|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Aug 27, 2009 8:15 pm
 CLOSED. MAYBE.
It's a little totalitarian to close without feedback, so I'll wait.
In the meantime, check out the new affiliate guild RP. It seems familiar.
[Insert weird poem here.]
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 28, 2009 3:40 pm
 "As you know, kid, we don't divulge our secrets to just anyone. But I know your daddy is my best friend at work, so I'll tell you because you're special. Especially with that broad, strong back of yours.
Our facility is set up about twenty kilometers from St. Petersburg, on the other side of Lake Ladoga. The laboratories are under ground, but you're still too young to know about what goes on in those. Top-secret grownup stuff eh? Well, the offices and everyone's quarters are scattered about in a loose circle around the inner facility, where your daddy and I work. The village is there. No, we don't do much in the village. It's just where our patients stay. They're all lepers-that means we can't touch them-so they aren't allowed to leave. We're trying to search out a cure, and they've decided to stay in the village in case we find it. Why is it guarded? Oh, well, we guard it just in case one might try to flee, because then their disease might spread. No, they don't live in houses like you and I do. Most live in wooden shacks, but we've insulated them and we move everybody down belowground when winter comes around.
Yeah, maybe you will see it someday. But now, your mom's calling you and I have to get back to work, so run along."
This is a bit of information gleaned from an officer of the Lagoda Leprosy Research Center. Or, that's what it's called. There are no lepers, nor are there any scientists in the compound studying them. It is forbidden airspace, the exact location does not appear on maps, and there are no visitors permitted. Such a locked-down leprosy center draws curious eyes, but only from the tabloids that good, smart Russians don't read.
It is known by the Russian government as FWR Base 49. Here, approximately fifty officers, seventy guards, a team of twenty-five scientists, and maintenance crews make their homes. Along with them are a tiny group of people who do not wish to be there.
These people are the entire focus and purpose of FWR Base 49. There are only fifteen of them. Picked from millions in Europe and Asia for physical stamina, little history of disease, tallness, and broad upper backs, they are at the mercy of their government.
The people, officially called Axoms, have given themselves the nickname of The Winged Ones. And it is rightfully earned, for through pain, suffering, and blood, they have been given the greatest gift and the worst curse.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 28, 2009 9:45 pm
 1. Follow all Liteartha Baile rules and ToS.
2. Advanced Literate in this guild means at least two paragraphs. That's sixteen well-formed sentences.
3. It also means no ** for actions, quotations for speaking, proper punctuation, and proper spelling.
4. No god-mod, mary-su, or big timeskips.
5. PM all profiles. For you must know...
The Axom each have a pigment-tattoo of a tiny star on their right hand to identify them as experiments. As if the wings didn't give it away. They are also a mark of ownership by the Russian government.
Their huts are simple affairs with two rooms and indoor plumbing. Insulation warms them in spring and fall, while they move to the underground barracks in winter. There are areas for socializing, exercising, and meals, but all of these are strictly watched and their times are regulated. An electrified wire net is suspended over the entire village. There is no flying away.s
Most time is spent, however, in the laboratories. The Axoms are operated upon, forced to fight each other, and trained in the massive underground spaces. Many don't even spend time in the village, as they are kept for so long in the labs. [size=9][color=youpickcolor][url]Character picture link, try not to use anime[/url]
Username:
My Parental-controlled Name: [b](Full given name)[/b]
I Made the Better One Up: [b](The nickname your character gave themselves, or was given to them at the compound.)[/b]
Age Is But A Number: [b](Nobody above 20 years)[/b]
My Dear Homeland: [b](Country of origin, anywhere in Eurasia, as long as the character fits it.)[/b]
I Do Enjoy: [b](Three to five likes.)[/b]
They Leave A Bad Taste In My Mouth: [b](Three to five dislikes.)[/b]
I Hold Onto The Memories Of Home: [b](Two to three paragraph biography)[/b]
My Theme: [b](Your character's theme song.)[/b]
This Tidbit I Forgot: [b](Other stuff, optional.)[/b][/size][/color]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 28, 2009 9:56 pm
 The Winged Ones
(Profiles)[X]
Username: svaler.
My Parental-controlled Name: Sera Helmuth
I Made the Better One Up: The Starchild. Friends call me Nailbiter.
Age Is But A Number: Nineteen.
My Dear Homeland: Germany.
I Do Enjoy: Grapes.
Bazookas.
Books.
The piano.
Sleeping.
They Leave A Bad Taste In My Mouth: Spoiled food.
Anaesthetics.
Drizzling.
Spring.
Wet socks.
