his oblique, black eyes watched the figure that approached. The closer the Fighter became, the better he could see him – Those blue eyes, the face shape, something… There was something about that guy Shuugo was sure to have seen before. He was good with faces – It was rare for him to take someone for another person… It was hard for him to forget the faces he had once met. He was somehow sure he’d seen that guy before but he just couldn’t quite remember.

The slender teen watched as the mysterious Fighter walked into the pub, staring right into the other man’s eyes for a whole second before turning his attention back to the cigarette between his fingers: He had been so contemplative he had barely noticed the tobacco had been burnt almost to the end. With an irritated sight, he threw the cigarette’s butt to the floor and quickly pulled yet another one. He metaphorically hated Lucian now – He wanted to go inside and take a better look at that Fighter, yet, he couldn’t… He knew that if Lucian arrived there and didn’t see him, the Sacrifice would just turn around and go away, assuming that Shuugo himself had gotten tired of waiting and left. Like a blessing light of hope, though, the Fighter felt his Sacrifice’s aura getting closer – And just as quickly, Lucian himself emerged from the crowd of people that now gathered in front of Shinjuku’s pubs and bars.

"Thank God!" He blasphemed, but before he could say anything else, Lucian was already pulling a cigarette and cursing the annoying anti-smoke law. Lateness issue completely forgotten, Tsuyoshi ignored Lulu’s question, throwing his own “cancer-stick” to the floor and reaching out for his partner’s wrist. The Fighter was sure that whenever he touched his Sacrifice’s wrist, he felt weird goose bumps – It probably happened because that place was exactly where their names were written. “I promise I’ll get you another, expensive pack later, Ruru, but we just have to go inside now.” He told Lucian, dragging the older teen towards the pubs’ entrance and speaking as fast as words came to him. "Aren’t you feeling it? I just felt a Fighter here…. A strong one… Someone I’ve never seen before, I mean it. I really have to check on him…”

He was now entering the small, almost-crowded establishment, dark eyes searching for the blue eyed man he had seen just moments before. Shuugo moved his grip from Lucian’s wrist to the boy’s hand, intertwining his right hand's fingers with his Sacrifice’s slender ones – Being slightly affective was his instinctive way to tell his partner that he really wanted or needed something and that, even though an order from Lucian could and would stop him from doing it, he’d much prefer to have his way on that certain something. “I’m ******** sure I know this Fighter from somewhere…” The young man muttered under his breath, trying to fish back old, long forgotten memories.



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[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: LOVELESS (Group)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Aida Daisuke
DATE: March, 7th, 2010
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On the other side of town a boy is waiting || with fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal

Daisuke opened his bedroom’s door and sighed heavily – “A mess” was an understatement for the situation in which his room found itself. There were books, clothes, shoes, papers and all other sort of random stuff spread across the entire room – floors and furniture alike. His dark black eyes searched very diligently for something he knew that was there, but which he couldn’t find. Kicking shoes aside, he walked over to the corner of the room, grabbing a pile of winter coats and jackets and throwing them on the bed. There it was… His guitar… The sixteen-year-old teen grabbed the black, beautiful Takamine guitar by its neck and sat on the corner of the bed, avoiding papers and more clothes. Positioning the six-strings on his lap, his fingers carefully moved over to the guitar’s neck… He tapped the strings, trying to get a harmonious, beautiful sound from them but getting something slightly different from what he wanted. It needed tuning.

More than his guitar needed tuning, his room needed organization – Things had reached a level where he had to agree with his mother… It was impossible to live there. Positioning the guitar on its support, Daisuke started a very challenging task – Tidying his room up. The best thing about doing it, he had to admit, was finding things he believed lost… Like his “Beatles love songs” tabs book or his Astro Boy socks. Half way through his mission, though, right after all clothes had been picked up and stored accordingly (the dirty ones in the laundry basket and the clean ones inside his closet), but before he could start organizing the books, distraction won him over. Somewhere amongst his mess, Daisuke had found a piece of paper where, weeks earlier, he had written down the chords and raw lyrics of a song. A song he’d been writing for Yuichi.

Entertained with the chords he had written himself, the boy grabbed his guitar again, tuning it poorly but enough to get a sonorous sound from the strings. As he played, the realization that he hadn’t bothered to finish the song because it wasn’t good came to his mind, but aswell came some ideas onhow to fix it up. Only if he changed some of those chords for graver ones and if he used his capo, maybe that melody would sound more like a real melody. He smiled to himself, trying to imagine what would Yuichi’s reaction be if he ever played him a song that was done especially for him… Daisuke only stopped playing when his bedroom’s door was opened by his mother.

“Wow! You’re cleaning the room! Finally!” She exclaimed, grinning at her son. Daisuke gave a smile with the corner of his lips, placing the guitar on the support. “What got into you? Is it just because Yuichi’s coming for dinner today?” The woman asked, giving him a mischievous look.

Daisuke’s mother and father had known about Yuichi for ages… After the Society had introduced them, it didn’t take long for a slightly more intimate friendship to blossom… On the night he had first kissed Yuichi, he came home with a troubled heart and a confused mind. He could not hide it from his parents. He sat by the dining table and spoke after more or less a month in which he hadn’t said a word at home. He said: “I like a boy… I like him like I should like a girl.” And the silence that followed was a strong, long one. He remembered the unpleased expression on his father’s face when the man stood from the dining table, taking out the dishes and absently putting them on the sink. His mother was saddened. They hadn’t enjoyed the news.

He went to sleep uncertain of how wise or stupid he had been to tell his parents he liked a boy, with a body just like his… A boy… Someone with the obvious incapability of being his wife or giving him children in the future. He wasn’t even sure himself about his sexuality – He simply had never liked anyone… And now he liked Yuichi. Yuichi wasn’t strong and masculine like other boys – On the other hand, he was as ‘petit’ as girls, sweet and beautiful like almost no girl managed to be… There was no way to describe how unique his Fighter was. On the following day, Daisuke was woken up not by a sad mother, but a caring, loving one. He asked her, by sign language, if it was fine to like a boy… And with a smile that he doubted to be 100% genuine, she said yes. She told him that as long as he’d remain the special son he was, and as long as he’d chose to love boys that truly loved him back, there was nothing wrong about it. During dinner, his father asked him to bring said boy to their house whenever he wanted – His father said Yuichi was welcome.

He was happy… Happy he could introduce Yuichi to the family he loved so much… And even though he knew that the day had been an act, he appreciated his parents’ efforts on accepting him and he appreciated the chance he had to show his parents how inevitable it was to love Yuichi. Of ‘course he remembered the episode in the hospital, months earlier, when the cancer was discovered… He remembered it clearly how the doctor had told his parents to support him through everything healthy that could make their son happy. “Even if you disagree, as long as it is something that can’t harm him, support is needed. You have to give him more reasons to live, and fewer reasons to quit this battle against cancer. If his mind doesn’t want to stay alive, his body is likely to surrender.” Daisuke knew that his parents also remembered those words, but he was sure that the “act” they had put at that time was no longer an act – He knew the support was now genuine.

He nodded at his mother, smiling broadly.

