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FAYE LAMBOURNE โœฟ
_________the peaceful revolutionist




" ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ญ๐”ฌ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ช๐”ขs ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ฌf ๐”ญ๐”ฌ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ฏ, ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ฉ๐”ก ๐”ดi๐”ฉ๐”ฉ k๐”ซ๐”ฌ๐”ด ๐”ญ๐”ข๐”ž๐” ๐”ข. "

โœฟ โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ• โœฟ



                      Faye felt a slight tingling in her fingers again, much like in her rooftop experience. But this was different, almost like butterflies in one's stomach. A good tingling. She blinked, glancing down at Grian, who was finally starting to come-to. Rather than freaking out and begging him for answers, Faye only smiled, nodding her head. โ€œHey there sleepy head. You took quite a fall.โ€ She commented absently, slowly grazing his cheek with the back of her hand. Her plush lips curved into another smile once she finished talking, a sort of awkward, lopsided way of reassuring him. โ€œWater? Alright. You stay here I...โ€ She paused, laughing uncomfortably. โ€œThat was kind of stupid to say, wasn't it?โ€ She sheepishly rubbed at the back of her head, standing up and nodding her head again. โ€œI'll be right back.โ€ She said firmly, resisting the temptation of kissing him on the forehead. Although she had secretly wished that their relationship could move along a little more quickly, now was not the time to be coming onto him. At least, not until he was healthy again. Was that wrong? Probably.

                      She took careful, graceful strides to the kitchen, expertly maneuvering herself around misplaced furniture. Dragging a human around a room never proved too comforting for furniture, especially the unfortunate one that acted as the resting place. Sorry, bed. Faye soon found herself in her small, somewhat unkempt kitchen. With every short walk to her kitchen from her bedroom, she realized how truly tiny her apartment was. It certainly wasn't a studio, but nonetheless, two people would have to share a room. 'What if Grian has to spend the night? Well, I shouldn't say has I mean, I wouldn't mind giving him a place to rest! It's the least I could do, I mean, if he really needed it...' Her mind was quickly silenced as a scenario began playing out in her mind. It began with terrible lighting and cheesy porn music, continuing on falteringly as Grian tried to seduce her. God help him if he ever decided to do porn. 'Maybe that's what he thinks about. Us in bed like that? Using me or something? But I don't think he's capable of that. Is he?' Faye questioned herself silently, awkwardly standing in her kitchen as she thought. 'Oh. Water. Right. '

                      As she reached for a glass, Faye found that she was arguing with herself over the simplest things. It was normal for her to question every choice that she made; paper or plastic, right or wrong, handicapped bathroom stall or waiting in line...but whenever she was around Grian, she often found that she was a little more on edge. Her arm shifted from left to right in the cup cabinet, as if it were a helpless rope in a game of Tug-of-War. 'Should I give him a plastic cup or a glass cup? I don't know, does it really matter? Well, what if he drops the glass and it shatters everywhere? I don't want my cats stepping in that!' Although this seemed to be a valid point, the opposing thoughts began to kick in. 'Yeah, but first of all, the plastic cups are smaller! He was just in a horrible accident, I'm sure he's going to be annoyed if I just bring him a little cup of water, the man's thirsty! And secondly, all of my plastic cups aren't classy enough. Just look at them! Halloween cats, snowmen, turkeys...where the hell did I even get all of these?' As Faye continued to argue with herself about what sort of cup she should use, her mind wandered back to Grian: cold and alone in her bedroom.

                      Alright, that sounded wrong.

                      Deciding on a glass, Faye stepped back, staring at her sink. 'So. Fridge water or tap water?'

                      After a very unproductive couple of minutes, Faye had decided on tap water, with ice from the fridge. Compromising with herself was a common circumstance, mostly because she was naturally inclined to avoid picking sides. Even when both sides were herself. Practice what you preach, isn't that what they always say? Despite not being very practiced on proverbs, Faye liked to believe that she was relatively good with being true to herself. Perhaps that's why she was slightly despised on both sides of the 'Super-Spectrum.' On one hand, she enjoyed doing subtle, helpful things for individuals. On the other hand, she would just as quickly leave a group of hateful individuals to perish if they were ever in trouble. Parties that she didn't know, however, were always tricky. It always sort of depended on Faye's mood, and of course, on the situation. Say a homeless man was caught in a burning building---would she go inside to save him? No, probably not. After all, that's what firemen get paid for, right? Tax dollars at work! But if it were some young business woman dangling from the edge of the Empire State Building, calling out for help, Faye would probably lend a hand. So alright, maybe she was a little bit prejudiced, but who would honestly call her out on that, in this day and age? If Faye ever did skip over someone in apparent danger, she would always mumble something along the lines of 'Next time,' and proceed in saving the life of someone else in danger the next time around. Even with her pick-and-choose lifestyle, she would never actively kill someone. That simply went against everything she believed in, everything she was ever taught about the world. If anything, she wanted to believe in a Utopia of some sort, where there was no good or evil, where everyone was just normal. Well, as normal as they could be, considering some of the world's occupants had super powers. But then again, who was to say that Super Powers weren't normal?


                      Faye returned to Grian, delicately settling herself beside him once again. Her fingers absently caressed the glass, dripping with condensation. โ€œI got you tap water. I hope that's okay. I don't buy bottled water, it's terrible how much it's wasted. 38 billion bottles get dumped into landfills, you know. They last for one thousand years, too. That means they'll still be around when your grandchildren die, when their grandchildren die!โ€ She paused for a moment, though it was clear she was going to start speaking again. โ€œI...I wonder if we can die. I mean, you and I in particular, we could probably last forever. I'm sure if I studied my powers long enough, I could find a way to freeze my aging cells. And you, well, you probably wouldn't age after a certain point...โ€ Faye sighed, her pale fingers still tracing lines into the glass. โ€œI don't even know if I'd want to live forever. I mean, I assume it would get sort of lonely if you didn't have someone to share it with.โ€ Her shoulders slumped at this, as they always did when she was clearly disheartened by something. She chose to say nothing else on the topic of relationships, as she had always felt somewhat self-conscious about her ability to love. Did she even believe in real love? She hadn't really seen it, all she ever witnessed was divorces, manipulation, and lies. Even her parents, who were still married, didn't seem to be in love. They shared a common view on the world, and to them, that was enough for matrimony. Actually, the pregnancy came before the matrimony. How convenient. Faye, however, didn't like to waste her time thinking about things that went bad. Instead, she liked to think to the future, often pointing out the positives of a day, or what she was excited about in the coming days. For instance, today, despite her good friend's injuries, she had spent a great deal of time with him, and would probably continue to do so until he was feeling better. For this, she was grateful.

                      โ€œOh, your water. I'm sorry, I'm probably annoying you with all of my nonsense.โ€ She extended the water to him, then paused. He was probably too weak to really move. Faye scooted closer, and with the utmost gentleness, placed the corner of the glass against his lips. She did her best to hide a flush, but with each passing second, she could feel herself growing more and more red. She tipped the glass slightly, giving him only a few sips of water before pausing. After all, she wanted him to be able to breathe. After a few more delicate sips of water, she placed the glass down on her bedside table, then began to rub at the back of her head again. โ€œThis is...going to sound really terrible but...uh, I need to,โ€ she blushed again, her florescent-blue eyes seeming to stand out against the red, โ€œtake your clothes off.โ€ Her eyes shifted around the room, attempting to view anything that wasn't his gaze. โ€œI mean, it's not like I'll be interested...But, I mean, uh! It's not like you're not attractive or anything, because you are, I just...โ€ Nervous babble. โ€œI don't want you to think I'm coming on to you, because I'm not, I just want to make sure I help out in any way I can, you know?โ€ A nervous habit that Faye constantly showed was the fact that she raised her voice whenever she became uncomfortable. It wasn't as if she were yelling, her pitch only got louder and higher as her speed increased, hoping to explain herself before someone else thought she was doing something terrible. She hung her head in shame, feeling as though her standings with Grian had been somewhat tarnished in the last couple of minutes. โ€œI just figured, if you hurt anything else, I could try to heal it faster. It'll be painful, fixing bones, but it won't be worse than breaking them. Plus, you'll get to hold my hand again.โ€ Faye lifted her head to expose a shy smile, one that temporarily washed away her uneasiness.

                      Deciding against giving him another drink of water, she decided to hold his hand again, though she wouldn't try to heal him until she could see what she was dealing with. She had otherwise ignored her own painful symptoms, exchanging her health for Grian's. It wasn't as if she was in serious condition like he was, though. The only ailments she could feel presently were a bump to the head, a twisted ankle, and possibly a broken rib; mere scrapes and bruises compared to what the young Irish man had been put through. It was in such battles that Faye felt somewhat frightened for her life. After all, while she could repair any damage that came to find her body, if she received an unexpected blow, she could not defend herself. And once she was dead, it was game over. Unlike Grian, her body wouldn't automatically mend itself, unless she willed it to. Being unconscious, however, often ruined that possibility. Being practically unharmed by the Frenchie surprised her, though, considering he could have easily ended her life if he wanted to. Instead of life lessons, her parents taught her about conspiracies, so she could sniff one out at the first sign of surfacing. Had the villains wanted to kill her, they would have. They must have been planning something else, perhaps another heist, or even a way to recruit the rest of the neutrals.

                      'We really need to start putting our guards up...Otherwise, we'll be in some serious s**t.' She noted blankly, then sighed to herself. Even if she were to stumble onto a conspiracy, though, how should we track them down? She didn't even know any of their real identities. By now, she was sure that they knew who she was, she was one of the few that refused to wear a mask. Ironically, the public didn't seen to give a s**t, or were just too stupid to notice. If she wasn't on either side, she didn't get any airtime, not even a brief interview. Truthfully, Faye preferred it that way. The public didn't really care which side she joined, so long as she picked one. But what was the point? She could easily take out everyone if she wanted to, and yet, she didn't. Being apathetic towards the fighting was something the young woman valued, appreciating her side-line sitting more than a**-kicking. Passivity had been forced onto her as a child, and as she grew, she found herself relating to it more and more. Why couldn't both sides just hold hands and sing Kumbaya? Alright, well maybe not to that point. Just the idea of Mars and Saturn holding hands sent chills down her spine! But even so, what was so wrong about a compromise?

