[»------ ß0× 0ƒ lemons ------→] Test & Archive

[Korrye]

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A place to test out profile formatting and colour coding. This is for my use only. Please don't post here. Please do not steal any of the content here, the idea, the coding or even the colors without asking me first. I'm nice but this took up A LOT of my time. Personally, the images taken are not mine but the alternations, picnik and photoshop jobs are. Please ask me before you take or use them! I may say yes, it never hurts to try.

►So I'm Korrye. I'm the writer behind these characters. At this point in time I am dedicated to this. I find it enjoyable to sit and write a story. Everything I write is fiction. Some include facts that exist in real life but the characters, situations and personalities behind them are not based off of people other than myself. Each one has a bit of me in them. I find it easier to write them since I'm experienced. Several are fan-fictions essentially, although they do not directly use characters that were created in movies or comics. A prime example of something along those lines is Aleks. She's an assassin living in the Jason Bourne world, working under Noah Vosen. Whenever I write Aleks and for the most part what is shown here, she's the only one under my control. As of yet, Vosen has always been controlled by Henri Ducard. So, my characters are important to me. Although few are in use at a time this thread is completely for my testing and organizing but also as a reference thread if I'm applying anywhere. Please leave the content be. If you're curious about anything send me a message though I don't I have anyone following what is written here. I've tried to dig up a lot of the group thread links. I don't have them all unfortunately but I do have some. Check them out, most are dormant and some aren't. Follow the story. Give me feedback. I would appreciate it in any form. Thanks a bunch.


Character Index
In the order they appear:

Loki – Aio Koete
Vivien – Hantaisha
Cora – NBK2 *Original NBK
Cole – In Times of War
Stella – The One
Carson – Touch the Sky
Daire – Fractured Destiny
Meredith – Sugar & Spice or Vodka & Ice
Dylin – A conflict of interests
Jetta – Bubblegum
Khalli – Illaran
Tarragon – Ante Up!
Thor – Soda Pop
Thyian – Passing Seasons
Roen – League of Blades
Lyla - Lights, Camera, Action!
Korrye/Aleks - One x One and at first Quality Street
Aleks the Arian - One x One with Felix Locke - City in the Skye
Lexi Roberts - One x One with DB Teaching the Art
Chad Harris - Group Roleplay Guest Appearance Light's, Camera, Action V2.0
Marlis Klein - Group ADV Harry Potter The Golden Silkworm & Alohomora
Rika Natsuko - Group Magical Girl The Miracle Stone
Naomi Moncion - Group 'Push' Theme Wake
Poppy Duff - Group ADV Harry Potter Veritaserum
Lye Delph - One on One Original w/Felix Dual Syndrome
Evangèline Barr - Harry Potter Group Cruor Vox
Aisha Peres - Hawaii Surf/Group Roleplay Oahu Paradise

**All links go directly to the OOC threads which all link you IC.

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[Korrye]

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The Reganne family is something of a hierarchy in the world of Avennue. Not quite royalty, they are the closest things to celebrities. Their family lineage traces back hundreds of years with all members having been faithful to their country. The men more often than not are active soldiers and commanding officers. The women are patient socialites who interact with the crowds and usher in aid when needed. It was never known for one of them to step out of line, to go so far as to trash the ideals of the family. They were considered the perfect family although always far from it. On the inside the men bickered with one another, father son relationships didn’t exist and several times people left the family, changed their names and decided that they didn’t want to deal with the pressure anymore. The Reganne family was always reliable. Every member who was a member did everything they could for the Highland. They were a family of blood sweat and tears.

Loki was the first daughter to arrive within the Reganne family for generations. Years upon years of reliability and honorability had been built upon the men; fathers and sons. She was a rarity, her visual appearance stepping outside of her family’s normality. From the moment her hair grew it was fiery red, bright and tinted with gold it seemed in the sunlight. Her eyes were bold butterscotch and her wings were like no others; charcoal black with white and not silvery unlike those of her brothers. Loki was the second oldest in her family and the only daughter to her father. She had Tarquin, her older brother followed by Joaquin, Kenai, and Vaughn. Her father was the eldest and was the elder, the grandest of all the Reganne for his superior rank in the army, Commander General. As a child Loki was surrounded by the people of Sel Sander while their main residence was in Hallekai. Travelling was a constant thing so the majority of her friends were her family. She was always ushered around under the wing of her father more than her mother. It was important for her to be in the spotlight, they claimed. She was an oddity and the people wanted to see her. From the moment it was discovered that she was simply different her parents were always very aware of her. They thought that because she fell so out of line of the Reganne normality that she was destined to replace her father eventually, to be the greatest and a leader to the people of the Highland. Loki never truly understood why her parents never thought the opposite, that because she was so different that she was bound to ruin their family name. They always rolled they eyes when as a child she brought up the subject. “The people will always forgive you for small mistakes. If you fall walking to a podium, stand and clap and smile darling. It will always wash over.” Her father’s words had always been in her mind. He made it seem as if anything that she did would never be enough to even tarnish the Reganne name.

Loki’s childhood was a press filled anomaly that seemed to pass by in a blur. It even seemed so to her family. Time could never find a way to slow down, it only went faster. Soon she was no longer clad in lace dresses and berets, towed around by her father. Instead she was a teenager looking for her place, where in the world did she fit in as a Reganne. Unlike others she did not enjoy the company of other socialites. The class system was something of a mockery to her when she could finally formulate an opinion. She did not enjoy sitting in the company of other families who were like hers. Airheads and egos floated around her in a constant cycle if she chose to do so. The best way to avoid being in that situation was simply to ignore those people and let them continue on with their ignorant lives. Schooling was a must have for Loki so she attended. Education was given in the ‘highest’ quality. She was your average student, brighter when it came to solving trigonometric problems instead of thinking about ‘why’ a person acted a certain way. Strategy and mathematics became her strong holds and by the time she was sixteen she had squeezed herself into any conversation revolving around the troops and the armies of the Highland. You see, with her father having been a general it was not uncommon for other commanders to be within their household, discussing and planning despite the lack of a need for such things. It was obvious that the men still felt a need for it, like there was a tension forming between the two worlds. When the assassination occurred the men had flown into action. Loki was too young to recall a world that did not revolve around the war. It was something that she lived with. It was not until she was eighteen that she actually lived it.

The moment that Loki graduated was when she was able to join the armed forced of the Highland. She chose a route not often suited to a woman, more so a person from her status. The press had a field day the moment they learned that she was off to boot camp. Mothers objected to it claiming that Loki had a need to serve the people of society, to aid the men not fight with them. It was a troubling circumstance. Loki at first had doubts. It wasn’t until she spoke in private to her father, as a soldier, that she felt that her position on the opponent would never falter.

“Daddy, they’re telling me that it’s not right for me to be doing this…to be fighting.”

It took a moment for the general to respond.

“First and foremost, Lieutenant Reganne, I am speaking to you as a soldier-not as a daughter.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Secondly, your attitude towards the war is inspiring to the men out there. Inspiring to other children. I’m not saying that every woman needs to jump into this war. We need just as many people here as on the field. However, lieutenant, if you turn back now you’ll only ridicule yourself and the army. Never, and I repeat, falter from your values just because the media says it’s wrong. Believe in your beliefs. Follow the path that you feel has been given to you.”

“Yes Sir.”

“You are dismissed lieutenant.”

It had certainly seemed as if her father had been speaking to her as a daughter during the last few moments but Loki would never be sure. All she knew was that she was in the right place for her. The battlefield, management and fighting, even more so winning, seemed to be her path.

The Reganne family reputation was thrown in her face during her first few days of training. The boot camp instructors showed no mercy on her. They, in fact, made her work harder. There were no moments of relaxation, only work. If they weren’t being instructed then they were during chores, specific duties around the training encampments that had to be done. If they weren’t then you were in for a beating in the form of a lecture. At first Loki had had her doubts. The media had made it seem as if she were a devil for choosing the army life instead of the socialites in Sel Sander. But the more she performed the drills to top precision, the more she beat out the young guns and did her duties, the more she felt at ease and in the right place. She was not the only woman in the ranks of the army however she was one of the most promising.

The first battle that Loki participated in was code named “Gregorian Gnash”. It was an attack lead by her older brother Tarquin’s troops on a small Palemoonian village known for its constant supply of arms and military wares. They were to destroy the warehouses, shipping docks, everything. They arrived and without thinking Loki followed through. Her small contingent was broken up into three groups leading attacks on exit routes. Working with a group of four she exploded the southern bridge outlet and flying ports. They lacquered up support beams and posts with a flammable tar, lit and let it blow while retreating. Loki never once looked over her shoulder while they flew away. Instead she made fast for the rendezvous point. The screams of the innocents were ignored. She was simply driven to continue on in the ranks of the army and to win the battles that they were being faced with.

By the time she was twenty Loki had fought on the battlefield with close combat and long range squads. She was known as a ruthless and aggressive fighter. Opponents looked out for her, they wavered when they heard that she was a part of a battle and they withdrew from regions where she was rumored to be staying. Her antics and battle plots were used on many occasions. Superior officers liked her because she did what she was told and never came back shell shocked. Many times Loki was even offered the hand in marriage to commanding officers. They enjoyed her aggression and passion. Her father always closed the invitations simply stating that his daughter was already married to her work as a soldier. This was very true. Loki never once had romantic aspirations. In her world there was no need for it. What she truly hoped for was that there was something more than just romantic gestures and paparazzi around every corner.

In the army Loki thrived. Gaining promotions was no small task but it was done as years racked up. Her term on the battle field withered as she soon became a tactician alongside Tarquin and her father. She mobilized troops and brought them to battle, prepared them and taught them. Although on more than once occasion she was spoken of with slanderous terms Loki did her best to whip the soldiers who enlisted into shape. By the end of their terms when they moved on from her grasp most of them were grateful even though when they entered they were more often than not angry that they were being taught by a woman. She moved on from lieutenant and through the ranks, gaining her highest known rank as First Sergeant when she turned twenty five. The title was something of a courtesy, given to her as a well deserved reward. She had coordinated a large scale battle, drawn up the plans for it and executed it with precision. The island itself resided on the edges of the beltline, used often as a mobilization area for Palemoonian troops arriving for battle. The region was stacked with training platoons and commanders. When the attack was committed not much of the area was left intact. The title of First Sergeant came without expectation. Loki was at once regarded with a new found respect once having gained this title. But with it she was also sent away from the front lines to the training camps where she was given the duty of training fresh recruits, kids who had no idea what they were in for.

There was a reason behind why Loki had been sent away from the front lines. As a crew trainer she was to be given the ability to hand pick her contingent of soldiers, those who would work under her as her team. They would consist of fifteen soldiers, all flight bound and highly trained after selection. They were to be an elite squad, a higher up than the rest of the foot soldiers. Loki took this task in stride, accepted it and went in to the dirt camps, as they were called, to pull out the cream of the crop. When she arrived she was clad in armor, sword and crossbow in hand. They all stared into her eyes and understood what all of the others meant when they described her. Wherever Loki went she had a determined look in her eyes, like she still had something to prove even though she was a superior to almost everyone in the encampment. When the time came and the soldiers were run through drills she stood on the sidelines watching. She didn’t look once at the notes that training officers took, instead she looked at the faces of the men and women as they faced the torture of the Highland army training. Years after she had joined it was no different and still just as difficult. She memorized faces, watched and listened to the way that they spoke. Others gave her recommendations and she waved them off.

“I know who I want.” She said sternly after three months of watching.
She placed a list of names in front of the man in charge of the encampment.

“Give them their gear and have them shipped to the suburbs of Sel Sander. The address is given, the date too.”

And then she turned and left, the man shell shocked at her choices.
What Loki took was dedication and raw talent. Not one of her selections were the top notch aces. She didn’t need them or their egos. Instead she just wanted a solid team of people who would cooperate, listen and learn. Skills could all be taught. The ability to listen to orders often couldn’t.

The group was trained by herself and others. Her brother Tarquin assisted many times, her father just the same. There were others who helped but the majority of the training was all done by Loki. They learned from her, took in the skills that she taught them and pushed on with a ruthless aggression. She was in the middle of the year when she was shipped out with them for the first time. The assignment was small, a dive in on a couple of stranded troops. They were to take the men and help them as if they were locals. By doing so they would also get information. They arrived at an area and set up their encampment, small and carnival like as they played the role of gypsy story tellers. When the soldiers arrived as predicted a storm was cast by Loki’s second in command. The men were asked to come in to take shelter from the storm and to Loki’s happiness, they all obliged. Their wounds were bandaged; they were given food and drink. The soldiers stayed while their comrades healed, telling stories of battles and rumors of sorts. What wasn’t brought out through open conversation was forced out as each soldier was put under the influence of a truth serum. News of a large battle encampment near Aribet reached them. 2000 mobilized soldiers, ready to unleash hell on the Highlanders in a matter of days. When that reached them the men were slaughtered, their bodies burned and their remains buried. Loki and her troops headed out and relayed the news as quickly as possible. The attack was imminent but the Palemoonians lost their element of surprise. The weeks went on. Nothing happened; no troops arose to fight them. Loki’s troops were sent out on other missions, small but deadly dealings. The weeks quickly turned to months. It was almost Loki’s 26th birthday when it happened.

The attack arose but the Highlanders were prepared for it. It was near the winter season and the air was cold and dry. Snow often riddled the battlefield but at the right height in the atmosphere, the soldiers were often pelted with rain instead. The battalions were forced back and Loki’s troops were eventually sent in to aid. The island where the troops had been trained was where the battle was taken too. Loki arrived with her troops with directions from Tarquin. They unleashed their fury as they rushed the strong hold, a small mansion of concrete. It was only two rooms, meant to house the commanders of the attack. Loki was first to penetrate, her team got her through. When her success was spoken of however, the guards in the area locked the building down. Loki was trapped. There were no exits that she could reach or use. Stuck in the main room she was helpless for the first time in her military career. At first she thought that she was alone but it didn’t take her long to tune into the flaps of another’s wings. When she turned around she met the eyes of a tall broad Palemoonian. Her first instinct was to attack so that was what she did. Loki unleashed her pent up confusion and helplessness on the other. What she met was a strong opponent. He blocked her attacks and rushed her. After five minutes he pinned her against the small, his large hands covering her wrists, his weight pushing her into the wall immobilizing her.

“Who are you?” Loki stammered while panting.

“Names are of no concern Loki Reganne.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Who wouldn’t recognize your fiery hair and ying-yang wings?”

She silenced herself, angry that she was unable to get a response out of him. When he released her she fell to the floor exhausted. He turned his back on her, faithfully it seemed. Loki was calmed by the serenity of the man’s voice so she sat there too tired to move. Fortunately she was left unwounded. What didn’t help things was the fact that her opponent was still an unknown. After a few hours the Palemoonian returned, in his hand a stone cup of water and bread. They were offered to her.

“Looks like we’ll be here for awhile.”

“How would you know?”

“Standard procedure. No one gets in or out. The idea is to starve the imposter.”

“Then why feed me? Help me? Speak to me? Why not just kill me, you could do it.”

“I feel that it would be better to help a misled lamb than to slaughter it for my own good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everything and more.”

The man told her to simply think of him as a Sheppard and so she called him as such. Sheppard began to speak to Loki, soothingly like a dragon slayer. He never once mentioned himself but instead brought up aspects of Loki and the Highland, the war.

“Why did you join the war?”

“It was my place; it was where I could establish myself and help others.”

“Help others by killing innocents?”

“No Palemoonian is innocent.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“How sure?”

“100%.”

“You wavered in that response.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“…..”

“You see my point? You don’t even know what you’re fighting for anymore. You’re just killing innocents.”

It took Sheppard awhile but eventually he found an entrance into Loki’s head. He drilled into her mind the pointlessness of the war, that it should be stopped. The Palemoonians and Highlanders were fighting? But for what? The incidents of murder and treachery had gone on so long ago that no one even understood why they were fighting. They were just told that they had to fight and that their tasks had to be done. Loki was silent when Sheppard finished. He took her by the arm and stood her on her feet. She hadn’t moved once in the time that she had fell from his grasp against the wall. Then he went over to a bookcase on the wall and pulled out a dusty album. He tucked it into her arms and pulled her away, taking her through a secret exit.

“It’s reserved in case a person gets stuck in my position. Use it, escape.”
She didn’t even nod, she just left. Everything she had fought for, killed for, faded away behind her.

Her escape route led her to the outskirts of the battlefields, in the midst of a forest and shrine to the fallen king of Palemoon. With the book clenched in her hands she fled, taking flight but low. It took her awhile; the Highland troops had left the area instead of establishing. The battle had ended with both parts retreating-a stale mate not wanting to be drawn out. Loki returned home to Sel Sander instead of the camps. Still silent she walked up to the gates of the Reganne mansion. Welcomed with open arms and surprise she was taken in by her mother and cleaned up of the blood that had been spilt on her armor. For the first time in months she had a real bath and time to think without the buzzing of weapons and magic in her ears. Loki did not speak a word until her father arrived having received news that his daughter had returned home. It was in his office that they led on their discussion.

“Loki, why did you abandon your troops, tell me this is a direct order.”

“I didn’t abandon them.” She whimpered. “I was trapped in their commander’s concrete base with another figure. He called himself Sheppard.”

“Did you kill the man and escape?”

“No…”

“Why not?”

“He…defeated me but spared my life. Then he talked to me…about things.”

“You’re being very unclear with me Loki.”

“He brought up the pointlessness of the war.”

“Pointlessness?”

“Yes! The fact that I don’t even know why I’m fighting anymore! Why am I killing innocent people for information, words! My contingent follows my orders but do they really understand the reasoning behind those demands? Look me in the eyes and tell me why I’m doing this!”

“Loki…the man obvious did some…damage.”

“Damage how!?”

“Take a leave of absence, remain here and I shall call upon your brother. Speak to no one other than myself, is that clear!”

“Yes sir.”

Loki was left standing in front of her father. He left her without offering solace or understanding. Instead he left her to herself, departed from the room entirely. She stayed there, the maids were forbidden to enter. A heap on the floor was what her brother met with the next day when he arrived from the front lines. Tarquin had been told by his father that Loki’s sanity had been messed with. An imposter Palemoonian had gotten into her head and warped her frame of thought. Tarquin brought his sister to a stand and said nothing. He could see in her eyes a confusion that he had never felt. More than that however he saw her uncertainty and felt it in his bones. He pulled her out from their father’s office and brought her to her own room. There he spoke to her. It took Tarquin more than a day to bring his sister back from the depths of her mind. When her eyes came to he knew. And then he worked his magic, speaking to her, confirming to her that the war had a need. The lives of the people needed protection. If they left the beltline than all of the Highland would fall under siege. The Palemoonians were the criminals, treacherous beings bent on killing their people because their king had died. It was a drawn out grudge on their part. The words went on and on. When Tarquin left Loki was still silent. She stayed at home for another week before she was called upon. Her contingent was needed; her troops were to be shipped out on a mission.

Tarquin trusted that his words had erased whatever the other, so called ‘Sheppard’ had said. He did not tell her the truth behind the man she had met. He was a young man, the same age as Loki and he had been their intended target. He was renowned as a troop commander and manipulator. His troops hung on his every word. His real name was Charmant Delacroix and he was the son of the current Palemoonian army General. ‘Sheppard’ was a man that should have been killed when given the chance. Somehow he had weaseled himself into Loki’s head. But the wrongs were righted, Tarquin felt. So Loki was shipped out. Her return to her troops was arranged. They were all intact; their last fight had been finished with a fine performance on their part. Loki’s second in command gave to her the reigns and she took them, leading them into a siege on a village where Palemoonian troops had been located and seen. They were to eliminate the enemy and anyone fraternizing with them.

Their arrival went over smoothly. They landed fifty kilometers out and walked the rest of the way on foot and into town. Dressed as gypsies, as they had many times before, they arrived solemnly asking for shelter at a local inn. Loki got them in and her soldiers got to work. She sat in the midst of the lounge thinking over and over. Tarquin’s words were being mulled over. Sheppard’s words too. Her heart was racing by the time she heard the first screams. Then she rose to her feet and ran up the stairs to the rooms where her men had located the Palemoonian soldiers. She whipped out her blade and cut down the door. When she entered her second in command was slitting the throat of a young man.

“Stop it!” She screamed and lunged, plunging her sword into the nape of her own man.

“He’s innocent! They’ve done nothing! Listen to me!”

He doubled over, his kill unfinished. The Palemoonian had his life. As Loki pulled back her sword she collapsed onto the floor. When her men came upon her they took her. They pulled her from the floor and ran like dogs away from the scene. Unknown to her they killed their witnesses anyways. No one was to know that Loki Reganne had lost her mind.

When they pulled her into the brushes of the nearby forest she was bound and cuffed for treason. They took her away from the beltline as a prisoner. She objected, yelled and screamed but they did not oblige to her orders. Tarquin had instructed that if at all she seemed to lose it then she was to be relinquished of her control. Much to his dismay and her family’s that had happened. Loki was pulled into Sel Sander and dragged by her own men through the streets. They had bound her with ropes but also with a spell before arriving, one that made her a mute. She was immediately thrown into the jails at the castle, left in a dungeon and sentenced to death. Loki was stripped of her title and everything she owned was taken away. Her sword, her armor, everything.

“Loki Reganne is hereby charged with treason of the first degree, fraternizing with the enemy and refusing to conduct proper military tactics. The punishment for these crimes shall be death.”

The words hit her in the face, spat out at her by a friar who had never liked her.

For a number of weeks she was kept under high security in prison, left in rags for clothing and given crumbs that were just enough to survive. No one spoke to her. She didn’t see the face of her brother until the third week went by. Tarquin arrived, behind him their father.

“We have done what we can to save your life Lokiaylihia. You shall not die for your crimes. But your life shall be one to be lived as punishment for such.”

The gates were opened and Loki was led out and brought to a courtroom. There she was shoved to the ground before the judge, Tarquin on her left and her father on her right. The Judge rose to his feet and looked down on her; all Loki could do was stare at the floor.

“Lord Reganne has requested that instead of death, former Sergeant Lokiaylihia Reganne shall be allowed to live. She shall be spell bound so that no magicks can be used. She shall be put under surveillance, watched and she shall never be permitted to leave confines of Sel Sander unless in the presence of her father, Lord Reganne which will also have its own set of rules. Lokiaylihia Reganne is no longer a member of the Imperial Highland Army. She is hereby stripped of her title as First Sergeant. Never again shall she be permitted to enlist or help in the war effort. That is all.”

The court session was adjourned and Loki was pulled away. The words of the judge resonated in her ears as a wizard followed behind her and her family. Loki was led into a separate room, small and dank. There she was forced she stand and not move while the wizard drew a binding circle around her. When the circle was complete the wizard cast the binding spell, the chalk markings lit up and caged themselves around Loki. The lines doves over her head becoming a powerful beam of light. After it circled her a dozen times it struck her, the light forced itself into her chest. The pain was excruciating. Although no blood was shed her insides seemed to burn as every ounce of magic she had was taken away from her. When the spell was completed Loki was taken away, given an arm of help from her brother while her father walked ahead, his eyes down in shame.

She was given residence in a small cottage on the Reganne family property. Loki was not permitted to enter the main mansion except for meals. Rarely was she visited by anyone except her mother or the maids. No one wanted to see her. She simply was a disgrace. In her solitude she recalled some of what ‘Sheppard’ had said. Then she recalled the bound volume he had given her. The book! A maid was called upon and told to fetch it. Fortunately it was still on the bookshelves in her former office in the main mansion. The book was given to her and when she opened it her eyes were met with a diary. Only the first page was written upon. The entry depicted the rumor of the Golden Osprey, his survival and existence. It was a glimmer of hope for a person who was truly a fallen star in the eyes of everyone who knew her.

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[Korrye]

• • • _________________

"F.I.N.E ;; Freaked-out, Insecure, Neurotic & Emotional."

Vivien Isabella McAve • • •

_________________________________________________________ student file ;; 1061

- - » ( remember t h e name ) ;;
Vivien Isabella McAve.