“As if Yuichi doesn’t already know how messy you are…” She added, walking over and poking his arm and informing him she’d be making kare that night. “But don’t worry, I won’t add pepper.” She emended before the teen could protest. Daisuke then nodded, watching as his mother turned around and exited his room again. Standing up and stretching his body, he looked out through his bedroom’s window. From his window, Daisuke could see his neighbor’s window – In that house lived a boy called Mikino, who had been the first friend Dai had made when he moved down to Tokyo. It was just as he looked through the window that he noticed Miki’s silhouette. He waved back at the teen, poking his tongue out at him and wondering if the other boy could actually see the face he was making.

[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: FROZEN ILLUSIONS (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: First person, present tense
CHARACTER: Yvin Jezic (Cyrus Yosif)
DATE: Mar, 31st, 2010
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☆ The Brainwhased Guard Dog｡｡｡
______________________｡｡｡❝Cyrus Yosif ❞



❝ Yesterday, there was so many things I was never shown ┅ ❞____


Let’s make this clear: I take pride on being part of The Society. Once we have this clear, we can start talking… Some people, such as these brainless teens with whom I’ve been doomed to deal with, just can’t understand what they’re talking about. They think the solution is to establish the anarchy, the great fools. Their revolted minds are so concentrated in setting fire at The Society that they can’t even realize it ain’t half as easy to actually do something instead of just blabbering. “We want to be free”, say them. How come are they thinking they are not free? They don’t even know half the story. We’re not normal people – We possess something that only 0.5% of the humans do and they still think we’re not threatened. Humans are envy and very dangerous. They dislike what is unknown to them and they despise those who have things they wish they’d possess – Or do you think everyone would easily understand our skills and take it like a trivial, common thing? We’d be rare specimens by now if the whole world knew about us. The majority of us, rebels included, would be dead by now if we didn’t have The Society to protect us.

Though most don’t know we have bioelectronics chips implanted in our bodies, just about everyone is aware we’re being monitored twenty four seven… The Society’s not doing that to have some fun playing the “Big Brother” – They’re doing that to protect us. Parents look out for their kids, the Society looks out for us. Now, I have to put up with this Garret telling me a bunch of crap about the Society… He keeps blabbering about things he doesn’t understand. He can’t understand – He hasn’t been there. You see, I am an engineer and a soldier, I can pilot airships and I can fight on earth…I have abilities and knowledge that are actually useful to the Society and to America. It’s people like me and my folks that are willing to die for the country that can actually make everyone sleep peacefully, aware of their safety. Now, what about this guy? He’s just a bunch of words, worth for nothing. If a war comes up, what is he going to do? Run all the way down to Mexico, fly to the Bahamas? Start a new protest to bring the Army back and let the country be invaded and dominated by the enemies? Is he actually going to dress the army uniform or at least the tuxedo and join the battle, join the negotiations? No, he won’t.

It gets on my nerves… He has this weird way of walking and it annoys me. I’m walking behind him, half-listening to his s**t. It surprises me he doesn’t suspects me – I walk and talk like a military. I am neat and organized like one, for that’s what I am. My books in the locker are so neatly organized it’s really surprising that Garret didn’t notice it when I opened the locker to put back my notebooks before we left. We left twenty minutes ago, turned right on the first street and have been walking a straight line ever since. I have a car but he ignored my suggestion of using the vehicle to come. My car, bought in the name of Cyrus Yosif, is a second hand Fiat Azura… Color is grey. I’m a very grey person, now that I think about it. My hoodie is plain grey and I’m wearing very dark blue jeans and black sneakers… My appearance is just so lame now. Because of this mission I stopped shaving my hair and put away my uniform. I had to embrace the acting so I bought myself a whole new wardrobe. If you reason, I did a very good job on looking like a plain boring student.

“Maybe you’ve met this guy during your school days… Name’s Chris.” Garret says as he walks – I’m by his side, one step behind. “He studied there too.” He adds and I simply shake my head negatively. Christopher Fay, nineteen years old, left the School at his fourteens and went back to his family. Gladly for him, his parents easily accepted his powers and vowed not to spread the fact their child had special abilities. He’s suspected to be one of the leaders and probably one of the few more decently knowledgeable when it comes down to the Society lifestyle and internal processes. You see, all of them are members of the society – Anyone who’s born with powers is a member. They can all take the north highway, ride for nineteen miles and arrive at the Society’s matrix buildings. There’s an identity check at the gates – If you are a member, you are allowed to enter. It’s like a really small city in there. There’s lots of residences, the school, the dorms, groceries’ store, sports fields, pharmacy, restaurants… All of the facilities are sponsored and operated by the American Army. Most of these guys don’t even go there aside from the semiannual reunions. You’d think I’d come empty handed to this mission? Of ‘course not.

We have a very efficient security at the Society. Usually, we don’t need much to track down who’s associated with whom. The Society keeps track of every of their members’ location and body health. It’s easy to know when a member is using their powers, for example… The whole body shows signs of it. There are temperature changes, heartbeat acceleration (or slowness, in some cases), many other things changes… Now, about these guys… I don’t know the details. New rules say lower officials like myself can’t get access to these confidential information. Still, I got a folder with each of the possible rebels’ sheets. There are some names, photos, tidbits… There’s no proof of their dangerous involvement against the Society and we can’t arrest them until we don’t have real proof. Nothing can be done unless proof of harmful behavior is gathered. That’s my job.

We arrive at a dirty pub on the corner of a street down this lower class neighborhood. It looks pretty dirty to me as I enter… It’s dark and stinks like beer and vodka. There’s a bald and fat guy by the counter taking to an old man. They are talking so loud, yelling, and they are so close to each other I can reckon they’re probably half deaf. There are four young men sitting at a table on the corner of the pub and just. No one else. No other customer. No wonder they chose such place to meet up. As we approach the said table, I take notice of the teens. I know all of their faces and names but that’s basically all I have on them. They’re all younger, none other than Chris went to the School. I’m not known… I am a good actor and I look younger than I am. I hate the fact I was the perfect man for this job.

It’s one ******** shitty job.

If I didn’t respect this mission, I’d just bring a gun and shoot them all. Problem solved, see? But no… We have standards, we have rules, we have decency. Do these guys have decency?

Garret greets all of the boys… Handshakes, half hugs. I am standing by his side, pretending neutrality. I know Chris can control the sound. Weird power, right? It actually makes sense… That’s probably why the two men are having a hard time talking right there… Chris probably lowered the quality of the sound near the two men. Right here, around the table, the sound’s just normal. Garret turns around and pats my shoulder. “Folks, this is Cyrus. I mentioned him, didn’t I?” I smile at them… It’s my crooked smile.

“Hey,” I say. I don’t know what sort of vocabulary to use with these guys. I know each of them has a very different background story… Some are hopeless cases, others, like Chris, are quite welfare. “Cyrus Yosif.” I add and I stretch my hand out to shake the first guy’s hand. I don’t remember his name... I did read those sheets over and over and over again but my memory fails me. He greets me very amiably. I then shake hands with Chris. “Hey there,” He says simply, giving a tired smile. The next one, Lucas, actually introduces himself. “I’m Lucas Johnson.” Lastly, I hold my hand up for the punk looking Sonny to shake it.