                      Faye sighed again, her shoulders slumping as she contemplated the inevitable. Eventually, either side would get fed up with her and make her choose: death or a side. In that instance, for now, Faye was undecided. Each side was probably terrified of her the most, especially since her powers were so threatening. However, Faye was under the impression that either side thought the other was closer to recruiting her. The villains, if they knew anything about her, would note her position as a passivist to be more heroic, which made killing a problem. Similarly, she seemed to have more sympathy to the Villains' cause; being an individual, and being free was something she definitely didn't want to lose. So, she was torn, equally divided amongst the sides. Secretly, she feared that Grian would eventually choose, and would attempt to convince her to join him. But she didn't want to. Fighting for no reason was wrong, at least in her eyes. If they were going to attempt to pull her down for being neutral, fine. That would be their loss. In an attempt to shake this problematic situation from her mind, Faye stood, gently placing her hands on Grian's chest. โ€œOkay, I'm going to pull this off. Just try to hold still, I don't want you to hurt more than you already are.โ€ She said quietly, her fingers slowly rolling the bottom of his blood-soaked shirt upwards. She could feel another blush making itself visible against her pale cheeks, but she did her best to ignore it, clearing her throat. She made sure to use only delicate motions as she undressed him, noticeably tense. She lifted each of his arms, one at a time, in able to remove his shirt. Pulling it over his head was the hardest part, she thought, considering his life-threatening wound had been there. Was there? She was too uncomfortable checking again. Once his shirt was removed, she held it a good foot away from her body, tossing it off into the corner. Whatever, she'd wash it later.

                      Faye glanced over Grian's bare chest, doing her best to keep a professional stance on the situation. She sat down beside him again, her hand hovering above his torso as she browsed his figure. 'One of his ribs looks off.' Giving him an apologetic look, she placed her hand over it, putting a small amount of pressure on the area, feeling around for a fracture. Yes. Definitely a broken bone. The auburn-haired woman smiled weakly, taking her comrades hand in her own. โ€œJust try to relax. We'll start here, rather than doing it all at once, 'kay? I'm right here.โ€ She stated the obvious, as if it would reassure him. But she was mending bones, there was no way it would be comfortable. Speeding up the process of weeks of healing would cause immense pain, but not agony. Cuts and bruises hardly hurt at all, but broken bones, torn ligaments, muscle damage...those didn't go away so easily. Closing the skin was one thing, but re-adjusting body parts could be down-right frustrating. Her hand still clasping Grian's, Faye let her eyes slip shut as she focused on her powers. She let a feeling of hope rise up in her chest, a warm and tingly sensation that felt as though it were filling her up completely. 'Isn't this what the Penguins feel like when they sing in Happy Feet? No. Focus on Grian, not dancing Mexican penguins.' She silently demanded, slowly exhaling.

                      Like an x-ray, she could see a vivid mental picture of Grian's body, then his muscles, his organs, and finally, his bones. She could see the injury very clearly, the third rib from the top of his chest had been split almost completely in half. Faye felt as though she were doing surgery at this point, imagining herself slowly dragging the bone back into place. This would cause discomfort, but the worst was still to come. 'Hold on, Grian.' She thought, still focusing on his bones. The two ends of his rib trembled slightly in her mind, forcing themselves together tightly, almost violently, in fact. Quickly, before she got distracted by any noise he was making, Faye visualized a long, unbreakable chord wrapping itself around his bones, tying them back into place carefully. Of course, there would be no chord inside, but she found that mending bones worked best when she had a specific image in her head. It worked better, in fact. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she squeezed his hand lightly, a silent way of supporting him through his pain. Once she had finished, she felt the warm sensation she had summoned into her body melt away, simultaneously removing the image of his body from her mind. โ€œOkay. Your rib should be better, now. Just be careful next time, alright?โ€ She smiled slightly, her eyes wandering to the opposite corner of the room.

                      It wasn't as if she enjoyed doing this sort of thing. Couldn't he see that? She was viewed as the powerful one, the one with the ability to kill anyone she pleased. But would she ever be more or less than that? At times, she wished that she could just be who she was at work, the pale, quiet manager at Fresh and Easy. But whenever the name tag came off, she was the Chosen One, again. Or at least, one who could choose who lived or died. Faye Lambourne became Moon, a mere receptacle of power. She assumed that's all she'd be seen for if she joined either side, plus a con. To the villains, she'd probably be the disposer, the one who was supposed to kill, and to the heroes, she'd be the one who would always bear the weight of responsibility. Neither choice sounded appealing, each consideration of the circumstances worse than the last. Faye silently folded her hands in her lap, looking over Grian, her eyes glazed over with thought. โ€œDon't you wish we could just leave? I hate being trapped between their fighting, I hate having these stupid powers.โ€ She mumbled darkly, gritting her teeth privately. โ€The longer we stay here, the more people will end up getting hurt. At some point, someone's gonna use our loved ones as collateral, whether they're friends or family. I don't want to hurt anyone, Grian...I can't.โ€ She said quietly, her voice lowering to a solemn tone. 'No matter where we go, they'll find us. They know our identities now, there is no escape.' She convinced herself, squirming uncomfortably, like an ant under a magnifying glass. โ€Should I look at your lower-half now?โ€ Faye asked grimly, averting her eyes from Grian, unwilling to meet his gaze.
Xx-Alexis-Xx
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FAYE LAMBOURNE โœฟ
_________the peaceful revolutionist




" ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ญ๐”ฌ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ช๐”ขs ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ฌf ๐”ญ๐”ฌ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ฏ, ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ฉ๐”ก ๐”ดi๐”ฉ๐”ฉ k๐”ซ๐”ฌ๐”ด ๐”ญ๐”ข๐”ž๐” ๐”ข. "

โœฟ โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ• โœฟ



                      His legs were broken? But that meant...

                      Faye's eyes widened as she glanced down at the blood stained monstrosity that was his trousers. She hiccuped nervously, uncomfortably rubbing at the back of her head. She had to take off his pants. This was a first for her, personally, although that was just technically. He had taken off his own pants last time, hadn't he? 'Yes, he had,' she remembered, as she had been busy unbuttoning her blouse at the time. Although, admittedly, she preferred having her blouse slowly unbuttoned as her partner planted soft, teasing kisses along her collarbone. The soft touch of skin, the--

                      'Stop.' She mentally demanded, sucking at her lower lip. Had she anymore energy to flush, she probably would have, so instead, she lowered her head. โ€Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute there.โ€ She lied. Her feelings for Grian were about as mixed up as a pile of clothes on the ground. Then again, that was a great deal of their relationship. Unspoken words, meaningless touches, torn-apart clothes. But it had only happened once, despite Faye's occasionally fantasy of it reoccurring. In all honesty, they hadn't really known each other for that long. Three months at the most, and they had done the deed near the middle of the second month. There had been no alcohol involved, as Faye had been acting too responsibly to drink, and yet, they found themselves wrangled between the sheets. The auburn-haired girl absently stroked her palm, attempting to distract herself with her supposedly-determined future, rather than her unchangeable past. Instead of that unceremonious Wednesday evening, she focused more on Wednesday evenings to come. Would she find anyone to love in her future? She glanced down at her hand, trying to determine which line represented love. Is it that one? It's awfully short, isn't it? And kind of bumpy. No, no, it can't be that one.' She disputed with her conscious, tracing her index finger along the biggest line in the center of her hand. 'I think this is my life line. Sort of straight near the beginning. Maybe that means I grew up in an uneventful life; I guess that's pretty true.' Faye frowned, her fingertip following along the path, until it was de-railed in a way, leading off into nothingness. What did that mean?

                      โ€What?โ€ She lifted her head sharply, staring at Grian for a moment. Oh. He didn't say anything. She laughed nervously, placing her palms against her knees so she wouldn't be distracted by them anymore. โ€Right, your legs. I'm sorry.โ€ Faye nodded her head apologetically and stood, inhaling frailly as she neared her lower-half. She was clearly hesitating, her hands hovering above his zipper as she struggled to find the courage to undress him. 'He's going to get either offended or turned on if I don't do something. And I really can't deal with either right now.' As if she were preparing to jump off a diving board, she exhaled slowly, and unbuttoned his jeans. She carefully unzipped them, her cheeks red as she recalled what was previously beneath them. Delicately, she began to tug them down, careful not to damage his legs or hips, unsure of where he was in pain. Of course, she also didn't want to risk pulling anything else down. Blood and brains she could handle for now, but junk popping out? Oh god no.

                      Once she had removed his pants completely, she tossed them towards the corner where his shirt had landed, already forming a small pool of blood on her floor. 'Whatever', she thought, 'I'll clean it up later.' An unsettling queasiness formed in her stomach, sparked by the urge to look up at his hips. Well, not really his hips. She would have blushed if her eyes met anything other than the article of clothing he was now wearing. Batman boxers. Very GQ. Faye resisted the urge to smile and giggle, so instead, she looked back down at his legs, studying them carefully. Unlike the easy-to-mend broken rib he had, both legs were an entirely different story. To focus on even one required a huge amount of energy, and that was when the bones were just split into two or three different pieces. Grian's legs, however, were quite frankly, [********] Even without the use of her powers, Faye could easily tell that his bones had basically shattered, fragments of the bones lost somewhere between his ankles and thighs. Still, she wouldn't know for sure where they were until she took a look. โ€I don't think I can heal your legs completely, Grian.โ€ She said quietly, her eyes meeting his for a moment. โ€Not right now, anyway. But maybe I can just sort of put your bones back in the right spots and your body can do the best. At least, that's all I can do for now.โ€ She added in, reaching out and placing her hand on his in a moment of compassion.