- - » ( short a n d sweet ) ;;
Vivi: A childhood name doned upon her by her father who found it quicker to shout out at her. It carried on throughout life and was used eventually, more often than not, by her entire family.

Workaholic: After her father died and her rival came into her life Vivien thrived when she was busy. Everything she did revolved around her studies. Her mother calls her a workaholic even though she’s only sixteen. Truly though, Vivien is the very essence of the word.

- - » ( land d o w n below ) ;;
Female forever.

- - » ( counting t h e candles ) ;;
Sixteen so far, here's hoping for more.

- - » ( my s p e c i a l day ) ;;
November Eleventh; a very significant day in history.

- - » ( in t h e stars ) ;;
The Scorpio resides above making me highly passionate, imaginative, determined, persevering, inflexible and self-confident.

- - » ( gotta l o v e those ) ;;
Boys, damn them and their abs!.

- - » ( ranked a s number ) ;;
Two, it seems a number that is likely to never change.

_________________________________________________________ first glance ;; though looks are deceiving

- - » ( see m y soul ) ;;
Emerald Green irises stare back at you.

- - » ( blowing i n t h e wind ) ;;
Reddish Brown straight strands are thrown around with no appeal.

- - » ( map o f me ) ;;
Average is a good way to describe Vivien as a whole. Standing at 5"9 she is taller than the regular girl but that's about the only reason she'd stick out from a crowd. You see, she's not eccentric when it comes to her clothing. Everything is as basic as possible despite her fashionista mother's constant complaints about her lack of brand name. Her body as a whole is nothing to relish at. There is a little bust on her, a little bum too but nothing of that sort is flaunted to any extent. Basic and average. Let's leave it at that.

The idea of fashion and make up was never Vivien's priority as a child and today it still barely makes a cut when it comes to her list of things to do. As a kid when she grew up with her father she was a tom boy and that style sense has since then carried over. As your average teenaged girl she does enjoy shopping, she never said she didn't, with the exception of skirts her wardrobe is still packed with every necessity a person would need. Pants come in all forms; camouflage, cargo, jeans, sweatpants, black, white, gray etc. T-shirts are usually a size medium and loose fitting because of her football shoulders and slender waist. Then of course there are the sweatshirts which there tons of. Some have zippers, other have the school logo on them. So long as they fit and are comfy she'll wear them. In terms of footwear Vivien sticks to flat shoes with no heel. Ballet flats are her favorite footwear aside from sneakers. When it comes to 'girly' shoes Vivien does have a pair of black four inch heels should the occasion arise that she needs to look fancy. As a whole though she avoids them for the most part because she never wants to be towering over everyone. On those high priority nights, say when she's accepting some sort of award, there are dresses that she'll put on. Most times they end at her knee, have pockets and straps that keep everything that she's wearing in tact. Never has she gone to the extent of trying to woo someone with her looks, although she's thought about it with certain teachers so that maybe, just maybe, she could be number one.

Her face is plain, nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes are spaced evenly a part and she alternates between wearing glasses and contact lenses for farsightedness. Her skin is a medium shade, not albino pale but not golden from the sun either. Riddling her cheeks are the usual assortment of freckles and the occasional zit. In terms of make up she never wears any due to two reasons, a severe lack of time in the morning and the fact that her skin is severely sensitive to anything that is lathered on it. The best way to steer clear of a tomato red face is to simply avoid make up all together.

The last thing and probably the one that she fusses over the most is her hair. Vivien's long brunette locks have a natural red highlight in them. Every day her hair is pin straight. When she curls it, dare she even try to, her hair is flat within twenty minutes so she often leaves it that way. Vivien's hair is left long, grazing her shoulders and ending just under her bust. It's cut so that there are jagged layers and a long side bang. In terms of styling it came be left down but on most days she'll have it pulled back. In class the idea of hair getting in her face is a scary one. Most times she'll come loaded with bobby pins to ensure that no loose strand drops down into her eyes. A second lost while working is uncalled for and must always be avoided.

So there you have it. Vivien's looks as a whole. A comfy sweater, jeans and black converse sneakers with her hair pulled back and a book bag over her shoulder. A clean natural face and occasionally black framed glasses. Nothing special but nothing below average either.

- - » ( snapping t h o s e pictures ) ;;
&Voilà, Here I am, this is me. Take it or leave it cause it won't be changing anytime soon.

_________________________________________________________ digging deeper ;; beneath the mask

- - » ( my c h a r m i n g personality ) ;;
Describing a person on paper is close to impossible. Gathering facts about them when you see them in real life or if you read a story portraying them, then you get a better of idea of what a person is going to be like in front of you. Relating that person to another is also a good way of giving understanding. So in the following paragraphs Vivien will be compared to people well known for their character, whether fictional or real. More or less, as a whole, a big picture idea of ‘who’ is Vivien McAve should form in your head.

[Donald Trump Senior] Demanding
[Angelina Jolie] Intelligent
[Macbeth] Approval Addict
[Terry Fox] Perseverance
[Jason Bourne] Unpredictable
[Bill Gates] Workaholic

Each of the people above gives to Vivien many of the qualities that make the foundation of who she is. To start, the obvious should be stated. Vivien is a workaholic. Every moment of her time is spent somehow bettering her mind for school. An activity that is set in motion by her is for the most part to do with school. Gaining a better understanding of a novel study could be done through research as well as watching a film version of the book. Since movies are a favorite past time of Vivien’s then she’ll happily settle down to watch a documentary or something related to her studies. More often than not she annoys people with this habit; it’s almost as if she doesn’t have any fun. All Vivien does are things related to school, with the exception of the occasional movie or baking spree. The luxury of friends, to her, is something that she cannot afford. Although she may know people she never grows close to them. Like a sheltered duckling, she keeps herself away from the drama of relationships and friend battles. As you can imagine because all of the work that she does is so important then Vivien can be incredibly demanding. Teamwork is a not a word that she is very familiar with. Vivien can’t summon the courage to trust that her partner will do the work that she gives them so most times she’ll do it herself or force the other person to do it. Then, on top of that, she’ll take the work of the other person and look it over, correct it and hand it in re-done by herself. Luckily, since she’s in the Special A classes, she doesn’t really have to worry about the work of the other person. But should she ever feel that her partner isn’t up to snuff, well, luck should be wished to the individual she’s paired with. Vivien is incredibly controlling in those situations. So, as you see from what is written above, Vivien’s independence is very much established. It’s a well known quality, many if not all of the students who know her simply refer to her as the girl who thinks that nobody is good enough. (Kind of like Edward from Twilight, for those of you who’ve read that book).

Aside from her teamwork issues, Vivien is still very bright. Her mind is like a well oiled machine by now, after years of working hard she’s still in tip top condition. When she was younger, school may not have been on her list of top priorities but now it sits at number one. With a high IQ and test scores to prove it, Vivien is very deserving of that number two spot in Hantaisha. Although she may get stressed and pushy around crunch time, Vivien is a hard working student. Although it may seem as if she’s doing things without effort, she works hard. Every ounce of energy within her being goes towards her studies and with it she gains intelligence. Within her is a good sense of judgment, gained through the valuable lessons she received from her father before he passed. Along with that she is human, not a robot who wheels herself around to each class. She can be very emotional and that is apparent to her peers. When others offend her she goes off, she’s never afraid to yell, scream or cry in front of anyone. That’s just who she is and she isn’t afraid to hide it at this point. With this raw emotion comes forth a sense that she's unpredictable. Her responses to something are never the same twice it seems. One time she may laugh at a joke, the next she may make a snide remark and say that it’s rude. But, don’t go thinking that she’s a ticking time bomb. Each reply that goes through her mind isn't just thrown out into the open. Although impulse tends to guide her through her actions, Vivien thinks before speaking if she's addressing somone of importance. Whether or not your important, well. She'll be the judge of that.

With her strong work ethic and bright mind you might think that Vivien would understand that she is a great student. But, ever since her ego was crushed by Number One a few years back Vivien became a sucker for the approval of others. Every project she finished needed the okay from either a teacher or someone else. So long as people kept telling her that she was going okay then she was fine. The criticisms of Number One are always taken personally. No one jokes about her work because she takes every word that people say to her as feedback. Could this be better? Could that change to make something look nicer? Feedback, in her mind, is the way to morph herself into a number one. Coming from this is Vivien’s endless perseverance. The battle she’s fighting, to be number one, has been thrown in her face time and time again. But she’s never given up, not once. The thought of throwing in the towel has never crossed her mind. Vivien’s goal of becoming number one was set in stone the moment it was derived from action. But like a dog chasing a car, what would happen if she caught it? Did it? Ended the feud with a valuable victory? What then? She’s never thought about it but that doesn’t stop her. Vivien continues to work her butt off to be the best. When or if she ever wins then she’ll move on to something else but that isn’t of concern to her at the moment. So, anytime that Vivien is told that she can’t, she does but not to such extremes. If someone told her that she couldn’t jump off a building that doesn’t mean that’s she would jump-unprepared that is.

As a whole Vivien is a person who is unique and dead set in achieving the status of number one. Even though she may be a sucker for approval or demanding when she’s working, Vivien is still a genuine person. Outside of the classroom she isn’t some snot who thinks that she is better than everyone else. If she had the time than she would probably be helping other people. The thing is that she doesn’t have time. Between Karate and Yoga training and her schoolwork, she has no life. Vivien started living on her own the moment her father left her side. As a human being, she’s as independent as they come. With that comes the fact that she is stubborn and there will always be a need to do things by herself. In the end she is just a hard working girl who never got over the death of her father. Should some healing process happen who knows what kind flip-flop would happen in Vivien's mind.

- - » ( telling m y story ) ;;
The name McAve is not a famous one and it never has been. A lot of people might say, do you mean McAvoy like, James McAvoy? Or McDonalds? No, never has one from the McAve family been a celebrity or anything close to royalty. They’ve always simply been one of the people. In a small town community the only reason the name was known was because it was one of few more so because it belonged to one of the leading police officers who ensured that any tourist who got into the area got back out safely. With no reputation to live up to there was no pressure. Vivien didn’t know what stress felt like until she was met with number one. Life for her was a roller coaster though. Moments in the future were as unpredictable as could be.

Vivien’s childhood took place in the suburbs, away from the noise of airplanes and the hum of major roads. The town was quiet, less than five thousand people lived there. The house in which she lived was large and airy, too big for just her and her dad but it was their home none the less. Vivien was born to her father, Jose and her mother Charlotte. As a young couple, Jose was thrilled to be blessed with a child while Charlotte felt that her career may as well be dead. A child was like a ball and chain to her so it was no surprise that six months after Vivien arrived, Charlotte departed. Jose had always felt that the mother of his child would leave. She had also never believed in marriage, it was too ‘binding’. In a sense he knew it was because it would have forced her to stay and she would never be able to easily slip away. Without the confinement of parenthood and a marriage Charlotte ran off to do whatever she wanted. Jose settled down with nappies and baby bottles instantly morphing in a Mr. Mom.

As a father he never sat down and babied his daughter. Because Jose raised Vivien all on his own he morphed her into his prodigy, despite the fact that there was little hope that she would escape small town life. Like all parents he dreamed that his daughter was some sort of genius, the kind of kid that went on Oprah and performed something spectacular. Jose never cared what Vivien wanted to do though so he never pushed her. Whatever she chose was good to him so long as she did it and was happy. That was all he wanted for her. So he survived the diapers and potty training. When the first words came out at him “Daddy!” he was thrilled because somehow the moment had been captured on video camera. As she grew though he watched as his little baby rose to her feet and seemed to drift away from his protective grasp. Vivien was quick to learn things. Whether it was not to chew the cables behind the television or how to use the video player she latched on to lessons and soaked them up like a sponge. Jose was a proud father. He was a sportsman and cop who was willing to wear an apron while he was cooking. Having played football in college he felt it necessary to pass that on to his child; boy or girl. When Vivien was old enough to stand, Jose passed her a football to lean on. When she was able to run she was running after a baseball Jose had thrown. Sports were engrained into her lifestyle and she loved them. The life of a tomboy quickly formed and it took no time for her to love the fact that she always had a reason for being outside.

Quite often they would have family over, mainly her grandparents or Uncle Allan who lived two cities over. Never once did her mother flutter into the picture. Although she was longed for, Jose was lucky and got two parent holidays a year. Together as a father daughter pair they grew. Jose was a local deputy while Vivien was a well rounded athlete. As a youngster her goal was to get to recess and not complain, her studies were not her priority. At home it was the football season followed by hockey then baseball. Instead of having a bedroom filled with posters of the latest boy bands there was nothing but sports apparel, team flags and her latest photographs from whatever outing. The only time that Vivien would be caught inside would be when she was watching sports, eating or sleeping. Life revolved around the great outdoors and lucky for her, where she and her father lived was a large forested area. Hiking, camping, and biking were all sports that she loved to participate in. With her father they would go on trips every weekend and have a blast. The camera was always taken along for the ride of course. Pictures, she was told, were an important part of life.

“ Take a shot to remember each moment.” Jose had told her.

“Why daddy? I just waste film most of the time.”

“Cause honey, I want to capture that wicked determination of yours on film. And you need to catch me staring in awe.”

It was at this point that school was not of importance to Vivien. Just getting to recess and surviving her classes was all she needed. She had so much more of a life outside of the walls of a classroom that she didn’t focus on it. Her studies were not something that she gave 100% to simply because they weren’t her biggest ordeal. As a whole, in elementary school she passed with high Bs without even trying. As Jose saw when she was younger, whenever Vivien was taught something she learned it quickly. Without effort she still did very well. The ‘with effort’ part didn’t come until she was older.

This life with her father was too good to be true. Her father was a great man and despite his good health and condition he succumbed to disease. Halfway through the year when Vivien was eleven her father was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. When the news had come at first Vivien did not understand what it meant or why her grandpa was so distressed. Uncle Allan took her aside a few days after, her father had been forced to stay in the hospital and he was looking after her at home. Together they went for a hike down one of the trails that had been created from the back of the house and by the side of a creek he sat her down and had a serious discussion about what was to come.

“I need you to sit still for a few minutes and listen to me Vivien, seriously.”

When he used her full name Vivien instantly perked up, all ears.

“Your father is sick Vivien. This is no chest cold or sore on his foot. This is a very serious kind of disease, a very bad one.”

“He’ll be okay though right? After a week or so, like when I have pneumonia last winter?”

And it was at this point that Uncle Allan leaned in and put his face in his hands. At the sight of her normally happy-go-lucky uncle near tears, Vivien’s heart stopped. It seemed to wrench at the thought that came into her head. She knew enough about diseases that were ‘serious’ to know that perhaps Uncle Allan was hinting at something else.

“A month then?”

“No Vivien.”

“A year…?”

There was a pause and while Uncle Allan sighed and Vivien’s smile dropped to the dirt by her shoes.

“This could be something very bad for your father Vivien. I cannot lie to you, although he asked me to. This disease that your father was diagnosed with could take him away from us both-from everyone, forever.”

“What?”

And her hands trembled and clenched into fists as she fought back tears. He was lying wasn’t he? Surely he was. Her Dad had always gotten through anything that hit him.

“In the next few weeks you will see changes in him Vivien. He’ll lose his hair and he’ll be really tired when you see him. The doctors are going to do everything they can.”

And with that she rose to her feet and ran, leaving her Uncle Allan to be by himself. She took off heading into the forest with tears streaming down her cheeks. There was a large lack of understanding; all she knew was that her dad was going to die. The disease itself had been caught very late. It had gone ignored for a long time. Eventually, Vivien tripping on a tree root and was sent flying into the dirt. She fell and she stayed there. No effort was brought forth to get up. All she wanted to do was cry and she did until her eyes ran dry. Time seemed to go by fast because soon night fell. Vivien didn’t care; she just stayed where she was. Eventually exhaustion took over.

Eventually she was found by a local teenager who had been enlisted by Uncle Allan to find her. Even though she was covered in dirt and had a look that matched that of shell shocked soldiers, he carried her back. By then Vivien was done crying. The only thing left that she felt was fear. It wrenched at her heart every time she thought of losing her father. A day after she had had her serious conversation with Uncle Allan, she went to see her father at the hospital.

And so the battle started. It lasted and was a painful ten months. He lived to see her twelfth birthday. Vivien by then had learned to accept the fact that her father’s condition was truly beyond help. Like an adult she did her best to ensure that he went peacefully and that she was there. It was a little over a week after her birthday that he went. She’d fallen asleep in the crook of his arm on his hospital bed. When she woke up to leave he’d woken up too and squeezed her hand tightly.

“Vivi, be happy. I’ll love you forever.”

“Daddy I love you!”

“I love you more baby.”

And it was then that he went, silently into the night. Vivien clenched her hand in his and stayed with him until the early rounds nurses came in. They took him away and Vivien was claimed by her grandfather, taken in for the time being. She stayed at the house with family. Although it seemed empty and to even look at his abandoned things hurt her, she stayed there for him. Their house was theirs, it always seemed like it would be one of those things that was passed down family to family. When Jose’s will was drawn up by a lawyer it was discovered that custody left Vivien to her mother. A letter had been left there too, describing Charlotte’s where-abouts and how to contact her. Vivien was stunned to hear that she had been left to her deserting mother and not her uncle or grandparents. But she had no say in the matter. Charlotte arrived at the funeral, somber-or at least she pretended to be. The house was taken by Uncle Allan; the mortgage had been paid off awhile ago, so that when Vivien was ready she could claim it. Vivien was then taken by her mother to the city where for the first time she encountered number one.

Life after her father’s death was the opposite of her former. The only thing she felt that she had was school. When she came into the city with Charlotte she was uneasy at first but she quickly adjusted. With no other concerns, no other needs or things to do after school, her studies became her obsession. They were her life. She didn’t allow herself to have friends or do sporting events. The area where she moved to didn’t have that much when it came to trails or rocky peaks. From then on she simply worked to be the best she could be. It was here that she gave 100% of her being to school. The relationship that she had between herself and her mother was nonexistent, she didn’t want it. Charlotte tried at first to establish something with her daughter. They even tried therapy. The answer the psychiatrist gave to her after a month of sessions was simple.

“She just doesn’t want another parent in her life Miss. Howard.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Vivien isn’t ready to love someone the way that she did Jose. It’s likely that she may never want to. The only thing that you can do is be there for her when she wants to talk to you.”

And so it went on. Vivien simply coexisted with her mother but like two plants around the sun they simply revolved around one another. Nothing else was established. Through babysitting and savings Vivien had the money that was necessary when major projects came around. It wasn’t until the academy opened and she had already gone through three years of hard work that she actually asked for something.

“I want to go to this school. Now.”

“What? Why Vivien? Don’t you have friends here?”

“This is the first time that I’ve ever truly asked for something. I want this as badly as you want a career in fashion. At least let this one happen!”

“Vivien, I don’t think that we have the money…”

“I have savings…”

“It’s a lot more than what you have in your account.”

“Then, did Daddy leave me anything? Something please!”

Charlotte wasn’t sure of how to meet her daughter’s demands at first. After consulting her shrink and several friends she did the only thing she could; accept that her daughter wanted to go. The small townhouse where they had been living since Jose’s death was sold, and they took up residence in a smaller apartment. The money from the house’s selling was used for Vivien’s tuition. She went off to her joy, in pursuit of her rival. The demons of her past have never left her. Vivien felt that she was on the same level as Bruce Wayne with the exception that she felt more abandoned then at fault. The values of her father still carry with her but she’s long since forgotten many of the things that he told her when she was young. What she was to be doing was a good job, something that would make her happy and be a challenge. Although she loved her father dearly Vivien has never understood why her father left her in the hands of her mother. For that she’s never forgiven him and she still feels a lot of anger towards him because of it. This anger of course, fuels her competitive nature with Number One.

_________________________________________________________ getting to know me ;; turn me on and off

- - » ( gimme g i m m e more ) ;;
• Gerbera Daisies :: Her all time favorite flower because of it's resisiliance when growing but also because of it's simplicity.

• Reading :: at least fifty books a year fall into her lap, whether because they're too be read for school or simply for pleasure. A fictional novel has always been Vivien's preference but she's never afraid to explore other books that are perhaps based on fact or even the biography or two.

• Karate :: The sport was her own and her father's, the way that they bonded before he ended up sick and in the hospital. It was their rehab and their pleasure. He taught her everything that she knows, having been a black belt he knew everything.

• Comic Books :: DC or Marvel, the idea of a superhero enthuses Vivien. She has a collection but not as collectibles. She has them so that she can read them.

• Movies :: Again, the stories that can be woven into a film are one of Vivien's favorite past times, when she's not studying or working to keep up with the paces of No. 1. Anything can be watched in this catagory, chick flicks, action and thriller. Not so much the horror aspect or those kind of films that are bad remakes of a book.

• School :: From the first time she stepped into a classroom, Vivioen never underappreciated the fact that she was being educated. School, homework, lessons. They all made her happy. Learning is something that she loves, being taught something new or unexpected. School to her is like a job, it's her duty to be there, on time and doing her best. On top of that, being number one is also a must, if not impossible.

• Herbal Tea :: Orange peco, raspberry berry. Any kind of tea that isn't so hot that it will burn your tongue or so strong that it will make you gag is Vivien's preference of drink. Never has she ever drank coffee, the smell was more than enough for her. On top of that, energy drinks are not what she wants to be going on heading into an exam or test. Tea is the best way to go in her books.

- - » ( keep t h e m away ) ;;
○ Spiders :: Despite her tomboy esque statue, Vivien still hates creepy crawlies of all sorts, more than others though spiders freak her out. The whole eight legs and a million eyes don't please her.

○ Alcohol :: Never being able to have a clear head, to be out of control and to not be able to remember the next morning is what steers Vivien clear of all alcoholic beverages. Although her father would have permitted her to drink she chooses not to simply because she would always want to have control over her body, her words and her actions. Being taken advantage of is one of her biggest fears.

○ Doctors :: After her dad died going to the hospital or being around a doctor made her uneasy. Dozens of scenarios and flashbacks go through her mind. She's always scared of needles and syringes when she's around them. She simply grows tense and does her best to take care of herself, this fear is pretty well hidden from everyone she knows.

○ Seafood :: In general, she hates it. The taste of fishy food is not a good thing. She'll eat breaded cod (as in fish and sticks), or fish sticks but that's about it. No actual sushi, only rolls should the need arise.

○ Bad Grammar :: As a writer she takes offence when people don't take the time to speak properly or write out words in their full form. Call Vivien a hater of chatspeak and anything l33t.

○ Math :: Skills in this subject may be good but when it comes to math as a whole she dislikes it. Numbers aren't her language, in a sense. To her a job involving trigonometry would not be on her priority list. Instead it would be one of the top things to avoid.

○ Coffee :: Drinking this beverage would have to done as a paid stunt, maybe for a million bucks. The smell of black coffee can make Vivien gag, especially if it's made really strong. Although the smells of a coffee shop are okay in her books. Instead she just focuses her mind on the lovely smell of freshly baked goodies.

- - » ( famous l a s t words ) ;;
Original Quotes

"I like letters, not numbers."
"Don't you dare call me an idiot or your face will be one with the floor."

Life Motto

"Every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving."
Albert Einstein

- - » ( jamming t o t h e beat ) ;;
Beginning : Breathe Me -- Sia
Ending : Let Love In -- The Goo Goo Dolls

- - » ( whoops! a l m o s t forgot ) ;;
The imperfections are what make a person whole and beneath the surface, Vivien has many. For one, when she was little she was almost diagnosed with a learning disability called Dyslexia. When she was younger school never came easily, partly of course because she was so young and inattentive to the details that she catches now. Vivien is allergic to pollen and snow mold during during season transitions but also she's prone to chest colds like pneumonia. Other than this, and perhaps Vivien's biggest imperfection, is that she puts all of her lonliness and pent up rage from her father's death into her feud against No. 1.