I Hold Onto The Memories Of Home: My entire line of fathers and forefathers played rugby or football. Football, as in soccer, to you Americans reading this. They were all huge, solid men, and so was my mother. She taught horsemanship for a living, and the strength required for the job was ingrained into me by the long hours I spent as a kid, shoveling crap or riding. I wasn't interested in sports. My education was fair; I took a special liking to social studies. The science of people fascinated me-and it still does.
I rarely saw my dad; he was always going out of the country and all around Germany to play the football games. Mum and I worked at the horse barn in between my schooling, and as I became a teenager I made friends and saw the sights and did what a popular adolescent does. The gym teacher loved my ability to do twice as many pushups and pull-ups as anyone else, and in the barn I was always the one to carry hay bales and the heavier Western saddles. I wasn't ripped or anything, I'd just inherited a strong back and arms.
When I was eighteen, about three months after my birthday I began noticing some things. Cars with tinted windows would idle across the street from my house and the occasional man in a suit would be visible leaning against a wall as I was out with my friends. There were even weirdos around the barn.
As I was walking back home from the movies one night, a van pulled up alongside me. I barely had time to walk faster before two guys jumped out of the back and tackled me.
You get the point.
My Theme: Flobots-Handlebars
This Tidbit I Forgot: I cry more easily than I'd like to._______________________________________________X
Username: Spaniard The Last Angel
My Parental-controlled Name: Isabella de la Cruz
I Made the Better One Up: Izzy
Age Is But A Number: Nineteen
My Dear Homeland: Iberian Spain
I Do Enjoy: Sunlight
Reading
Listening to music
Sparring
Swimming
They Leave A Bad Taste In My Mouth: Large amounts of sugar
Being alone
Bright lights
Cold metal
Small spaces
I Hold Onto The Memories Of Home: The ocean. Oh, what a wonder sight it was. I can still smell the crisp ocean air in my nose. There was always a shining sun overhead and it hardly ever became cloudy. My family lived and died by the sea. Hell, my mother would have come back to haunt me if I hadn't have thrown her ashes out to sea. We believed in the legends of ages passed about sea gods and held onto tales of lost treasure in our hearts.
I only went to grade school for so long, for there were not many of us in our small sea-side village. After school was done, we were trained to do one of two things; farm or hunt. As for me, I became a hunter. Odd for a girl, yes, but it brought pride to my family's name when thier only child was chosen to be hunter instead of a farmer like generations past. And by hunt, I do not mean in the woods nearby that separated our small village from the rest of modern society. No. As I said before; my family lived and died by the ocean.
My height and strong back gave me the perfect body to swim in the deep waters of my homeland. Along with my companions, I would dive from a small boat that took us away from the shore and hunt for large fish with only a small dagger in hand. It was during one of my hunts that I saw many dark shadows swimming in the vicinity. My last memory in the ocean is blurry, hazed in red as a sharp pain stung the back of my head.
My Theme: The Ghost of You- My Chemical Romance
This Tidbit I Forgot: I'm probably one of the most stubborn of the Axom._______________________________________________Kita Rowan
Username: SilentShadowDreamer
My Parental-controlled Name: (Kita Caoimhe Rowan)
I Made the Better One Up: (Kit or Kitty, sometimes, but mostly they call me Hellspawn, due to the wings and, I suppose, my harsh nature. Thanks, guys.)
Age Is But A Number: (Seventeen)
My Dear Homeland: (Ireland)
I Do Enjoy: (Warm weather, dancing, playing the flute, popcorn, and a really good repartee.)
They Leave A Bad Taste In My Mouth: (Being left speechless, bad music, fake flavourings, being ignorant about something, and definitely tasteless foods. Blech.)
I Hold Onto The Memories Of Home: (My father was a big, lanky Irishman who married a very petite Japanese woman and brought her home. When I was born, I proved to take after my mother in looks, but I had my father's height and broad build. If I had taken entirely after my mother, this never would have happened to me. Eventually, my father took our entire family off to Russia, seeking work. Why he would go there first, I don't know - and I suppose I never will. Who's telling this story, anyway? Stop interrupting.
I suppose I was about ten when we first came to Russia. It took a while for me to make friends, because I was never easy to get along with. After a few years, though, we all made our places. Everything went along well for a while - I kept up school work, and all. Mom was big on that - but I had time for friends and fun. And dancing. We had to hold house parties if we wanted to really get into it, but there was a lot of dancing. I was a few months shy of my sixteenth birthday when I began to notice dark cars. Men in suits hanging around places I happened to be. I dismissed it at the time; it didn't seem important. Yeah, I was dumb. I'd give anything to go back and warn myself, believe me.