❝ ┅ Suddenly this time I found I'm on the streets and I'm all alone. ❞

[Ray_Murata]

-----------------------------------------------
ROLEPLAY: FROZEN ILLUSIONS (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: REGULAR
GENDER & TENSE: First person, present tense
CHARACTER: Yvin Jezic (Cyrus Yosif)
DATE: Apr, 7th, 2010
-----------------------------------------------

☆ The Brainwashed Guard Dog｡｡｡
______________________｡｡｡❝Cyrus Yosif ❞



❝ Yesterday, there was so many things I was never shown ┅ ❞____


I’m not expecting anyone, of course, let alone Sonny. When I see him, I furrow. I don’t know what the hell he could be doing here, but two weeks is already enough for me to understand you can’t really question this guy’s reasons. I was not like that when I was his age, but then again… When I was his age I was enrolling the Air Force. We learnt discipline there – He, on the other hand, probably doesn’t even know what “discipline” means. His clothes alone show that he doesn’t care the least about cleanliness, posture or overall good appearance. When I was serving, forgetting to polish my boots was enough to get me busted for a whole week. It was not rare for a forgetful soldier to get a punishment such as polishing everyone else’s boots… I did that once. Greasing more than eighty men’s boots after field training definitely ain’t the most pleasing thing in life. Do I hate having done that? I don’t. I was never that forgetful and lazy towards my duties and appearance again. I learnt from first mistakes. Not every lesson in your life is smooth, especially when you’re in the Army. They say the harsher is the way you learn, the better you learn.

I walk over to my apartment’s door as he stands up and tells me what he wants. I roll my eyes, especially because I know I should have guessed it beforehand. After all, he did know I was going to the Society this weekend. I take the key to the locker and unlock my apartment. I walk in before him and turn on the living room’s lights. I expect him to close the door after he comes inside. I leave my books and papers over the tiny table and walk over to the kitchen, retrieving two glasses from the cupboard. I grab a bottle of water from the freezer and fill both glasses before I come back to the living room, glasses at hands. I offer him one of them and drink from the other. I drink a lot of water – It’s healthy. I keep myself at diets too. And I exercise daily. Military crap… It’s not like I can get rid of these habits. Today at dinner, though, I left diets aside and ate so much I actually feel fat like a pig. I leave my glass at the centre table and sit down at the sofa.

“I don’t know what sort of information you want from me, Sonny.” I tell him simply, intertwining my left hand fingers with my right hand ones. I know he’s gonna think I’m making a fool of him, but I’m actually telling the truth. “You want what? Super secret information? Plans for the future? To know who they plan on recruiting, erasing, what?” I lick my lips. “If that’s what you want… I can’t give it to you. I’m not part of the big committee. Let me tell you this, I work for a department called Security and Inquiry.” I lean my back on the couch as I say. “What we do there is to make sure the Society is keeping their members identity and its own identity secure… As in, we gotta make sure there’s no Hospital, University or whatever aware of someone’s identity and powers and trying to use these members. And to make sure there’s no one, member or not, releasing confidential information unauthorized. That’s the Security part of the department. I don’t work for it.” I stand up and run a hand through my hair. It’s not like I can’t tell what I work with to people… It’s just that I really shouldn’t be telling it to my object of study.

“I work for the Inquiry sub-section.” I tell him. “It’s pretty related to the Security job, since we’re also concerned about the Society and its members identity. At Inquiry, we get the reports from Security regarding those who might be dangerous to the Security, and we’re in charge of verifying if these people, organizations and etc. are indeed dangerous to the Society and its members or not. Like your lot, for example...” The room is getting hot so I remove my jacket and place it at the sofa. Although I don’t usually leave anything at random places of the house, I won’t put it away now that I’m talking. “Your lot receives special treatment from inquiry because you are members. We need solid, real proofs of your dangerous behavior to actually do something to you. The Society doesn’t want to harm their own members unless that member really represents greater harm to the whole group.” I explain, even though I highly doubt he sees it the same way I do. And I’m not sure I can convince him of the Society’s good will. He sees it as a seven heads monster.

I hate him for what he knows about me – I want him erased because of that. Yet, crazy, rebel and impatient as he is, I think he’d have been a good member and a nice guy if he had been raised better.

❝ ┅ Suddenly this time I found I'm on the streets and I'm all alone. ❞

[Ray_Murata]

-----------------------------------------------
ROLEPLAY: FROZEN ILLUSIONS (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: REGULAR
GENDER & TENSE: First person, present tense
CHARACTER: Yvin Jezic (Cyrus Yosif)
DATE: Apr, 10th, 2010
-----------------------------------------------

☆ The Brainwashed Guard Dog｡｡｡
______________________｡｡｡❝Cyrus Yosif ❞



❝ Yesterday, there was so many things I was never shown ┅ ❞____


It doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to realize Sonny is getting angry like ********. When he yells at me, I stay still, looking at him. I don’t get what he’s talking about when he tells me ‘he’ was six. Who was six? Six what? Six years old? I don’t know how could a six year old be related to this, either, especially since there’s nothing about children or siblings of his written down at the sheet I was given. All that was said at Sonny’s sheet concerning his family was about his parents and how they caused lots of normal doctors to know about Sonny’s abnormality. Even if I wanted to conjecture on what he said, I’m not given time to think about it. I leap from my seat when the glass in his hand suddenly shatters. “s**t!” I say when it happens. Gladly, none of the glass shards hurt me. I leave the chocolate bar on the couch, stand up and stare at him, not knowing what to do. I can’t seem to understand why he finds himself in such an angry state. I know I said some harsh things, especially for a guy like him. I know the whole monitoring matter annoys the hell out of him, but… Still, I don’t get it. That’s pure hypocrisy… He can’t be seriously hurt by what I said. He can’t be seriously hurt by the fact the Society does kill some random, dangerous people. He can’t be frightened… His morals can’t be shattered. It’s not even like he has deep, decent morals at all.

Wasn’t he the one who was saying he wanted to destroy each and every one of us, from the Society? Now he gets all hurt because I mentioned “killing”? What the hell is his problem? Why killing the Society members look so right and hearing about the Society killing dangerous people look so wrong? I’m not that hypocrite. I can’t judge the Society, myself. I’ve killed before. I’ve done it with my own hands twice, once for the Army, once “for the Society”. I killed the same man I hired to work for me and kill Schlosberg’s wife. What a great man I am. I did it purely on jealousy and possessiveness... I caused two people’s death because of very shallow motives. I’m not one to question other people’s reasons… Not when my own were so lame and yet I did the worst sort of things. It’s not like it frightens me to know about these sorts of things. Now, even if he’s not experienced… Even if he never took someone’s life… He wishes to do it. Doesn’t he want to kill and destroy too? He said it himself, the hypocrite.