_________________________________________________________ just a puppet ;; whose pulling the strings?

- - » ( color m y world ) ;;
As seen here: Pink (#ec83ce), Green (#81bd14), Orange (#e19009)

- - » ( behind t h e scenes ) ;;

[Korrye]

«------ ●●● SAME OLD BLOOD RUSH

|| ° ✖ they call for me »
Cora -Skye Quinne

|| ° ✖ rolling off the tongue »
Cora: The basic abbreviation and preferred nametag option.
Willow: A name given to her by her friends because of her thin physic and long shielding hair.
Kitten: Her grandfather’s nickname for her because he found her so gentle and kind. Angelo picked up use of this nickname too.

|| ° ✖ counting the days »
Dix-neuf

|| ° ✖ set the date »
August 26th

|| ° ✖ of the sexes »
A SHE is me, forever and ever.

|| ° ✖ you tempt me »
The alluring MALE attracts my eye.

|| ° ✖ from whence you came »
I’ve dwelled too long within the confines of OXFORD England.

|| ° ✖ where I am in all of this »
Custodias, who would want a ravenous beast hunting them?

«------ ●●● WHAT YOUR EYES SEE

|| ° ✖ peering through »
Like the Oceans in the tropics; BLUE as BLUE can be. Her eyes are inherited from her mother and often sparkle when she comes upon moments of significant inspiration. Or, when she spots that hot guy creeping around the corner. They can also signal when she's plain bored of talking or even looking at you. Kind of a glazed over look and then aversion. You might want to watch out for it because you're most likely droning on and Cora is nodding but not really listening. It's a nasty habit but if you were raised with a family like hers it's pretty certain that you would understand.

|| ° ✖ flowing gentle tresses »
Long wavy knots of DARK BROWN mop the head, skin and shoulders.

|| ° ✖ stepping scales, taping measures »
Standing at 5”7 and weighing in at 130 pounds

|| ° ✖ click, click goes the camera »
Polaroids, Images, Sketches and, Drawings are ways of depicting a person.

|| ° ✖ carved by angels »
Hopelessly beautiful is a good way to describe Cora and the way she goes about her appearance. Even as a child she dazzled those around her seemingly emanating a powerful aura from looks alone. Since she was young she has always remained the same, filled out to the correct proportions with long gangly fingers. Her hands are probably the only thing about her that is somewhat awkward. As an artist her finger nails are never painted but instead stained with the colours that she was using for whatever project she took under her wing. Whether black, white, turquoise, green or red (the worst of all to get out of the skin) her hands are callused things with long fingers endlessly covered in paint. But besides that one feature she brings a sense of insecurity to many women who are in the same room as her. It wasn’t exactly her decision to be so beautiful in fact Cora wouldn’t have been bothered if she was the flat chested girl who wore glasses and had braces. Instead, well, it’s pretty obvious that as a forbidden fruit she never had to deal with correcting imperfections.

The first thing that often attracts people to her is her hair. Long wavy locks, more often straight than not, with a twinge of red hidden amongst the brown are what adorns her head. Her hair is a battle everyday though, so do not be mislead by its charming demeanour in person. In the morning her long wavy locks are tangled in endless knots because of the amount of times that Cora moves about in her sleep, rearranging her position too often to be noted. The battle begins the moment her brush is settled into her thick hair at her scalp. After ten minutes of intense brushing her hair often settles. The longer cut, one that she prefers, has always been her choice of fashion even when she was younger. Long hair seemed to be personable to who she is and was so she kept it all throughout her life however never letting it grow past her belly button. One a regular day out on the town it’s often loose to be played with by the wind but when intense lessons are in session every time that extra hair band on her wrist is put to good use. Whether in a bun or a ponytail it is swept out of her face not to be bothered with. No matter what however her hair will shimmer whether receiving the light of the sun or of fluorescent bulbs from above. Perhaps that’s what attracts so many people to her?

Her body is normal, that of a textbook girl. Medium chested, not flat but not Pamela Anderson. Enough however to attract attention in high school as hormones hit her before others. Her skin is a medium shade, not tanned and yet not pale. Her limbs are the correct length and her height is average. What makes her stand out are other features. Aside from a very good sense of fashion that represents very well who and what she is, her hair, her eyes and her smile pull people in to her like magnets. Her hair explanation can be referred to above while her eyes and smile are in the following phrases. Her face was described as one that is delicate and that of a new butterfly (as quoted by her grandfather). With dazzling blue eyes that often reflect what she is thinking and a killer smile of pearly whites, no cavities, she is the one in her family who stands out in every photo. In the high school yearbooks of her time they used as many pictures as they could find. It seemed that she just oozed happiness and security and a loose personality that drew people to her. Not to mention that she was kinder than no other and more than willing to help anyone, even a stranger.

Clothing is something that Cora has to put very little thought into. When asked her strategy when it comes to dressing she’ll simply tell you; I dress for the weather and the event. So as you can imagine she is often prepared for that pending rainstorm or humid weather. When at school she keeps a relatively laxed but professional look that consists mainly of nice unripped jeans, a t-shirt with a unique design on it and a school sweater or other. When painting? Ripped jeans and a white tank top. When out on a date? Jeans and a nice top. Only for the semi-formal to formal events will she pull out the dresses that hang rarely used in her closets. Well, rarely used now. Before she came to Nottingham it was a bit of different story.

«------ ●●● DIG A BIT DEEPER

|| ° ✖ look beyond the pretty face »
To describe Cora and put to use 5 simple words it’s easy to type out the following: Creative, Quiet, Intelligent, Kind, and Selfless. You might want to define those qualities before you get into any interpretations so it shall be laid out for the viewer below. Just know however, that Cora is not a barbiedollesque figure who lives the perfect life with the perfect body. Alike that Mary Jane girl from spider man she seemingly is perfect but is far more than meets the eye. Her uncanny ability to hide what she is feeling or dealing with leaves many of the people whom she knows or works with in the dark. It takes a lot to coach her into ranting to anyone. Trust issues? Yes. You could say that but you might want to refer to her history before you make any judgements. The following characteristics are only a few that can be named. Besides, isn’t it boring to read about a person’s behaviour?

[ C r e a t i v e ] ;; Characterized by originality and expressiveness; imaginative
Such a word to describe an artist no? Call it stating the obvious. She could not be an artist if she weren’t creative. In all aspects of her life Cora strives to be unique and perhaps be the opposite of those who follow trends. If the style is to wear a peacoat for instance then it’s likely that she’ll go out and buy a sporting coat. It’s that kind of thing that makes her stand out apart from the rest. Perhaps the only trends that she ever locked into were committed as a child and even as a teenager she just had to grab a pair of UGG boots because they were so FREAKING comfy! (As quoted by many.). So, her creative sense of fashion is only one part of her, as you can imagine. She is also creative in how to relates things to others. Cora is a master of creating metaphors in the classroom and acronyms of information that are important to be recalled on a test. When completing assignments she does so in a way that fits within the restraint of what the project calls for but also with a unique add it or approach. Her teachers always said that she just simply went above and beyond and yet what she hands in is maybe the only way she can think of completing something.

[ Q u i e t ] ;; restrained in speech, manner, etc.; saying little
The first thing that should be noted here is that Cora is not mentally quiet. Her mind is always packed full of emotions and her conscience is constantly telling her otherwise. She is quiet in the way that she more often than not will not speak unless spoken to when working. In the classroom she won’t ever be afraid to ask questions or answer them but around her fellow peers she won’t press into many conversations for fear of being pinned down for eavesdropping. No, she is quiet in the way that when she speaks her voice is of mild volume most times appropriate to the situation. Cora is perhaps the opposite of a chatterbox because she dislikes revealing to others facts about herself and where she comes from.

[ I n t e l l i g e n t ] ;; displaying or characterized by quickness of understanding, sound thought, or good judgment
To get into an honours program, to be able to speak two languages and then to also be highly respected when it comes to her opinion, one has to have a bit of a brain in their head. Cora does but how she chooses to use it is a question for another time. She is smart to latch on and to understand any concept in a classroom or to memorize the steps of how to complete a problem. But this quickness is not what keeps her within such a high grade point average. Nope, she has to work just as hard as anyone else. The only thing that keeps her so high ranking in terms of knowledge and understanding is her unique approach to it and the fact that she does all of her work on time and correctly. Her judgement was admired by her peers because it never seemed as if she got herself into any accidents that could threaten her or into any situations that would result in lectures from the parental units. Her judgement is perhaps what you might call fear. Everything she reads, every movie that she watches Cora looks for things that she can learn from. As a character on screen makes the decision of going to a party full of minor alcoholics and drug addicts she will than be afraid to go to any such event. Sometimes her choices are made out of gut instinct but most times they are made based on what she has seen and heard. Not always are her choices for the best though. She resists the temptation of alcohol and drugs, yes, but then she also misses out on times with her friends at the movies or at a birthday party. In a sense she lives within the confinement of self proposed boundaries. The question is, will someone ever come along and tear those down? She hopes so, secretly and deep down inside of course.

[ K i n d ] ;; indulgent, considerate, or helpful; humane
Her most charming characteristic and what makes her the person whom everyone wants to know; her kindness. It’s her way of life; it’s the way that she treats people. This section goes hand in hand with the one that follows and this is the very core of who Cora is. Having grown up in a family who shunned just about everyone out of their life for being ‘unworthy’ Cora did everything she could so that she did not become her mother. She became a king hearted soul who never hesitated to hold open a door for someone or loan a buck or two to the person short of change a the cash register. And to top it with a cherry she even smiled most times that she did it. Cora does everything that she can so that everyone around her is happy and positive. It helps her to live in such an environment and she doesn’t mind doing it either. Kindness is first nature so you would never catch her being the evil in a town anywhere on earth. Cora’s kindness is something that earns her a lot of respect but that is not why she does it. Her charity events and marathons run are all so that she can give back to the community something her parents never bothered to do in Oxford. On the other hand there are always those people who think it right to try and take advantage of her. You know, the one who thinks that it’s funny to get her to loan them money and never pay her back or they just smack her in the face when she tries to help them. Most times it just means that you’ll get the cold shoulder from her then on. If you don’t give respect, you won’t get it. Think that through before you try to wrong this one. Her memory is sharp so she’s not about to forget about what you’ve done in the past unless you are utterly on your knees begging with a sincere smile.

[ S e l f l e s s ] ;; having little or no concern for oneself, esp. with regard to fame, position, money, etc.; unselfish
It was mentioned above as a small question, just why is Cora so kind? In a rich society like the one where she used to live those who chose to run charity events did it so that they looked good as people not entirely for those starving children in the orphanage. Cora isn’t kind because she wants to be known as a good person. She does everything she does with sincerity and honesty. When she wants to help you it’s because she actually wants to and never because she has to. This is where her selflessness comes into play. Like a mother to her children, most times, she will almost always put others before herself. She’ll take the blow for a mistake, for an accident and accept it and deal with the consequences. Cora is never one to whine or grumble aloud either, only in thought and even then there’s little to be heard in terms of complaints.

|| ° ✖ the life before »
Life in shallow Oxford England is not what it seems. With one of the most elaborate and elitist universities in the world located within the town it was hard to come by a person who was genuine and kind. Cora-Skye Quinne was born in London England to a pair of students who had gotten carried away on a day trip. They were the rudest out of many and eager to have their parents pay away the doctors to hide their little conception issue. So the moment Cora was born she was handed over to her grandmother who told the world that she had decided to adopt a child because she was so lonely now that her daughter had gone on to university. Cora’s mother ran off back to school having feigned a disease that kept her bedridden. The excuse was readily bought by her snooty friends while Cora’s father wasn’t heard from for a number of years. Cora was left to bond with her grandmother Fiona and her grandmother David. Her actual mother could never manage to even look her child in the face without disgust. Cora’s mother was jealous of her, jealous of the perfect appearance of the tiny bundle. So after graduating her birth mother left England all together heading to obscure parts of the world. She was a wild one, the idea of teenaged rebellion multiplied in intensity ten fold. Fiona and David never disowned their daughter however they never flaunted her either. They spoke of her when she was brought up with discretion before quickly changing the subject. Cora’s mother was her shining opposite; instead she took far more after her father a man unknown to her for a multitude of years.

Around her grandparents she was raised as they were. They never pretended to be her actual parents, she was told from the start that her mother had gone and that Fiona and David were Grandma and Grandpa. As a couple however they had not learned that much from their first child, blaming genetics and the influence of the media to their first child’s downfall. As you can imagine Cora was raised in a strict environment. Every rule that was set or she was slapped on the hand or on the rare occasion spanked. Punishment was used without hesitation, if she spoke out of line she was then given a lecture about how to respect your elders. Swearing meant a bar of soap in your mouth followed by the endless rants of the elderly. Eventually the punishments set in and she obeyed like a dog but deep inside she had a strong dislike of their methods. Fiona and David were not a ‘fun’ set of parents; they were forceful and wanted for Cora to grow up to what they wanted. Her ideas and opinions meant nothing, what they said was what she had to think and abide by. This display of punishment and ideals was not flaunted in front of the social circle though. They always appeared to be sincere-when they spoke to people of their own social class. You see, Cora grew up within a very privileged household, one of money and social power. She was given every privilege that anyone short of the queen’s notability would have been given. Fiona and David pulled strings and called in favours so that she would be renowned. From the start it was known that she was a gifted child. Reading and writing came naturally when she entered school. These talents were just the start of what would be thrown her way. At six she was also handed a violin and told to learn it with an instructor. Lessons were everyday after school. No school related extra curriculars would be taking up her time or dirty sports such as soccer because it just wasn’t right for a girl to play such games. Activities that were educational and related to music or intellect were permitted. No play dates, no one at the school was good enough for her. Why? Because Cora hadn’t been accepted into the most prestigious of elementary academies as a child. She was in the third best in all of England and that just wasn’t good enough to Fiona and David. Nothing she did was ever good enough which lead Cora to be dissatisfied with much of her future works.

Then there was all of the other lessons; etiquette, piano, swimming, tennis and golf. By the time she was ten her mother had died in a freak drunk driving accident in Peru she was miserable. Her life was trivial and completely routine. On the hour by the hour she was doing something or being ushered about. Fiona and David showcased her at their parties as a wonder child. Every Monday she had classes at the academy from eight until three. Then she would be picked up and driven by their chauffeur to her music instructor’s studio fifteen minutes away. There she would be for another two hours before being driven at precisely five fifteen to her tutor’s workshop. There she would work on homework until six forty five when she would be picked up and brought home in time for dinner at seven. Dinner lasted an hour and then she would be released to finish whatever assignments needed to be done. At nine she would be showered and clambering into bed to read whatever book was being permitted. Within this window she was permitted to watch television until no later than ten. The routine continued for the school week. Saturday was always a social event followed by swimming and etiquette classes in the evening. Sundays were reserved for golf and tennis followed by homework and further social gatherings. As you can imagine Cora had little time to herself and it was a rigorous schedule for a nine year old to abide by. For close to four years of her life she had been living in such a schedule and fortunately that was more than enough time to life that way. By her tenth birthday she was fed up with it and life decided to toss her a good surprise.

A party had been arranged but mostly relatives with stuck up cousins showed up. Not one of her schoolmates were phoned up, she wasn’t allowed to invite such guests. It was a formal affair held in the galleria of the mansion. Cora had been dressed up in some absurd white dress with too many bows and lace frills. On her head was even a little beret while her hair was clipped back out of her face. She greeted each guest at the door with a smile and curtsy while Fiona played hostess. Despite the event being for a ten year old the majority of the guests were adults who were there to socialize with Fiona and David. The lack of fellow children was a fact of life at that point. The boring charade continued on for almost an hour until finally god dropped her a birthday gift that change her life forever. Angelo, her father, stepped through the door with a weary look on his face and cautious eyes darting from side to side. He had barely gotten through the main gate; his showing up uninvited had not gone over well. However he stood there stunning, six feet tall with a shock of golden blond hair and green eyes. He was changed compare do the life that he had led years ago at the university. Responsible, casual and dressed in every day clothes he locked eyes with his daughter, Cora, and the room began to spin.

The initial meet and greet did not go over very well. Fiona recognized Angelo immediately, his face permanently burned into the etches of her mind. He was the one, in her mindset, who had driven their first child to insanity and rebellion. David was gruff and stood like a marble statue while Cora stood in the midst of the battle. She knew who he was, she’d managed to find pictures of him despite Fiona’s savage effort to erase him from their home. The yearbooks of the academy where Angelo and Cora’s mother had gone to school did not lie. And so Cora ripped her hand from the wrenched grip of Fiona and ran to her father clamping her arms around her knees and sobbing with delight. A savoir!

Angelo looked shyly down at the stunning appearance of his child. Despite the gawky dress and hat that she’d been forced to wear she was beautiful and it was a wonder how she had even come to be considering the evil harnessed within her mother. Even in the most hideous of clothing she was a stunning and gifted child. He stepped forward and swung her into his arms all to the dismay of the people around them. The moment however, was short lived as a livid Fiona and David finally snapped out of their trance. Security was called upon and the argument ensued. Yells erupted, roars demanding that he leave the premises. Guards arrived and nearly had him out the door. Were it not for Cora clamping desperately to her hopes of freedom he may have very well been carried out onto the road. The guests that were present watched for awhile before they began to dismiss themselves. The ordeal was nothing small so the yelling and the screaming continued long after dinner and Cora’s bedtime. The fight itself was all about Cora and who she rightfully belonged to. Inside she was gitty with the idea of being able to leave her hellish life with Fiona and David. The very idea of free time was so enticing. To be able to go out with friends! Now that was more than enough. It was all she needed and it was a hope that she clung to. Inside however she felt a glimmer of hope that Oxford hell would be no more. But it was too good a thought to ever happen. Angelo was given no custody over her. At birth she had been signed over and there was no fighting the documents. However, in compromise, it was settled that a weekend every month could be given up to him so that he may see his child.

The settlement was more than enough for Cora. On the first weekend of every month she saw Angelo and stayed at his loft. In his company she was taught to paint as it was his joy to do so. With him she learned so much more about herself and who she was and what she wanted to do. He was the dreamiest father one could hope for, one who taught her but didn’t spoil her or enforce the dress code that her grandparents did. Life with Angelo was perfect even if it only lasted 4 days a month and 48 days a year. Life was still the same with Fiona and David when she was not with Angelo; violin and piano lessons after school followed by homework then etiquette and meals. When she entered high school she was given little to no time to herself as her grandparents ushered her to private tutors even though she didn’t need them. She had been accepted into a highly competitive high school/academy within Oxford and it was there that she was given permission to have a friend come over but it wasn’t that she wanted to now either. She was kind to them because of Angelo, because he taught her to never judge anyone based on their social class or position in society. Everyone deserved respect and she lived by that as she journeyed through halls filled with people of no decency. It was there that she helped many people who needed it and befriended a few people who were actually sincere. As she approached the end of her years at the academy she was well established as a socialite with manners but also as an artist. Angelo gave her the gift of artwork and he taught her everything that she knew about painting. He had no formal training in it but Cora grasped on to the concepts fast and soon she was awing people with her magnificent pieces. Her landscapes were of Oxford and its countryside, the busy streets to the scenic parks and farms. They depicted a quiet life that was rid of the social expectance of Fiona and David. They helped her to escape from the routine of trivial life with her grandparents.

Her grandparents were pleased with her until the decision about post secondary had to be made. They adored that she had been more than willing to do silent auctions and other events for charity. However instead of doing it just because, Cora did it because she knew that it would be wrong of her to not give back to the community. But post secondary came up a problem, one so big that it blew Angelo’s battle to spend time with his daughter out of the water.

It was on a weekend with Angelo that Cora decided that Nottingham was for her. Family tradition screamed Oxford or The Sorbonne in France but no, Cora didn’t want it. The moment she told Fiona and David where she planned to go in the Fall they labelled her as insane and were ready to have her committed. They became vicious yelling at her, screaming at each other. To be honest Cora never thought that they could have taken something that she wanted so badly. The fight ended with the decision that Angelo was vile and only wanted to ruin Cora’s future. She was told that she could not see him any more and a restraining order was filed. At seventeen she was nearly put under house arrest while Fiona and David happily had her accepted into Oxford. Nottingham wasn’t an option to them even though to Cora it was her dream school, a place where artists were known to flourish. For an entire summer she was cooped up within the mansion and given no social life. Fiona and David ate with her at certain times and updated her with their silly mealtime banter. On her own she was allowed to walk the gardens but never past the gate. It was late August when something good finally happened. It was a week before school was to start and Cora was unhappily preparing her things for Oxford. She would still be living in the mansion but lists were made of the things she would need. Fiona and David were out at a charity event, some sort of silent auction when the doorbell rang. The butler answered and it was Angelo making a risky move to see his daughter. When Cora saw him relief flooded her and she cried. It was a short lived moment as she sent immediately back upstairs to pack her things. In three large suitcases and a backpack she stashed everything that she needed. One was all of her art supplies that she had with Fiona and David, Angelo had her aisle and much more in his car already from his loft. One was of clothes and the last was one what mementoes she had along with school supplies, notes, books and her laptop. It was on that evening that Cora bid adieu to Oxford as Angelo took her away in his jeep to Nottingham. She said goodbye to Fiona and David in a note telling them to leave her be and to never look for her because she would never come back to them. It put them off lightly and never mentioned Angelo. The butler promised to never speak a word but only to say that the suitcases had been missing two weeks before and that perhaps Cora had planned this out on her own. Nottingham provided Cora with a fresh start and a new life. For the first time she was able to set her own curfews and watch her own movies and read books. Angelo continued to live in Oxford himself but he called to check up on her as she was living in a small townhouse all on her own. Before school started Cora was settled in and had even managed to buy a small dachshund.

Cora hopes that Nottingham provides her with a life unlike the one she had led. And what awaits her is certainly something that she would never have believed in.

«------ ●●● THE SMALL LITTLE DETAILS

|| ° ✖ for the smiles »
• Gerbera Daisies
• Paints of any kind (acrylic, oil, watercolour etc)
• Lyrical, contemporary or instrumental music
• Movies and Cinema
• School and Education

|| ° ✖ the secret pleasures »
○ Finger Painting
○ Horseback Riding
○ Fresh Air
○ Picnics
○ Romance Novels

|| ° ✖ the darkest hour »
○ Overdramatic People
• Liars or Gossipers
• Telemarketers
• Bumblebees or flies
• Overplayed composers such as Bach or Beethoven

|| ° ✖ tears for fears »
○ Temptation
○ Becoming someone else other than herself
○ Betrayal
○ Losing Angelo
○ Being put into a bad situation

|| ° ✖ faces I know »
As she makes her arrival in Nottingham she knows no one. Instead she finds herself surrounded by strangers as she tries to establish herself away from the richess and grandeur of her family in Oxford. As she wanders she is in search of a close friend and confidante, male or female. A romantic relationship is not exactly what she foresees on the horizon, Cora instead seeks a group of friends who will let her be who she is and not care to think about why her head is always in the clouds.

«------ ●●● BEHIND THIS PRETTY FACE

|| ° ✖ by the book, by the heart »
What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. – C.S. Lewis

|| ° ✖ enchanting song »
Surprising Me by Will Currie & The Country French

|| ° ✖ paint the canvas »
As seen here.

The Sweetheart Artist
Korrye

[Korrye]

• • • _________________

Cole Avery Anders • • •

○ » [Called As] --||:
Cole, Huntsman, Bigtop, which ever you choose. Make a new one for all I care.

○ » [Numbers] --||:
Eighteen summers are under my belt, I'm hoping to be the one telling war stories to my grandchildren in the future.

○ » [First Day of Life] --||:
August Eleventh, a day that is more often than not forgotten.

○ » [Born As] --||:
A young Man, born and raised as a Huntsman.

○ » [Hairs On My Head] --||:
Chocolate brown locks that look bleached from the sun.

○ » [Lids Open To Reveal] --||:
Blue-Grey Irises make me look blind, but I'm not.

○ » [Paper Colour Cutouts ] --||:
Medium White, I'm not a sun sponge.

○ » [Like A Giraffe ] --||:
6”1, I often intimidate people.

○ » [Like A Cow ] --||:
250 Pounds of muscle and fat, this flexes due to the season.