The night of my sixteenth birthday, I went to a friend's house. They were holding my party there, and it was the last good day I had. I wanted to walk home and get some air. Three people offered to drive me, but no - I had to be stubborn. I was maybe halfway home when the car pulled up behind me. I never even saw what was coming.
Happy fricking birthday to me.)
My Theme: (All That I'm Living For, Evanescence)
This Tidbit I Forgot: (I'm lucky to be alive - my wings were judged just adequate.)_______________________________________________[X]
Username: Mr. Blackbird Lore
My Parental-controlled Name: Eriko Fuminaga
I Made the Better One Up: Anything but my actual name; I refuse to supply it.
Age Is But A Number: 19
My Dear Homeland: UK
I Do Enjoy: Rain or sunshine, the Outdoors, athletics, meditation, betterment of the self, and the discovery of serenity.
They Leave A Bad Taste In My Mouth: mind-altering substances, imbalance, personal discussion, her own cognitive dissonance, tofu, vegans, and zealots (of any kind).
I Hold Onto The Memories Of Home: Eriko Fuminaga's parents moved from Osaka, Japan to a suburb outside London, England when she was two months in the womb. Her parents were strong on education, demanding only the best, and the best is what Eriko received. Her mother, Yuroko, homeschooled Eriko from age six until nine when she finally found a job as a college professor. From then on, Eriko was a student in an all-girls school, meeting boys only through an active social life. She was actively engaged in the school, serving as the Anime club's key source of entertainment and a prominent runner on the school's track team. Out of school, she joined a Kendo club and began taking ninjitsu.
At home, things were very reserved. Tensions had been building in the last few months between Eriko's parents. Conversations had become sparse between all of them, and information exchanged was either small-talk or necessary. Talk about school or the youngest Fuminaga's friends was the norm. Despite having lived her whole life in the UK, Eriko's parents were very strong-willed, and many of their social and cultural habits were passed on to her. So when she discovered in her adolescence that to be interested in both boys and girls was wrong (it disrupted the natural way of things, her parents said) she began looking into meditation to suppress her unnatural thoughts and desires. From this she developed an interest in Taoism: it kept her firmly attached to her roots in Japan that were previously rotting, and she became increasingly adamant about maintaining a balance within herself.
The cover-up story for Eriko was nothing more than your average kidnapping, which wasn't really a cover-story at all. She was kidnapped after all. Somehow they managed to turn her into a prostitute (according to the news) and she was "found" dead, having been mauled to death; if she hadn't bled out, the coroner said the prostitute would have died from all the drugs in her system. Eriko would have felt sorry for the girl if she knew it had happened. Living in the compound did not break her spirit. She remained strong-willed and peacefully resistant. She refuses to become very open or friendly with the other Axoms, but she definitely empathizes with all of them, and has a great deal of respect for those that have not given into the horrible things the Russians have done. She does her best to find things she can appreciate these days, despite how small that list is.
My Theme: "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" by Daft Punk.
This Tidbit I Forgot: N/A _______________________________________________Michel
Username: SilentShadowDreamer
My Parental-controlled Name: (Michel Alexander Kastov)
I Made the Better One Up: (I don't have one. It's frowned on.)
Age Is But A Number: (25)
My Dear Homeland: (Russia)
I Do Enjoy: (Cooking, the ocean, my work, pomegranates and dogs.)
They Leave A Bad Taste In My Mouth: (Gunfire, hot weather, lying, fighting, and my current assignment.)
I Hold Onto The Memories Of Home: (I have never been out of Russia, not even once. I've sometimes wished to try life elsewhere, just to see what it would be like. But Russia it has always been, and I don't know whether I would be happy elsewhere now. It can be a good country, really. I have always had a good life here.
I was born in Staritsa and lived there for most of my life. It was soon discovered that I was rather...advanced, in the academic fields. So I moved on ahead, and farther ahead. I had always wanted to be a doctor, and when I was seventeen, I went into medical school.
I finished there recently, and my first assignment into internship was here. Here. I'm never allowed to tell anyone what I have seen, God, what I have helped to do, and that's okay. I don't think I could tell them anyway. Why would I want folk to know what I am? Surely only a heartless creature could have stood by and watched - and assisted when necessary - as those kids were turned into weapons. And yet...I did it.)
My Theme: (Heaven is a Place on Earth, Belinda Carlisle.)
This Tidbit I Forgot: (I try to remain as cold and objective as the other researchers, but I just can't do it.)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 29, 2009 1:47 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 29, 2009 10:45 pm
 Rain drummed incessantly on the tin roofs of the shacks, adding to the humdrum atmosphere of the village. Axoms were in their huts or under the main pavilion, for the wings were like giant soggy wads of paper mache when they got wet.