                      Faye uncomfortably wiggled her nose, very much resembling Samantha herself. She arched her back a little, as if she were preparing to get in a fight. Sometimes it was a fight, repairing and altering bodies. It all sort depended on the immunity system of the person, really. If they were ridiculously healthy, she often had trouble with anti-bodies and other problems that occurred when the body got defensive. However, if the person she was working on had a particularly weak body, for instance, someone with well-developed AIDS, they may not have survived whatever work that was being done on their body. Although Faye's gift had much more chances of survival than surgery, she definitely wasn't one to over-estimate her powers, especially considering how out-of-control they could get. She fidgeted, carefully grasping his hand in her own. She sighed softly, closing her eyes as she went within again, focusing on his skin, then his muscles, and again his bones. She mentally panned down his body, focusing on his broken legs. 'Disgusting.' She commented mentally, holding back a gag. His fibula had been cracked, smaller chunks of it broken off on the opposite side of his leg, near his tibia. Another large piece of his tibia, however, had been broken off, and had lodged itself between the two bones. But those were just the two biggest pieces. What seemed like countless fragments of bone had shattered all over his leg, visible in every direction. How Grian kept from screaming in pain the whole time was beyond her, but she suspected his head wound took the blunt of most of the pain. Exhaling slowly, Faye carefully began to re-arrange the bones in his right leg, her finger dragging across Grian's palm, as if it were a controller pad for what was going on inside of his body. One false slip could send him into unimaginable pain, something she certainly didn't want. After what must have been at least twenty four minutes, Faye felt that she had done the best she could with re-arranging his bones. And that was just in his right leg!

                      By the time she had moved over to his left leg, she was exhausted, and utterly drained of her energy. Luckily, Grian's other leg wasn't nearly as damaged as his right. There were only a few breaks in the tibia and femur, nothing that he couldn't heal, most likely. Even so, Faye did her best to direct them back into their rightful place, that way Grian's body could heal itself quicker and more efficiently. For the most part, though, that leg would have to heal on its own. Once she dropped the last of the broken bones into place, her shoulders slumped, her head lowering, almost as if she had momentarily lost consciousness. After a moment of absent focus, Faye's eyes flickered open, her head weakly lifting to look over at her injured friend. Her eyebrows furrowed almost amorally. But in a mere moment, her facial features relaxed, just forming an exhausted look. โ€œStressful.โ€ She commented quietly, her voice a lazy mumble, too tired to actually open her mouth to form words. Her eyes lolled over towards her bedside table, where they met a clock. 9:49 PM The clock burned the red numbers into her eyeballs, and for a moment, Faye absently tried to recall why those numbers had some sort of significance. She had to be somewhere, right? Or something like that. Was there a consequence? Who cared anyway? She paused for a moment, then gasped as loudly as she could in her current state of exhaustion. โ€Oh, s**t!โ€ She stood up slowly, wobbling for a moment before she could move once again.

                      โ€œI have to go to work, it totally slipped my mind with everything going on and stuff.โ€ She hurried over to her closet, trying her best to improve her posture to aid her awakening. She anxiously tugged an apron-like article of clothing from her closet, glancing down at her outfit. Crap, she had to change again! Digging around frantically in her closet, the rush of adrenaline began to give her more energy, but in turn, made her more nervous. She tugged a dulled pair of jeans from her closet, and put them on under her dress, so as not to flash her friend. There was a time and a place for that. The bedroom, but not the one they were in at the moment. Well, maybe that one, but not at this exact-- 'It doesn't matter.' Faye interrupted her line of thought, tugging her dress from her thin, frail frame. At the moment, she wasn't concerned about Grian's opinion of her smaller breasts, or her Wonder Woman bra, instead, she wondered if she even had a clean shirt. Like an assassin, (or at least a very skilled dry-cleaner) Faye snatched a white t-shirt from her closet, pulling it down over her shirt, followed by her green apron, imprinted with the logo, โ€œFresh and Easy.โ€ She slipped her shoes on, adjusted her hair a little bit, and started out the door. She quickly turned around and returned to the room, laughing uncomfortably. โ€Oops, almost forgot about you. Uhm, I have to work. I'll be back soonish. Don't go anywhere! I have my cellphone if there's an emergency. You just, uh, sit there and...heal. Yeah. Okay, bye!โ€ She lingered in the door frame to her bedroom for a moment, then hurried out the door.

                      She took the flights of stairs two at a time, her ankle aching with each step. Regardless of her pain, however, she continued down the stairs. Luckily, her work was only about a block from her apartment, which was convenient for dashing to work and carrying groceries. Plastic bags were a big no-no, though, as Faye insisted on using her cloth bags. After all, they were much much better for the environment. Perhaps her personal choices in life were what had got her the job in the first place, thinking back now. It wasn't as if she had been working there, long, though, about a month or so. Even so, money was tight. Her paycheck barely covered her apartment bills, and there was rarely enough money left for groceries. Luckily, salad ingredients came cheap, as did the food from her work when her discount was taken into consideration. And yet, here she was, almost three hours late to her shift. She neared the store, trying her best to jog, despite her twisted ankle. When she reached the front of the store, however, she was met by her boss, who had been standing outside, taking his cigarette break. 'Oh s**t. Here we go... Faye thought to herself, her stomach suddenly queasy and flipping into knots. She attempted to walk past without getting his attention, but he held out his arm, halting her from even entering the store.

                      โ€œAnd where do you think you're going?โ€ He began, forcing her to back up with a simple glare.

                      โ€œTo, uh, work?โ€

                      โ€œYou don't work.โ€

                      โ€œWell, my schedule said---โ€ She tried to interject, rubbing at the back of her head.

                      โ€œI don't give a s**t what your schedule says. You haven't shown up to work three times, and have been more than an hour late four times. You really expect me to just let you waltz in and pretend to work?โ€

                      โ€œI had a family emergency,โ€ Faye mumbled quietly, unwilling to look the store manager in the eyes.

                      โ€œYeah, you certainly have a lot of those, don't you, Fawn?โ€ The manager huffed, the lit end of his cigarette the only bit of light between the two of them.

                      โ€œIt's Faye.โ€

                      โ€œDon't correct me! Don't bother coming back here, you're fired.โ€ He purposely emphasized the last, most important word, obviously getting a sick thrill from making others suffer.

                      โ€œF-fired? No, you can't, I need this job!โ€ Faye began to beg, which gave the Manager an even more distinctive smirk.

                      โ€œNo, I can't allow under-achievers to work here. I'm tired of your bullshit excuses. Now get out of here before I have security escort you.โ€ He retorted snappily, his eyes narrowed.

                      โ€œ...Do we even have security?โ€ The young non-smoker asked after a pause, only to be driven away with a fiercely pointed finger. In a huff, Faye pulled her apron from her body, bunching it up to the best of her ability, and throwing it on the ground. โ€œFine! Take your crappy job! I hope you enjoy your cancer, you douche bag!โ€ For a moment, Faye focused, seeing her ex-manager's cells in her mind, which required only the slightest adjustment to ensure that he had life-threatening cancer. Her eyes opened though, and she shook her head. โ€œNo. You're not worth it.โ€ She alerted him, turning on her heels, and exiting the parking lot, walking as confidently as she could. At least, as confidently as one could with a limp.
boomshakalakalakaboomshaka3... 2... 1...

CUT THE CORD

โœ„ - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

F R I G I D
H E A R T


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D A H L I A T
R O U S S E A U

โœ– โœ– โœ– โœ– โœ–


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    โ __i`llsitbackandi`llwatch__
    t h e__ s h o w , __y e a h __i ` l l__w a t c h__t h e __s h o w
    __________a n d__i ` l l__l a y__ a w a k e ,
    __________________a n d__i ` l l__w a t c h __t h e __ s t a r s__

    _____as theyCOLLIDE.__โž


For some people, life begins with love. For others, life begins with death. For most, however, the journey throughout the vast world of life begins with a name. For thousands of years, mankind have been absolutely obsessed with names. First, they were ways of counting their children, as if seeing their faces wasn't enough. Once Primus, Secundus and Septimus were spent, people began to value names for their beauty. This was generally throughout the Renaissance period.User Image Originality was valued above anything else, as parents wanted their children to be seen as special. After a few hundred years, however, originality was seen as dull and useless. After a short-lived spurt of traditional names, the final trend came about, the biggest con of them all: picking names to determine futures. Whatever self-proclaimed psychic came up with this idea must be, by now, rolling in mountains of cash. For over one hundred years, mankind has been referring to books and websites, frequently looking up the meanings and futures of specific names. For instance, the name Donald will allegedly ensure wealth and power, while the name Mildred generally implies poor health, Alzheimers, and an obsession with cats.

There are some people, however, that feel too pressured by the media to make a decision that will determine the lives of their children. These are the people who most commonly name their children Orangejello, (though they'll swear to you it's pronounced โ€œOr-ran-jah-low,โ€) or some absurb combination of Socrates, Julius, and Renee. These people often have a skewed perception of what is an acceptable, normal name, and what is a distant hope that their child will become universally known for their ridiculous name. This is where the life of a man marked for death begins. Not in a bedroom, not in a hospital room, but in a Mervyns parking lot.

- - - - - - - - -


Dear diary,

We have been acquainted for years at a time, and our relationship is one that is difficult to describe. When my parents divorced, I wrote to you daily, wishing only for your support. When I was constantly ridiculed for my absurd name, I scribbled meaningless words into your pages. Each time, you accepted me whole-heartedly. For this, I am forever in your debt. Things between us, however, have slowed to the point of oblivion. I have grown up, as they would say in movies meant for children. I'm doing what I've always adored now, I'm in total control of everything. I'm a composer, for ******** sake. I don't think there's a career that guarantees as much control as my current one. Things are finally going well for me, and I don't need your meaningless support any longer. This may seem sudden, but what were you expecting? I haven't written to you in years. I just thought I should end it, before you get too attached. Anyway, you'll probably find yourself burnt to a crisp, or in the garbage can with your pages torn out. It was nice while it lasted.