Charismatic ----- Quiet ----- Patient ----- Intelligent ----- Knowledgeable ----- Storyteller

•__________•__________•

○ » [Pass It Over] --||:
• Warm Food
• Dense and Healthy Forests
• Good Weather
• Tea With Honey
• A Good Night's Sleep
• Campfires


○ » [Keep It Away] --||:
• Black Markets
• Logging And Tree Expediters
• Wars And Battles
• Coffee
• Man Made Noises (Saws and Certain Music)
• No-it-alls and Gossipers


○ » [Nightmares And Terrors] --||:
• Forest Fires
• Starving
• Being Withheld The Truth
• Betrayal
• Becoming Depressed or Someone He's Not.


○ » [A Little More About Me] --||:
There are a lot of things that make me a notable character. In the flesh I'm quite striking, my aura and presence are strong and hard. To many people I'm intimidating because I don't often look a person in the face when I'm speaking to them. If I do then just know that chances are I'm lying to you and that doesn't happen very often. I always seem to have a keener ear on what's going around me than what I'm doing. During conversations I'll look away, close my eyes and sometimes lose focus on what the other person is saying to me. If I'm really concentrating, be afraid.

Other than that I can be a smart a**, or so I'm told. When people are talking to me I don't hold any of my opinions back. If they cause conflict, I'll jump in not really because I want to but because I feel it incorrect to withhold my opinion. I'm good with words, retorts and such, which is another thing that can get on people's nerves. On top of that, I only speak when I'm addressed or leading. Otherwise I'm silent and listening to other things, like nature. My life revolved around the voices of animals and the health of the forests in Jimara. It seems that recently I hold more concern within me for nature than for people. I'm not exactly a tree hugger, but it disappoints me to see the vicious logging and burning of forests just to kill the enemy and draw them out or kill them.

Lastly, there are a few points to add. I can sneak up on people, my footing is often quiet. Disappearing when you look away is another thing that I can pull. When I sleep I breath through my mouth but I don't snore. When I want to lead, it's my way or your face in the dirt while I drag you behind me with a rope around your neck. When I have an opinion on something, more often than not I don't care to hear what others think. Call it being headstrong, but truly it's the only way that I could stick to my values and not be swayed by the moral of the other villagers or my father's friends after he was killed. Maybe I'm just ignorant but hey, what do I care?

○ » [A Happily Ever After Scenario] --||:
To me, describing the factors that would contribute to a good day is the best way to start. For instance, the weather. The temperature would be in the 20 degrees (Celcius) range, moderate with a slight breeze while the sun is out and the sky is cloudless. Following that the war would end, a peace agreement would be signed and no blame would be pushed to either side. I woke awake to this news with my Father still alive. Together we would head out to the lushest forest to hunt the stag. As a competition we would stay out all day, stationed like snipers waiting for the beast to arrive in either of our regions. The idea would be not to kill the quarry but to hit it, stun it and then cut off the antlers. The beast would be free to roam without it's glorious rack making it less valuable to those who feel that hunting just to kill is a fun game. Together we would head home, father and son, to our small cottage where we would somehow come upon a warm meal. Over the lucious food we would talk about the day, the weather and perhaps wonder about the war. We would speak of past tense and look towards the future with a happier outlook than we ever did before. In the end we would have a campfire out in the back before heading to bed to a peaceful, dreamless and yet long sleep.

What wouldn't happen during this day would be nightmares or thoughts of a hopeless future. No hunter would come in against us with the wrong idea, no one would criticize the way that my Father and I did not kill the stag that loomed in the forest nearby. It would be just as it is stated above. A day of peaceful nature with our minds at ease. The war would have ended and so would the bloodshed. Those forests that were logged or burned would then be replaced and nature would be able to right itself in the regions where it was terribly wronged.

There would be no politics involved during that day either, no bickering about which side deserved to win or not. The treaty itself would never be questioned, just accepted and the people who lost their loved ones would live on instead of act out. Decimated quarry populations such as hares, boars and deers would somehow re-create themselves. The world of Jimara would be full of life and promise.

○ » [A Demon From My Past] --||:
As he stood tall with his back to the wind Cole took in the fresh smells of the mountain air. It had rained the night before; the grass was still soggy and wet with the morning dew. As his light brown hair was tousled by the wind he closed his eyes and heaved his shoulders taking in the deepest breath that he could, savouring the flavours of the air. The trees that were behind him waved and flickered sending shouts and songs while their leaves quivered and rubbed against one another. It was like music to his ears. When his eyes opened he looked out on the expansive valley before him, nothing but the tops of trees greeted his eyes for what seemed like miles. This was his spot, he’d found it for the first time when he was four, on his first hunting trip. The view was breath taking and every time he saw it his heart rushed. It was like adrenaline coursed through his body when he stood on that cliff, the gravel stationary under his level footing.

Every so often the cry of a bird would be taken in by the wind. Then he would spot it, the creature fluttering out and above the tree tops for a moment or so. Today for the first time in months the air was clean. It smelled fresh and renewed, the way it should. The battles that had been drawn into their area brought with them the smells of blood and the shouts and cries of bitter soldiers. Their family had refused to leave. Unlike others they were well hidden amongst the forest, no soldier had come to their door and ushered them away.

“Cole!” came his father’s cry. The teen stood for a moment before turning to look over his shoulders at his mentor, the man who had raised him since he was nine.

“Cole, boy. Come help me. A wounded man’s made it to the clearing. He needs help.”

For a moment he stood there and then when he looked over his shoulder he saw his father’s eyes and he met them. There was a genuine concern in them. Cole had never seen a soldier before. He was curious to know what life was like for them so he went, leaving behind his precious spot for the last time, he just didn’t know it. He ran with a fast pace, agile as a deer while he navigated through the trees. His father had done so just moments before so when Cole burst through the tree line there was no surprise that his old man was already at the side of the injured man.

“How did he get here?”

“I can’t say. Neither can he, his throat’s been slashed.”

“Leave him then.”

“Cole, pull up some of that stashed away humanity that your mother gave you. Help the man.”

And so he had although he thought it so pointless anyways. He carried the man by his legs while his father held his arms. The both of them were strong so carrying him to the house wasn’t hard. They were done fairly quickly and before Cole could even think twice the man was laying on their couch, drifting off to sleep while his father worked with herbal remedies to heal his wounds. What struck Cole was the man’s clothing. It was torn and shredded like a wild animal had eaten half of him before spitting him out. There were hacked and slashed precisely but more so, burned in places. It was dark when they finished, every wound they knew of was bandaged while the man slept peacefully. Father and son headed out to the fire pit in the back of the house when they caught their first glimpses of it. They were too late when they tried to stop it. A wall of fire engulfed the trees surrounding their home. Trees and animals screamed out for help and all Cole could do was stare. The sight took the breath out of him. Everything was burning. When the arrows came there was nothing to shield them from it. The soldiers advanced quickly.

“Run! Head to the river Cole! Leave!” Were the last words he was left with while his father took off, heading for the group of men at the tree line. Cole did as instructed, much to his distaste. He took off heading in the opposite direction that the blaze was approaching. When he reached the river he dove and stayed in a deep point, his head submerged for long periods of time. When he needed a breath he rose to the surface. It didn’t take long for the fires to reach him and when they got to the river they leapt over, leaving Cole safe. When he could he left and returned to his home. Everything was gone; the charred remains of the wounded soldier were amongst what was his house. Then he spotted the body of his father, face down in the ground. What once was astonished green was now charred black and ashes. With only the clothes on his back and his bow and arrow in tow he left, no family was there to help him. His father, he had buried himself so as to be honourable and his mother had died many years back. While he left and struck out into the woods all Cole could remember was the injured now dead soldier, the sorry look of him and how he had somehow been a warning in the flesh.

○ » [A Role In Life] --||:
The Hunter

○ » [Blood Over All] --||:
Kumai Anders - Mother (deceased)
Yumul Anders - Father (murdered)

○ » [Puppet Master] --||:
Korrye

○ » Dialects and Words] --||:
#8ec156 Green(Dialect) #6f523e Brown (Text) #752f31 RedBrown (Thought}

[Korrye]

» » » The Soldier Experiment

Stella, Isabella, Whitby « « «

○ » [Days on Earth] --||:
There are sixteen candles on my cake.

○ » [First Day of Life] --||:
Celebrated every February Ninth.

○ » [Pink or Blue] --||:
I am a She. Plain and simple.

○ » [Long Locks] --||:
Blonde with Brown naturally.

○ » [Bold Irises] --||:
Green as emeralds.

○ » [Paper People Cutouts] --||:
White as printer paper.

○ » [Number of Floors] --||:
Reaching 5"9 in the sky.

○ » [Number of Pounds] --||:
Towing around 140 pounds of muscle.

○ » [Flowing Inside] --||:
Everything is marked with an A-.

Stubborn • • • Bold • • • Attentive • • • Paranoid • • • Athletic • • • Tomboy

Polaroids & More

○ » [Admirable Objects ] --||:

• Rugby;; One of the only full contact sports available to girls, Rugby is the sport where Stella loves to get down and dirty. It’s the one time that she can take out all of her aggression on someone else. For some reason taking out another person feels so much more satisfying than punching a bag of sand.

• Tea;; With milk and five sugars, orange pekoe tea is one of the delicacies that Stella has a passion for. In general, tea is very much preferred over coffee. She was raised to drink it instead of natural energy drinks anyways.

• Baggy T-shirts;; The idea of wearing a corset or anything so tight that you just might suffocate gives Stella the shivers. She’s been a tomboy ever since she was born. The hospital ran out of girl pajamas so she was put into the signature baby blue. From then on it stuck. Baggy t-shirts, jeans (that fit properly of course) and sweatshirts are her favorite attire. Only on one occasion has she ever been caught in a dress and that was for her older brother’s wedding.

• Reading;; For some reason the fictional story has always caught Stella’s eye. When she’s training, whether it’s cycling or doing cardio workouts she loves to read a book while she’s at it (if she’s not already studying for school). Books are awesome, if they’re in the right genre and are the right kind of story that is. She’ll read mainly action novels, like Robert Ludlum and the occasional teen like Harry Potter or Twilight. For her age, she reads beyond her years and what’s more, she understands it thoroughly.

• Training;; Stella is never one to be happy unless she’s moving. Her passion for sports, whichever one she’s playing, is extreme.98% percent of the time (1& for sleeping and eating, 1% for school) she’s dedicated to a team. Every spare moment she has goes into her training whether it’s running, cardio, weights or just practice. It drives everyone that she knows crazy but it's simply habit now.



○ » [Never Hand It Over] --||:

• Shopping;; If it’s not for some sort of sports equipment or clothes that she will actually wear then shopping in general is not a hobby that Stella enjoys. If she’s looking for something for her then she goes in and get’s it point blank. There’s never any dilly dallying with her.

• Seafood;; Lobster, shell fish and even the real sushi, it’s all revolting in her books. Anything that tastes remotely fishy reminds her of the time when she got sick from eating bad oysters. From then on, nothing from the ocean went in her mouth unless it was breaded and tasted more like chicken.

• Country Music;; To her, the melodies of country music are revolting. The whining of the singer’s voice and the more often than not depressing lyrics are too much to handle. Like Rap and Heavy Metal, country music is an instant turn off to her.

• Smokers;; As an athlete the idea of cigarettes, steroids and drugs revolt her. The idea of sending more than a dozen foreign chemicals into her body is more or less gag material for Stella. Note: never light up around her or she’ll go off on a lecture about why not to smoke or do drugs like a professional spokesperson for the Heart and Stroke foundation.

• Laziness;; the idea of sitting on a couch day to day or never seeing the sun makes Stella shiver. A personal motto of hers, you have a body so use it to its full potential. Whether or not you’re an athlete, to her everyone needs the fair share of healthy physical activity. The lack of effort that some people have is unnerving to Stella as well because she doesn’t understand why people don’t try their hardest at everything that they do.


○ » [Horrifying Memories ] --||:

• Injury: When it comes to being an athlete you’re always putting your body in jeopardy. The small cut or bruise means nothing to Stella, it’s when someone knocks her out cold on the field or breaks a bone that she’s sent into a whirl of panic. The very idea of having her career knocked flat of her dreams because of an injury is heart wrenching. Her brother’s experience and brush with death was more than enough to make her fear being hit too hard in rugby or knocked clean off her feet on a soccer field. So in a way, Stella does play cautiously at all times. Her attentiveness helps keep her on track when it comes to dodging opponents and escaping dirty hits.

• Large Dogs: The very idea of having an animal hurl themselves at you, trying to kill you isn’t thrilling. When Stella was younger she heard a story about a girl being mauled by a dog and her injuries were so severe that she lost half of her face. Around large animals like Rottweilers or Pit-bulls, Stella is extremely cautious. If the dog itself proves to be friendly she’ll lower her guard a little but deep inside she’s always afraid of having the beast kill her.

• Travelling: Being somewhere completely foreign, being lost and unable to communicate leaves Stella scrambling whenever she’s on a trip. Every time she goes somewhere she does everything she can to be over prepared. For every circumstance she has a plan. If she’s going to a country that speaks a language that she doesn’t know then she brings along a handheld translator and dictionary with their language. To avoid getting lost she buys maps of the area in English. To some extents she also has extra food, clothes and a compass on hand.

• Death: Being on earth is Stella’s favorite thing about life. Deep down inside she knows that she’s not done her part yet or accomplished what she has to do yet in her lifetime so the idea of dying and leaving whatever it is she has to do unaccomplished gives her butterflies. More than that, she’s terrified of leaving her family and friends behind because it would be like disowning them in a sense.


○ » [Notable Features ] --||:
Notes – Stella Whitby – May 15th 2008
R. Stanfield.

When you first meet someone, usually their worst qualities are what hit you first and stick in your mind. My initial impression of Stella was as if I were meeting my non-existent mother in law, the kind of character you loved to hate because they hated your guts more and worse, they were suspicious of. In my brother’s arms her head had been rolling until she’d locked eyes with me. Elegant green hues met with my brown and instantly she seemed to be revived; just by my radiance. Don’t go thinking that I’m egotistical for saying such a thing; I had personally watched her go from limp doll in pain to tense army soldier. There were always some people who felt that way about me, mainly older gentlemen and women who met me within the confinement of my business. Never had I seen a child, sorry-teenager-analyze me and understand that I was a man she should stay away from.

The very young are often able to get a better feel for better than anyone else. Taught by their parents they know that they must learn to never trust a person that they don’t know. Strangers were bad people, they could be a good or a bad person. The chance of the matter was not something to be risked. As people aged they often lost the ability to feel people out. Not Stella. And that was what drew me to her and her stern face, the fact that just from looking at me she was already seemed my ulterior motives. I was no stranger to the people of the community or the business world. When I had turned to become a doctor I had gained celebrity star status, the kind that rivaled the likes of Angelina Jolie or Donald Trump. The good face of the man on the magazine cover was not the one that Stella was greeted with and she didn’t seem to fight that in all honesty that character didn’t exist. Instead she muttered single word responses to standardized questions and eyed my every move until Hughes arrived, scrutinizing everything that I did almost as if she were hoping that I would prove her thoughts right; I was an evil scientist.

Unfortunately that wasn’t going to happen. My colleague promptly stepped in. As an orthopedic surgeon he was a man who knew what he was doing when it came to a dislocated knee and possibly a torn ACL. In the background I watched as Hughes assessed her and formulated a game plan. The girl who had been so cold towards me was suddenly bubbly, willing to throw in some small talk while he poked and prodded her. Based on her attire I knew that she was no girly girl, the kind of personality I was looking for. Paired with that came a determination that rivaled what had powered me through my successes.

What bothered me was how stubborn she was. Every time one of the nurses came around with a paper cup of pain killers she slapped it away. They went against her way of life. If she wasn’t dying then she didn’t need them. Even after persistent demands by the nurses and Hughes himself she never gave him. I had to give her credit; at least she stood up for what she believed in.

Her tolerance of pain was another thing entirely. As Hughes and two of his nurses yanked her knee back into place with the help of a bed sheet and sheer strength she withstood it and only let out a deadly hiss for breath. No scream, no cries and no tears. She was all cried out before coming here - that much was obvious. The shock of the incident was harder to deal with than the pain; even I could vouch for that.

As Hughes gave her instructions for the following week I departed, having taken in my share of information. I went straight to the waiting room and found her brother lounging in one of the stale chairs reading an incredibly outdated issue of Sports Illustrated.

“Max Whitby?”

“O, yes. Stanfield right? How is she?”

He didn’t even seem fazed by his sister’s injury.

“Great, they’re just taking her for an x-ray to be sure of everything. If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to schedule a physiotherapy session for next week, just to make sure that nothing develops.”

“Right. I would say a week from today actually, around noon. “

“Awesome. I’ll pencil it in. Please don’t forget to tell your sister.”

“Of course.”

The session couldn’t have gone better. I took her in, for what she was. There was a passion in her to keep alive and mobile. The crutches had lasted all week. Unlike other athletes she had abided by Hughes’ orders. Max confirmed that. In front of me she displayed more of who she was. We butted heads often; she had a smart mouth on her and an uncanny ability to send a retort whenever possible. There was a hard sarcasm to many of her puns, some of which burned me, others made me snort with laughter. Putting me down seemed to be her shield – the way that she made herself comfortable when around someone with an aura like mine. When she was finished I could tell that she was sore but wouldn’t admit it. I had all of the information I needed and even a survey that she had filled out herself. The drive in her was what I needed; the resilience she possessed was astounding to me at least. So I signed her up, patient No. 4 when she was registered as her project was listed as number two. I felt good about this choice, her reactions were always different, never the same twice. A true wildcard, Stella surely one to give the others a run for their money.

○ » [Brief But Notable ] --||:
Interview 004 – July 10th 2008
Interviewer: Dr. Jane Malone
Interviewee: Patient No. 4, Stella, Isabella Whitby – The Soldier


Malone: Alright Stella, I’m just here to talk like before. It says that you requested me here to talk about something important?

Whitby: Yes. I think that before I die that it should be put into the records as to how I got here.

Malone: Why is that?

Whitby: Because it’s important that my family understand that I wasn’t killed by a truck running a red light at an intersection. Eventually they will find this.

Malone: [sigh] Go on Stella. Explain to me what it is you have to say.

Whitby:: The first time that I met Rupert Stanfield was the first week of May, the fourth if memory serves me right.

Malone: Why is this important?

Whitby:: Let me get to it damn it!

Malone:: Calm down Stella, okay. I’ll just sit and listen.

Whitby:: Thank you. Anyways; I had dislocated my knee during a soccer game, some punk had pushed me down and I fell the wrong way. I had never done anything aside from twist my knee before so this was something new to me entirely in terms of injury. It was near the end of the regular spring season, about a week and a half away from finals. Towards the end of the second half it happened. The pain that I felt was a good combination of shock and agony, dislocating your knee isn’t exactly a natural thing to do to yourself. Anyways, the medics on the sidelines weren’t exactly sure how to go about setting it. On top of that I was screaming my head off, my eyes wet with tears while I basically slapped away anyone who came near me. When the question was asked to call an ambulance I instantly said no.

Malone: Why is that?

Whitby:: I have never liked drawing attention towards myself. I hate being in the spotlight. Without trying everyone always seems to be concerned about what I think or how I look, I try to do my best to avoid it. So I begged for them to not call the ambulance. Fortunate my older brother Max was on the sidelines. Knowing my stubbornness so well he gave in to drive me to the hospital himself. My coach called just as we were leaving, giving whoever was there a heads up, that I was coming. I could have done without the hospital visit too but that kind of a demand was out of the question.

So Max carried me like the great older brother he is. In his arms I was met with the attending of the hour, Rupert Stanfield. As he hurried me through the doors and into emergency I was freaked out of my mind and high on the endorphins that my brain was pumping out. Even so when Stanfield’s eyes met mine I was terrified.

Malone:: Hmph.

Whitby:: What was that for?

Malone:: You’re not psychic, you would have had no idea that he’s the kind of person that he is, the character you’ve learned about this past month.

Whitby:: Lady, I read people okay. I get vibes from everyone that I meet. So shut-up and just listen.

I automatically went into full security mode like I always do when I feel uncomfortable about a person. Like I said, when I meet people I take in their facial expressions and aura. I guess that came out of when I was little and my dad was an alcoholic. When I was very young I learned to read when his mood swings would come. Eventually I could predict what his intensions were. I always knew when to avoid him. Anyways, I’m getting off topic; Max felt my tension but he wasn’t about to ask for another doctor. I was set onto a gurney in trauma one and left behind with Stanfield - a man who, needless to say, scared me shitless. Stanfield himself was posing as a general ER attending so all he could do was poke and jab at me, test my blood pressure and consciousness while the nurses constantly asked if I wanted anything for the pain. All throughout he was quizzing me and literally making my head spin with the amount of questions.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Can you me clearly?“

“Yes.”

“Read this for me.”

“Johnny rode his bike to school Friday because it was a sunny day.”

“Good…Good.”

Eventually after I survived his barrage of questions which included my full name, height, weight, age and mailing address I was finally met with a person who could set what was wrong, an orthopedic surgeon named Dr. Hughes. Hughes was kinder, far gentler than Stanfield. Along with the help of his fellow staff my knee was righted, x-rayed and wrapped in a tensor bandage. I left on crutches without a painkiller in my system. (I don’t believe in them).

Malone:: Wait a second. How long did this all take?

Whitby:: About four hours, give or take. Stanfield was with me for the first two and a half.

Malone:: Right. Continue.

Whitby:: When I left Stanfield scheduled a follow up appointment the following week with Max. This I was unhappy with. I hated being around people like Stanfield, people who seemed questionable. When Stanfield started trying to hover around me I was instantly paranoid with the idea that he had ulterior motives. Like he was some serial killer, I dunno. Anyways I stayed on crutches as much as possible. Although it burned to be out for the rest of the soccer season there was no way I was going outside of doctor’s orders. I wanted to be able to play as soon as possible so it was better to follow what they said then to avoid it. The quicker I was healed the better. The x-rays they had taken showed that I had saved myself from torn tendons. Just strained muscles in the region which made it painful, obviously, to stand and hold my weight on my leg. After a week it subsided but I was still taken back to the hospital to see Stanfield again. In a physiotherapy room he worked the heck out of me, more than I would have thought necessary. I walked without crutches, did weights in front of him and stretched too. He seemed impressed, constantly nodding and smiling as he wrote down his notes. At the end of that session I was told to still take it easy but that obviously, I was recuperating quickly. He asked me further questions and had a file under his arm when I finished.

Malone:: Obviously, his work up on you.

Whitby:: Right, but I didn’t know what it was at the time. Remember, I’m not psychic. You said so yourself.

When Max picked me up I was still tense and he seemed to brush it off like he always did. My paranoia about people always got him upset. It seemed as if he felt I was judging everyone I met. After a lengthy discussion about how I was too hard on the people I knew I got home. After that I sheltered myself outside on the patio drinking orange juice and trying to brush off the physiotherapy.

Malone: So you were in pain after you left your session with Stanfield?

Whitby:: Yes but I just took it all in stride. As the weeks went on I was rarely relaxed, more passive and on edge. I attended the last of my team’s soccer games. Without me they managed to nab a bronze for the year, a best for us. Stanfield left the hospital in the middle of June. The press went bananas over his departure, as it always did. He was after all a business tycoon turned doctor, the kind of man that mirrored Bruce Wayne’s father. To everyone he was a role model, everyone except me. With Stanfield out of town I did feel a bit better. At least I didn’t feel as if my every move was being watched. But still, there was always this inner gut feeling that got to me. Stanfield became something of a ghost who followed me around. His intentions and motivations killed me inside to the point where I started creating crackpot theories. When it finally happened I guess I was caught off guard. Even though I had all these theories I never really put them into consideration, like they would really happen.

Pause.

Malone:: Are you alright?

Whitby:: Yes, yes. I’m just trying to re-collect all of the details about that day.

Malone:: Right. Whenever you’re ready.

One minute passes.