Sera herself was in the pavilion, watching a game called Feathers and Stones. Two people sat at a table, one with feathers and the other with small rocks. They would play a sort of checkers with the items, on a board carved form the wooden table. It was rather boring, really. She turned away so that she faced outside, watching the water run off the roof and onto the muddy ground. her wings were tightly clenched to her back; she didn't dare spread them. The last experiment had involved many injections into the tendons, making stretching her wings incredibly painful. But they were really beautiful; a kind of stony gray with some luster.
Her hard eyes roved around the parts of the village visible from there, landing sometimes on the men who stood around on corners with their guns and armor. Most of the other Axoms roved about behind her. The air held a feeling of expectation and dread. Today was to be spent underground, in the labs. Her head fell, and the dark, dark brown hair hid her downcast face from the world.
Sera wore the standard outfit for female Winged Ones, a halter top that accommodated her wings and flat slacks for legwear. On top of that was a beanie cap, optional. She whistled a tune to herself, made up from a song she dimly remembered from before her capture. Her toes tapped the concrete floor with the beat, and thunder rumbled in the sky.
"Oi Nailbiter, tell this kid that move warn't fair."
She twisted on the bench to see another Winged One staring at her, along with everyone else watching the game. Taking a sweeping look of the board, Sera saw what he'd been talking about. The other player had obviously moved one of their stones to another square.
"It's not fair. Put the stone back where it was," she said briefly, eyes roving over the faces of the Axoms.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 12:55 am
 Rain. Again.
Damn the weather in this forsaken country.
Sitting under the pavillion at a table filled with other Winged Ones, Isabella sighed with little interest to the heated game of Feathers and Stones. She really couldn't have cared less. But as she sat there, she watched. The crowded space made her a little uncomfortable but she was slowly getting used to it. It was moments like these, when the Winged Ones were huddled together in one spot, that made Isabella feel safe, as if she were with her own kind.
Which, in a way, she was. Looking around with bright amber colored eyes, Isabella scanned the area curiously. Although they were of the same 'species' -at least, that's what some of the guards had called them anyway- Isabella couldn't help but notice thier differences. Dialect was one major difference between them all. Everyone had some sort of accent. Then again, what would you expect from a top-secret Russian organization that kidnapped young and athletic teenagers from neighboring countries?
Aside from that, everyone had thier physical differences as well. Everyone had one of those stereotypical characteristics about them that helped you connect them to thier homeland. Isabella's were her brightly colored eyes and tanned skin. An effect of spending her entire life by the ocean.
But there was no ocean here. In fact, if Isabella were to get her wings wet, no doubt she would be punished by someone. Who, she would never know. Did it even matter? Living a life where she couldn't be free and swim in the ocean where she belonged was punishment enough. It causeed slight thoughts of suicide to bounce in and out of her head now and again. But no. She wasn't going to succumb to her weakness. She would be dammed if she let these damn Russains win the battle over her mind. She'd rather go insane and think the world were made of marshmellows while only being able to say and comprehend the word 'flower'.
Okay, maybe that was a little over the top, but you get the point.
A crash of lightning overhead brought Isabella back to reality. The game before her soon turned a bit sour, and one of the players called to Nailbiter to act as a referee.
Nailbiter. What an unusual nickname. Well, they all had them, nicknames. But Isabella's was very simple; Izzy. Why? Because the men in black suits either could not pronounce her Spanish name on thier Russian tounge, or they were too lazy to pronounce it all. It didn't matter to her however. It was a reasonable name to be called and she didn't mind at all.
Except when she was called 'hey, you freak' or 'come here, you stupid experiment'. Didn't these guys in black suits realize she was being trained to kill them all one day?
No matter. Getting up from her seat, Isabella moved to stand near the bench Nailbiter was sitting at. Sticking her hands out and into the rain, she cupped them, and gathered a small amount of rain water in them. Looking at the water, Isabella sighed at how dull it looked. So plain. Wasting no time, she took her hands and rubbed her face, the water splashing into her skin and hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the droplets of water that were now following gravity's path and flowed down, dripping onto the cement of the pavillion.
Opening them, her eyes showed a small hint of happiness. It faded away quickly however when her eye sight registered that she wasn't in the water like she daydreamed. Frowning, Isabella ran a hand through her hair and bit her lip slightly, pulling at the strands of black hair. It was growing longer than she'd like, being used to have short hair for diving purposes. It now laid wildly on her neck, not knowing whether it wanted to be wavey, curly, straight, or layered. It simply was. It sadly reminded her of herself.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 3:46 pm
((OOC: I have no pictures. I feel inadequate. Also, Kita is insane.))