“Calm down, man…” I whisper to him. I don’t know what else to say. He’s not throwing tantrums at me, like I would have expected. Actually, he looks like he’s in pain and I have no clue why. I look down at his hands and I see the blood flowing from it. It’s probably because of the glass that exploded between his fingers. I don’t know whether or not he’s going to appreciate my worry but it’s not like I’m going to leave him bleeding. Maybe that’s another soldier behavior. I walk into my bedroom and grab a towel, gauze and anti-inflammatory medicament. I wet the towel at the bathroom’s sink and walk back to the living room. “Here, wash that out.” I offer, handing him the towel. “Do you want salt to stop the bleeding?” I ask. “It stings, but it stops the bleeding at once.” I explain, in case he doesn’t know about the effect salt has over bleeding injuries. I place the gauze and the pills on the centre table in case he decides using them. I’m not gonna push it – It’s not like I’m his mother or anything.

I am about to ask him if he’s okay but I hold back my tongue. He obviously ain’t. Maybe I’ve gone too far… Maybe I shouldn’t have told him anything. Maybe I should not have used the words I chose. I just… I’m a mess right now. With this blackmail and everything else that happened during the last six months. I simply wish I could go back these 25 weeks.

❝ ┅ Suddenly this time I found I'm on the streets and I'm all alone. ❞

[Ray_Murata]

-----------------------------------------------
ROLEPLAY: FROZEN ILLUSIONS (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: REGULAR
GENDER & TENSE: First person, present tense
CHARACTER: Yvin Jezic (Cyrus Yosif)
DATE: Apr, 15th, 2010
-----------------------------------------------

☆ The Brainwashed Guard Dog｡｡｡
______________________｡｡｡❝Cyrus Yosif ❞



❝ Yesterday, there was so many things I was never shown ┅ ❞____


I simply roll my eyes as Sonny pretends to have a talk with the Garret he knows that ain’t real. He’s not careless. Nothing he tells me can help me in anything. Maybe the only sincere part of what he says is the fact he believes Garret doesn’t like flashy things such as bringing on explosives and bombarding the Society... It’s not much, but it’s something. I should probably write that observation down later. As for now, I have a once-again-angry Sonny walking over to me. He avoids bumping against the illusion and I let out a smile when he does that. I adore how my illusions can trick people.

When I first started creating them, still in my childhood, they were barely visible, let alone believable. Truth to be told, although mental illusions take much more effort to create, I learnt how to perfect them way earlier than I learnt how to create a decent, non-solid illusion. I think that’s because I realized (pretty soon) how damn powerful the mental ones could be. That thrilled me into learning how to create them. Two episodes are especially memorable on that matter.

First was when I was still in London – I was still a kid, eleven years or something. I had an exam and I hadn’t studied a s**t about it so instead of getting up, I sank onto my bed. Not surprisingly, my mom came around to check on me. While she entered my bedroom and walked over to me, the only thing I could think about was “I wish I was sick, I wish I was sick.” She sat on my bed, already scolding me for being late. I don’t know how it happened. I only know that I looked deep inside her eyes and told her I was sick. From that point on, I felt something was happening. She stretched her arm to touch my forehead with her hand but I didn’t feel it. Yet, it looked like she did. Her expression turned into a worried look almost at the same. I’m sure I had no fever, yet, she felt fever in me. It was only many years later, though, that I realized she hadn’t touched me, but the illusion of myself I had created. By that time, I only thought I should have been indeed sick – Because I hadn’t felt her touch.

The second memorable illusion I created happened many years later. It happened during my Air Force years. By then, I had learnt how to create illusions of myself (or someone else) that coincided with my own body or illusions that didn’t coincide. That’s exactly how I had my first sexual intercourse with a man. Ridiculous as it might seem, I tricked a military mate into bed by making him believe I was a woman. To get out of the room before he woke up was one of the hardest experiences of my life – I was exhausted to a point I was about to faint from holding up the illusion for so long. I regretted that for all the years that followed, until the day I met Schlosberg. Now a day, I don’t regret it. I just think I was a horny, closeted, desperate eighteen –year-old. Not the sort of experience I would let anyone know about, anyway…

It’s incredible how I come back to reality when Sonny touches my cheek. Jesus, it makes me shiver. I look at him and I let out a long, deep sigh. Talk about not wanting people to know my sordid secrets… And right in front of me is a person that knows the worst out of them. “I’m not ******** with your mind.” It’s rather the other way around, isn’t it? He threatens me all the time. “Stop implying that over and over again.” I say, referring to the “consequences” he makes sure to tell me I’m going to suffer if I step out of the line. The line he makes me follow with his blackmailing methods. And I, more scarred of betraying the person I love other than betraying the organization that pays and treasures my life… I go along with him. “I know what I did. I know you know about it. Just shut the ******** up already.”

I walk over to where fake Garret is still standing and I pass my hand right through Garret’s stomach. It trespasses the man just like it would have trespassed a holography. A ******** top-quality, 3D holography. “See?” It’s not like there’s anything to ******** up with his mind, anyway. He’s all ******** up by himself. A lame, useless, punk teenager like Sonny. Got what to offer? Got what to be proud of? I wasn’t angry until he said the word “consequences”. That’s just the word I didn’t think of when I set the deal with that mercenary. I pass my hand through Garret’s illusory body again. This time, I do it with strength, with anger – Like I was punching the man. The illusion mixes with the air and then fades, just like smoke. “Gone.” I tell him harshly. I ******** hate this guy. But it’s not like I’m heartless – He’s one damned, hopeless kid. He’s got no family, no money or place to fall dead. He’s got Garret but Garret is just as reliable as the parents he once had. It’s hard not to pity him.

I, on the other hand… Even if I didn’t have the Society, I could return to the Army. I could get a job as an Engineer. I could use my savings… I have means. My biggest doubt, though, is whether or not I’ll be alive tomorrow, with all this s**t happening right now… I’ve got my neck on the rope and I’ve got so much to lose. I don’t think Sonny’s got anything to lose. It’s when you’re empty handed that you’re up for the most risky acts. “You know what?” I ask, running my hand through my dark hair. “I’ve got classes tomorrow morning. It’s not like I’ve got my whole night to waste with you.” I don’t know if I sound hurt, scared or angry. At the moment, I feel like I’m a mix of everything. “The sofa is right there. The key is right at the door.” I explain pointing at each of the things I mention as I mention them. “Stay if you want, go if you want.” I place my hands on my hips. “Just order me to sleep already, master.” I add with sarcasm. I’m no good with sarcasm… I only use it once in a while.

❝ ┅ Suddenly this time I found I'm on the streets and I'm all alone. ❞

[Ray_Murata]

-----------------------------------------------
ROLEPLAY: THE DREUX (1x1)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Jean-Marc Chartré
DATE: July, 20th, 2009
-----------------------------------------------

Jean-Marc Chartré had never been owner of what people usually called “blue blood”, for he had not been born a noble and had not been turned a priest, not until the night that changed his life – Or rather, the night that took it from him. Jean was born during the first hours of the first night of October, in Bordeaux, by the end of 1835, from a well-known family of sewers. Both his mother and father were sewers, his grandparents had been sewers, his grand, grandparents had been sewers, and with few to no doubt, he, being the oldest child he happened to be, would carry on the deed of sewing the noble’s shoes and clothes until he was too weak to work the equipments and too blind to hold the needles. Or so he could foresee his future ever since he was six years old and started helping his parents with the business – The Chartré were a welfare family, especially because every royal family ever since the Bourbons could and would trust their blessed hands on the sewing matter, and that business they carried with such dignity and faith was the reason to why there was nothing else to their family except for sewing.