Sincerely,

Mervyn Johnson.


Unable to feel much compassion for the inanimate object, the young man exited his room calmly, leaving the tattered book to mourn his loss. What he didn't realize, however, was how bitter journals are. Diaries, in particular, are especially vengeful. Swallowing back its sadness, the suddenly abandoned diary began to plot. In an attempt to return the pain and misery that had befallen it, the emotionally-injured object mustered all of the strength it had left, and cast a curse. โ€œYou shall never be in control of your own fate. You will ultimately suffer. There is no escape for you.โ€

And that was that.


Six days, fourty two minutes, and thirteen seconds following this event, Mervyn Johnson felt his control of life spiraling wildly out of control. And this painful series of events started with a minute, unimportant detail. His fingers were cold. At first, it was just an occasional chilliness, nipping anxiously at his fingers. Soon, though, it progressed into pain in his fingertips, along with blue fingers. Regretably, he pursued medical assistance, soon discovering that he was a victim of Raynaud's Phenomenon, a disorder that constricted the blood flow to his fingers. Why it had not surfaced previously in his life remained unknown, though somewhere in a dumpster, a dirtied diary would have been smirking to itself. Mervyn, being the unemotional, determined young man that he was, continued on with his daily life. The sudden spasms of his hands grew more and more painful, eventually leaving him unable to hold a conducting baton. In losing the ability to control his hands completely, Mervyn soon lost his job, his scholarship, and nearly all of his savings.

Even with the hardships, he refused to succumb to depression, as most people normally do. Instead, he stayed in his apartment, perfecting the art of pastry making. His life long dreams of playing the guitar, painting masterpieces, and becoming an amazing conductor were shattered, so someone else's pipe dream would have to do. The pain soon became too much to bare, even for the strong-willed ex-composer. His fingers turned blue on a more frequent basis, leaving his hands almost constantly paralyzed. With no source of income left, seeing as refused to announce himself as 'handicapped,' soon he would no longer be in possession of a home. Feeling the world slipping from his grasp like everything else he attempted to hold, Mervyn decidedly took drastic measures. If he could no longer control his life, he would have the final decision, the ultimate control of his life. But he had to find the perfect way to do it.

After six days of consideration, his final fate was decided. He felt no remorse or guilt as he readied the setting, taking the time to pack his belongings up before doing the deed. He re-organized the bookshelves that were left a mess for months at a time, made one last meal for himself, checked his emails. His fingers, which had begun to turn blue once again, ached painfully. He winced, his fingers trembling and flailing in different direction, unwilling to adhere to his orders. Frustrated, Mervyn stood, carefully brushed the lint from his suit, and approached the window. Living in a six-story apartment building, there was no doubt in his mind of imminent death. In the face of it, however, he shrugged, too desperate to be the ultimate controller of his life. He took a cautious step out onto the ledge, forcing his body back against the walls for support. Had anyone even noticed his presence up there? Would anyone try to stop him? As he gazed down at the busy families and college students, too preoccupied with their cellphones and destination, he doubted they would even look up when he fell.

Falling. Was it really that simple? To fly, birds just had to aim for the ground and miss, right?

But what if he didn't miss?

Inhaling quietly, Mervyn leaned his body forward, his arms spread out, as if he were outstretching himself for a hug. No one would want to hug a corpse, though. As he fell, he realized that he was nothing but a corpse, even as the threads of life began to unwind from his body. The wind rushed through his force at an extended velocity, forcing a smirk to tug itself onto his lips, his eyes slipping closed. He could feel the ground approaching quickly, almost like a sixth-sense, desperately alerting him to his impending doom. He ignored this feeling, however. The media would classify him as another depressed psychopath, someone who was miserable enough to end their life. "But I'm not." He assured himself silently, the screams of those around him piercing his ears. "I'm the Eighth Wonder of the World. They just keep mistaking me for an average artifact. Some day...some day they'll know." He continued his thoughts, then prepared himself for the impact of the ground. It would be a swift and relatively painless experience, he hoped. Even if it wasn't, he felt relief in knowing that he truly had the final word. No disorder would get the better of him; it was his life, and to prove that he had control of it, he jumped. That wasn't what the media would see, but Mervyn hardly cared anymore. So long as he felt like a failure, that was torture enough. If not control, what was there to live for?

3...2...1...

S P L A T !




โœ–ttttttttโœ–tttttttโœ–tttttttโœ–


To his surprise, Mervyn found death to be somewhat uncomfortable, but not in the way he expected. What he believed to be traveling from world to another seemed to involve a lot of spinning, as if some God had flung his torso across time and space, like a frisbee. He was not a frisbee. Perhaps he would be, though, if reincarnation proved to be the next step for him. Absently, he wondered what would be waiting for him, once he got past this dizzying abyss between worlds. Speech, thought and even movement seemed to be non-existent. Even when he believed himself to be thinking, it felt different, almost as if he wasn't even there to think. He found himself unable to tilt or twist his body in any way, leaving him almost-wondering about his disorder. Had it disappeared when he died? Or would it be some cruel, sick joke to have him keep it forever. It wasn't as if he would be conducting any pieces in Hell. Was that really his fate, all because he had conquered an issue in his path? If he had the ability to shrug his shoulders, he would have, but he remained otherwise paralyzed. That seemed unfair to him, something life seemed to advertise on a daily basis. Perhaps death was much more discreet with its problems and consequences. Mervyn, if he even had an identity anymore, winced inwardly as he finally felt something: pain. His bones snapped forward, locking themselves in place once again, horribly broken and frayed after his fall. His flesh, which had been torn open when he hit the pavement, forced itself back together mercilessly, feeling as if someone had super-glued his face together again. Still unable to think or speak in this limbo, Mervyn swore non-mentally, plainly sick of falling. Perhaps this was his punishment for picking such a fate: maybe he'd have to fall forever, into nothingness. Just when hope seemed to wear thin, the recently deceased male felt his body tilting forward, falling at an entirely different angle now. It seemed faster, too, almost as if he were traveling at the speed of light now.

SPLAT!

But not quite...

He felt like a robot that had been unplugged, then rebooted. His surroundings were suddenly foreign and alien, yet held a sort of feeling that was meant to be familiar. Mervyn stared down at his legs, in perfect health, just as they had been before he jumped. He stared down at his fingers and frowned, noticing their familiar blue color. It wasn't until he focused on them, however, that he realized there was no longer any pain. If anything, his fingers were just numb. His whole body felt numb, an effect of death, he suspected. Tilting his head upwards, Mervyn examined a street light, which did a semi-decent job of illuminating the area. It was dark, yet it was somewhat illuminated outside, almost like twilight, just without a sun or a moon. "How indecisive." Mervyn frowned, at the thought, which finally personified into actual words in his brain. Though it wasn't spectacular by any means, he firmly decided that the bench was a much better refuge than the nothingness. Sighing softly, Mervyn remained seated, hoping that eventually something about his fate would become clear. He knew better than to run away from the unknown; it was just rude, in his personal opinion. He would, at least, give whatever it was that wanted to claim him a chance to explain, but if he didn't like what was offered to him...well, he'd cross that bridge if he got to it.

His gaze flickered forward as a clean sliding sound approached him, startling him out of his own head. He squinted, hoping that the action would give him a better insight of who resided inside the bus. Standing slowly, Mervyn brushed imaginary lint from his suit, straightening his posture before approaching the doors of the bus. Although he was mildly surprised to see another human in this world, the recently deceased did his best to mask it. Noting that there was no toll bucket, Mervyn took a reluctant step inside the bus, glancing behind him to the lone bench. Perhaps someone would be there shortly, waiting for a similar object of transportation, maybe even the same one. โ€Thank you.โ€ Mervyn replied to the driver's invitation, shrugging his shoulders wearily. Well, at least this man was polite. Taking precise, careful steps, the twenty-something year old decided on a seat in the middle of the expansive bus, sitting on the left side of the bus. At least he'd be able to see his driver, now. Perhaps he'd give him an idea of what was to come, or even where he was.

โ€So, I don't suppose you'll tell me what's listed for the tour today, will you?โ€ Mervyn inquired calmly, brushing his dark hair from his eyes as he spoke. Folding his hands in his lap, he glanced out the window, looking out into the vast green areas outside. โ€I would have gone with oceans. At least tried, anyway. I hear that most people like the ocean; just the sight relaxes them, apparently.โ€ The deceased commented quietly, speaking with such precision that implied he was not 'most people.' He'd allow this driver to take him, for now. What he would do if things got sticky was not on his mind at the moment, however. He focused on the little things, instead. For instance, he noticed that there was no air conditioning on the bus. Was there even any distinctive temperature in this world? He suspected an air conditioner wasn't necessary here, but the cool air might have been relaxing to passengers. Was he the only one? Glancing around the bus silently, Mervyn concluded that he was alone, aside from the lone, clean-cut bus driver. Although he was tempted to ask about the man at the front of the bus, he resisted the urge, and kept to himself, leaning his cheek against the window dully. Already, he felt as if he had been on the bus for far too long.