Kita stared out the window at the rain, her eyes unusually calm. They didn't hold the spark of fury that tended to dwell in them. The soft drumming of the raindrops above her made her feel very nostalgic and faraway - home had never felt closer than it did just at the moment. 'Home' being Waterford, of course - she'd always felt more at home there than she had when they'd uprooted to Russia. She could remember sitting in her own house, talking to her father by the fireside as she listened to the raindrops pattering down.
Then someone whined, "Oi, Nailbiter," and the spell was broken. She turned around, ready to chew him out, but then paused. Did she really want everyone to know that she'd been sitting here mooning over the past like an idiot? Of course not. So she contented herself with a cold glare, and turned back to the window. For the millionth time that day, she began to flex her wings in an attempt to open them fully. A low hiss escaped her - it hurt, hurt a lot. But she grimly kept pushing. She would not be beaten by something so childish as a little physical discomfort.
At last they were open. Kita personally didn't think they were anything special, and knew darn well that they had been barely enough to get by. But someone who didn't have to live with the stupid things every day might have thought them quite lovely - they had an interesting, almost lacy pattern to them, and they were a lustrous black. All Kita cared about at the moment, however, was that she'd defeated the pain for long enough to have them open - really open. And that was a start, for sure. Cautiously, locking any sound or sign of weakness behind her clenched teeth, she folded them up again.
She'd heard that they were to go back to the labs today. For what had to be another training session. Kita briefly considered - and certainly not for the first time - how hard it would be to get hold of a weapon in there and just go ballistic on everyone within range before turning it on herself. Not too hard, she thought.
There was a reason that she'd been nicknamed 'Hellspawn' by her peers, and it certainly wasn't just those black, beautiful but oddly menacing wings. She'd never been sociable, but she had been at least somewhat normal. Ever since she'd come here, though...She sighed faintly. It seemed she'd gone over some kind of edge. Her entire mind was usually occupied with how much difficulty she might find in committing suicide, and how many of the black-suits she might be able to take with her when she went. By her current calculations, she figured at least twenty. Maybe thirty if she really got going.
The only thing keeping her from putting her plans in action was that number. She wanted it up to at least fifty before she took herself out. Her death was going to be spectacular and bright and she wanted people to see it for miles. If she could blow up the entire compound somehow...Now, that would make everything she'd suffered here worth it.
She wasn't aware that her dark eyes were sparkling as she thought, with that slightly insane light that came into them whenever she was plotting. Kita even looked like a plotting sort of girl - with her long, straight black hair, cold dark eyes and wicked grin, she seemed slightly dangerous. But not nearly so much as she actually would be if she ever managed to put her ideas in operation.
Casually shaking back her hair, she rose and wandered over to the table. Briefly, she glanced over at a nearby bench, noting that the one called 'Nailbiter' had sorted out whatever the original talker had been whining about. Which she still hadn't forgiven him for - for a moment, she'd been home and happy, and then he'd had to ruin it. Maybe while she was taking out the black-suits in her dream future, she'd find a moment to detour and kill him too.
Strictly for pleasure, that.
Sitting on the opposite bench, she gazed very intently at the game in question. Really, of course, she wasn't paying attention to it at all. Instead, she was working out exquisitely detailed - and very gruesome - ends for the one who had destroyed the first hint of pleasure she'd had since coming here. Not that she'd actually use any of these plans; as lovely as they were, they were very time-consuming and would cut down on her black-suit quota. And the suits had to be the priority.
When she had her weapon in hand and enough training to know everything she could do with it, she would make them sorry they'd ever chosen Kita Rowan to come here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
SilentShadowDreamer Vice Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 4:48 pm
The press of Axoms on the bench was getting a bit too tight for Sera's liking. She took the edge of her thumbnail in her front teeth and bit a piece of the white off, as she often did when anxious. Today was going to be bad; she knew it. The weather provided an excuse for the labcoats to keep them under longer, for one. That, though it meant more flying time, also meant whatever was on tap was going to be long and hard. Plus, the most worrisome thing this was, there was no breakfast. Normally they'd eat here under the supervision of the guards, but not today. Something was going to happen that would best go down on an empty stomach. She shivered and forced her hand away form her teeth. "Nailbiter" was a very fitting term.