Sewing, and more sewing – To Jean-Marc, that blood was a curse. To him, it was disgraceful to have in his veins the blood of a sewer, as well as possessing the oldest child blood – If only he could have been the younger, and out of so many, even... The Chartré had later had three more sons and one daughter, but to none of those was imprinted the responsibility of owning the sewing business, to none of them was the obligation of holding the first marriage. Jean-Marc was eighteen years old when the matter was established: He was going to marry the bakery owner’s daughter by the end of the Spring, and as soon as a heir was up to come inside the girl’s womb, he would inherit the business – While two of his youngest brothers envied his position, the firstborn Chartré could not hate his fate more than he did. Taken by an insane fever, a desperate passion, and an unreasonable hate, Jean-Marc Chartré left the house in which he had been born and raised. He fled on a rainy dawn, taking with him a bag of clean clothes and a box full of saving, on the company of, not the bakery owner’s oldest daughter, but his youngest son.

André Ferrant was merely fourteen years old when, taken by his absolute love for Jean-Marc and his boiling jealousy of his older sister, he decided to run away with the person in which company he had dreamt of living until his flesh would start to deteriorate. If fairy tales could have been real, Jean-Marc and André would have been a Parisian couple until their death, but though Christian as Ferrant had been, faithful as he had kept, and loyal as he had swore to be, God did not forgive his sins. It was a grey autumn evening in 1856 when, after a week of bloody cough, the seventeen years old André Ferrant deceased, consumed from within.

Together with André’s body languished as well Jean-Marc’s weak soul, for he could no longer live the stray dog life he had been living on the company of his ever so happy young lover – Bags on his shoulders once again, the Chartré firstborn took on the title of “tramp” as he started to pilgrimage every city of France, every country of Europe, every unknown land in which he could spill his hate. At first, the young man had been resentful, he had felt guilty for his lover’s death, and he had begged God to forgive the Demon he had awakened within André... But his eyes had seen beyond – Vain dynasties were fat and happy, poisonous and dirt women were welfare, untrustworthy men were taking on important deeds... So why would have The Lord taken his André, above all other sinners? The more he lived, the more he despised God and his men – By his twenty four years of age, Jean-Marc Chartré was nothing other than a poor, lifeless and hateful young thief.

More than once, later, Jean-Marc would think to himself and realize it had not been Peter the one that turned him into the lifeless and hateful creature he was about to become in 1860, for he was already almost there. His first meeting with Peter had occurred in England, during a rigorous winter in which he had been witness of an unforgettable assault: A group of five men (who, he had doubted then, did not look or sound like men) broke into a Count’s house and murdered every single soul there inhabiting. Jean-Marc had been trying to break into the house for three nights, with the purpose of stealing their jewelry, when someone else had the idea. If he had been able to distinguish the colors like every other person did, he would have been astonished with how red the mansion had become – But he could not, color blind as he was, and his lack of amusement towards that murderous scene was the only reason that made Peter spare his life.

Or aim for it, as he came to find out – For a whole week, Peter had followed Jean-Marc for every hour of the night, and by the seventh dawn, he had revealed himself... Peter Dreux revealed himself to Jean exactly as he was: a night creature, owner of a power beyond any human power – An immortal. The Dreux patriarch did not give the Chartré firstborn the right of choice... As soon as he had introduced himself, Peter had used his inhuman velocity to reach the young man’s neck, draining his blood until there was only one remaining drop, until his whole body felt as dead as any mortal body would have. One drop – One single drop of Peter’s blood, though, had taken Jean-Marc into the most overwhelming and mind-blowing sensation he had ever felt in his whole life (and after-life, he’d like to add) – It felt better than the best of the orgasms he had ever had with André Ferrant.

Then, came the pain, the transformation, and the thirst – Through all of them, Peter had not left his bedside. Peter taught him all about the Vampires, the societies, the History of those incredible Creatures... Peter taught him about the laws, and how to break each and every of them... And Peter made sure to list the things he should fear: He should fear the last drop of blood, the sun, the fire, and the guillotine. At first, Jean-Marc had enjoyed the colors he had finally become capable of seeing, and lifeless as he was, he allowed the patriarch to order him around. As time went on, however, the Dreux conduct had become something Jean, son of Peter, would support as his own ideology. The Dreux, The family of Vampires most feared even by the other Vampires, followed one and only one law: The horror. To create it, raise it, and spread it. To kill, to be seen, to use their fangs as the most powerful possession – There was no way to stop a Dreux.

Unless you were three hundred against fifty, and you had a World War ongoing to mask a real war happening between the most powerful walking creatures – And so had been the fall of The Dreux. Jean-Marc could not understand how was it that he had managed to escape. He couldn’t answer that question himself... It had been Peter, he was sure of that. Peter had protected him with that amulet he always kept with him – The fire was so strong and his senses were so damaged by the fight, he didn’t see what exactly was happening. He did hear, however, Peter’s voice telling him to revenge The Dreux. With more than half of his body damaged, Jean-Marc had fled alone, leaving the rest of his Family to be sentenced with the sunlight.

Almost a hundred years from that, and nothing else would Jean-Marc aim for – He was plotting the revenge... Slowly, taking the time a Vampire would do. He couldn’t see a reason to hurry, considering he had a whole eternity in his hands. So far, The Dreux patriarch (as he entitled himself ever since Peter’s sentence) had turned three children, taught them all he had learn with Peter, and given them the task of bringing back, each of them, one more capable human, in a matter of twenty years. Fourteen had gone by.

It was an abandoned Castle in Timberton that had become his temporary home since 2006, and it was right after a successful hunting night that Jean-Marc sensed the presence nearby his house – He had just fed himself, and his senses were as sharp as a blacksmith’s masterpiece when he smelled his own Blood around. Whoever the intruder was, it was a Dreux. Someone from his own Blood lineage, that was certainly. But that Vampire, he could smell it, was not any of his children.

Adjusting the tie of his suit and running a pale hand through his hair, Jean-Marc walked over to the living room, carrying along the human body from which he had been feeding himself. Taking two glasses from a cupboard, he cut the fainted girl’s neck (making her wake up and scream before fainting again) and allowed her blood-flow to fill both of the glasses. Bringing the body closer, Jean licked the girl’s neck, healing the cut with his spit before he roughly threw the body away, probably causing the girl’s ribs to break as she hit the wall and slid down to the floor. The Deux placed one of the glasses over his table and sat down on the living room’s couch, sipping the other glass of tasty blood as he anxiously awaited his visitor.