    โ __iknowi`mcrazybutit`s__
    s o __h a r d__t o__p r e t e n d __l i k e__i__k n o w__e v e r y t h i n g;
    ________i__d o n ` t__k n o w __a n y t h i n g ,__ i __ w a n t e d __ y o u __ t o __ s e e

    _____that i have NOTHING.__โž


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[โœ– M E R V Y N โœ–]
โSome of us get turned on by being called bitches.โž

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Genevieve Fiona MurphyDON'TYOUEVENTOUCHTHIS
DON'TTOUCHLUCYDON'TTOUCH


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                    gฯƒั‚ ั‚ะฝฮต fฮฑcั‚s?DON'TYOUTOUCHโœ”

                          I can't stand my name โ†˜ Nicknames are overrated. Genevieve will do just fine.
                          Oh how the years have pasted โ†˜ I was born in 1669, burned alive in 1692. I've kept my charming looks, and appear to be no older than 23.
                          Its all in the stars โ†˜ Scorpio.
                          You better get me something โ†˜ October twenty ninth.
                          You'd be blind not to see I'm a โ†˜ pure being of tits and a**! So yes, I have a v****a, you moron.
                          I can't help but love โ†˜ Boys are fun to tease and all, but it's an all-girls sleep over for me, personally.
                          The measurements say โ†˜ I'm a 32--Oh, you want those measurements! I stand at five feet, eight inches.
                          I'm tipping the scales at โ†˜ One hundred and twelve pounds. Underweight, I know, don't lecture me.


                    โ„“ฮตั‚s gฯƒ โˆ‚ฮตฮตฯฮตัDON'TYOUTOUCHโœ–

                          I am beyond awesome โ†˜ I love to be out in the wilderness, at least to some extent. I like to lie in the grass, on the beach, and anywhere else that's free of humanitys plague. Being born before all of this technology crap started up, I've always preferred the outdoors, and places free of smog. I tend to tease people as often as possible, especially men. Lucy chose me specifically to try to seduce the Angels out of Chuck's grasp, so I like to practice often. I've found that I'm quite the manipulator. Though it's not magical, I've always had the ability to convince people to do what I want. Men are just so easy to trick.
                          Don't you bring it near me โ†˜ Ugh, keep all of that pollution away from me! I can't stand the taste of tomatoes, either, so make sure you keep those out of my salads! The thing that disturbs me to no end is the amount of Do-Gooders here. Sometimes it's a little overwhelming, attempting to convert and lure them all to our side. You could say that I feel weakened by the idea of disappointing Lucy. I strive to be her favorite, and hope to become her right-hand woman once these Angels are taken care of. Whenever someone lectures me, I find myself feeling exhausted and uninterested, sometimes even drifting off if they whine long enough.
                          Please don't tell โ†˜ Well, keep this to yourself, but I was the one that originally accused Elizabeth of witchcraft when we lived in Salem together. She hasn't recognized me yet, as it was certainly a long time ago, but I also convinced her sister to marry the "trusted" fiance after she died, as well. Sadly, I didn't last long enough to see how it turned out, but I know the basics.
                          They're playing with my heart strings โ†˜ Lucy in the sky with diamonds. But keep your damn mouth shut!
                          Too cool for school โ†˜ I'm the most popular teacher around. You'll find me outside with the students, teaching them how to control their powers. It's the perfect chance to manipulate them.


                    ะผฯ…sั‚ yฯƒฯ… ฮฑsะบ?DON'TYOUTOUCHโœ”

                          Anything you can do, I can do better โ†˜ I have the ability to shapeshift, but keep your panties on, I can't be anyone. I can only shapeshift into animals, not people. If I'm shifting into an animal for an extended period of time, say three hours or more, I'll become exhausted upon turning human again, leaving me vulnerable. If I fall asleep shifted, I'll turn back into a human, fully nude. Yeah, remind me not to fall asleep as a cat in anyone's room. Although my power isn't necessarily offensive, you'd be surprised how much information I get. Maybe you should double check all the rooms when you're telling secrets; there might just be a fly on the wall, listening in.

                          I'm like a bird โ†˜ My wings are more of a maroon color, embodying my fiery personality. When exposed in the moonlight, they often look more of a dark brown color, which show how in touch with nature I am. Funny enough, my wings seem to match my hair color extremely well.

                          Love more or hate me โ†˜ I've always had a thing for making other suffer. I mean, I never directly murdered anyone, but I like consciously putting them in harm's way. Don't try to peg me as your stereotypical 'bad girl,' though, because I have some good qualities about me. I vote for anti-pollution laws, occasionally attend protests, and yes, I even recycle. But that isn't to say I'm one of those good kids who are meant to attend this place. Whenever I attend peaceful protests, I make sure that they end with a big, violent BANG, then slip out the side door, metaphorically speaking. I think my naturally deceptive ways attracted her first, especially after noticing how I indirectly killed a few people. I've been noted as an instigator, as it makes me somewhat amused to see those big, ugly veins on foreheads when they get angry. Mn, men are the easiest targets, and are often the ones who overreact. Even my fellow Forsaken aren't safe from my teasing. After all, I need someone to practice on, don't I? With that said, I think that immediately resorting to violence is silly and childish. If I want someone to suffer, I do it in the most strategic, unnoticeable way, as I never want to have a trail leading back to me. If things ever do start to get messy, I find that the easiest way to distract someone is with sex. Teasing is all well and good, but there's nothing that clears someone's mind like the friction of skin and genitalia; and that's something I've grown very skilled in.

                          I also pride myself in being able to manipulate people. Since the dark ages, I've been able to sway nearly any man into doing my bidding, which comes in handy. Unfortunately, it was the women in my village that eventually overthrew me, and even my relationship with the men couldn't help me by that time. I try to keep people guessing when I'm around, only because I can't let them get the full view into my personality. Lying has become priority number one around Haven, especially whenever I see Chuck around. Nothing unnerves me like he does, so I try to avoid him altogether. I'm not normally a nervous person, but there's something about eternal damnation and punishment that makes me a little uneasy. Can you blame me? I'm sure if worse came to worst, Lucy could protect me, at least in some way. But would she want to? Am I really worth the trouble? I would hope so.


                          Is my past checkered? โ†˜ I was born, raised, and killed in Salem, Massachusetts. It shouldn't take you long to assume what happened to me during this time, but we'll start at the beginning. I was born in 1969 to Mara and James Murphy, two loving parents who only wanted the best for their little girl. My mother, who originally believed herself to be infertile, eventually had me, her "miracle baby," as she called me. They catered to me with love and respect, spoiling me to the best of their ability, but it just wasn't enough. As I grew up, I became more and more spiteful towards the occupants of our village, if only because they treated my family poorly. I came from one of the poorer families in Salem, my father being a candle maker, my mother a milk maid. The children of local families taunted and teased me for having red hair, as it was always seen as the "hair color of witches." My mother, who also had red hair, became an easy target for jealous women in the village, mostly because she married my father. Even as a poor man, he was obviously an attractive, caring husband. My mother, who was nothing but a shining example of a wonderful person, was eventually accused of witchcraft. One woman in particular, a Mrs. Girvan, was said to be the original spreader of these rumors, and sparked the onlooking of our entire village. The women of our village would throw their shoes out the window, then hurriedly approach the village council, claiming it was my mother's witchcraft that did it. The rumors and accusations continued to pile on for months, until decidedly, my mother was "discovered" to be a witch. Being one of the first women to die for their non-existent sins, they tied metal blocks to her ankles and threw her in the lake, deciding that if she didn't float, she was a witch. Obviously, my mother perished at the hands of idiots.

                          I would have my revenge.

                          Much to my dismay, that old sick hag died before I could make her pay for her actions, so I devised another plan. Instead, I began to turn my attention to the other women that caused my mother's death, leaving my father heartbroken and distraught. For my parents' sake, I knew I had to make the guilty pay, to give them a taste of their own medicine. I would not rest until I saw each and every one of them burn. I started with the idiotic simpletons that went along with any rumor, and I became closely acquainted with the men of the village council. Although it disgusted me to be with men, I knew it would work in my benefit, so I went through with it. One by one, as the years passed, I began picking off the guilty that had a hand in my mother's death, and soon there was only one life unaccounted for. The kin of the main contributor would have to pay, and I'd be damned if they got away. And so, for the next two years, I examined them from afar, making note of everything in their life, and how best to make it crumble apart. It wasn't hard to concoct the perfect plan.

                          Once the time was right, once the oldest of kin was the happiest, I decided to snatch away everything that she had. Through the grapevine, I began spreading rumors of her involvement with the "strange occurrences" in our village. The fires in the homes of the powerful leaders of our village, the sudden plague of bugs that destroyed our crops, and of course, the women that would wake up with cut hair and torn clothes. Poor little Elizabeth was a shoe-in once her family's story got thrown around, and they immediately accused her of witchcraft. Oh my, you should've seen how beautiful it was, the flames engulfing her body once she was tied to the stake. In the moonlight, the flames just beautifully danced about her figure, slowly damaging her skin until her body could no longer hold itself together. The screams were fantastic. Later that night, I was approached by someone I had never met before, someone who would prove to be the most important figure in my afterlife. I met Lucy. Yes, the Lucy. She came to me in the forest later that evening, approaching me cautiously, but firmly. She offered me eternal life and the ability to bring punishment to the guilty, in exchange for one small thing: My death. I was reluctant at first, but I knew that this beautiful, extravagant beauty could be the change I needed once everything crashed down on me.

                          We spoke for quite some time, and she explained that once I died, I would soon be approached by a young man by the name of Chuck. She offered me protection and everything I ever wanted in exchange for my allegiance to her, so I reluctantly agreed. She did as she said, removing any evidence that would've linked me to the murders of the wicked women of Salem, and soon enough, it came my turn to be accused of witchcraft. While I was distracted by the offers of Lucy, I no longer took the time to cover my tracks and keep myself out of the desperate eye of witch hunters. Soon, my red hair and "witch mother," caught up with me, and I was burned at the stake like the last of my victims. Even if the claims of Lucy didn't prove to be valid, I burned happily, knowing that I had avenged my mother, and had slain the wicked. I felt myself drifting off into a white light of sorts, but perhaps that was my reaction to the intensity of the flames, burning and destroying my flesh.