It was a universal rule that Axoms never sit or stand too close to each other, for fear of cramping their wings, but even the proximity now forced her to get up and just move out of sheer bodily need. She cracked her knuckles both ways and strolled along the length of the bench, eyes falling on the assembled Winged Ones. Turning her gaze back to the outside after seeing nothing of note, Sera saw Izzy standing at the edge of the pavilion, nearby. She hadn't spoken except for the simple referee statement all morning as of yet, and though now would be a good time to get some conversation in before they had to go belowground.
"Izzy." Sera began with the direct and simple statement of the other girl's name. She reached out and let the chilly rain gather up in her palm for a second or two, before reaching back and washing her other hand with it. She didn't put it to her face as she'd seen Izzy do, but was content with the cool feeling her hands now had. It was barely even handwashing; plain rainwater, but it did the trick.
"Oi zink we need to watch out today. Zey 'aven't given us breakfast."
Sera was not exactly proud of her thick accent but it was better than, say, an American or Indian one. As long as people could understand her, she was content.
She looked over her shoulder and back at everyone, most sitting at the benches. One of them stood out. Kita Hellspawn, as she was called, was looking a bit too interested in the game to actually be interested in the game. Sera actually wasn't one of the people who used her unpleasant nickname; she thought the other's wings were rather interesting and, despite Kita's roughness, the bad name didn't fit her.
She made a small "Hrm" noise as one does when discontinuing deep thoughts and turned her attention back to Izzy. A girl from Spain who apparently used to live by the seaside. Sera felt immense pity for her; if she didn't find a way one day to get her wings removed, she could never really swim again. Wrenched away from the water and given the air.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 6:28 pm
Kita had lost interest in her plans of vengeance. Not against the black-suits - those plots never got old. But the hapless idiot who'd annoyed her was most likely going to live to see another day, unless he did it again. She had realized a few minutes ago, at the complaint of her stomach, that they hadn't eaten breakfast yet. And they should have - half an hour ago at the very latest. The hint of tension that had been showing in her posture and expression grew more evident. Those closest to her on the bench edged away, even though it meant crowding those on their other side a bit - no one wanted to be near Hellspawn when she got tense, as it was usually a precursor to her getting angry.
But at the moment, her tension had a different source. Nervous and unable to hide it, she got up abruptly from the bench and walked away. Aimless wandering towards the outside of the pavilion soon gave way to restless pacing. She kept it up even after one of the guards shot her an angry look. She had to get out this dreadful sense of expectancy somehow, and if he didn't like it, well, that was just too damned bad. There were several curious glances towards her from other Axoms, although they glanced away as soon as her eyes met theirs. Perhaps it really would be easier to try to be agreeable, to make friends among the others.
No, she thought. All that would happen if she made friends here was that she would lose them, either to the black-suits or to her own burning desire for revenge. Easier not to get attached, not to anyone. Then she could burn this entire little corner of the world back to hell without any twinge of regret.
As she passed by the guard for the tenth time, he shot her another dirty look. She was fairly sure the only reason he didn't actually tell her to go sit down and stop drawing attention to herself was because the guards were trained not to speak to them. Her skin went cold and she felt the welcome anger began to stir as she turned to lock eyes with him. The idea of being too disgusting to talk to was sinking into her, and pushing back the nerves with fury.
She might have turned on the guard - and damn her plans - had one of the others at the table not made a sound very close to a whimper. She glanced back to realize that several of the other Winged Ones had stopped watching the game and were now watching her. At that, her mind wrested control from her emotions once again, and her ice-cold mask snapped back into place. For a moment more, she examined the guard as though memorizing his face, fully aware that at least two of the others probably had their weapons trained on her.
Then she smiled slowly, a smile that conveyed more than a hint of a threat. With no further explanation, or even a backward glance, she walked away from that side of the pavilion and took up her old place by the side of it, gazing outside as though she hadn't come within a breath of gouging out the guard's throat with nothing but nails and fueling anger.
|
|
|
|
|
|
SilentShadowDreamer Vice Captain
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 10:06 pm
((Sorry it took so long to post. RL sucks. Also, not sure if the dialouge for Isabella is going to work for now. Let me know if you guys are comfortable with it. I'm very iffy about it.))
"Hmm?"
Turning her head slightly to her side, Isabella was torn away from her last hindering thoughts. Her amber colored eyes where cloudy at first, lost in some kind of deep conversation with herself that deemed to be much more interesting than reality. Maybe one day she could slip into her mind forever and never have to face reality again...
A voice. The same voice that pulled her from her thoughts, was now closer to her. Cloudy eyes clearing up slowly, Isabella was finally able to register the voice with a face, a face with a name. Nailbiter. A woman with deep, dark brown hair and bright skin. She was actually very beautiful. Her German accent was thick, and very much to the distaste of Isabella, but who was she to judge? For all she knew, the way she constantly rolled her 'r's, put emphesis on both 'h's and 'k's while speaking in a quiet tone was possibly very annoying to the other.