[Ray_Murata]

-----------------------------------------------
ROLEPLAY: THE TNT (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: First person, present tense.
CHARACTER: Mike (Michael Cromwell)
DATE: April, 19th, 2009
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♪ ··· ♫ || └ Mιcнæℓ Cяσмωεℓℓ ┐ || ♪ ··· ♫

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-----------►Everybody wants to bum
-----------►A ride on the rock 'n' roller coaster
-----------►And we went out
-----------►Got our name in small print on the poster
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First Person Perspective-----------

Don’t you have one or more of those dreams that, while you were still a kid, you thought that you could make it possible… But as you start to grow up and face reality as it is, you realize there’s no way such things are going to happen? That you are not “one of those” that make it there – That you should just stick to what you have in your hands and try to live the way you can, the way that it should be for mere “mortals” like you? When I was a little kid, I was sure I was going to become an Astronaut… I used to dream about my space trips and all the amazing things I’d discover – Thinking about how marvelous it would be have my name on the television: “First man to step on Neptune!”. I gave up on that dream pretty easily – When I faced High school, I realized I was not such person to become an Astronaut. To start off, I have this bunch of diseases (you know, sinusitis, asthma, short-sightedness, etc) that are not going to kill me, but as well are not going to allow me to get to a place where impeccable health is the first requisite.

I don’t know if that’s how it works for you, but for me a dream never ceases without the arise of another one: And that was when these blokes (you know, I’m talking about Vin and Lu) showed up in my life – We thought, and you ought to believe in me, that we could perhaps become famous musicians. Hey, why aren’t you laughing? It’s hilarious. Us? We knew nothing about music by that time… Funny how life can turn upside down, isn’t it? You’re not laughing because, unlike me, you see no absurdness in the course of happenings. I do – And I still can’t believe we are here in Germany now because these journalists and that Music Show were offering a very, very, very fat amount to have us here, performing our music. Seriously, It’s unbelievable.

But if that’s how it is supposed to be, that’s how it is going to be.

We got here right before lunch time – That interview was longer than I thought it would be… It’s not like I’m used to this whole things and bureaucracy, really. The only interviews I’ve done so far in my life were to work part time at that Convenience Store during my first year of university (And I left that job before the forth month… It is not like I need money, I just wanted some extra bucks), and last month’s interview to work as an engineer at Ford. I don’t think I did well, even. But either way, it’s almost 5 o’ clock and the cab driver is parking in front of the Hotel we’re spending the night – It’s not the first time I come to Berlin, really, but it’s the first time I come to Berlin without my whole family together. And even though it’s just for the weekend and, in terms, it’s a work trip; I’m willing to have some fun.

Since Vin and I can speak a little of the language here, we didn’t have much problem to get to the Hotel… I’m heading to the reception desk with him to reserve our rooms. We’re taking two, as we decided during the ride – A couple’s bedroom and another one with two single beds. I feel my stomach flutter inside my belly as I tell the receptionist our order… I’m gay, and that’s usually a fact that doesn’t bother me: I’m okay with it – Vin is bi... Trev, thankfully, is gay as well… And as far as I know, Lu doesn’t give a s**t. Yet, I don’t think I can tell people about it. I’m actually afraid that this receptionist is going to look at me with disgust because I’m ordering a couple’s room when we’re a group of four men. She doesn’t – She repeats the order while she writes it down, she doesn’t even seem to pay attention to me or to Vin at all. I feel my body relaxing when she tells me the price for the rooms – People don’t care that much anymore, do they? In England we could even get married if we wanted… The punks were all gay, and yet, they were cool. Elton John is gay and he’s a goddamn idol. Still, I’m not ready to get home and introduce Trev as my boyfriend.

We’re not even that yet… or are we? It’s the first time we’re staying together as a couple, as far as I can recall. Sure we’ve spent nights together at my house, at Luke’s house, at someone else’s house and often at the streets drinking until we had no sense of reality anymore. However, we never spent a night together as a couple, absolutely alone… We haven’t got it going yet. It makes me laugh, even… We get along with each other so well it is amazing – I’ve had other male and female dates in my life, and I’ve gone to bed with them as fast as possible, if my memory serves me right. I’m not puritan about it – Though I’m not promiscuous either. I just let things happen, and they usually happen quickly. But with Trevor… It doesn’t feel like we’re being slow or that we’re being shy… It just feels that we can spend some awesome time together even when we have our clothes on.

Which is more than I could ask for a partner… Turning my head back and watching him makes me want to smile, which I do, with all my might. I can’t tell if it’s going to work out, and I’m trying not to become too emotional towards him (that always ends up badly, don’t you think?), but still… I realize that lately we’re getting more … fluff? I was holding his hand tightly during the cab ride.

“Please sign here, sir…” The woman says in German, which I take some time to understand since I’m all rusty with the language… Oh, the payment. I’m paying the Hotel rooms for us tonight – We’ll cover it up when we receive the Music Show payment, sure. That money is going to cover our spending with the whole trip, and the rest of it we’re going to split equally among the four of us. In the end, it is not going to be that much, but money is still money… Mainly when we are talking about money we are making through music. So far in my life, I always thought that music would never give me money, but rather keep on taking money from me. My guitars, bagpipe, my amplifiers and all the other equipments to my guitars… The bunch of music books and classes I had to pay for when I started learning how to play… The thousand of cds I own, the bunch of gigs to which I urge to go, and, even, the money we spent to record our one and only album. But now, look at it… We’re earning.

It’s still earlier than five and a half and I feel like having a tea and some cookies at the Hotel café… And perhaps go out for the night? As the receptionist hands me two bedroom keys, I give one of them to Vin and place the other inside my jeans pants pocket before thanking the woman. Like usual, I’m wearing jeans pants. My blouse is a long sleeved white one I bought last Autumn when I went to Scotland with my mom. The only reason to why I remember that fact is because it’s written “Scotland” on it. Haha. My shoes are black and white all stars, like usual. Due to the cold, too, I’m wearing a very simple black scarf around my neck – I’m weak about cold weathers… I feel cold even when everyone around thinks the weather is still clement. “Hey, guys, what about some beer and vodka tonight?” I ask my mates as I go back to where Trev and Luke are standing.

Seriously, nothing could be better than seeing your unbelievable dream come true while you’re traveling with your most amazing friends to an amazing country - not forgetting about the fact that you’re starting to think that you might be in love with someone and that probably that someone is feeling the same. Too good to be truth, but since it is, it asks for some alcohol, music and fun.

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-----------------►Of course we got a manager
-----------------►Though he ain't the mafia
-----------------►A contract is a contract
-----------------►When they get 'em out on yer
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[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: THE TNT (1x1)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: First person, present tense.
CHARACTER: Luke (Lucas Wright)
DATE: April, 20th, 2009
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♪ ··· ♫ || └ Lυcαs Wяιghτ ┐ || ♪ ··· ♫

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-----------►My drummer friend comes shooting by
-----------►He said Errol Flynn will never die
-----------►Oh no! Who am I to question why?
-----------►And are you lonesome tonight?
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First Person Perspective-----------

I’ve seen bands start out of nowhere before... Sure I did. And I’ve seen the majority of them fall from their spotlight thrones in a blink of an eye, just as fast as they had arisen. Seriously, man… I trust my talent, and I trust my blokes’ talent – Hell, I do. But we are not here because we have tons of fans in England and now we are starting to expand our horizons. Goddamn, I wish it was like that. But hey, it ain’t. We’re here mainly because of one song… TNT has nine official songs, and one great boom! It became the hit now! They said they were going to play it on the radio… Germany will have it on the television. Two months ago we were giving our albums for free to our classmates, acquaintances and friends. Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed now? But it’s all about that song, man. I don’t know… I don’t know. We should be thinking about making more music at this rate of the situation – Rather, it looks to me that all the guys are actually thinking about enjoying the sudden fame. If you can’t fight them, you’d better join them, right? I’m not one to go against my mates.