Whitby:: It was a regular day, sunny and bright but not hot. Max and I had built a tree fort a long time ago in the woods behind our house and for some reason I decided to visit it and reminisce. Max had gotten married the summer prior and he had moved out with his wife to a house down the road. He was my brother and my father all in one and to him I was more of a daughter than a sister. Max is ten years older than me, we share the same father but not mother. When I was born my father was an alcoholic and Max’s mother took me in after my birth mother kicked the bucket, I was nine when that happened. Max grew up my senior and he took care of me just as much as Mom. I missed him and with my rabid mood swings he hadn’t been around too much. The tree house provided what I needed, a place to sit and just think and forget about my paranoia.

The climb up the ladder was harder than I remembered, it didn’t help that the rope was nearly thread bare in some sections. I had been six when we’d built it putting Max at sixteen. He’d hung out in it until he was eighteen. From then on I was on my own when I went out to it. In his absence it had become sort of a shrine to my family, the good people I knew anyways.

When I was up there it was small and cramped but pristine and untouched. Somehow it had weathered and whatever we had left within it was unscathed. As I picked my way through old crayon drawings the first darts were shot.

Malone:: Darts?

Whitby: Yes, tranquilizer darts. I had been up there for all of five minutes when they came down on me. I figured it was close range but they had been further out. Anyways the whistle they caused in the air sounded something like the buzz of a bee but it was enough to catch my attention. I ducked my head down and the triplet smashed into the wall sending a few splinters to the floor. I had a moment to pluck one from the wood before the barrage went into full storm. The darts looked like something out of a sci-fi movie which set me off into a sort of panic. Like the way people start fighting for their life in a movie, I just did whatever I could to get out of there. Instantly I launched myself out from the death box that the tree house had become and took off running. It hadn’t been that high off the ground so when I landed I was able to get a good leap forward. Getting back to the house was easy, I was a running addict. When I got to the back door I smashed into the screen before scrambling inside. The dart was still in my hand and trembling as I picked up the phone. The dial tone I expected to hear was cut short.

Malone:: They cut the phone lines?

Whitby:: Yes. Right as they figured I got back to the house. After screaming my lungs out for a few minutes I realized, to my horror that my mom was out getting groceries. They had planned it perfectly, to the point that they couldn’t have factored in how attentive I was. I knew that I had to get out of there and to Max, he would know what to do. I didn’t even think about going to the neighbors, they already thought that I was crazy and I didn’t need to be locked up in an asylum. So I grabbed my BMX and took off on the road. My heart was beating in my ears as I acted on impulse, wondering if I was crazy and hallucinating. My fears however, were confirmed when I hit a stop light and a black sedan cut me off as I drove through the walkway. They weren’t going terribly fast but it was enough to smash my bike and catapult me ten feet away. When I hit the concrete it was hard enough to knock me out. I was theirs for the taking.

Malone:: Do you remember anything after that?

Whitby:: En route to here I woke up. I was hog tied in a dog crate on a private plane. I was alone and I woke up for a moment. There was a guy’s face staring in on me like I was a specimen. No. 10, I think. He was wearing a gas mask in second though. Then I was sprayed, I guess with chloroform. When I woke up I was belted down to a table while they assessed the damage that had been done when I was hit by the sedan.

Malone:: And the end result?

Whitby:: 2 broken ribs and a fractured collar bone. I got lucky and escaped a concussion. But still, with such injuries the health of No. 3 looked better so they took him first.

Malone:: Yes, well. You’ve figured out a lot of things considering how much you’ve actually seen.

Whitby:: I guess so. But anyways, you had better log this.

Malone:: They always are Stella.

[/end of transmission]

○ » [Subject No.] --||:
The Soldier Experiment, No. 2

○ » [Written In Ink] --||:
Post Colors

○ » [Pulling Strings] --||:

#7d7d7d = Grey
#978472 = brown
#8ec156 = green

[Korrye]

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______ __ ______ __ ____________ ____ _________ _ __ __________________ _ _________ ___ _______ __ ____ _______ ____ ________ __ __ _____________ ____

[Korrye]

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All things set aside it was a good day, a far better day than any of the ones behind them. There were no projectiles or enemies in their sights only lush greenery. The plains themselves had been deafeningly silent, news to the ears of the others but not to his. The absence of the noises of life and nature had put him on edge. When the attack came it had been his worst nightmare. But that was three days ago. So, as he rode, Cole consistently reminded himself of the fact that he was still alive. Although his shoulder screamed at him every time he dared move it, it was a good day – all things set aside.

The attack three days prior had been unnerving to the caravaners but Cole seemed to feel as if it affected him more than anyone else. Maybe he was just being ignorant for thinking the way he was but truly, as far as he knew, he was the only one still shaking. The details of what had happened scared him and because of it the past few nights had been filled with fitful sleeps. Nightmares of barraging arrows and screams of fright haunted him. On top of that the gnats and mosquitoes had been particularly ravenous.

In his dreams the arrows always rained down upon him, aimed directly at him. The projectiles were always so fast that he could never escape them. Everytime they struck he woke, covered in sweat and grime.

“Just like in real life.” Cole scoffed, knowing full well that he had been hit during the attack. The ache in his shoulder told him so.

Even with his injuries and whatever damaged had been sustained they plowed on. The heat scalded them all now and deep down inside Cole was scorning himself for riding a black horse. The sun was already harsh but with a black mount under him he felt as if he were next to a furnace at all hours of the day. His mount was a tall beast, thick with muscle and ripe with agitation at the constant swarm of flies nesting themselves on his face. At 16 hands high he was an intimidating stead suiting very well the name of Brutus. If they had any mosquito mesh left he might have made a fly mask for him but that had all been claimed by the caravan members. Even Cole wasn’t willing to part with his mesh, it was necessary in avoiding the onslaught of mosquito’s and other pests at night. In a sense it was how you saved yourself from being eaten alive by bugs.

When Jen came into view and passed him swiftly on Carrot Cole's attention was caught by her. His partner in crime and fellow scout was a bubbly thing, amusing and more like a little sister than anything else. She was perhaps, the only person amongst the caravan that he trusted. Unfortunately that trust didn’t seem to follow through to Brutus who tensed the moment Carrot approached, stopping dutifully in his steps. Cole leaned over the horse’s neck, adjusting his position in the saddle.

His hips were sore today, his back too. Never in his life had he been on a horse for so long and consistently. It may have been routine but his body wasn’t enjoying it’s time in a saddle for hours a day. That and the fact that he hadn’t slept in the past three days. It was easy to see that he was tired and worn; the wound from the wound in his shoulder was taking its toll. Under his eyes were dark circles from his lack of sleep. It was very easy to see that Cole wasn’t fairing so well. But even so, he didn't let it stop him. Even though it bugged the heck out of him that he wasn't in tip-top shape he didn't take the concern that the others tried to share. Life was hard, Cole accepted that so he huffed out a deep breath and praised his mount for all his trouble.

“Good job today.” He cooed, hoping that somehow his voice would lull the beast out of it’s agitation. In response the horse snorted and pawed the ground. As he shifted his head up and down Cole saw the sweat glistening amongst the black fur. As Jen spoke her words drifted in and out of his ears. The first phrases weren’t directed at him so he kept his attention elsewhere. The sounds of nature had drifted into earshot a few minutes earlier and he had been locked onto it the moment it had started. As they entered the tree line his eyes scanned over the ground looking at the dirt ahead of them. The path they had been hoping for was nonexistent which meant they would need to carry a machete in the next few days should they need to clear any brush. As much as he hated to do such a thing they needed a direct path. Curling around every bend would make for a painfully long journey, something that was best avoided as they made their way to the front lines with supplies.

“D’you see anything, then?” Jen’s voice called out. Cole raised his head from analyzing the dirt, his eyes blinking rapidly as he came out of his daze.

“No path. No footprints either,” He responded--dismayed at what he had to say. More work, was what he really meant. Longer journey? Perhaps if the others decided that what the scout’s wanted to do was the wrong thing.

Although the path behind them was trodden and the day’s travelling was pretty much done what lay ahead was a boatload of navigating. Cole felt uneasy about the affair. Although the plains had been open, the forest provided an elegant cover to anyone who felt it necessary to attack them. If he was tired and sick in the next few days then that put the whole caravan at risk. It was not exactly a pretty position to be sitting in.

“Right now, we’re about a day’s ride south of Grayling. For us. With the wagon and the heat the way it is, I’d say two or three on top of that.”

“From there, factoring in the towns and villages along the way… about two and a half weeks till we reach the front lines.”

When Jen called out the ETAs for the remainder of their current journey he took it all in and nodded in response. The map in general was not his forte. That was what Jen was for; the fact that she knew the distances from city to city was extremely helpful. Cole was more of a walking radar, able to see if anything was coming, able to hunt for dinner when they had time. When Carrot swiveled full swing Cole kept a tight grip on his reins as Brutus shifted his weight from foot to foot, anxious to retake his lead. The whole time Jen seemed to keep her eyes locked on him. When her face contorted Cole snickered, for once actually catching his partner's expression. The look in her eyes told him that the heat was bothering her just as much as it was him.

“Seriously Jen, you’re going to let the heat kill you but not the northerners?” He chortled before going onto a question he needed to ask. "Any further in, do you think?"

“I think we’ve gone far enough. We’ll be needing to get back if we hope to make any progress today.” Cole didn't even take in the fact that Jen bit at her nails. Like always his eyesight drifted to his surroundings than to the person addressing him.

“Plus, if we go on for much longer, I’m afraid I might be thrown.”

He kept the rest of his laughter at bay as they returned from where they had come. Leaving behind what felt like home. The lush greens disappeared from his view as they turned to face the blinding plains. Three paces into a tree line for the first time in weeks and it was all gone in moments. Cole tugged Brutus on, digging the heel of his boot into the gelding’s right flank. Obediently the horse turned round’ and followed alongside Carrot, unhappy to be leaving the shade that the trees provided but happy that their journey ahead would be coming to it's end for the day.

“Here’s hoping we get back into that place soon,” Cole said wistfully. Brutus flicked his head from side to side almost as if he were nodding in agreement. As Carrot kicked up into a trot Brutus tugged at the reins to follow. Cole pulled back, forcing the horse to keep to a walk at first. The beast still didn’t follow commands and so he wouldn’t let Brutus have control. Perhaps they were a good match, two headstrong people needing to work together. When Jen was ahead by a few lengths he kicked Brutus into gear, leaning forward and holding himself over the horse’s long neck. Brutus instead unleashed his full fury, tossing his head and gearing through a trot to a steady canter. As the gelding picked up speed they passed Jen wide on her right, Cole didn't need to look back to see if she would pursue. Following the marks from their journey to, Cole took hold of the lead back. As the wind whipped through his brown hair he felt better, freer than he had in days and more so refreshed. There was always something about riding a horse at a high speed that enthused him. Eventually his mouth opened in a broad smile, teeth showing and his nearly sun burnt lips tight.

It didn’t take long for the caravan procession to come into view. Brutus slowed as Cole righted himself and sat tall in his seat, tightening the reins in his hands.

“All’s clear-“ Cole shouted, “For now that is.”

Even though his shoulder was aching beneath his armor, quiver and bow the adrenalin from the canter pushed away the pain. Eventually he knew that he had a due visit to the healer but that would be put off until camp was set up for nightfall. A hunt would more than likely be impossible given how long it would take for the caravan to get to the pre-ordained spot. Dinner would be quick to make, eat and clean up then. That all equaled an early night for those who needed it, like Cole. It felt good to look forward to sleep, perhaps because he was so exhausted it would come without the terrors of the previous nights.

As he passed Cole looked over the faces of companions as Brutus slowed to a trot and circled from the right around to the left side. The damage to the caravan from the attack was still clearly there. Arrow piercings, tears in the cover. It all was, luckily, manageable though so Cole sighed and titled his head back. His eyes looked straight up at the pure blue sky. Not a cloud was in sight, just the nearly unbearable sun.

All things aside, it was a good day.

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[Korrye]

F L Y H I G H_ _ _ _ _ _ _+



X & I was born with this name || » Carson Thad Simms

X & But I rather go by this || »


• Simms: ;; Like most common American’s he was always referred to by his friends by his last name. It was just how they recognized each other, it wasn’t uncommon either. The last name as a nickname came out of high school. They used to all have their last names on the back of their gym shirts. The coach got them all into the habit of referring to each other that way. It just stuck with him and how he addressed people throughout time.

• Speed: ;; No, his nickname here does not refer to the name of the drug. The name literally means it’s definition: full, maximum, or optimum rate of motion. The name of Speed came around when Carson started to get really talented with his ATs. He was a speed junky, he would go as fast as he could whenever given the opportunity. Now the name has faded into Carson’s history. It was a nickname he used as an ATer before The Golden Knights came around. When people talk about the legend that Carson was they refer to him as Speed, Simms or of course The Handsome Knight. Most people, unless closer friends, never got to know his first name.

• The Handsome Knight: ;; By far Carson’s most popular nickname of all time. When he was the leader of The Golden Knights everyone had a nickname. Having been the leader he had selected his own. Originally he had wanted to be named the Dark Knight but his light personality and appearance didn’t suit the name. Then a group of fan girls came up with The Handsome Knight and despite how much Carson hated it at first it just stuck. Like glue.


X & Born with a strive for adventure || »

July 6th I’ve got, lemme see, 24 candles on my cake…

→ Carson was born in San Francisco California and only lived there for a minor portion of his childhood.

X & You better believe I'm a || » ♂ Last time I checked I had a bulge in my pants…

X & Can I get your number || »

The relaxed woman No one at all. Though his preference would always be women Carson's heart was stomped on once and so he would never be truly willing to kindle up a new relationship with another woman.

X & A taste of this sweet eye candy || »


It’s easy to say that Carson suits his most famous nickname: The Handsome Knight. If you were to go into your local library and open up a children’s story book you just might find a picture of prince charming. This prince charming has may similar visual qualities that Carson possesses. He is a prince in the eyes of so many people and has been for his entire life.

As a baby he was said to look like baby cupid himself. Having been the son of a business mogul and a high fashion model he was an adorable child. He even made it to the covers of several baby fashion magazines and a baby commercial here and there. But his mother stopped all of the media attention and modelling when Carson turned six and started school.

Now, being in his late twenties, Carson’s face has matured to its most natural and beautiful point. He’s in a stage in his life when his looks are their personal best. His stunning deep chocolate eyes capture the attention of most anyone who passes him by. Then his skin, although not tanned like any typical Californian, is between pale and tanned. This way, you could say, he kind of blends in with the Asian crowd that lives in Tokyo. His other facial features, such as his nose, mouth and ears, all complement and accent one another. His ears are folded gently back into his head, his nose is not too small but also not too big and his mouth features the perfect smile (thanks to braces). Then lastly was his shock of strawberry blonde hair, natural of coarse and never dyed, cut in any typical American fashion and brushed so that it's at least neat and tidy. Carson isn’t really a fan of ‘beauty’ products.

Moving on from his head Carson’s body once was extremely muscular and toned. He used to be absorbed in weight training and some of his body toning is still visible in his legs, abs and arms. He isn’t the bulky kind of guy nor is he skin and bones. You might say he’s right in-between. His hands appear to be too big for him and his feet look too small but he doesn’t care. The last thing Carson ever thinks about is his appearance; many of things in his life come first.

When it comes to clothing Carson dresses for a young man just younger then his actual age. He still shops in teenage hotspots because the shirts are comfortable and the sizes fit just right. Depending on the season you can catch Carson wearing anything from a dressy looking coat to casual flip flops. He prefers to have a pair of jeans, tank and open shirt as his favourite outfit or maybe just a t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. However, whatever he is wearing it has to be comfortable and fit properly. He doesn’t suffer for fashion.


X & Take a look inside of me || »


Carson, you could say, has a personality related to a variety of objects, both living and inanimate. For instance, if you were to compare him to a tree, Carson would be an Oak; a tree that grows wildly out of control if untrimmed. If you were to compare him to an animal he would be a fox, too fast to be caught in the act. And lastly, if you were to compare him to a clock; he may be slow, he may be fast, but he’s, quite simply, always ticking.

Having been Dyslexic from a young age Carson had troubles in school. It wasn’t that he couldn’t retain information, it was that he couldn’t read or memorize it from paper. He was always asking for people to read things aloud to him and he still does. Even if the Black Sheep is the one reading his mail to him, it’s all he needs. Once he hears it, the information is stored and memorized. Repetition may be needed at sometimes if a distraction comes along; for instance when Jack starts barking because someone is at the door to the house.

Now, when you meet Carson he doesn’t appear to be a friendly guy. And it isn’t that he’s shy or nervous or any of that other agoraphobia crap. Carson doesn’t like to be personal with people; he is the kind of guy who is known only by his last name. If you know his first name it’s because you’re the only thing he’s got. In this way he keeps to himself, he’s private about his social life and what he does. Though he can be considered a major flirt at times, Carson doesn’t open up his heart and soul to a stranger and he never will. His heart was stomped on once and that was enough for him. She ruined his chances of ever wanting to be married, have a girlfriend or even to start a family.

Speaking of children or family; was it mentioned at all that Carson hates immaturity? It’s the very baseline of who he is. Carson cannot tolerate or stand little kids who have disrespect for other people. Though he was formerly quite the delinquent he still greeted people who respected him with respect as well as being polite. At least, you could say, Carson is very much a gentleman. He has manners that many young men his age can never wish to obtain. However, don’t start to think that he would be stuck up around a person who doesn’t show him respect. He becomes quite the opposite. If you show him disrespect Carson will do the exact same back to you and sometimes worse. If you say anything to him that is rude or are the kind of person to make a snide remark after someone talks then his tongue is like a whip. He knows what to say to make anyone feel like dirt.

As for his ego? Carson never had one. He was never the kind of guy to flaunt the fact of his talent; he never rubbed his position as leader into another’s face. He believed and knew that there were better than him. He just didn’t think that he would actually be ruined by a person that way. Carson would never be arrogant towards another person, he would, however, let them rant on and on about how good they are for an hour before chiming in politely, are you done yet? The good thing about Carson is that he’s patient. His temper doesn’t flare all over the place unless someone starts talking about a touchy matter. For instance, her or even the day that The Golden Knights were taken out. He hates when people talk about the event as if they were there. Most of all Carson hates gossip and how rumours fly around about his demise.

So, be the right person. Be polite, don’t disrespect him and don’t go spreading rumours about him. Because then Carson will quickly become your worst nightmare.





T O U C H T H E S K Y_ _ _ _ _ _ _+



X & You can't defeat us || » Formerly of The Golden Knights

X & Watch me tear you into shreds || »

Just because someone goes into forced retirement (courtesy of the police may it be added) doesn’t mean they lose their skills.

During his childhood Carson experienced the regulars. He was on his little league soccer team, he ran in cross country and swam a heck of a lot in his spare time. When he was given the chance to start skating he liked the feeling and the speed but he wasn’t a fan of the cold. It was on his tenth birthday that he received an ordinary pair of roller blades as a present from his father. Carson used them so much that the wheels were run down to their plastic rims in a month. When he was old enough and had saved up all of his birthday money, allowance and earnings Carson bought his own pair of ATs and loved them from the start.

Speed was formerly his greatest weapon but also his strong knowledge of the anatomy of the gear he used. When he was fifteen he sat down and took apart his ATs. Then he upgraded them and specified them to his needs. He knew that he needed extra speed and mobility so that when he hit a sharp turn he wouldn’t wipe out. Carson sat through and thought about everything, he speculated things and practiced for hours, even when it rained.

By the time Carson was seventeen he was a force to be reckoned with and that’s when he finally went out and started to climb to the top. At eighteen he and a bunch of others formed The Golden Knights. They were the best of the best. Though Carson wasn’t the tricks specialist he was good with just about everything else. He didn’t really learn how to put the tricks into his routines until he was nineteen. He quickly became a legend and people loved to watch. Though Carson didn’t want to a fan favourite he quickly became one.

After his demise by her Carson’s highly upgraded ATs were confiscated by the police. They raided his garage and took everything from him. To avoid jail time he was told to never try to use ATs again. If he was ever caught they wouldn’t give him a second chance. At 21 he was forced to disappear from the scene. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t bought a pair of ATs since then and experimented to keep up his game. He just hasn’t raced or fought against anyone.

Because, really, once you’ve been addicted to something for over half of your life; you can’t really drop it and move on.

X & Do you dare to find out more about me || »


He was born on July 6th, his mother going into labour at a lunch with a friend. His father was an entrepreneur and business mogul. Though he never saw him much Carson admired his father for his skills and tactics in any conference room. He was always spoken to by his mother as if his father was truly a god. Carson’s mother was an internationally renowned model so he gained a beautiful image from his parents. This being not only his general appearance but also what was expected of him. Many people held very high expectations for the boy; one of them was to one day inherit the company his father had worked so hard to build. But of course, life is never what it is expected to be. Carson twisted down a completely different path, one that involved him being outdoors instead of inside a conference room.

He was a child model during his young years. He was one of those kids you would see in the catalogues laughing and playing around wearing a cute outfit Carson’s mother had brought him into the world of modeling and he was loved by photographers for being extremely photogenic. However this period of his life quickly ended when he turned six and had to start school. Carson’s mother had originally wanted for him to be placed in a public school, that way he would be just like any other child. But his father won the debate and Carson was sent to a boy’s military academy until he was nine. It was here that he learned his mannerisms, how to be polite and how to never disrespect a person. But no matter how hard he tried Carson was never the best student. He had troubles reading and wrote a full year behind everyone else in his grade. His parents blamed the teachers because they truly believed their son was supposed to be a child genius. After he returned home from Military School it was discovered that Carson had dyslexia and his parents did everything to suppress it. They treated him as if he was contagious, maybe he would rub off on them and they would become stupid. In reality, this is far from true but his dimwitted model of a mother firmly believed that he would harm her genius.

So this was when Carson’s parents began to drift away from him, perhaps you could say if appeared as if they had stopped loving him. Then for his tenth birthday he was given two things; an airplane ticket to Tokyo for a student exchange program and a pair of rollerblades. To keep him out of their way and out of their faces Carson was sent on a two year student exchange program to Tokyo Japan where he would be schooled in an advanced fashion, learn a new language, and experience a different culture. His parents had high hopes that maybe Carson would overcome his Dyslexia and become a great student. But as you can imagine, this never happened. When he arrived Carson was excited but that quickly faded. Being an American he stood out like a sore thumb among the crowds. He was mocked and disgraced by many for being American. They called him an outsider because he just wasn’t like them; they told him he didn’t belong there. Most days Carson would only think of when the exchange would end and he would be able to go home to the US. He didn’t care about his parents or his father’s company. He just wanted to be around people who were like him, who talked like him too. Carson could never learn Japanese because of his Dyslexia; he could only retain the basics from his host family. Luckily the mother spoke fluent English so communicating things weren’t difficult at his home. To learn more about the culture and language Carson started to work at a local restaurant owned by his host family. He helped out and earned a small sum of money. Whatever he earned went towards a pair of ATs. Carson knew that he was ready for them. He had owned his rollerblades for almost two years and they were so worn out that the fabric seemed to be disintegrating from overuse.

The day he knew he had every penny he needed for a pair of high end ATs Carson went out and bought them on his own. He didn’t care that he supposedly needed parental permission to use them. ATs were the only thing that Carson had ever wanted. After he bought them and brought them home they were the only thing he cared about. He adored them because they didn’t mock him, they weren’t racist. He practiced and practiced, every day just wanting to go faster and faster. He craved speed and the adrenaline rush one gained when they felt like they were going out of control. Who cared about roller coasters or thrill rides, Carson had his ATs.

When he turned twelve Carson’s father moved his company over to Japan and his mother followed with her crumbling career. Carson was shocked. He had so desperately wanted to leave and yet he was now stuck in Tokyo. He was rejoined with his family and told that he could no longer live with his host family. This was something that truly made him upset. But it didn’t stop him from working at the restaurant. When his parents finally stopped saying they were so happy to see him and so sorry to have left him with some other family for two years Carson kept using his ATs. It appeared, as well, that his parents no longer cared that he was Dyslexic either, they didn’t even care about his grades. He was pulled from his ‘advanced’ classes and put into a normal school. At fifteen Carson was given a fresh start, the capability to clean up his reputation as a loser and become something new. His ATs would help him achieve a greatness he could never have imagined.