                          I awoke later on, bathed in white light, and yet I was still living. Everything that Lucy had described to me had manifested, and amazed, I followed her every command. I lied to Chuck just as she had ordered, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. He gave me the options, and I immediately chose to be an employee, an Angel for him, though it repulsed me. Still torn between the two sides, I acted as a shining example for an Angel, helping people along their path. Soon, though, I discovered just how corrupt and horrible human beings were, and began to skip out on my duties. Chuck, who was too distracted with taking in more angels at the time, no longer kept tabs on me, and I was able to communicate with Lucy more and more. Soon enough, I found that I had fallen for her. Quite literally, I fell from Heaven in secrecy. At her command, I began to guide my horribly-behaved charges into harms way, convincing them that they were bad people and deserved to die. Lucy cleverly hid my charges, making sure they never reached the light of Heaven, and that Chuck would never learn of their deaths. Our relationship was a beautiful one. I clung to Lucy faithfully, even though her other Forsaken began to waiver. I acted jealously towards the others as they came along, as Lucy had come to be before I died. I was special, goddamn it. At least, that's what I wanted to believe.

                          I remained under Chuck's radar as I embraced my immortality, still secretly destroying the lives of my charges. Eventually, he invited the oldest of his Angels to become teachers in Haven, and offered me a position as well. Things were just getting too easy. I agreed to teach Power Control, with the permission of Lucy, as she knew I would be the perfect choice to teach students to use their powers for personal gain. On Earth, I enjoyed my abilities by running throughout the wilderness and traveling the world by flight. Although I try to avoid the suspicion from the others at Haven, lately I've been having to act like a good person, which disgusts me to no end. You could say that I've been somewhat changed by Lucy, but I know that her guidance is the right choice for me. Why aid Chuck's side in supporting the evils of the human race? I'm determined to convert each and every student into joining our side. I'm also determined to make Lucy mine; I'll be damned if some other Forsaken tries to take my place.



                    ฮตxั‚ัฮฑ ฮตxั‚ัฮฑ!DON'TYOUTOUCHโœ–

                          Yes, I sing in the shower โ†˜ Brand New Day - Neil Patrick Harris; Slipping - Neil Patrick Harris.
                          Did I get cloned? โ†˜ Susan Coffey.
                          I just remembered โ†˜ If anyone gets in my way, I'm not afraid to stop them.



X x - A l e x i s - X x
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User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.xxxxxxx ๆ€ใ„ใคใใจใฏ x ใƒใ‚นใƒˆใƒ•ใ‚ฉใƒผใƒžใƒƒใƒˆ x ๋‚  ๋„ ๋˜๋Œ๋ฆด ์ˆ˜ ์—†๋‚˜ ๋ด - - - - - โ”Š โ†’ โœฟ
xxxxxxxโ˜ž โ˜… โ˜œ ใ€Œ NOUVEAU - RICHE ใ€
xxxxxxxxx ๏น™PM๏นš&& ๏น™COMMENT๏นš - - โ ้ฉšๅ˜†ใซๅ€คใ™ใ‚‹ใ‚ฝใƒผใ‚น โž - โ€
xxxxxxxโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌโ–ฌ
xxxxxxxx โ€ โœฟ โ€ x ์ด์ œ ๋‚˜๋ฅผ ๋– ๋‚˜ ๊ฐ€๋Š” ๋„ˆ : ๋งค์ผ ๋ฐค์„ ์šธ๊ณ  ์žˆ์–ด ๋‚˜ โ˜‚
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx โ˜† ๆ„›ใ—ใฆใ„ใพใ™ !


                      <3 Shini.

                      I miss you.
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--SARANGHAE
xxxใ€Œ Right next to you is where I need to be. ใ€
x W x O x N x D x E x R x x G x I x R x L x S x โ™ฅxxxxxxxxx
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watchusrunintowallsandsmashourdreamsbutwe can'tthinkofwordstoutterbecausenosoundcomesout

โ HOW CAN I BE WITH ANOTHER? โž

You know I still love you, baby.



Words words words.
Another line of words.


And it'll never change.

โ I DON'T WANT ANY OTHER .โž
watchusrunintowallsandsmashourdreamsbutwe can'tthinkofwordstoutterbecausenosoundcomesout



----------------I WANT NOBODY
nobody but you...
You know it's not right so
just stop and come back boy.
How can this be when we
were meant to be?

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--HOLD IT!
xxxใ€Œ You're going down, Negatrash! ใ€
x S x A x I x L x O x R x x G x I x R x L x S x โ™ฅxxxxxxxxx
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watchusrunintowallsandsmashourdreamsbutwe can'tthinkofwordstoutterbecausenosoundcomesout

โ WE SHALL RIGHT WRONGS โž

Sailor Pluto, Sailor Saturn!



I keep forgetting to use this format.


xD I'm silly. I'm making tacos and salsa tonight. Except, I hate salsa with
a passion. Oh well, my family likes it.



Sailor Neptune, Sailor Uranus!

โ AND TRIUMPH OVER EVIL!โž
watchusrunintowallsandsmashourdreamsbutwe can'tthinkofwordstoutterbecausenosoundcomesout

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----------------WE ARE SAILOR SCOUTS
champions of justice!
On behalf of the planets,
we shall right wrongs
and triumph over evil!
And that means you!

xโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ
xx
User Imageโ–ˆUser Imageโ–ˆUser Image
xโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ
xxxxx RINI WICKED LADY xxxxxx โœ–โœ–`
x x x x x x x x x x x xAnd I hear your words that I made up,
x x x x x x x x x x x xyou say my name like there could be an us,
x x x x x x x x x x x xI'd best tidy up my head, I'm the only one in love.
x x x x x x x x x x x โ– โ– โ–  xxxxxx
Mervyn Johnson slumped his shoulders uncharacteristically, emitting a quiet sigh. He had never been so bothered by silence. Though he reasoned that this would be a good time to think, or even to concoct an escape plan, but he shrugged the thought off. The word, 'tired,' came to mind, but he was anything but exhausted. In fact, he felt as though he would never have to sleep again, which he suspected to be factual. Even so, he didn't feel alert, nor did he feel very much 'awake.' He was simply present, and that was that. Leaning his forehead against the window, Mervyn listlessly watched the vibrant shade of green roll by, getting brighter by the second. 'Okay, any brighter and my eyeballs will burn out of their sockets.' He thought harshly, a part of him knowing the unidentified man could hear him. Mervyn let his eyes slip closed, exhaling calmly as he thought of his current situation. He gently grazed his fingertips against the fabric of
    โ __i`llsitbackandi`llwatch__
    t h e__ s h o w , __y e a h __i ` l l__w a t c h__t h e __s h o w
    __________a n d__i ` l l__l a y__ a w a k e ,
    __________________a n d__i ` l l__w a t c h __t h e __ s t a r s__

    _____as theyCOLLIDE.__โž


Mervyn Johnson slumped his shoulders uncharacteristically, emitting a quiet sigh. He had never been so bothered by silence. Though he reasoned that this would be a good time to think, or even to concoct an escape plan, but he shrugged the thought off. The word, 'tired,' came to mind, but he was anything but exhausted. In fact, he felt as though he would never have to sleep again, which he suspected to be factual. Even so, he didn't feel alert, nor did he feel very much 'awake.' He was simply present, and that was that. Leaning his forehead against the window, Mervyn listlessly watched the vibrant shade of green roll by, getting brighter by the second. 'Okay, any brighter and my eyeballs will burn out of their sockets.' He thought harshly, a part of him knowing the unidentified man could hear him. Mervyn let his eyes slip closed, exhaling calmly as he thought of his current situation. He gently grazed his fingertips against the fabric of the seat, noting how dull everything felt. Beginning a conversation in his mind, he agreed that he would miss the texture of cotton candy, but definitely not actual cotton. Immediately, he imagined the sensation of chewing on a cotton ball, which made him grimace just as suddenly. Glancing down at his arms, he discovered no sign of goosebumps, as such a thought normally produced. The newly-deceased man found himself to be disappointed with his body's lack of interest with his mind, but assumed that this was one of many changes that would occur. How boring.

Allowing his eyes to flicker back towards the window, stared at the condensation on the glass in mild amusement. At least I still have some sort of bodily function left. He thought to himself, raising his finger to draw an image on the fogged-up window. His eyes shifted from the window to his finger, a deep blue color, which stared right back at him. He had almost forgotten about his unfortunate disease, which refused to leave him, even after he left the world above. Or was he above? He was certainly somewhere, but he was relatively sure it was not Earth at all, unless it was an obscure location like Missouri that stretched on for miles. Shaking the distraction from his mind, Mervyn frowned at his fingertip, which lightly trembled as it neared the window pane. Desperate to mask the sympathy he almost expressed for himself, he hastily returned his hand to his lap and huffed, turning away from the window. The driver would probably make a fuss if he began drawing shapes on the windows, anyway, so what was the point of getting into more trouble? Expressing malcontent and bitterness was always preferable to real emotion in his mind, so he stuck to what he succeeded in. While most had the skill of being natural cooks, or even natural comedians, Mervyn Johnson was a natural narcissist.

And that was that.


Six days, fourty two minutes, and thirteen seconds following this event, Mervyn Johnson felt his control of life spiraling wildly out of control. And this painful series of events started with a minute, unimportant detail. His fingers were cold. At first, it was just an occasional chilliness, nipping anxiously at his fingers. Soon, though, it progressed into pain in his fingertips, along with blue fingers. Regretably, he pursued medical assistance, soon discovering that he was a victim of Raynaud's Phenomenon, a disorder that constricted the blood flow to his fingers. Why it had not surfaced previously in his life remained unknown, though somewhere in a dumpster, a dirtied diary would have been smirking to itself. Mervyn, being the unemotional, determined young man that he was, continued on with his daily life. The sudden spasms of his hands grew more and more painful, eventually leaving him unable to hold a conducting baton. In losing the ability to control his hands completely, Mervyn soon lost his job, his scholarship, and nearly all of his savings.