To start off… I wasn’t meant to be in a rock band in first place. Tell you the truth, ever since we started The TNT, things got sort of awkward back at home. My old man doesn’t really like the idea of having a musician as a son – Don’t get me wrong, the old man does love music (he’s fascinated with anything that is Erudite, like Bach and Vivaldi, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and so on… He does enjoy the classic rock, too. Beatles even makes that old man move his shoulders), it’s just that he doesn’t like the idea of having music inside his house. So why did I own a drums set when I was still fourteen, you ask me? It was never mine, man. My brother’s wishes were always a demand… The guy is the cleverest man I’ve met in my life. He’s a doctor now, Doctor Wright? I know the surname is kind of common, but I’m sure you’ve heard about him. He’s the best surgeon in London! And seriously, man… He’s just graduated!

What parents wouldn’t give such a child whatever he wanted? Dave (my brother) learnt how to play the drums in a matter of weeks… And, as usual, he grew bored of it. The same happened with his guitar, his piano and his flute. I should be thankful, though, that Dave took some of his time to teach me how to play each of the instruments he once learnt. So, yeah… I can play the drums, the guitar, piano and flute. I’ve been playing them ever since I started (mainly because Vin kept encouraging us about music and about our future through music) and yet, I think Dave could suddenly sit in front of the drums set and play it better than I do. I think I have a brother complex. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t hate Dave. He’s the best brother one could have… It’s just that…. He’s so good at everything it pisses me off. I’m not a genius kid like my brother – But I’m not the one that’s going to ruin the family name. Do you think I love medicine? That I’d love to be a doctor? I work my a** off to be at a place my brother easily conquered. I am proud of myself – I was not born with extra genes, but I got here too. I think I’m trying to say “Look at me, dad! I can do it as well!” just like I did when I was a kid and tried to ride the bike without anyone teaching me how to do it (Just because Dave did it so easily).

Music comes as an extra thing to be proud – But my old man doesn’t think this way. On the other hand, he thinks I’ll end up a junkie drunkard like all of the other musicians in the world. “Leave music for the others”, he tells me. “Keep your plans of becoming a doctor, Lucas. It is so wonderful to save people’s lives!”. Doesn’t music save some people’s lives too? “You and those friends of yours… Your mother likes them, but… I don’t know. I don’t know. Why don’t you hang around with the med school kids?” Because they’re plain boring, dad. They don’t know how to enjoy their lives, they can’t hold on a funny and amiable conversation, they can’t share the same enthusiasm I do towards music, and they… They’re not Mike, Vince and Trevor. My old man thinks I’ll turn gay if I keep them as my friends… Haha. He’s going to die with that fear – ‘Cause I’m never going to leave my blokes, and I’m pretty sure that I can’t get turned on by anyone that doesn’t own a good pair of boobies. If I’m afraid of having any of them hitting on me, you ask? Come on… We’re friends for so long I’m probably a woman to their eyes!

Among The TNT I’m probably the quieter one. Vince is probably the loudest – That man likes to speak his thoughts out, he always did. I’m not sure about what the others think about it, but Vince’s huge ego never really bothered me. It’s funny, really… The guy’s a joke when he’s on his “I’m too sexy for my pants” mood. It seems he is the one taking the leadership of the band, you know, the vocalist always gets that huge extra amount of stage and fame to himself - that’s pretty normal. He’s the one studying Music Industries, too, so I think he suits. As for creating our songs, it’s a mutual work – Everyone writes as much music as they like and the others vote if it’s good or if it sucks. Mike is one that is really good with composing melodies, he enjoys doing it whenever he gets some extra time (He sucks with lyrics, though. Come on, he’s an engineer!) As for me, I do try to write some stuff sometimes… I just don’t have much time.

It is incredible that I got the weekend off for this trip, really. Now that I think about it, I wonder how loud Vince scolds would get if I said I couldn’t come. That’s probably the only thing I fear about Vince: If our music career indeed gets stable, he is the only one that won’t have to choose between his previous life plans and music. He won’t understand if the rest of us take some time to decide… I think he’ll take our doubts as unwillingness.

But why should I think about that now, huh? Instead of thinking about such things, I watch as Mike and Vince come back from the reception desk – The vocalist’s arm around my shoulders is something I’m pretty used to, mainly now that Trev and Mike are sort of dating. If you ask me, I’m also not that comfortable with their relationship. Sure I’m not overreacting to the fact like Vince is doing right now. It’s just that I like to observe things, and it seems they are heading to a serious date, doesn’t it? When serious dates end, things get a proportion of awkwardness you can’t handle anymore… And I’m one to talk about that. So picture this: What will happen to The TNT if these lover boys break up a year from now? I don’t even think Vince is taking it by this point of view. Seriously, it just looks like he is jealous. Geez… The TNT needs no more drama right now. Ha-ha.

I turn my head to look at Mike when Trevor gives him the idea of staying at the Hotel – Poor Mike. I know the man for longer I can remember, and ever since high school, he’s the type of guy that enjoys getting drunk. Good times and alcohol come in hand to that boy. That is just when Vince spits his jealousy poison all over the lovely couple. I can’t suppress a laugh so I take my hand to my mouth to make it sound smooth. Too late, they saw me laughing already. Sorry, boys, it’s just too funny to see this: Trev is frowning, Mike is looking like he’s stuck in a maze, while Vince… Vince is turning to me.

And I’m not one to go against my blokes. “Sure thing, Vince.” I tell him with a smile. Tell you the truth; it is past the time for me to take the chance of Vince’s company to grab some girls. It’s not that I can’t hit on a girl by myself – I sure can. It’s just that on my own, I keep on thinking about Emily and end up quiet over the corner of the club. With Vince, I’m pretty sure I’ll be pushed over the girls even if I tell him that I don’t want to. “I’m on!” Still, I’m a bit worried about Mike and Trevor… Vince didn’t go light on them. “You sure you’re not coming?” I ask them as I close the zipper of my jacket, feeling a cold breeze pass through my body. “No worries, I’ll keep the jackass here busy.” I point at Vince as I say the word “jackass”. In my mind, I’m thinking about the two of us hitting on some girls, but as I recall my sentence… I realize it sounds so gay I can’t help but smirking.