At his new school Carson started to use his ATs and race against others. He admired everyone on top of him but he slowly defeated them one by one. His reputation grew. Some of the people who bothered to call him an outsider only made Carson crave the need for speed even more. He defeated countless people and soon Carson wasn’t just facing opponents during school, it claimed a firm hold of his life. He was engrossed with his air treks; he had become obsessed with them. It was now to a point when he started to upgrade his air treks on his own, create his own parts for them so that he could be better. All he ever wanted to be was the best and he never rubbed it in someone’s face for a second. He stopped working at the restaurant finding that he didn’t have time to pick up a shift anymore.

By the time he was almost seventeen he was deemed an A-Grade AT user. This was a proud achievement. People knew him by his last name, Simms, and talked about him. It was just a short year later that Carson and his group of buddies created The Golden Knights. They were an all male team, each specializing in something unique. For Carson it was speed. He liked to go fast; he liked feeling as if nothing else mattered in the world during those seconds that he was racing. Sometimes he didn’t care if he won or lost, just as long as he could max out on speed. Just as long as he could forget the bad things that has happened to him in his life; that his parents didn’t love him or what he witnessed happen around him. He spent two great years in the spotlight as The Handsome Knight. But he found that during these times racing didn’t keep up enough income for him to rent out a decent apartment and continue paying for new upgrades and parts. So Carson started to work at a local coffee shop but then moved on to working as a carpenter on high profile building sites. He could get his hands on quick materials with a discount which was a big help to him and his team.

But then she came along.

____________________________A girl…

___________________________________ Sasha…

Carson had never wanted a relationship, he was happy being on his own and without the burden it brought along. But she played with him, she tugged as his hair, whispered in his ear. The feelings of love had been so irresistible that he had caved. He started dating her. She loved ATs, she used them well. She was talented with a lot of the things that Carson was not. She had parents who were alcoholics so she had moved on from them at a young age. She hated school because it was a waste of her time and she loved tricks and all of the combinations of moves one could pull using just ATs. Carson was so head over heels for her that he actually let her onto the team. She had asked him one night over dinner and Carson had foolishly told her that it was okay. She was the first female to become a Golden Knight and quickly she became the envy of many. All of Carson’s team mates didn’t feel right about her; after all it was dangerous times for any AT user. But Carson ignored his friends of years and told them that his girlfriend of three months wouldn’t betray them. Carson never expected this girl to be the one to bring him to his knees crying and bloody. She sabotaged his friend’s races; made sure they lost and had to hand in their gear to the police and go on probation. She messed with Carson, manipulated him into thinking that it was his friend’s faults. They were the ones who didn’t constantly check their gear; they were the ones who had lost their do or die matches.

Carson was the last one to lose. It was his do or die race, just after he had found out who she was. A close friend of his had told him after he had lost. At first he didn’t believe it, Sasha couldn’t be a cop! She was his girlfriend, they were in love…
But…
His sense of doubt arose and then the guilt sank in. But it was only for a few seconds because immediately Carson was angry. He found her outside and confronted her. She was open, honest and a complete b***h to him. She crushed his heart, stomped on it right in front of him before challenging him on a route he didn’t know. He went inside to talk it over with a friend when she sabotaged his gear. The start was fine, Carson pulled ahead but when he hit a turn he lost control which caused for him to wipe out and slide against the pavement into the side of a building. He was knocked unconscious and she arrested him after she had officially won. Brutally injured and half sane Carson watched as his life was flushed away in an instant. Within two measly weeks The Golden Nights were no more. To top off Carson’s demise was the events he saw take place after he regained consciousness from his fall. Sasha was surrounded by a group of young adults, ranging from ages. But worst of all the arm of another man was around her waste and he was congratulating her for following his directions. That man was ((The Obsessive Devil)) and the moment their eyes met Carson looked away in defeat.

He spent a day in jail before being released on probation. He had nothing left. When he returned home he saw The Black Sheep. Some kid who had lived next door to his house way back when his dad had been alive. He remembered the bruises, the screams. The kid needed a place to stay. Carson opened up the door and let him in; he had nothing better to do with his life. After being stabbed in the back he never wanted to have a relationship again so he wasted away in the confines of his home for awhile before finally waking up one morning knowing that he needed a fulltime job. He needed money so that he could support both himself and the kid. He went back to a parts shop. It was the only thing he knew. They hired him when they found out that he did have an extensive knowledge on parts and assembly. He started to work full time and picked up a spare shift at the coffee shop whenever they needed him but also a shift or two volunteering at the local animal shelter.

So now Carson spends his time freely. He helps The Black Sheep in times of need, knowing the kid is just like himself before he was caught. He lives in a nice house, has nice things. He received inheritance of his father’s money a year back after he died of a stroke. His mother had died years earlier of complications to do with bulimia. But he didn’t really care about them or the money he received. He donated large portions to various charities and started a fund for The Black Sheep in case anything happened. He was just being the guardian to a kid who could quickly get into a lot of trouble. Some say he’s just being fatherly now. When the kid isn’t around he’s bored so Carson has his dog; a Germen Sheppard/ Husky and it follows him wherever he goes. He chose the name Jack for his former team mate on The Golden Knights, the one who had revealed to him who Sasha really was.

So currently Carson only has Jack and The Black Sheep to live for. He’s experimented and kept up his skills with ATs but he hasn’t ever gone back to the site of a challenge.


X & I'm just havin' fun || »

→ Assembly; ever since he was little Carson can remember that he always took things apart to learn more about them. This doesn’t mean that he likes dissecting live creatures. O no. It’s quite the opposite. Carson likes to take apart mechanical things like clocks, computers, telephones. He likes to see the inner workings of things so that he sees how it works beyond the surface. It’s part of what made him into such a great air trek user, he understood his gear beyond just it’s cover. So during his spare time he may be working on taking something of his apart or putting it back together.

→ Animals; Carson has a soft spot for animals, mainly dogs. He adores them because they are selfless in that they put others before themselves. He had learned a lot from his own dog Jack and helps out at the local animal shelter during the summers when days at the shop are slow.

→ Cooking; food is Carson’s third talent. He picked up his cooking skills at the restaurant all those years ago. His host family taught him about Asian cuisine and all about how things were grown. He has his own small patch of garden in the backyard of his house so that he can home grow a lot of special spices and herbs. You’ll either find him in the kitchen fiddling with ingredients or out in his garden picking at weeds.

→ Music: is something that absorbs any left over spare time Carson has. As a child he was taught the violin he just never pursued it until he was older and had the spare time. But not only does he play the violin but he plays the piano. He loves the sounds that both instruments make but he likes listening to other people play too.

X & Oh, hell yes || »

► Food; Carson loves to eat. Food is, quite simply, his best friend. He doesn’t over eat but he loves knowing that he can cook a good meal. A lot of people appreciate his skill in this area.

► Beaches; quite simply it’s the calming environment; the sand between your toes, the waves lapping up on the sand. Carson adores beaches but they have to be clean and well kept for them to be calming and relaxing. If there’s trash and crap left over then it defeats the point of the beach. The abandoned beach is the place where Carson prefers to be when he is too stressed out to be at home. When he needs time on his own it’s where he goes to think by himself.

► Music; though he played the violin as a child Carson prefers to listen to music over play it. Just another hobby of his that he adores. Music is unique and a true talent from whoever is the musician.

► Organization; a deep hatred of not being able to find things leads Carson to live a very organized lifestyle. Everything is clean, whether he does it himself or the cleaning lady. It’s one of his personal things.

► Respect; Carson knows that for some people you have to earn respect. With him he’ll give it to you, you just have to keep it safe from harm or no second chances. Carson likes the aspect of respect and just how it works. It’s his very core and when people abuse his respect then they can never gain it back.

► Water; ever since he was just a kid Carson has adored swimming. Though he doesn’t have a pool he still loves to go swimming or take a shower. Not only to stay clean but how relaxing water is as a whole. Hidden away under a pagoda outside in his backyard is a hot tub, one that is well used. When the stresses of life become too much that’s where you’re bound to find him.

X & You've got to be kidding me || »

◄ Fire:: it was in military school when Carson was just young when his coat caught fire during an outdoor campfire. Since then Carson is weary of large amounts of fire and it scares him to the point where he’ll back away and then retreat to leaving the area.

◄ Blood:: after the betrayal Carson had never seen himself bleed so much. It’s sort of become a phobia of his and a great dislike of his to see the wounded and the bleeding. It isn’t that he’s squeamish but that it brings back the memory of Sasha.

◄ Travelling:: during his lifetime Carson did a fair amount of travelling. He prefers to stay in one place and doesn’t intend on moving out of his house anytime soon. He likes the neighbourhood where he is and doesn’t intend to leave it. If Carson does travel it’s a one day road trip and no more. It’s not like he has anything or anyone to see or visit anyways.

◄ Books:: the same as letters. Because Carson is dyslexic and reading is a burden for him Carson won’t even think to pick up a novel and start reading. He’ll read the paper at the most to know his current events but otherwise he isn’t a bookworm and most likely never will be.

◄ Letters:: because Carson is dyslexic he hates reading, it’s his true downfall. So Carson prefers not to receive letters but phone calls where he can listen to the person talking. But this doesn’t mean that any letter he receives goes into the trash. He has to pay his bills somehow. So for Carson it’s not that he truly hates letters, he finds then a nuisance.

◄ Pollen:: one word, allergies.

X & I'll slit my throat if this happens || »


In his childhood Carson learned to never be afraid of failing and what would happen afterwards but this strength did not stay with him. After his sabotage Carson felt as if he had failed his friends. He was supposed to have protected them and instead he was blind sighted by a girl and let them all down. Carson never wants that feeling again, knowing that he has let someone close to him down. He puts most of his effort into supporting The Black Sheep and of coarse Jack (his dog).


X & I live my life by this rule || » I trust everyone I just don’t trust the devil inside them…

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ +


+. Pumpkin Orange & Dark Teal .+

[Korrye]

Go to Page 3 for all Carson Posts.
I'll make a directory eventually.
xD

[Korrye]

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Never in his life had Cole endured such an injury, Sure as a young thing he’d scraped his knee or sprained his elbow but nothing had ever burned so much as what he felt now. As he approached Felice and caught sight of the hunter he could see in the other man’s eyes that his appearance was as bad as he felt it to be. Sure he knew that he was tired but most times he didn’t even look it. This time around there was a difference and the fighter seemed to pick up on Cole’s weariness instantly. Had the others? Before speaking Cole turned his head, checking over his shoulder to meet the gaze of anyone else behind him. Jen’s face came into sight, far off and running up to meet them was Ardylia, the healer. The young woman worked miracles it seemed but a day in the heat and a hard ride didn’t make things any better. As he turned his gaze back to Felice he felt the jerk and pull of the muscles in his neck, burning as he pulled at the wound from the arrow. Sweat seemed to pool at his shoulders and under arms making him all the more irritated.

“Thanks for the hard work, you two. Cole, you can take Swifter and look for a deer, if you like. He hasn’t taken one in a while, but he might want to today, if you can give him a little aid. Jennen, I’d like to know how far ahead you’ve scouted, what plans you’re thinking of and how long it’ll take to get to camp tonight.”

“I appreciate the thanks,” Cole responded.

It was nice to think that Felice didn’t want to push Cole for any information with regards to their preferred path. Jen knew a lot more about the ETAs and distances than Cole did. In terms of terrain and populations then the right thing to do was to come to Cole. He expected that over dinner they would have a discussion about what to do about the path through the forest. It was either cut through or take the long route. A decision would need to be made before the start of tomorrow.

Felice seemed to be a fatherly character. Considering how much older Felice was compared to Cole the role made sense. He picked up on the concern in his voice and it only confirmed what he had seen earlier. Felice knew how tired he was. Never had Cole thought of himself as an open book until now. Most times he had been good at hiding what he felt. Somewhat of a stone face to others this group seemed to know him better than he did himself. But nothing more could be done.

But anyways, the offer was made. Take Swifter for a hunt or stay behind? It was obvious that something other than gruel and oatmeal would be appetizing. It made his own mouth water. A filling meal, a good night’s sleep. Cole considered but was taken away from his thoughts as Brutus snorted loudly and tossed his head up and down. A swarm of five or six flies swirled around his face angrily before finding their places on his mussel once again. As he came back to Cole saw that Ardylia was walking casually beside him now too. The purple stains on her hands caught his eye. Purple? How could anyone get purple on their hands?

“I’d rather you rested Cole. Meat sounds good and all, but your shoulder needs time to heal.” Ardy said.

Well that pretty much made the decision for him didn’t it? It sure did and despite the very tempting offer of having his shoulder looked at and numbed Cole almost didn’t want to. The idea of a hot slab of deer meat was more than he could hope for. Lately he felt as if he was losing weight because of the terribly food. Cole felt that the conditions they all lived in were unsuitable, considering that the youngest of them was a mere fourteen. Even though he was young compared to the others he knew that they all deserved better. A slab of deer sounded like an excellent treat and if he could provide that relief to everyone then maybe he should.

“I’d like to see your shoulder before you go on anymore hunts actually,” she finished. And the decision was made. Despite Cole’s wishes to take actions in the opposite way he couldn’t go against what Ardy said. His arm was important. Every minute Cole was reminded of its importance by the weight of his bow and quiver on his back.

“It shouldn’t be long until the caravan can stop. Then you can look at the wonderful symmetry of gnashes in my arm,” Cole joked. He heaved Brutus forward with a slight kick and the horse picked up his pace, sliding his gait into a peaceful trot. As Cole jostled in the saddle he winced as his bowstring dug into his shoulder blade. The affects of the adrenalin were wearing off, that much he could tell and very much feel. Hopefully no one saw that. He hoped that no one saw how much pain he was in. Cole never wanted to feel as if he were the baby of the bunch, incapable of surpassing a wound like the one that had been inflicted upon him. That was partially why he continued to work as hard as he did. No wound was going to get him down and out. There was a job to be done and he would see to it that it would be done.

Suddenly Adeline came into view. Cole was startled at first, taken out of his frame of thought and back into reality. He looked down into the girls face and watched as she spoke.

“I found some snake skin a couple of yards to the east. There are also trails left from several directions. When you tie the horses up, make sure you double check the surrounding area. Maybe leave some fire around to heed them off,” Adeline concluded.

“Setting off any sparks would cause a wildfire in an instant. It’s disgustingly barren and hot out there, worse than here on the road. Snakes are snakes. They're not likely to strike unless you annoy them."

Damien’s face was suddenly met by Cole’s eyes. He saw the childish look in his eyes. Cole hadn’t caught what he had said to Jen. But he caught something in the young one’s eyes. Was it anger? Or maybe jealousy? Cole couldn’t figure it out so he just averted his gaze to look forward. The tree line was still far off in the distance. So close and yet so far.

The heat seemed to bear down on him more than he wanted it to. The sun had a funny way of doing that to people. When it came it didn't hold back in these parts, it just scorched the living daylights out of everyone who dared be under it. There was no way of escaping it but Cole could feel the sweat his body was conjuring under his armor. The dark leather and steel of his attire weighed down on him. When he was out scouting he didn't want to be caught dead in just a tunic. Besides, it saved his skin was being badly burned which would only cause for more irritation. The treck a head would last until the beginning of dawn. Brutus was already anxious, why couldn't they just wait up a head in the shade of those lovely trees? Cole could feel the tension of his stead under him. It caused for his awareness to raise. The horse felt something coming on.

Every one of the caravan members was suddenly tuned out. Their voices went in one ear and out the other. The sounds of nature filled his head. This was his talent, something his father had taught him to do at a young age. There was only dead air around them, sitting stagnant in the grass. Not a single gust of air met them. There were no birds or even the chirp of a grasshopper. Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong.

Cole stopped Brutus dead in his tracks. Cole leaned his head forward and closed his eyes. Again he listened. The sounds of his own breathing seemed louder than anything else. That told him something was up. His eyes opened in a flash and looked towards the sky. The cloudless blue filled his vision. Then out of his peripheral he saw it. A rustle of dark fabric amongst the golden blades of scorched prairie grass. They were being followed.

Without hesitation Cole acted swiftly. No matter what pain he felt in his shoulder his arms whirled around him quickly. He swept his leg over the side of the saddle and dismantled while at the same time gathering his bow into his grasp. An arrow was notched into the string and launched as he landed firmly on the roadway. Brutus was unnerved by these actions but he still let out a loud call to Carrot, a nay that would surely catch everyone's attention. Cole didn't take anytime to regain his footing. Instead he darted, forcing himself into the forest of tall grass. As his shoulder groaned in agony Cole clenched his teeth together tightly, trying his best to ignore the pain. As he sprang through the grass he found where the stalker had been. The trampled pathway of tall grass was smoothed in a southerly direction. The path itself winded through the grass. Only just recently had their stalker been watching them. The path was wide enough for a fully grown man. This was no animal looking for a meal. Cole didn't pause, he merely took in all of the facts and continued on. A startled grunt reached his ears. Cole saw the stalker on his back to his right, the arrow that had been shot was deeply imbedded in the man's upper thigh. Shock riddled the man's face. He was dark skinned with a well kept mustache and beard. His hair was dark and cut short. Dark brown eyes stared at Cole and widened. The man's body was large and muscular, his clothing a sort of camouflage. The dark handle of a cleaver, Cole saw, was what had attracted his attention. Without hesitation the man struggled to raise himself off of the dirt. His hands scratched around the ground, pulling at dirt and rocks. The handle of his weapon came into his grasp. As Cole approached, an arrow notched in his bow the man raised the knife high over his chest, preparing to kill himself.

“NO! Don't!" Cole protested. He dropped his bow and ran knowing full well that the stalker could have information about the attack three days ago. Cole landed and clasped his hands tightly around the fists of the soldier. The man however was too strong. He tossed his arm at Cole, the cleaver digging finding a way into his shoulder once again. A whistle hummed through the air. Cole heard it and watched in disbelief as an steel headed arrow pierced the stalker's throat. He slumped over into Cole's arms, his eyes still open. The cleaver dropped from Cole's shoulder but he didn't feel anything. Adrenalin was pumping through him again. Without even noticing he was breathing heavily through his mouth. The arrow, he saw, was Northern. The rebels had killed off their own man! Cole rose to his feet and staggered, looking out in every direction possible. There were no others. As warm blood dripped down his arm he finally paused and looked at the wound. The gnash from the arrow had been ripped open and now plunged deeper. To check on his nerves he moved his fingers. All five responded. Then he turned knowing full well that his actions would bring about more questions.

Why were the Northerners so intent on killing them all?
How had the man known about his pre-existing wound, was it luck?
Why knifes and not arrows this time around?
Why would they kill off their assassin, where were the others now?

Fear rose in Cole's stomach, a deep and cold fear that seemed to flood his mind. Why was this happening?

______ __ ______ __ ____________ ____ _________ _ __ __________________ _ _________ ___ _______ __ ____ _______ ____ ________ __ __ _____________ ____

[Korrye]

● × ● THE UNCHANGING

›› Ω ‹‹ || Call For Me
Address me as Daire Jéremonie Hynn of the Desert
›› Ω ‹‹ || By Something Else
My people label me as Bandit son of Tallish, The Hermit of Ryokoga or Sir Dare
›› Ω ‹‹ || A Numerical Mishap
I have been here for 2 decades and 4 years
›› Ω ‹‹ || Of Set Dates
I was born early on date inscribed in slate that reads: 16, July
›› Ω ‹‹ || Of The Sexes
I was knighted when I became a man at eighteen
›› Ω ‹‹ || But Concerning Preferences
I hunt and dream of a woman who will replace the hole in my heart
›› Ω ‹‹ || Home, Sweet Home
I have remained in The Ryokoga Kingdom, my adventures are few and far apart
›› Ω ‹‹ || An Unbreakable Vow
I stand with the Legion for now but my heart leads me astray to The Resistance

● × ● MIRROR, MIRROR

›› Ω ‹‹ || Can’t You See
Brown as the sand that surrounds me
›› Ω ‹‹ || What Sits on Top
Creamy white with hints of the lightest brown you’ve ever seen
›› Ω ‹‹ || In Tons, In Pounds
I’m light for man, only 175 pounds
›› Ω ‹‹ || To Frame A Second
My people wish to forget my existence

›› Ω ‹‹|| To Become Spellbound

[a body of pure heart that was once tainted…]
Daire is an attractive young man who represents well the region he hails from. His appearance makes it painfully obvious where he comes from and you need not depend on the clothing you see him wearing, just by spotting the darkness of his skin and the creamy tones in his hair you’ll instantly know; that boy is from the desert. Daire’s body is toned. But not just toned, he’s ripped with muscles. His knight training gave him skills but as he lived on his own as a recluse all he did was train. However, he is toned. This means that he isn’t a bulky mass of muscle that stands before you, everything remains in proportion. He is an average height of 5”8 and he weighs in at roughly 175 pounds. His height is not as staggering as it may sound, the Ryokoga region is known for tall people, both men and women. His skin is as dark as the sand itself, if not darker. It’s tones are evenly laid out, no tan lines from clothing either. After years and years under the sun his skin slowly turned from an already dark shade to an even golden brown. He does not look orange in front of you and he will never look pale unless he’s on his death bed. Contrasting his skin are his creamy blonde locks which are thick and long, and pin straight. His hair color is a family trait however his is slightly brown (though barely. It is after all a natural white blonde). His hair is cut into choppy layers and is most times pulled back in some feminin fashion. Regularly he’ll have a family crest pin holding his hair back. Due to the nature of his haircut however, many strands fall out and still get into his face.

[wears the clothing of a man of great power…]
Due to the fact that his mother was high priestess and that he worked for the royal family for some time as knight Daire has quite the fashion sense. His attire is suitable to the region and contains a mixture of brighter colors to reflect off of his darker skin. His most common attires are shown in the image above. Daire's clothing is custom to his body and it is unique. His top is a tight, hooded cream tunic with intricate designs. It ends in a v shape in the front and another in the back leaving maneuvering space at his hips. Attached to the back cut of fabric are a series of pheasant feathers. (Another series of feathers are also attached to his hood) The animal is a part of his family crest. The sleeves of the tunic are a dark navy blue, almost black, with again, designs. Attached to the tunic at either ends of his waist are pieces of fabric with his family crest on them. His pants are a tricky business. On top you see a flowing light grey material but they are lined with an orange sweat absorbing fabric. The flow of the lighter grey allows for good circulation so that Daire won’t overheat in the sun. For shoes he wears sandals with matching colors to the rest of his outfit. This attire is pretty much all that you will see him in when he's not on the battle field. And even then, his armor does not differ in colors.

[whose armor is nothing but lost at sea… ]
As a knight and soldier what Daire wears a unique suit of armor specialized to himself. The region of Ryokoga has its own unique styles of armor. Instead of the usual chain mail suits that other kingdoms wear; the Ryokoga army is fitted with a durable sweat absorbing material. The weight of normal armor often bears down on the warrior in the desert so the people of the kingdom have a far different look on the battlefield. Underneath everything they wear is a bodysuit of this fabric, it ranges in colors but Daire’s had always been bright orange. The fabric itself is absorbs impact well so it acts as a strong guard, much like chain mail. On top of this the people will wear shoulder gear, gauntlets and shin guards. On almost all of these Daire has his family crest. On top of that they wear a tight tunic and trouser that are tight but stretch so that the soldiers may remain mobile. If they wish they may wear chest plates and additional protection. Daire does wear a vest during important battles, it matches his everyday attire.


● × ● INTERNAL AFFAIRS


›› Ω ‹‹ || Beyond The Pretty Face

He will never admit it but Daire thinks of himself as a monster. When in the presence of others Daire will always seem like a man who lives for each day and this is true. He is himself if he is acting this way. Yes, his thoughts may always be looming on Anyu and the Ryokoga kingdom however while living as a recluse he understood his wrongs and now that he is with the Dark King he has set out to find himself. As a knight he thought that he knew himself but after Anyu’s death it became apparent that he was acting. He was a prime example of an egotistical young man who thought that reality would never catch up to him. Now, on his own he has changed significantly and hopes to never become again what he was then.