Even with the hardships, he refused to succumb to depression, as most people normally do. Instead, he stayed in his apartment, perfecting the art of pastry making. His life long dreams of playing the guitar, painting masterpieces, and becoming an amazing conductor were shattered, so someone else's pipe dream would have to do. The pain soon became too much to bare, even for the strong-willed ex-composer. His fingers turned blue on a more frequent basis, leaving his hands almost constantly paralyzed. With no source of income left, seeing as refused to announce himself as 'handicapped,' soon he would no longer be in possession of a home. Feeling the world slipping from his grasp like everything else he attempted to hold, Mervyn decidedly took drastic measures. If he could no longer control his life, he would have the final decision, the ultimate control of his life. But he had to find the perfect way to do it.

After six days of consideration, his final fate was decided. He felt no remorse or guilt as he readied the setting, taking the time to pack his belongings up before doing the deed. He re-organized the bookshelves that were left a mess for months at a time, made one last meal for himself, checked his emails. His fingers, which had begun to turn blue once again, ached painfully. He winced, his fingers trembling and flailing in different direction, unwilling to adhere to his orders. Frustrated, Mervyn stood, carefully brushed the lint from his suit, and approached the window. Living in a six-story apartment building, there was no doubt in his mind of imminent death. In the face of it, however, he shrugged, too desperate to be the ultimate controller of his life. He took a cautious step out onto the ledge, forcing his body back against the walls for support. Had anyone even noticed his presence up there? Would anyone try to stop him? As he gazed down at the busy families and college students, too preoccupied with their cellphones and destination, he doubted they would even look up when he fell.

Falling. Was it really that simple? To fly, birds just had to aim for the ground and miss, right?

But what if he didn't miss?

Inhaling quietly, Mervyn leaned his body forward, his arms spread out, as if he were outstretching himself for a hug. No one would want to hug a corpse, though. As he fell, he realized that he was nothing but a corpse, even as the threads of life began to unwind from his body. The wind rushed through his force at an extended velocity, forcing a smirk to tug itself onto his lips, his eyes slipping closed. He could feel the ground approaching quickly, almost like a sixth-sense, desperately alerting him to his impending doom. He ignored this feeling, however. The media would classify him as another depressed psychopath, someone who was miserable enough to end their life. "But I'm not." He assured himself silently, the screams of those around him piercing his ears. "I'm the Eighth Wonder of the World. They just keep mistaking me for an average artifact. Some day...some day they'll know." He continued his thoughts, then prepared himself for the impact of the ground. It would be a swift and relatively painless experience, he hoped. Even if it wasn't, he felt relief in knowing that he truly had the final word. No disorder would get the better of him; it was his life, and to prove that he had control of it, he jumped. That wasn't what the media would see, but Mervyn hardly cared anymore. So long as he felt like a failure, that was torture enough. If not control, what was there to live for?

3...2...1...

S P L A T !




โœ–ttttttttโœ–tttttttโœ–tttttttโœ–


To his surprise, Mervyn found death to be somewhat uncomfortable, but not in the way he expected. What he believed to be traveling from world to another seemed to involve a lot of spinning, as if some God had flung his torso across time and space, like a frisbee. He was not a frisbee. Perhaps he would be, though, if reincarnation proved to be the next step for him. Absently, he wondered what would be waiting for him, once he got past this dizzying abyss between worlds. Speech, thought and even movement seemed to be non-existent. Even when he believed himself to be thinking, it felt different, almost as if he wasn't even there to think. He found himself unable to tilt or twist his body in any way, leaving him almost-wondering about his disorder. Had it disappeared when he died? Or would it be some cruel, sick joke to have him keep it forever. It wasn't as if he would be conducting any pieces in Hell. Was that really his fate, all because he had conquered an issue in his path? If he had the ability to shrug his shoulders, he would have, but he remained otherwise paralyzed. That seemed unfair to him, something life seemed to advertise on a daily basis. Perhaps death was much more discreet with its problems and consequences. Mervyn, if he even had an identity anymore, winced inwardly as he finally felt something: pain. His bones snapped forward, locking themselves in place once again, horribly broken and frayed after his fall. His flesh, which had been torn open when he hit the pavement, forced itself back together mercilessly, feeling as if someone had super-glued his face together again. Still unable to think or speak in this limbo, Mervyn swore non-mentally, plainly sick of falling. Perhaps this was his punishment for picking such a fate: maybe he'd have to fall forever, into nothingness. Just when hope seemed to wear thin, the recently deceased male felt his body tilting forward, falling at an entirely different angle now. It seemed faster, too, almost as if he were traveling at the speed of light now.

SPLAT!

But not quite...

He felt like a robot that had been unplugged, then rebooted. His surroundings were suddenly foreign and alien, yet held a sort of feeling that was meant to be familiar. Mervyn stared down at his legs, in perfect health, just as they had been before he jumped. He stared down at his fingers and frowned, noticing their familiar blue color. It wasn't until he focused on them, however, that he realized there was no longer any pain. If anything, his fingers were just numb. His whole body felt numb, an effect of death, he suspected. Tilting his head upwards, Mervyn examined a street light, which did a semi-decent job of illuminating the area. It was dark, yet it was somewhat illuminated outside, almost like twilight, just without a sun or a moon. "How indecisive." Mervyn frowned, at the thought, which finally personified into actual words in his brain. Though it wasn't spectacular by any means, he firmly decided that the bench was a much better refuge than the nothingness. Sighing softly, Mervyn remained seated, hoping that eventually something about his fate would become clear. He knew better than to run away from the unknown; it was just rude, in his personal opinion. He would, at least, give whatever it was that wanted to claim him a chance to explain, but if he didn't like what was offered to him...well, he'd cross that bridge if he got to it.

His gaze flickered forward as a clean sliding sound approached him, startling him out of his own head. He squinted, hoping that the action would give him a better insight of who resided inside the bus. Standing slowly, Mervyn brushed imaginary lint from his suit, straightening his posture before approaching the doors of the bus. Although he was mildly surprised to see another human in this world, the recently deceased did his best to mask it. Noting that there was no toll bucket, Mervyn took a reluctant step inside the bus, glancing behind him to the lone bench. Perhaps someone would be there shortly, waiting for a similar object of transportation, maybe even the same one. โ€Thank you.โ€ Mervyn replied to the driver's invitation, shrugging his shoulders wearily. Well, at least this man was polite. Taking precise, careful steps, the twenty-something year old decided on a seat in the middle of the expansive bus, sitting on the left side of the bus. At least he'd be able to see his driver, now. Perhaps he'd give him an idea of what was to come, or even where he was.

โ€So, I don't suppose you'll tell me what's listed for the tour today, will you?โ€ Mervyn inquired calmly, brushing his dark hair from his eyes as he spoke. Folding his hands in his lap, he glanced out the window, looking out into the vast green areas outside. โ€I would have gone with oceans. At least tried, anyway. I hear that most people like the ocean; just the sight relaxes them, apparently.โ€ The deceased commented quietly, speaking with such precision that implied he was not 'most people.' He'd allow this driver to take him, for now. What he would do if things got sticky was not on his mind at the moment, however. He focused on the little things, instead. For instance, he noticed that there was no air conditioning on the bus. Was there even any distinctive temperature in this world? He suspected an air conditioner wasn't necessary here, but the cool air might have been relaxing to passengers. Was he the only one? Glancing around the bus silently, Mervyn concluded that he was alone, aside from the lone, clean-cut bus driver. Although he was tempted to ask about the man at the front of the bus, he resisted the urge, and kept to himself, leaning his cheek against the window dully. Already, he felt as if he had been on the bus for far too long.


    โ __iknowi`mcrazybutit`s__
    s o __h a r d__t o__p r e t e n d __l i k e__i__k n o w__e v e r y t h i n g;
    ________i__d o n ` t__k n o w __a n y t h i n g ,__ i __ w a n t e d __ y o u __ t o __ s e e

    _____that i have NOTHING.__โž


User Image

[โœ– M E R V Y N โœ–]
User Image User Image






--CATFACE
xxxใ€Œ I don't know, I'm a cat! Honestly! ใ€
x S x I x L x L x Y x x C x A x T x F x A x C x E x โ™ฅxxxxxxxxx


User Imagewatchusrunintowallsandsmashourdreamsbutwe can'tthinkofwordstoutterbecausenosoundcomesout

โ I HAVE RUBBED ON YOU! โž

I see your lips moving,



Words words words.
Another line of words.


but all I hear is silliness!

โ NOW YOU BELONG TO ME!โž
watchusrunintowallsandsmashourdreamsbutwe can'tthinkofwordstoutterbecausenosoundcomesout



----------------CATFACE HE IS
a big CATFACE...
He's got the body of a cat
and the face of a cat
and he flies through the air
because he's got a catface.
CATFACE!

xโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ
xx
User Imageโ–ˆUser Imageโ–ˆUser Image
xโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆxโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ
xxxxx GRAPE YUUNA MORI xxxxxx โœ–โœ–`
x x x x x x x x x x x xIs it an emotion that can't be helped?
x x x x x x x x x x x x x xOh no! W-wait a second, hey, I might be serious!
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xSo I set my heart in motion, but I don't think I understand.
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x I t ' s__j u s t__m y s t e r i o u s ! โ™ฅ
x x x x x x x x x x x x x โ– โ– โ–  xxxxxx
            ______________GRAPE :: GUM


        User Image
            สฯ…sั‚ ั‚ะฝั” ะฒฮฑฮนscฮนs

            name
            Yuuna Mori.
            disability
            Yuuna cannot feel anger.
            gender
            Female!
            collected by
            The Druggie.


            ฮฑ โ„“ฮนั‚ั‚โ„“ั” โˆ‚ั”ั”ฯั”ั

            defining features
            Unlike her older sister, Yuuna does not have any moles on her body. She possesses light blue hair, as well as a fascination for the color. Her eyes feature a tint of violet, and her cheeks are naturally flushed.
            from the horse's mouth
            โ€œSilent gratitude isn't much use to anyone.โ€
            head in the clouds
            Though anger is something she would not prefer to live with on a constant basis, Yuuna frequently imagines herself as an angry, vengeful person. Would she have friends? Would she be closer to her siblings? Would she even survive the guilt that follows the outbursts?