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-----------------►Let's hear what the drummerman's
-----------------►Got to say about
-----------------►He said is it Errol Flynn's birthday or not?
-----------------►Sept 12 until October
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[Ray_Murata]

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ROLEPLAY: HOGS & WARTS (1X1)
TYPE OF POST: INTRODUCTION
GENDER & TENSE: Third person, past tense
CHARACTER: Michael Gallagher
DATE: Mar, 10th, 2010
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•∫• мїčћǽℓ • Ġåℓℓåġћεя •∫•

Ø Run for the hills before they burn Ø Listen to the sound of the world Ø Watch it turn Ø
Ø But shake a little Ø Sometimes I'm nervous when I talk Ø
Ø Sometimes I hate the line I walk Ø I just want to show you what I know Ø
Ø And catch you when the current lets you go Ø

“I guess I’ll see you later, then,” Michael Gallagher told the small group of seventh year Slytherins as he stood from his place, passing one leg and then the other over the bench where he had been sitting during the whole feast. Inside his robes’ pocket he was carrying some of the feasts’ food, which included meat and sweets alike, all neatly wrapped in a napkin. The boy by his side said a short “see ya” and the girl who had been sitting in front of him waved him a quick goodbye. Just as quickly, she turned her head back again and leaned forward to better hear the gossip one of their classmates was willing to share. No one asked him where he was going and when he was going to be at the Common hall. Mike smiled to himself with certain peacefulness – He liked to think it was better that way. He was actually glad no one had poked their noses into his business, for he wouldn’t have bothered to tell anyone the place he was heading or the time he’d be coming back.

Around him, countless teenagers of all ages and from all the Houses were standing up from their tables, deciding their paths and leaving The Great Hall. A group of young, Ravenclaw girls by his right side stood up with certain euphoria, giggling and squeaking as they grabbed their robes and left their House table. By his left, fifth years Slytherins looked down on a girl at the Gryffindor table. As he walked past them, Mike could clearly hear one of the boys whisper to his friend: “She’s a mud-blood, Pete. Don’t you dare get yourself involved with such filthy woman.” Michael bit his bottom lip – He agreed… As much as he truly agreed that the more pure bloods, the better it was for the Wizardry world, he was also fully aware of how hypocrite it sounded… A mud-blood who despised mud-bloods, how convenient. The slender teen took his hands to his pants pockets, ignoring the group of boys and keeping his way.

Looking up ahead, Michael could spot the group of Slytherin first years gathering around the prefects. The Welcoming Feast and the frightened first years always gave Mike a weird sensation – A turn inside his stomach. Every time a new bunch of kiddos showed up around Hogwarts, bigger was the realization of how time fled through his hands almost unnoticeably. It was his Seventh and last year of Hogwarts already. His future was still a great, great mystery – Some people just had it done in front of them, didn’t they? The oh-so-famous boy who lived, Harry Potter, for example… There was no doubt he’d become an Auror once Hogwarts was over. Draco Malfoy? His father would probably get him a place into the Ministry. Now, what about him, Michael Gallagher? He wasn’t a no-one, per se… His grades weren’t disappointing and his reputation certainly didn’t fail him. His friendship with the Malfoy was not the strongest but it was not impossible for him to gather a position in the Ministry through Mayfoy’s recommendation. He could try other stuff, too – He was very good with Potions and he was quite aware of how much the country was lacking in Potions experts… He could try… Nah. Quidditch wasn’t an option. He didn’t have enough talent to play for England’s professional league.

Mike walked towards the main entrance as slowly as his legs wanted to lead him – He didn’t care the least about the late hour or the curfew. Inside the environment the commotion was so drastic that no one would notice such a skinny boy walking past the main doors. First years were desperate and lost, trying to find their Houses Prefects and uncertain of how to correctly follow the instructions. Second and third years were euphoric with being back to Hogwarts, talking so loud and heading towards all possible places of the castle except the outsides. Older kids, who better knew the castle, were either calm and not hurrying inside or playing tricks on the younger kids… Prefects were busy with youngsters; teachers were busy with the mess and Filch… God alone knew where Filch could be. The one thing he did know, however, was that no one was keeping an eye on him.

He still glanced over at the Great Hall another time before he left for the fields. Michael loved the Great Hall – It was the best “indoors” a Claustrophobic would ever get. He had tried to enchant his own bedroom’s ceiling with the same spell but all he had managed was to make shiny starts appear on his ceiling on starry nights. The young man laughed to himself as he remembered the spell he had used – No doubt it had gone wrong… He had taken the spell from the “Housewives” section on Daily Prophet. It was a trick to entertain kids. Feeling the delightful night breeze touch his skin and body, Mike crossed his arms around his chest and stared into the first half of trees of which consisted the Forbidden Forest. He closed his brown eyes and listened closely. There was a very strong and consistent rustle of the trees. The breeze, enjoyable as it felt, was probably stronger on the insides of the forest. Mike could hear no steps or commotion at all, which was weird… As far as his experience had taught him, lots of creatures enjoyed to watch the Welcoming Ceremony from afar.

Tightening his grip on the wand inside his pocket, the Slytherin boy entered the forest.

It wasn’t the first time he explored the Forbidden Forest and as far as he’d like to believe, it would not be the last. Taking his wand from his pocket, he held it in front of his chest. “Lumos”, he whispered before continuing. He knew the path he should take and he knew the sort of things he was likely to find. Sure, the Forest was so big and mysterious Mike doubted he knew twenty percent of what there inhabited, yet, he knew enough to bravely explore it. Most of the times the brunet followed the same old path. Michael walked for more or less fifteen minutes before he eyed the clearing. As he entered the clearing, he ceased his wand’s light – The moon was so bright it lightened all the weirdly beautiful creatures there resting: The Thestrals. There were five of them – two of which were laying on the floor, far asleep.

“Here, mate,” Mike offered to the smaller animal – That one had been born on their last month of classes. “You grew up so fast,” He said, taking his hand to the animal’s head and giving it a pat. The creature leaned in, easily accepting the teen’s caresses. The Thestrals, though scary as they could look at first, were probably the most amiable and docile animals in Hogwarts… It was a pity so few people could actually see them. It was a real mystery that one had to witness death to meet such intriguing animals… At times and times, the teen wondered whose death had Tenor witnessed.

Michael placed his wand back inside his pocket and retrieved the neat napkin from his robes. He stared down at his own hands. “Damn.” He whispered… He had miscalculated the amount of food he should have brought. The meat and sweets he had stolen from the feast were barely enough for one adult Thestral or two puppies. Opening the napkin and kneeing on the floor, Mike placed the food in front of the smallest creature. “I think I’m gonna have favor you only,” He told the Thestral as he sat on the floor. Watching as the creature leaned forward and smelled the food, the boy’s mind wandered back to the person about whom he had thought before: Tenor. His heart skipped a beat.

The Hufflepuff boy was an intriguing mystery to Michael. They met at eventual occasions at this same place, usually at this same time of the night. They talked about random subjects, most of which didn’t have anything to do with Hogwarts or their usual life at all. Mike could recall telling Tenor about his claustrophobia, about the house he had (at the time) just bought, about how he loved Hogwarts’ forest and rivers… As much as those subjects didn’t sound in-depth, they were actually pretty in-depth concerning him as a “person”. He doubted he had told many people half of the silly and personal things he had told Tenor… Only Tenor was his “hidden” acquaintance. When outside the woods, when not in the company of the Thestrals, Tenor was just another Hufflepuff with the pack. Someone Michael Gallagher didn’t know or associate with… Someone his Slytherin friends didn’t look up on.

Mike sighed heavily, watching the baby Thestral devour the food he had brought. He gave the creature a loving smile.

Ø Or should I just get along with myself Ø I never did get along with everybody else Ø
Ø I’ve been trying hard to do what’s right Ø But you know I could stay here all night Ø
Ø And watch the clouds fall from the sky Ø Because this river is wild Ø