"Si. Bhut, it is nhot the first time, nho?"
Listening closely to the woman's words, Isabella gave a quick nod, her ears listening to Nailbiter, but her eyes watching something else off in the distance. Keeping her eyes locked on the figure, she softly pointed past Nailbiter's shoulder, straight at Hellspawn.
Hm. Another odd nickname, given to yet, another beautiful woman. But there was something more to Hellspawn, something Isabella could not quite put her finger on. But as she pointed to her softly so that Nailbiter would notice, there was silence around the pavilion. Guards had taken a tight posture, thier guns lazily aiming at Hellspawn, challenging her. Isabella watched as Hellspawn seemed to challenge the guards back, an odd chill running up her spine at the sudden change in atmosphere.
As if the air wasn't dreadful enough.
Finally, the staring duel had ended, and with a sinister smile on her face, Hellspawn retreated away from the guards. The air calming down around the pavilion, Isabella kept her eyes on the woman while speaking softly to Nailbiter.
"I see. Nhot just forr them. Today, should be interrhesting."
Standing up straight now, Isabella ran a hand through her black hair, rubbing her head a little before removing her hand. The act of stranding straight made her wince however. Unlikee the others, her clean white wings had be stuck in a half way open postion, as opposed to the other Axom who had theirs closed tightly against thier backs. They were stiff at the moment, Isabella's wings. And she didn't bother to try to move them out of place either. That time would come later, with more pain that needed. She would rather suffer all at once than try to suffer on her own.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 8:37 pm
((I can work with it, Spaniard.))
The aptly-named girl followed Izzy's finger with her eyes, until they fell on the subject. Hellspawn.
"Zat girl es going to really set somezing off zomeday." Sera commented a little bit darkly, a chilly breeze blowing in and ruffling her hair. She just hoped that whatever Kita would end up doing, it didn't in any way involve her. It obviously took extreme mental control to keep from strangling every black-suit she saw. That applied to all of them, but nobody was as unhinged as Hellspawn was. The tense atmosphere calmed moments later, when Kita dropped her staring contest and walked over to the edge of the pavilion. Sera's sigh of relief was almost audible, almost noticeable, and was heard only to her. Izzy might have seen the release of tension in her shoulders, but it didn't matter too much. The Spanish girl wasn't the type (she hoped) to spread rumours about disloyalty.
It was the Starchild's firm belief that in order to one day escape, she must learn all she could about the compound. Guard rotations, fire exists, how often machinery needed repair. Her plan was not suicide, it was getting the hell out of there. One day, if she failed to run away, she'd be blown to bits in some war with the Americans or the Japanese or something.
Izzy's statements were true. Sera nodded shortly and reached an arm over her shoulder to absentmindedly rub a tender muscle, in hopes of reviving it to some degree before she was forced to fly again. It hurt more.
"Ja, das true. We make ze most of et, zough. Perzevere an' whatnot."
Admittedly, Sera's accent wasn't the prettiest. It wasn't a gently lilting Irish or rolling Spanish, like Izzy's. Nope, she had blunt, stout german. It wasn't too bad from the speaker's prospective, but really, only a German liked the sound of a German's voice.
As the rain began to pick up in intensity, some invisible clock caused the guards to all rearrange themselves furtively. They cast wary glanced upon the Axoms, weapons ready should the prisoners take advantage of the shifting. They lined themselves up along all pavilion edges but one, the one that faced what looked like a white metal shed. Its pristine shine was stark in the gloom. A metal door stood closed on its wall. This door promptly opened, and in firm, barking Russian, the Axoms were ordered to line and march.
Sera shook her head and sighed, making a futile attempt to give her wings a last good stretch.
"An' zo et begins," she muttered, casting a glance to Izzy.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SilentShadowDreamer Vice Captain
|
Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 8:57 pm
((OOC: I don't mind it, either. However, I'm not going to phonetically write out Kita's accent, because I'm really bad at that.))
Kita's eye fell on the guard from before, who noticeably stiffened when he realized she was looking at him again. Her smirk was just noticeable. So she already had that one, at least, on his toes. She wondered if he knew just how close he'd come to not returning home that night - wherever home was for him. For several more seconds, even as she made her way idly towards the rest of the group, she kept her gaze on him. Just because it made him nervous, and she liked seeing them nervous. It was good to know that they had an idea of what she could do to them.