[A T T E N T I V E ]
If you changed your hair one day, say you got a trim, Daire would notice. Even if you chose to cut off only half an inch, or maybe less, Daire’s eyes would catch on to the smallest of changes. He was trained to look at people and read them, know them from the moment you see them. Body language, the way you speak, the way you react to others is a secret language that Daire knows all too well. He is strong enough to see if a person is lying to him. He is attentive enough to remark that a person’s constant looking at another may be suspicious. If you’re a professional actor, like maybe The Dark King, then, maybe, Daire could be fooled. He notices many things, makes tons of mental notes and keeps his thoughts on another person to himself most times. He isn’t the kind of person to call another one out on their behavior although he may use it to his advantage when the time is right.

[ P A S S I O N A T E ]
Whatever he is doing, so long as he fights for it as himself, Daire is passionate for it. As a soldier he learned to have this with him at all times. To be strong he had to believe in his cause and yearn for it. Passion is a strong aspect of Daire’s personality. It makes him and it breaks him. Passion allows for Daire to fight hard with a belief in his heart that most times in unwavering. However if he becomes arrogant and fights too hard then passion blinds him. Blinds him to what you ask? It blinds him to the enemy; it sends him off into a LaLa-land state of mind. As a soldier for the Dark King, Daire has yet to discover a passion for the cause. If or when it will come is uncertain. After Anyu’s death, Daire’s ability to become passionate all but withered away. At least, this is what he thinks. He’s too unconfident to notice that he is passionate for many things. He is passionate for his body of work as a knight and soldier but also as himself. He is passionate for what values he has left. His strongest passion is for his faith, he just never recognizes this.

[ U N – C E R T A I N ]
At the moment Daire has no idea what will happen to him. There’s an uncertainty and rawness to him right now that is unlike anything he’s ever been before. This uncertainty of who he really is and even what he will be is the basis of why he’s become so lazy (remember, this is thought to action lazy). After Anyu’s death Daire lost himself. By this don’t think that he’s not there mentally, because he is. Daire had found himself in a position where he had no control of himself, how he reacted and what he did. He hit the peak of this uncontrollable personality and then plummeted off of the cliff. When he crashed into the ground what was left of him was unrecognizable. From then on Daire has been uncertain in who he is and even how to describe himself. By going with the Dark King he went soul searching, not necessarily for the cause. Something deep inside of him stirred at the offer and before it faded he snatched it up. What he will become is still up in the air. Will he return to being a monster of a soldier? Who knows, even he doesn’t.

[ R E G R E T F U L ]
When you’re responsible for a person and that person is then slaughtered because you fell asleep on the job, you become full of regret. Although Daire has come to terms with what happened he never stops regretting. Every day in some shape or form he’ll have a flashback of some sort. He’ll be struck hard with a memory of Anyu or his training with his mentor. He knows that it is important that he never forget what happened. So in a sense he forces himself to go through what happened often. Daire is a deep thinker. He doesn’t speak a lot unless he’s addressed. He isn't much of a leader because he is the strong silent type. Daire sits there and thinks all the time; he’ll go over the facts dozens of times before making an answer. When he’s talking this thought process is a quick one however when he’s on his own he’ll go through things slower because another person isn’t waiting for him to respond.

[ C O N F U S E D ]
With uncertainty comes confusion. Daire does not know who he is or what he will become. What he does know is that he has great strengths but when it comes to how to use them, he doesn’t know where to go. Anyu’s death led him into an area of his mind where he found himself trapped. He was flooded with regret, blames and taunts from the people and he was confused as to how to deal with it. Coping is not Daire’s greatest strength. He often is confused as to how to react to something. Most times, in these stages of confusion Daire will pray. When he was in Ryokoga he would always go in search of his mentor for advice but now, being on his own and in a group of strangers, he would rather go the gods than his Legion colleagues. Confiding in Sigil and Florala made him comfortable, he feels that they are his guides as they saved his life in the desert. His connection to his faith is very strong and having been the son of a priestess he knows many scriptures and prayers word for word. His connection to his faith is what leaves him unable to slaughter. He will kill when provoked; otherwise most times he will only knock the person out.

[ U N – C O N F I D E N T ]
Believing in yourself is one of the strongest strengths a person can have. Daire unfortunately, lost this strength after Anyu died. With a loss of self and a loss of certainty Daire also lost all confidence in himself. He felt like he should not have been given such responsibility. Anyu’s death was on him and now he regretted pledging his life to her. Although he respected his duty as a knight he knew that he had failed her and the royal family. Now, as a solider to the Dark King and a part of the Legion, Daire’s confidence in his skills has been drawn out a tiny bit. He knows that he was sought out for a reason. To him, at this current moment in time, he knows that his strengths are the reason why. His position as Guardian the Desert is still unknown to him, although he may have gained abilities he hasn’t been able to put two and two together. Instead he simply feels blessed by Sigil and Florala.

›› Ω ‹‹ || The Life Before

[A tale that started not too long ago….]
He was born on the hottest day ever recorded. He was premature, tiny and was a miracle. His mother was a woman who was renowned for her spiritual connections to the gods and he was destined to become something. What he was going to be was unknown, however his mother foretold that her child, her son, would do something that would impact the world. Whether for evil or good she never said and this empty hole in his future has always left the people of Ryokoga conspiring. Daire Hynn was a young boy who was brought up with strict religious values. His mother Tallish Hynn would have it no other way. As a baby he was carried around in a makeshift wrap around his mother’s chest. While she addressed the people and consoled the ill he was always listening to the sound of her voice, attentive as hell to her stories of Sigil and Florala. The two gods were the subjects of his worship and still remain his gods of worship. As a baby the people idolized his cupid like face. They admired himself as they did his mother. He was the son of a priestess and a rare thing in the family bloodline. In all of the generations of Hynn in Ryokoga only one other son had ever been born to the name. Daire never learned about the other when he was young, he only new of his uniqueness. He was raised knowing he was special and destined to do something. But again, just what had yet to be determined.

[Lengthens as a child grows… ]
The location of The Hynn Mansion has always been on the castle grounds in Ryokoga Kingdom. The small plot of land contains a small but luxurious home, a private well, a shrine to Sigil and Florala and a variety of fruit trees. The grounds were always tended to by the keepers of the palace and as Daire grew up there, he lived a lifestyle that most others could never understand. His mother, although blessed and kind to him, kept him strictly under her rule, As Daire aged and grew more adventurous his mother always tried to keep him on a leash. He was never permitted to leave the yard without her by his side. Daire always thought that most children's parents acted this way. That is until a small female face peered through the gates to see him kicking a ball at the concrete wall surrounding the grounds. He was four then, almost of school age but still at home. As he turned to spot the young girl who was of the same age as himself darted away. This game continued for awhile. It seemed that every afternoon the girl would peak in through the gates curious to see if he was there. After a week of appearances and disappearances Daire took action. One day he left his ball in the yard and waited by the gate. Sure enough she wandered by. “What’s your name?” he asked through the iron bars that locked him into the yard. His mother was away at a church leading the people in congregation. “Anyu, what about you?” she giggled in response. If you ask him about the first time that he met Anyu, Daire will still remember everything word for word. The giggle in her voice told him that she was curious. As they spoke to each other through the gate they learned much about one another. She was the youngest daughter of the High Queen, seventh in line to the thrown behind her older sisters. She claimed that she was weakest of them all but still everyone admired her for her innocence. Daire explained his mother’s position as Priestess to the city. Anyu responded by saying that she knew of Tallish; she led them in prayer every morning. This kind of conversation lasted for a long time. For days they would speak to each other through the gates. Finally Daire had had enough of just talking. Like all children he wished to play with Anyu. One afternoon late in the day after quite a bit of talking about soccer and playing games Daire scrunched himself under the fence and off they went to play in the castle gardens.

And so it began. A precious friendship that bonded them both together. It lasted for a long time in secret that is until Daire returned home late to his frantic mother. He had gotten caught in some bramble bushes during hide-and-go-seek. His pants were ripped and riddled with mud. It was a confusing night because, as he returned to her. His mother simply looked lost when she saw him. She picked him up in her arms and hugged him tightly but yet she still wept. Her tears were not of joy but of sorrow. Daire went to bed unfed and the next day he started his knight training. He was enrolled with many other young rich boys to become a knight. It was also at this time that Daire met Hwin in the markets and gained a valuable friend and ally. Besides Anyu, Hwin (his horse) was his partner.

From then on his sightings of Anyu seemed less frequent, however he spent all of his time within the castle studying and working. Often Daire would catch a glimpse of his best friend. As he worked she would wave to him and he would lower his head in a bow to royalty. She laughed at him for doing this but scurried off to keep up with her party. On the rare occasion when Daire found himself with free time he would speak to her in private. As best friends they shared everything.

[Then the childhood ends…]
No obstacles stood in Daire’s way as he progressed through the ranks. At fifteen he was a knight hopeful, working faithfully as a Paige for one of the castles strongest knights. He had been taught combat and jousting. His learning of scriptures and religious texts had expanded far beyond his mother’s dreams. But, most importantly, the older he became the more time he spent with Anyu. As Anyu became older she was also trained in the hunt. Often the royal family would send off together in search of desert creatures. The knights would be called off to go with them and most times Daire would accompany them with Hwin. Although his closeness to Anyu bothered people it could not be helped. Their friendship had stood unwavering since they were four. They acted as brother and sister to one another and Daire protected her like an eagle to its young. At fifteen years old he was strong and noticed by many of the elite. His social status was almost like that of a celebrity. The whole kingdom spoke of him and Anyu quite often. When they both turned sixteen a huge festival was held in Anyu’s honor. For the entire day and night Anyu and Daire were side by side. It was obvious that their friendship was blooming. With their childhood curiosities behind them they became something more. It was on that night of Anyu’s sixteenth birthday that Daire kissed her for the first time. For a year after that they spent as much time together as possible. Their romance was kept secret to the people. It was considered a violation of Ryokoga rules that a princess have any affairs with a man before she became High Queen and even then, it would have limitations. Although Daire came from the honorable Hynn family, a line of priestesses and priests, he was not noble enough to ever be with Anyu. But they always ignored that. Instead they remained together sneaking kisses while they were alone.

When Daire turned eighteen he was knighted. His companionship with Hwin was at its strongest point. His mother Tallish stood proud of him as he underwent the three day ceremonies; the first he fasted and spent in solitude with his mentor, the second he fasted once again but was alone, and the third he was knighted in a traditional ceremony in the main hall of the castle. The High Queen knighted him individually from the others and gave him the name of Sir. Dare of Ryokoga and he was immediately assigned to the protection of the royal family. He pledged to them his life if ever one of them fell into a murderer's hands. The Queen accepted his words. From then on every day he was by Anyu’s side and he learned more of her six sisters. He worked alongside many elder knights who taught him much more. All the while Daire remained dedicated to the scriptures of Sigil believing in his heart that nothing could lead astray. Although he had heard of problems brewing in the homeland of Aeon he ignored them. His heart did not want to worry; all he wanted was Anyu. All he wanted was to be her strength and protection. He held an unwavering passion for her, as she did him.

[And Reality Takes its Toll… ]
Obviously Daire’s negligence of accepting the worry ran him into trouble. Deep trouble. The evil in the world had been unsettled. Daire never took the time to truly understand just who was behind it, all he knew was that suddenly the royal guards were at full attention at all times. His nights became sleepless as he stood watch for the daughters of the High Queen. In his mind he thought that nothing would ever happen. His reality was a fake one, as we in the real world know. Daire soon found himself in a deep grass with no way of navigating his way out. Tallish, his mother was deathly ill. He was given time off sporadically and the daughters tended to their dying priestess out of goodwill. While they did this Daire was given much time to spend with his ailing mother. Her skin, formerly as dark as his, had gone pale-a telltale sign that she was leaving them. She was a frail old looking thing, her creamy hair almost white. He would never forget the look she had as she died. On her last night alive she asked to be with Daire alone and it was then that she told him of his destiny.

“As a priestess I was given visions of your life from Sigil.” She coughed. “And I learned of a terrible fate that laid ahead of you. I have never told you of the story of your significant other, the only other son of Hynn. It was generations ago, almost a century, when he was born. Like you, Daire my son, he was blessed with skills in combat and a companionship to his horse. But he was tainted Daire. He fell from grace and you will too. I have seen a horrible night, a blood bath of torture. I tried to keep you here, cooped up a child, but I could not fight it. It is your destiny to meet her, to love her and be blinded by passion. You will do something in the end. An evil thing that will burden you forever. Her highness Anyu will fall at your hand Daire. It is up to you to decide her fate. You must leave. You must leave here and her and everything you know. Daire, my son, head my warning! You cannot avoid this if you stay here….”

And after that she was gone.

Daire was left in tears for the first time as an adult. The pain he felt was sickening and yet his thoughts churned. Destiny. It was a word that seemed to him a variable. Surely what she had seen was changeable, even if he remained? In the end his passion for Anyu was too strong a bond to break. He did not love her enough to leave her, he wished to do everything he could to be with her. Daire kept his mother’s dying words to himself and he allowed for the ceremonies to ensue. Her death caused for a city wide day of mourning. She was the high priestess Tallish after all, a woman who was admired by people in any social class, even royalty.

Although his thoughts returned to his mother’s words often Daire never took any action. He was after all, a lazy young man whose ego was too strong to let himself think that he would commit something so stupid. Daire spiraled after his mother’s departure. He abused his knight privileges, fought with the elders who guarded the other daughters and got himself into trouble. He spent money like it was nothing and drowned himself in luxury. He remained in the Hynn home and hired, for the first time ever, a servant to wait on him when he was not in the castle.

He was too stupid to notice the heightened security measures; he only accepted that he was told to be at Anyu’s door all through the night. Daire completed rounds for weeks, standing tall and attentive outside of the entrance to her chambers. During this time he could only think of the lovely thing behind the door. Then it happened. Exhaustion got the better of him. His head nodded forward and he slumped against the wall asleep. It was light snooze and so as footsteps approached him his eyes blinked and he became somewhat alert. But it was too late. A dark demonic figure that was a rebel brought down his sword into Daire’s shoulder while a group of others swarmed the door. Daire fought the man without thinking about the others. His exhaustion and the first hard hit into his shoulder weakened him severely. And not only physically but mentally as well. His reaction time became incredibly slow. Three men entered Anyu’s room that night while others were fended off at the doors of the other sister’s rooms. Daire was eventually knocked hard enough in the jaw that he lost himself. He fell to the ground in a heap, unconscious and when he awoke two days later in the Hynn mansion Anyu was dead. It was described as a bloodbath of torture, just as his mother had told him. His wounds were bandaged and when he awoke he found himself staring into the face of his mentor. The leader of the Ryokoga knights and forces, the man who had taught him everything that he knew had saved him. Daire looked up with regret into the man’s eyes. The soldier took him, helped him walk out to the stable where Hwin was saddled.

“They wish upon you your death Sir. Dare. I wish not to see you killed at the hand of my men. Flee, it is the best thing that you can do for yourself. I have stocked your horse as well as can be done in such short notice. Your armor and sword are there, cleaned of your mistresses blood. Flee my son, leave this place and never return. Never look back upon this.”

So he left. He was twenty then and he had nothing. His heart had been wrenched out of his chest. Somehow he remembered the echoes of her screams. To know that her death had been torture troubled him. Hwin guided him out of the palace in the dead of night. They were led through a secret entrance by his mentor. They left Ryokoga and headed into an endless abyss of sand. The food that had been packed had been meager as the arrangements of his departure had been sudden. Soon the two found themselves thinking of more than just what had happened. They were starving and dehydrated after the third day. On the fourth the horse and his master collapsed.

It is unknown how many days Daire was asleep. Hwin, being a horse could never speak of what happened. It is only known to be a miracle, a gift of the gods. For Daire awoke, healed of his wounds from the battle days before. He was surrounded with a beautiful paradise gifted to him by the gods. Sigil and Florala had saved him. Where he lived mirrored the Hynn grounds only that the fruit trees were instead cherry blossoms and underneath it spread out a magical pool. Wherever he had been he could see when he looked into it. For four years he remained there, living the life of a hermit and recluse. He occupied himself by training and writing his thoughts. He became solemn and reformed. The ugliness of his manhood faded, he no longer held in him an ego. Although he wept for Anyu and his part in her death he knew that he was there to become something, to be something. The gods had saved him for some reason.

The Dark Kings arrival was the first ever. When the man arrived and asked for Daire to pledge himself to the Legion he was confused. Unlike the others his answer was not a definite yes for his mothers words loomed in his head. It took him days to understand just why a man like the Dark King had sought him out. His personal training had brought him to an all new level of skill, something that he had never experienced before. He was powerful but as he recalled the last time he had been given power he had become his own enemy. He feared himself and yet he didn’t. He knew that there was only one way for him to relinquish these fears and his uncertainty of himself. He had to fight for the Dark King…


● × ● TO BEFRIEND


›› Ω ‹‹ || For The Smiles

ɚ Sunlight
ɚ Horses and other animals
ɚ Training (combat, defense and core)
ɚ Music (mostly violin, cello or flute melodies that are soft)
ɚ His mother, Tallish

›› Ω ‹‹ || The Secret Pleasure

Of all the things in the world Daire’s favorite thing to do is talk Rant, Vent, Banter, Ramble to his horse Hwin. All of his life he’s been surrounded by animals and people who have judged him. Hwin was brought into the Ryokoga Kingdom as a foal, ready to be sold off to a vendor and used as a companion to a pack mule. However while Daire wandered through the streets with his mother who was addressing the people, he bonded with the large thoroughbred in a matter of minutes. The horse was brought to where Daire and his mother Tallish lived and from then on it was his best friend, especially after the death of Anyu. Although the horse never spoke to him in words it was his way of venting out his frustrations with the people in the kingdom and life. To this day Daire will wander out in the middle of the night, lie in the stall and speak aloud for hours. Hwin will attentively listen to the words that his master speaks and make horse responses. Hwin is Daire’s best friend and greatest ally. Not only are they companions at heart but they work together on the battle field. Hwin is Daire’s mute partner, a large husky dark brown thoroughbred with an obedience to Daire like no other.

›› Ω ‹‹ || The Darkest Hour

ɟ People who consider themselves better than others
ɟ Incapability of doing something
ɟ Responsibility in any situation
ɟ Losing a game or admitting he’s wrong
ɟ Binging of any kind (food, drink, etc)

›› Ω ‹‹ || Scream Bloody Murder

What doesn’t Daire have to fear? After Anyu’s death and the blame that people put on him Daire found himself in the position of an ordinary streets person. Although he fears for many things because of Anyu, Daire’s mother Tallish always taught him to never think that he was safe before of his position as well. As a child he’d pushed the statement aside but after Anyu died and the Queen disappeared Daire realized that, ********, he had anything and everything to be afraid of. One thing that he no longer feared however, was death. If or when he died he knew that he had to accept it.

ɝ Drowning (in sand or water)
ɝ Loss of something or someone important
ɝ Being a puppet for another person’s glory
ɝ Himself

›› Ω ‹‹ || And Sometimes, Just For Fun

The interests of the bored son of Tallish used to vary. But after he began to live a life in somewhat recluse be became somewhat lazy. Do not think for a second that by being lazy Daire became some sort of fat grotesque beast. No, where he became lazy was in his thought to action process. He was such a gloomy kid that even though he may of thought of going to the shrines of the gods, he never went. Part of this is to be blamed on Daire’s growing fear of the people. He hated their opinions of him and their blaming him for Anyu’s death. So he avoided it. He became somewhat of a hermit, living on a large span of land that acted as an oasis in the middle of the desert outside of the kingdom walls. What did he do there? Well, he did many things. They just so happen to include:

ɤ Training (combat, defense and core)
ɤ Cooking luxurious meals for himself and Hwin
ɤ Writing scripts or his thoughts
ɤ Watching the people of Ryokoga

You see, his small area was a blessing. It had not existed until Daire had fallen upon it. The desert was an endless mass of sand. As Daire fled from the kingdom after Anyu’s death he collapsed from dehydration. When he awoke he was in a paradise, on his own. Hwin, his horse, was well taken care of and in a newly built stable of the finest wood. As Daire wandered around his compound he found many things. One of them was a pool of water, shaped in a perfect circle under a series of cherry blossom trees. When Daire looked into the water he could see wherever he wanted and whomever as well. The pool however, had many limitations. It only allowed for Daire to see the places he had already been. But no matter, he could watch the people of Ryokoga without fear of being attacked. If you ever asked how Daire’s paradise came to be he would exclaim that as his mother watched over him from the heavens she saw him in trouble and requested that the gods of Ryokoga, Sigil and Florala help him. Their aid was his the creation of his new home, where he awoke. And they continue to guide him as he fights with the Dark King.

Daire’s endless quantities of paper for writing, endless food supplies and combat weaponry are all things that he has to go out to buy himself. His home may have been magicked into being however it will never replenish itself. Daire voyages on a weekly basis to buy the things he needs from the markets. He enjoys these small travels but more often than not he’ll go in disguised and use an alias. This was how he did things until the Dark King approached him in the city, recognizing his face. Then after that everything changed completely.


● × ● IMAGINED STRENGTH


›› Ω ‹‹ || The Killer Intent
He was first trained with wooden sticks but as he grew Daire became renowned for his gift with a sword. A hand crafted blade passed down through his family became his weapon and source of power. The sword is long and elegantly decorated with jewels and gold. The hilt is inscribed with symbols representing Sigil and Florala while the blade is engraved with the family crest. As a knight his sword was just a blade with no magic or vitality. Although he felt bonded to it, its true power did not come to be until after his intended fate with Anyu and his mother’s death. It was while he lived as a hermit that he learned of his ability to manipulate the earth. At first he thought that he was only able to control the sand of the desert but one week’s worth of experimenting lead him to know that it was not only the desert that called to him, but any substance of earth that had sand in it. He trained himself to use it, to call it out of the earth. His sword is an important tool, although it is not necessary for him to use his guardian skills. It does, however enhance his attacks as he pleases. (*Note, his sword is the one in his appearance images)

›› Ω ‹‹ || Flows In The Blood
Earth/Sand (Desert Style)

›› Ω ‹‹ || To Be A Child of God
As a desert guardian Daire inherited many powers that his mother formerly held. His abilities to manipulate his element make up the bulk of his powers. Most of them come along slowly and are hard to manipulate at first. When Daire learns how to use these powers to their strongest extent he will be a soldier to be reckoned with. Whether or not he is used because of them will be up to him and him alone.

One thing that Daire did not inherit from his mother was her skill of seeing visions. He cannot see or tell the truth. Many people have an assumption that because his mother could, he can. But because of his destiny and his unfaithfulness to his mother’s words, he never gained the ability.

[ C a l l i n g • A l l • S a n d ]
As a desert styled earth manipulator Daire has the ability to bring forth any sand to him. This sand can come from anywhere, it can be the dust on your shoes or perhaps it is a part of a kitchen timer in someone’s home. It may be the sands on the bottom of the ocean or deep within the earth. Wherever it lies Daire can control it and manipulate it. By being able to call forth sand it acts as his primary weapon and defense. This skill, in its most basic form, was the first one that Daire learned. After four years of working with it he can call forth sand quicker than sound and quieter than the dead.

[ S a n d • C h a i n m a i l ]
This is a variation of Daire's manipulation skills with sand. By using this power Daire brings forth sand and hardens it into solid objects. Most times he will use it as a defense, hardening sand into shields in front of him to block attacks. Other times he can form them into spikes and use them as weapons. Or perhaps Daire may create a platform for himself and manipulate it so that he may float. Or he may create a shelter for himself etc. Getting the gist of what this ability gives him just yet?