                                                      ะธฮฑะบั”โˆ‚

                                                      personality
                                                      Just because anger isn't a word in her dictionary, Yuuna is anything but weak. When danger is involved, it's definitely a matter of fight or flight. Taking after her older sister, Yuuna will stand her ground and fight for her life if she must, but for the most part, she tries to avoid it. Though the lack of anger has pros and cons in fighting, Yuuna feels that it works to her advantage. Without all of the messy feelings of rage, she can think clearly in a fight, though her strength is compromisable. Even so, were anyone to offer to protect her, she would attempt to make herself seem much tougher than she is, if only to ward them off. Though she is not necessarily strong, she believes herself to be intelligent enough to ease her way out of a fight. Lying isn't her strong suit, but she can bend the truth like nobody's business!

                                                      The polar opposite of her older sister, Yuuna is incapable of feeling anger. Without this, she often finds herself more vulnerable to sadness and grief, seeing it as her only way to cope. She sees the world as a beautiful place, but would much prefer staying indoors than exploring the streets. After her encounter with the terrifying streets of Nikkล, Yuuna finds herself uncomfortable out in the open. Doing her best to surround herself with love, she enjoys caring for others, so long as they have not previously gotten on her bad list. Her sister Mami being a prime example, who was always ignored and disregarded when she needed help. Deluding herself into thinking she is kind to everyone, Yuuna finds no need to speak to strangers, as she believes she has already put a ray of sunshine into their day. In truth, however, she has a paralyzing fear of strangers.

                                                      Unable to see what sparks anger, Yuuna will often come off as harsh and judging, though she doesn't mean to cause a commotion. If someone were to ask how they looked that afternoon, she would be the first to pipe in, "Your hair looks awful," if only to tell the person the truth. Why they get so upset and stomp off, she'd never truly understand. For the most part, Yuuna has an appropriate sense of humor, confiding in innocent jokes. When confronted with something dirty and sexual, however, she often finds herself embarrassed and uncomfortable. Unlike her youngest sister, she knows all about how dirty and disgusting people of the world can be, and attempted to hide it from her younger sister. How was Yuuna supposed to know that they would both eventually get booted from the house?

                                                      background
                                                      When Yuuna was created, she saw the world as a wide, wonderful place that had no limit. Her father had shown her the beauty of the inside world, realizing his 'errors' with his first artificial daughter. Being the second eldest in the family, Yuuna grew accustomed to living with Ibu and her father. To her, they were the world, the only two that she would do everything she could to please. When the two siblings were the only ones, they got along well, bonding because no one else could understand their formation. Yuuna did her best to care for her sister and her father when they became visibly upset. Their father would become angry when he got stuck during his creating, slinking further into the downward spiral of isolation. When their father drew farther away, Ibu was left to herself, as she was the older one. Though she enjoyed her time alone for a while, Yuuna could see the anger growing inside of her. She waited patiently for her own angry spell to arise, but to no avail. In her father's eyes, she was simply mild-mannered, so he often kept her near, in order to study her habits. He would ask her a series of questions every day, hoping to rouse an answer to aid his studies. "What is your favorite color?" He would ask, requesting simple answers for the first few weeks. As time went on, however, his questions became more precise and serious. "Do you ever feel like running away?" He asked as he worried about Ibu's anxiety to leave the home. Though Yuuna swore that she would never leave her family behind, she felt as though her father didn't believe her. Things went on normally for quite some time, until her father asked his final question.

                                                      "Yuuna, what makes you the most angry?"
                                                      "What do you mean, father?" She asked quietly, shifting in her chair.
                                                      "It's okay, you can tell me. What makes you mad?" He prepared his pen to write her answer.
                                                      "N-nothing?" Yuuna replied uncomfortably, unsure of what she was expected to say.

                                                      After an hour of explaining that she didn't feel any anger, her father finally understood, and swore to himself. After that, she was never invited back for questions, and their third sibling was created. Yuuna went to Ibu for consolation, as she began to feel inferior to her newly-'born' sister. She always suspected that her father saw Mami as the superior daughter, and frequently avoided her younger sister. As more and more siblings were created, Yuuna noticed her older sister pulling away from everyone in the family. Feeling as if this was her doing, Yuuna felt beside herself with confusion and grief, convinced that she had caused everyone pain. Was it because she could not feel anger that they didn't want to be with her? For years, she attempted to force out a snappy, angry remark to her siblings, but the best she could attempt was hysterical sobbing. Instead of distancing herself from those she felt were ignoring her, Yuuna did her best to re-approach them, hoping to win back their affection. She found herself doing the household cooking and cleaning, as her father and sisters soon began to occupy their time with other hobbies. Despite Mami's desperate attempts to reach out for help with sleeping, Yuuna successfully ignored her, claiming that she was too busy to provide any assistance. It wasn't really a lie, considering how much laundry began to pile up as more siblings were created out of the blue.

                                                      As Yuuna continued to note her older sister's fascination with the outside world, she decided to win her older sister over by getting her something from the town. Though she was young at the time, she believed herself to be mature enough to maneuver her way through the city. When her father was occupied with his studies and experiments, Yuuna fled, jumping the gates that protected their home from outsiders. She soon found herself overwhelmed by the hustle of the small city, barely managing to get to the shops of town without being run over. She uncomfortably wandered through one of the shops for a gift for her sister, until she found something she thought Ibu would like. Since she had never been educated about the outside world like Ibu was, Yuuna had no idea that she was expected to pay for things. In fact, she didn't even know what money was. When she began to leave, the shopkeeper pulled her back, telling her that she couldn't just take items from his shop. Frightened of the contact from a stranger, Yuuna wrenched away and ran back home, sobbing. She kicked and shoved at the gate to their estate, too emotionally weak to even fathom climbing over it again. Her father wandered out and found her, dirtied and afraid, and ushered her inside. He scolded her firmly, expressing his anger upon his only daughter who could not understand the emotion. She fled to Ibu's room, knocking on her sister's door urgently, eager to give her the gift she had stolen from the shop. When she opened her palms, however, she noticed she had clenched the object so tightly, it had broken into six different parts. Ashamed that she could not even accomplish a simple goal for her biggest inspiration, Yuuna dropped the glass swan she had stolen and fled to her own room, too humiliated to even face her sister.

                                                      As time went on, Yuuna acted as the support system of her siblings, doing her best to accomplish any favors they requested. Her father never trusted her fully after her little vanishing stunt, and rarely asked her for anything. When he did call on his second eldest daughter, however, he always kept an angry, harsh tone with her. Yuuna could hardly face her father anymore, so she would leave his food and laundry at the basement door, then leave to do the rest of her work. Unlike some of her other siblings, she had no fascination with the outside world, especially after her frightening experience in the city. Had it been up to her, she would have eagerly stayed in the home to take care of her siblings, and to keep to her delicate work around the house. Every so often, she would express her cooking skills and surprise her family with a gourmet meal, but their father never seemed to appreciate her showiness. Since Ibu took the newspapers and Mami used the computer constantly, Yuuna was left to browse through her father's limited library. He didn't have much available, save for a few classics and a variety of cooking books. When she found a free time in-between chores, she picked up new tricks for later meals, as well as ideas for flavor combinations and presentations for meals. Once she had read through all of the cook books, Yuuna discovered a fascination with books in general. She eagerly read of adventures she would never have, and people she would never meet. Though somewhere inside she wished for some sort of adventure in her life, she reasoned that her family needed her, and pushed such thoughts aside.

                                                      Though she attempted to stay available to all of her siblings, Yuuna found solace in Ibu more than anyone else in their dysfunctional family. She could see Ibu's rage melting away as the years went on, but unfortunately, she didn't bother filling herself with anything in its place. So, being the problem-solver of the family, Yuuna filled her sister up with food. It wasn't much, but even Ibu couldn't resist the remedy of homemade desserts and treats. Whenever she could, Yuuna would sneak up goodie bags to her older sister's room, doing her best to hide them from her other sisters. She would often sit with Ibu and chat, allowing her sister to talk about the outside world, even though Yuuna wasn't particularly interested. She did her best to make things easier for her distraught sister, and would not dare to talk about something she loved around her sister. While some of their other siblings might have been more insensitive, Yuuna took it upon herself to remain a beacon of hope for her sister, even when she could not fathom any positive emotions.

                                                      When Yumi was created, even Yuuna could see the similarities between them. Even when she was young, Yumi did her best to assist her older sister with the household duties. Never the type to be territorial, Yuuna felt the need to split her time between both Ibu and Yumi evenly, helping them through their problems. More than anyone else in the household, Yuuna wanted to be there for her younger sister, and nurtured her caring heart. Somewhere inside, Yuuna always wondered if their father had referred to the notes he took when she was only a child in order to create Yumi. Just the though of disappointing her father upset her, often to the point of crying around Yumi, despite her attempts to turn off her water-works. Upsetting her younger sister was the last thing she wanted to do, and yet, the second-eldest found herself doing it on a constant basis. She would blame it on onions and the books she read, but inside, she felt responsible for Yumi's disability. Perhaps if she would have given some other answers to her father, her sweetest sister would not have been unable to cry. Though she blamed herself completely, Yuuna displayed brave and bold qualities when Yumi was around, hoping they would rub off on her cleaning comrade. Whenever she became upset, Yuuna would take her into her arms and comfort her, even as her sister got older.

                                                      One day, her father called her down into the basement, where she hadn't been since he had questioned her. This time, however, he brought the rest of her siblings with her. She thought perhaps she was in trouble once again, or perhaps they were moving. However, their father seemed uncharacteristically haggered, but she hadn't seen him in what seemed like years. Was he always this distraught? Before she could think of another possibility, a flash of light dominated her senses.

                                                      า“ฮนะธฮฑโ„“โ„“ั‡
                                                      Xx-Alexis-Xx
                                                      #7EB6FF // #8470FF // #5D478B

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