It wasn't fair that the Axoms be the only ones squirming in this little game they were playing, after all. Kita intended to even the playing field a little. And it wouldn't be too hard, if just staring at one of them was a start.
Of course, it could have had something to do with who was doing the staring - Kita knew her reputation among the guards as 'trouble' was growing. She also knew she had to keep it just toned down enough that they thought she would do no more than the minor acts of rebellion she'd already shown off. All her plans would come to nothing if she ended up under increased guard, or anything similar. Certainly she knew all that; it was just sometimes hard to remember when she got angry.
As she casually rolled back her shoulders to loosen up the muscles a bit, she watched the guards arrange themselves along the lines of the pavilion edges. Not budging, she watched the others slowly fall into line. Well, she could refuse to join them. See how long it took one of the trigger-happy guards to go at her. Security had to be more lax in the rude 'hospital' they had made.
No, she couldn't do it that way. Getting shot might mean getting killed, and again, she couldn't be guaranteed survival. Besides, lighter security might mean an easier chance to escape, but that wasn't enough. She wanted it gone, all gone. It had to end, and it was going to end even if Kita had to make all the arrangements herself.
Falling into line casually, she began to consider how she could smuggle out a weapon from the room. Not that she would do it today - but soon. Soon, she thought. Eventually, she would get what she wanted, and those that got in the way would simply have to go as well. What of the other Axoms, though? Well, those that wanted to run could run, she figured, and those that didn't...
That was why she couldn't get attached. Simple as that.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2009 9:03 pm
Everything suddenly seemed to blur after that. It's the way Isabella liked it to be; blurry.
Why bother noticing the details when change came about the atmosphere of the Axom. Wasn't it enough to be prisoners?
Isabella did not want to concentrate on the tension that built up when the guards began to change places. Or when the Axom's mood became even more sorrowful than before as they were ordered to march on command, knowing very well of the several outcomes that would occur upon following those orders.
But they didn't have a choice, now did they?
No. It was best not to think of the pain that was soon to come; the prodding and the poking, the stinging sensations that burned the inside of your veins, and of course, that electrifying, back-breaking feeling that would soon erupt from the unwanted object placed heavily on her back. Isabella had to save her energy for more useful things, such as fighting against cold metal and numerous hands as she would try to avoid her injections. She always did. Pondering over the stiffness of the aura around them was wasting valuable rebellion energy; something she could not afford to lose.
Oh yes, Isabella seemed quiet now, calm even. But make no mistake, if her next destination has anything to do with a needle, there will be a good fight. As always. And it pained her inside to lose every time. But she wasn't ready to give up, not just yet.
Nodding in reply to Nailbiter, Isabella fell back behind all the other gathering Axom. More so out of not paying attention than fear. She was trying her best not to focus on the pain that might come in the next few minutes. She hoped, if anything, that there would simply be a sparring session today. She could easily put up with those. If anything, she rather enjoyed them.
But anyway.
Following the crowd of Axom as they marched, Isabella tried not to think too hard, now concentrating on not bumping into someone's wings or not getting bumped into herself. Now that would be painful.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Sep 04, 2009 9:59 pm
((Just a note: don't be afraid to take charge and control things like NPCs, setting, etc., you two. Take some control; even if I like descriptive writing, this is your RP as well as mine.
But nobody's doing anything wrong. Nice post, Spaniard.
We have a new member!))
Sera put on her disagreeable face, lip curled and eyes flinty. It made some of the weaker scientists less eager to maim and draw blood. Her feet took her out from under the pavilion and into a seven meter march through the heavy rain. She pressed her wings even more tightly to her back and shook her hair so that at least some of the feathers would be dry. Not that it mattered; in the moisture-less air of the laboratories everything dried out fast.
The Axoms were marched into the shed, which was not actually a shed but the top landing of a long set of bare metal stairs. Feet thumped on the metal as they descended. Sera thought of the sky, mucky as it was, slowly getting further and further away. She felt as if she was clambering into a grave.
Like it always felt.
After a few minutes of going down the narrow staircase, the passageway opened up into a long corridor, lined with doorways. Sera shivered, partially from the sudden rush of cold air and partially due to fear.
They went along it for some paces and were led into a larger set of double doors. The Starchild sighed with relief, but apprehension still made her skin prickle.
Sparring was easier, and harder, in different ways.
The Axoms were pushed into a large gymnasium and left to the researchers. The gym was covered in mats, and equipment like foam batons and metal rods lined the walls. The ceiling was quite high, and bars about twenty feet from the roof divided the airspace into four squares.
Before them, standing with clipboards and the offhand syringe, were the researchers. Sera glared at them with all the controlled hate she could conjure without flying off the handle.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