[ E a r t h • E r u p t I o n ]
The deadliest power that Daire retains a control of is his ability of manipulation the earth. The sand that is embedded into the bedrock of the earth’s crust is one of Daire’s strongest tools. By internally directing the sand he can cause landforms to shift. What often ensues is an earthquake, something that he cannot control. This skill is one that Daire does not have a grasp of just yet in the beginning of his adventures.

›› Ω ‹‹ || It’s All Physical Baby
As a knight and even on his own Daire was trained in full combat. His strong core and toned body allow for him to throw carefully aimed blows. He retains knowledge of a human’s pressure points and recalls often a person’s weakest point. Without his sword and even if he were to ever be without sand, Daire knows enough maneuvers to keep himself safe and put others into submission. Most times he will try to use these maneuvers before resorting to using full attacks. Ever since Anyu’s death he’s avoided killing as much as possible.


● × ● OF WORDS, OF TUNE


›› Ω ‹‹ || By The Book, By The Heart
You can have anything you want if you will give up the belief that you can't have it.
›› Ω ‹‹ || A Secret Melody
I really want you – James Blunt
›› Ω ‹‹ || In Recording
My words are written in light aquamarine, my thoughts in salmon and all else in a faded orange.


● × ● HANDS OF DESTINY



›› Ω ‹‹ || A Mere Pawn
Call me [ T h e • L o s t ] a desert guardian[/strike
›› Ω ‹‹ || A Mediator of Fate

[Korrye]

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Although it was nearly eight o’clock in the morning and the people were beginning to stir Daire had been up since dawn. The moment the sun made its hurried climb over the line of horizon his eyes flashed open showing to the emptiness of his room vibrant hues of browns and gold. After moments of deep sleep and meditation his mood was lightened. The sky was blue and the sun was bright. Almost brighter today or was he making an explanation? Daire never seemed to notice the endless sunny days, instead he was thankful for the weather. His chamber was a small room. In fact, it wasn’t even within the actual castle. It was out by the stables formerly belonging to an elderly groom who had left for some odd reason. The wrinkled eyes of the man were still burned into his mind; sadness plagued them as he resigned. Most people would give their first born for a job at some hope of getting food and shelter away from the disease and poverty outside of the noble grounds. But no, the man left and because Daire had asked for it, he had been given the room without a second thought. It kept him away from the morning mischief of the others and the rants or quarrels of his superiors.

So, as it has been said, Daire awoke at dawn to begin his training. It was a rigorous routine that he put himself through every morning and night. Habitual habit didn’t even explain it. It was simply routine and had been for a number of years. He was older now than he had been and no longer foolish. His place by the Dark King had been one of the first. Their meetings years ago within his hermitage had been solitary, alone and afterwards they had journeyed to find the others. It was more than Daire had bargained for. After all, he hadn’t expected for it to take a number of years to form the group, let alone convince everyone to even come. The process had been long and painful. Then when the sieges began and the kingdoms were raided he became heartless, fighting when attacked and only then. Against the rules of his leader he spared many. Too many one might say. It was within his nature to be such a way and his kindness on the field rarely gave way to fits of rage or monster like behaviour, like he had been in another place and time. These fits came about on the rare occasion that he was intimidated and provoked. Taunts and teasing remarks got under his skin and then he released his fury. They died and he stood sweating and his heart pounding in his chest all the while his white blonde hair stuck to his neck. His sword would then be cleaned and he would move on.

So, his routine had been started at the crack of dawn. To start he gave way to a long run throughout the castle grounds, safely within the barrier of the rich and noble avoiding the streets of the dead and dying. The slums were a grotesque place to be, he’d seen them upon entering the kingdom and twice afterwards on errands for some absurd reason. After the run came stretches which he performed in the barn most times in the attic where the banisters could support his weight when he did chin-ups. After stretches came grooming and feeding which he did for the horses which were stabled in the barn including his partner Hwin. There were only six of them in this stable for they were the horses accessed most often by the legion. Others were readily available in much larger barns and those he did not care for. After the process he ended up where he was now, cleaning up and performing chores that needed to be done for the week. At the moment he stood before a large well. It’s brick enclosure was about 24 inches in diameter and the rocks surrounding the hole reached his waist. He twisted the pulley system effortlessly and hoisted from down within a pale of water. Gentle was a good way to describe him for he could not act viciously or the water would spill. Once the pale was hoisted it unhooked it from the rope and hooked a stick between it and another that had already been raised. Effortlessly the stick was then hoisted onto his shoulders and he took it where it was needed which in this morning’s case was the kitchen in the castle, a request made by one of the cooks. It was what he did for them, filling up his time instead of stooping around bored. He ran errands for the Dark King which, more often then not were orders from the Unlikely Hero himself. Questions were never asked, the work was simply done. Days went by faster when more was asked of him so he didn’t deny it. Daire would much rather do this then slaughter those of his kingdom, the only one remaining untouched despite it’s missing leader.

Navigation of the grounds was easy, he trodded down a well worn path in his normal attire. His feet were so callused that they just went and never seemed to mind the occasional rock which made his foot shift. The water never once seemed to spill as he maintained what grace he had. The trip took about two minutes and as he arrived the top half of the kitchen door leader outside was already open. Inside he heard the regular clatter as a breakfast feast was prepared and rushed to his majesty, the moment he decided to wake and whore on the food that was extremely hard to find. A woman poked her head out to see the graceful knight standing, waiting in thought and she clucked with happiness.

“Sir Daire, I should have known. How pleasant it is to see you this morning.”

The title attached to his name was not needed but she gave it to him anyways as a sign of respect. The title burned in his mind but he managed to suppress the memory of his knighting for the moment. The cooking maid swung open the door and Daire turned himself gently and tilted the left pail towards the woman. She grabbed the handle tenderly and passed the bucket to another waiting inside. In moments the other was taken away too.

“I would rather do this than see you carrying pails of water back and forth. Call on me should I be around to help, should you need it.”

The woman smiled and nodded bravely while wiping her hands on an apron tied around a ragged looking dress stained with food and oils. Then she turned, closed the bottom half of the door and returned to her work. It seemed that they needed nothing more for the moment so he turned away and instead carried the stick in his hand, twirling it occasionally like a child would a baton. He felt as if he were in his youth, something that seemed terribly vacant from his mind. Deep down inside his heart ached suddenly as he remembered her smile and face. Suddenly he wasn’t a burly knight performing chores, no. He was sixteen and twirling a baton to her gawking face, jaw dropped to the sandy ground.

“I’ll teach you if you like Anyu.”

“O really! D! You’re amazing! But I don’t think I can do it. I can barely walk with a book on my head.”

“Last I checked normal people aren’t able to do that.”

Daire laughed in response. Instead he walked around behind her and placed the broom pole, his baton, in her hands like he had held it. Then as he wrapped his arms around her he moved her wrists with his hands manipulating the stick with ease. Anyu laughed and her breath was caught on his cheek. Her smell….he couldn’t remember it.

Daire’s eyes flickered as he stopped walking and stared ahead pointlessly. His eyes turned down to his hands and looked at them a long gnash running along the palm of one from a battle with the Dark King. They were different, bulky and rough from barn work. A bird’s wicked chirp startled him back to attention and he turned to look around him. Not a soul bothered him or had caught him within his episode which he was thankful for. One step, than another step. Suddenly his legs were moving and he was heading back to the barn. Once inside the opening the aisle of stalls he set the pole in a nook in the wall and turned to greet the long nosed faces that eyeballed them as they feasted on their morning breakfast, dished out nearly an hour ago.

“Hwin, I saw her.”

He spoke aloud, barely audible and yet his gracious beast swung around in his full length stall with a mouth full of hay so that their eyes gained valuable contact.

“I was teaching her to twirl a baton.”

His voice trailed off as he caught himself performing another habit. Talking to his horse, that is. Hwin was his partner, his brother in the form of an animal. Hwin was the only one that Daire could ever confide in whenever a memory surfaced. As his heart panged and jumped into his throat he stopped and Hwin’s ears flickering before he turned back to his meal. It was almost time for breakfast for himself. So Daire removed himself from within the confinement of the superior barn and went to his room where he had a fresh bucket of water. There he washed his face and hands of their morning sweat before leaving once again but this time heading to the small hall where they were permitted to dine. Steps were performed briskly and when he arrived the table still had its benches set on top. Maybe it wasn’t time for breakfast? Daire was puzzled; normally he was never one to arrive on scene first. This morning was different as his stomach called out to him in vain. Its calls went unheard as Daire went about removing the benches from atop the table and righting them on the floor. Maybe they were dining with The Unlikely Hero? This he was not sure of. And so he waited to be wronged by taking a seat on the bench and settling for a wait.

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[Korrye]

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legant clouds huddled themselves around the small patch of greenery. A vast amount of trees all ranging in heights and ages surrounded the meadow. Some were hundreds of years old with trunks so thick that six foot high man couldn’t wrap his arms around them. Although aged they were all beautiful and healthy. The trees themselves were undisturbed by beetles or infestations; everything in the meadow was--including its occupants. Everything was simply perfect.

Her left arm swept gracefully from left to right while her fingers were pointed and arranged gracefully as they swung through the air. The other arm was occupied, tagged onto the shoulder of her dancer partner. All the while her feet seemed to move by themselves. Somehow they had come about the knowledge of the classic Waltz. As Cora watched her body move it suddenly became apparent that someone else was helping her along. The fabric of her dress twirled around her framing her small frame as if she were a model. It fit perfectly and was cut so that it twirled around her knees without effort. It was a conservative gown but stunning and skin tight. Her feel were in heels that in reality she would never be able to wear, four inch black stilettos.

As they hit the corner of the floor they paused, sliding their frames against one another. In precision and with trust he leaned her lower to the floor, their fingers having found one another. Once in place they shot a dazzled look to the side of the meadow, a place where perhaps a panel of judges could be seated. The waltz pose was flawless, breath taking. A whoosh of breath seemed to erupt from her chest and then her eyes – for the first time, swung to look at her partner. Before she could even have her eyes meet his face he vanished.

As if her eyes turned things to dust there was suddenly she fell to the floor. The elegant scene vanquished as she realized the hard flooring she had hit did not match the scene that she had been a part of. Cora’s eyes fluttered open and her fingers twitched madly, feeling suddenly a sort of loneliness that she was not accustomed to. There was no waltz, no white dress or a whoosh signifying that her breath had been taken away. Instead she was on the floor entwined within a mass of blankets that rivaled the most detailed of sailor knots. For a moment she sat there, her head finding its way to lean against the wall of her room. In her mind she sifted through the remnants of her dream. The face of her partner had not been revealed. As always he disappeared the moment she tried to look at him. Dreams like these had started the first day that she had arrived in Nottingham. Promptly three days before current time she’d been ushered through the doors of the small townhouse*. In her arms were what luggage she had managed to take with her from Oxford, otherwise there was no furniture or such a thing as personal belongings. It had been such a weird day.

The arrival itself had been just before the crack of dawn, literally at three am and yet the area had been lively – if that was the correct way to describe it. As they had sped down the main road heading into the village area Cora had spotted what she thought to be something wild, a creature of the night. Glowing tinted eyes had flashed when they’d turned the corner, eyes that didn’t look at all animal]. They seemed stuck in her mind, the more she thought of it. Elegant butterscotch and topaz shades, like jewels but somehow prettier. There was no real way to describe it in words. Just breathe taking. Angelo hadn’t seen it. He had been so focused on getting Cora out of Oxford that there was nothing she could say or do that would have taken his eyes off of the road. Angelo was her guardian angel, always more like a best friend than a father. He was so young, or at least he always looked to be young. Perhaps, Cora decided, that was where her good looks came from. It had always been unknown to her as to what the appearance of her mother was so it had to be Angelo that had given her such good physical features. In fact, what she knew about her mother made it seem as if she was related simply to Angelo. But her family history was not of her concern. So she scrambled to life, her eyes fluttering as she adjusted herself and got up from her cocoon of sheets and coverings. When she finally wrestled free she was dressed in full pajamas; an oversized white t-shirt with long flannel pants; blue with a white and green design making them less than boring. As usual her hair was incredibly messy but still somehow beautiful. The thick red-brown locks were entwined and naturally wavy. Reaching the Small of her back her hair was simply luscious and even though most times she cut it herself it rivaled the stylings of most celebrities. There was really no effort when it came to her appearance. As Cora stumbled into the bathroom she plugged in a high powered straightening iron and got to work brushing her teeth. Having showered the night before she was already clean and an outfit was already waiting for her on top of a suitcase that was currently her dresser. In case she hadn’t woken up early enough everything was already prepared. Angelo always worked that way, “Just in case…” was tagged to every precaution he told her. Lately things had changed. The once relaxed relations between Cora and her father were now extremely strained. Angelo was always incredibly tense in her presence. Each time they went for something as simple as a casual stroll his shoulders were taught with tension. It almost seemed as if he were paranoid about something. Was university such a big deal? Cora shrugged away the thoughts. Like any parent Angelo had a right to worry.

Cora took her time working her straightener through her hair. After forty-five minutes she finished and the result was a pin straight set of locks. Once they were straight they reached past her belly button. Afraid of being judged as a hippy she took out a comb and scissors and got to work. The haircut itself didn’t take long; she’d done it the same way so many times before. A few snips in the front and the back shortened her hair to almost two inches above her belly button. Her bangs were trimmed short and with a pair of razor scissors she framed the edges of her face and added layers. It was a fine haircut by the time she was done. The hair was swept up and stashed in the trash in seconds. Then off she went with her swift fluid march to dress.

The outfit itself was simple, a pair of designer jeans by Guess that medium to dark blue paired with a white and beige polo from Lacoste. For footwear she donned a pair of knee length black boots that were tight to her leg and dressed up with a buckle and white stitching. Her hair was left plain and on her shoulders. No makeup was applied; instead she went off and grabbed her backpack. As juvenile as it seemed she still had one. It carried everything; her notebooks, her laptop, her pens, her sketchbook, and an assortment of art supplies ranging from a one hundred dollar oil paint brush to a 6B pencil. It was full but not heavy. On her back it went and in her arms she held the pile of textbooks that Angelo had bought for her. Not once had she even looked at her schedule to see just what Angelo had selected for her in terms of course work. Maybe it would have been smarter to check, now that she was going to there instead of dubious Oxford. Cora made her way downstairs and found her schedule sitting on the granite countertops of the kitchen along with it a hand written post-it left by Angelo himself.


“Thought you might want a copy. Don’t be late, be kind to Mr. Loke, he’s an old colleague of mine.”
-A


Cora let out a huff and tried to recall what Angelo did for a living. He seemed to always know everyone he came across. The faces of the people he knew rang out to him. Like a symphony he could name people. What had he said? Was it something about being a scholar or a chartered accountant? No job titles came to mind so she flicked the post-it into the trash and plucked her schedule off the counter. The paper was fresh, not a crease on it. It felt wrong to fold it but she did so anyways. Knowing that Angelo would be there later that day with some furniture, “Whatever he found” he had said the previous night, she grabbed a post-it herself and scrawled a message on it for him.


“Thanks! You really are a life-saver. Sure you aren’t Superman?”
-C


And with that she left, heading out through the garage to the driveway. Waiting for her was the brand new Mazda**. It wasn’t that she had even asked for a car, it had just showed up with a giant bow on it the day after she’d made it to Nottingham. What a surprise, truly. But was it? Because after Angelo had shown up to take her away from Oxford nothing that followed seemed to be that much of a surprise. He had always had money, this she knew. So Cora's books and bag were launched into the passenger side and Cora herself into the driver’s seat. It started without any fuss and then she was off, her first day as a freshman awaiting her.

The idea of being a freshman brought her back to her first day at high school, err the academy. Public schools were beyond her, according to Fiona and David. She’d arrived in a starchy uniform with glasses and a puke colored messenger book bag. Not once had things gone wrong there somehow though. She'd navigated her way to each class on her schedule without getting lost, eaten a hearty lunch with a group of people that seemed friendly enough (for stuck up nerds that is) and all of her necessary work had been finished in class. The day had run through flawlessly. Hopefully it went that way this time around too. Then again her appearance was flawless this morning. After grade eleven she'd found her fashion sense. Maybe she wouldn't be so lucky? Here's hoping that karma didn't fall that way.

Swerving the car down the steep drive was simple enough. The transmission was automatic making things so much easier. Cora probably had the patience to learn how to drive a standard but on Nottingham’s close cornered roads she didn't want to be bothered. It drove smoothly. The townhouse complex wasn't that far from the university campus. As she stopped at a red-light on her five minute drive Cora reached over for her weekly schedule. The first thing she noted were the time slots of her classes. Every day, excluding Saturday and Sunday, there was something starting at 9:30. Whether it was a lecture or session she would be at the university until about five o'clock. Then there were several empty blocks imbetween giving her time to roam, work, eat or do whatever she wanted. It seemed like a good schedule. Then she looked closer. What classes did she have? The obvious things she had said that she wanted; Classics, Art History, English and American Studies. Then to her surprise; what?! Math...? She hadn't asked for that. In fact she'd specifically asked not to be placed in a math class of any sort. Crap! Then it made sense, because underneath the class lecture she saw the name that had been brought up earlier; Mr. Loke.

The light went green at that point. Cora tossed her schedule away, somewhat disturbed by her father's choice. So she'd been put in a math class because the teacher was an old friend. What were the chances of her ending up in his class anyways--if you did choose it? Math, to begin, is a complicated matter with Cora. She may be able to work out the problems using all sorts of Calculus methods but she hated doing it. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you like it. Math was always excruciatingly boring. And now she would have to suffer through at least another four years of it. How disturbing.

The parking lot of the main campus came into view. Although it was merely seven o'clock the area was bustling with activity. People were walking, chatting and laughing. It was easy to note who was a returning student. Cora wasn't bothered by the fact that she didn't know anyone. This was her fresh start. So she let out a deep breath and turned into the lot, stopping at the parking booth where a security guard sat all buff and tough in his orange and yellow vest. Cora hit the button to scroll the window down.

"Parking pass, credit card or cash?"

"Pass. Just one second please." Cora flashed one of her million dollar smiles at the guard. He leaned back instantly as she turned away to open her glove box and retrieve the stack of paperwork once again left behind by Angelo. The pass was a part of the bundle, sure enough.

"ID please."

Cora passed that along too, her student ID card glossy and brand new. She watched as the man swiped both guards through a reader. Then he passed them back to her.

"Thank you Miss. Quinne. I hope that you have a great day."

"Thank you and right back at ya!"

Cora pulled ahead. There was no designated spot for her but one in the far end of the lot underneath a group of cherry blossom trees. The campus was truly scenic. The ivy covered buildings were definitely full of intrigue. They housed a new life and to Cora it was simply wonderful. She parked successfully on her first try and gathered her books. The Mazda was locked by her remote key and away she went, trying her best to figure out which building was standing so massive and impressive in front of her. What was it? The lakeside Arts center and facility, right? Cora yearned to get inside of there, to squish out the exquisite paints that they had and then to use them. But it could not come soon enough. There was a math lecture first thing this morning so she trudged away. Somehow she would make her way back there in the afternoon.

All the while that Cora took in her new surroundings she was oblivious to the actions of anyone else. This was her moment for once. Unlike so many other times she didn't need to care what anyone else's perception was of her. Instead she was basking in the fact that she was there. Cora stood tall and tilted her head back. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. But suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her eyes shot open and she spun around.

"Having fun are we?"

It was Angelo***. Cora took a step back and gasped. Having been caught off guard he had scared her--obviously. Given the scenario it was hard to see Angelo's true age of thirty-six. He was a stunning man who looked only twenty and people seemed to swoon at him whenever he walked by.

"Daddy! Seriously, how do you always manage to sneak your way up behind me?"

"It's the shoes, my love. But no need to worry. Thought that I would check up on you and see how you're doing," Angelo's American accent flared against his daughter's perfect British English.

"I'm as happy as I can be," Cora beamed back at her father. He looked at her with a sense of pride and glory before swooping in on her and taking with him many of the books she'd had in her arms.

"Tell me that you don't intend on taking these around with you every day."

"I don't. There have to be lockers somewhere on this campus."

"Can't escape high school?"

"Lockers are a sort of old faithful. Now give those back I need to go!"

"If memory serves me right you'll have a Math lecture with Mr. Loke tomorrow morning, right? Today's your day off since you aren't on residence."

"Yes and yes. And what was that note about? Be kind and junk."

"That's not junk Cora-Skye, I meant it. He's a colleague of mine who just decided to become a teacher. He's as new as you are to this game."

"Right..."

"I'm serious Cora," Angelo's tone changed. He turned to face her and look directly into her eyes. Most times he tried not to. But now it had to be done. Cora stared back into them and suddenly looked dazed. Her eyes glazed over and she nodded quickly as if suddenly understanding her father's message.

"Do you understand?" Angelo whispered. He broke his gaze with his daughter and turned to look over his shoulder.

"Yes. Sorry, I didn't sleep very well."

"No excuses," Angelo reminded. Then the shoved Cora's books back into her arms adequately before giving her a peck on the cheek and a poke in the ribs. Cora almost doubled over with all her the books in her arms but she was smiling again. The affects of her father's stare wore off, and giggled in a childlike manner. To anyone she looked young and very inexperienced when it came to life without your private driver and tudor. Although Angelo thought she was prepared never in her life had Cora been surrounded by ordinary people. And now, to the best of her abilities she was going to blend in.

"See you later. I'm cooking dinner."

"Sounds great! Bye!" Cora shouted. Angelo turned and waved before disappearing into a crowd of students. Cora stood where she was for a moment smiling. She felt happy, relaxed and yet nervous. A grouping of butterflies seemed to form in her stomach, pushing themselves against her ribs. For a moment she felt as if she would throw up but that quickly passed. There was too much to look forward to to be scared.

After a few moments on her own it dawned on her, it was time to go and do her best. First impressions were important. Cora let out a deep breath and her shoulders seemed to relax as she did so. Her cheeks flushed at the same time and she took her first step forward. Then she took off, hurrying her way through the crowds outside of the campus. Dodging people was an art of hers, something that she had perfected as a child during her grandparents numerous exorbant parties in Oxford. Now it seemed so point blank, avoid a person here, take that path, there's an opening behind that person etc etc. It didn't take her long to get away from the arts facility. The 'sciences' building where math classes were held was a five minute walk away. Praying that she didn't crash into anyone Cora ushered herself through the doors (once they came into her sights) and found herself standing with no one. Or so she thought...


• • • • • • • • • • • •

Quote:

* Townhouse ;; Cora's townhouse is a small place located only ten minutes (driving) away from the Lakeside arts facility that is a part of the university campus. It's small and cozy with more than enough space for Cora and her father should he be staying there. There is a small garden and front lawn area that is maintained by a gardener. The back end of the house is fenced and houses a small patio set and a small storage unit. The interior of the house is simple with cherry wood hardwood floors and pale taupe walls. The kitchen has granite counter tops and up to date appliances. The only seating is a set of barstools. This is more than likely to change with Angelo hanging around as much as he is. I have links to the Floorplan & Outside

** Mazda This Mazda 3 premium comes complete with a power package (power windows, power start, heated seats, heated mirrors), alloy tire rims and much much more. The year is a 2008 and it drives on the right hand side as do all other vehicles in Europe (how awesome!). The interior is black fabric, Cora refused leather because it squeaks so much when you get in and out. xD Here are the Front & Back views.

*** Angelo is Cora's apparently 36 year old father. To her, he is her biological father. Shortly after Cora was born he left, afraid of the responsibility. He enlisted in the army, unknown to Cora's father and her own knowledge, and travelled to Tunisia where he was turned by a Class A vampire at the age of 25 (he was 18 when Cora was born). When he phased through he had incredibly control and was given the ability to manipulate a person's emotions and understanding. Thanks to his class he was only ravenous for a short period of time. When he returned to England a few years later he heard of his daughter through Custodias. She was a forbidden fruit and finally that inner maternal instinct kicked in. He showed up at the right time and became a part of her life. Fiona and David didn't seem to notice how young he looked. Cora didn't seem to care either. Since then he's ensured Cora's safety as a member of Custodias. He fought for her to be at Nottingham so that she would be safe and happy. Here and Here are what he looks like.

[Korrye]

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