[Ruqa Reyes]

She had imagined the New Year would have gotten off to a better start. It started off with Ruqa being freshly 19 with a newly acquired driver’s license to show for it, the entire world to explore and an awesome kickass hunter school to return to. It was a New Year, and it was going to be a chance to find the “New Me”. She’d stick to her resolution to read more, maybe go on a diet, and become 200% more better of a person. Yup it was going to be great. Oh yeah she was having a laugh right about now.

Terrorists? In my school? Hah! Get real.

But yeah no some dudes apparently died which was… bummer? Yeah it was just the strangest thing walking in the fire scarred hallways and no idea of what transpired just a few weeks prior. They were little clues to a battle that happened in what she considered her home but with no trace of the combatants. Her school was a battle ground and now they were supposed to get back to normal? Yeah no, she was going to get to the bottom of this.

Ruqa had not stuck to the local news as much as she did those last few days. With a seemingly thorough investigation by officials and journalists rushing to the details there was no shortage of news about Haven. Evidently the hunter school responsible for producing all hunter’s in Mistral having a terrorist attack prompted the people's attention. Some crackpot conspiracists even suggested that the fire fight was just the result of a “lovers quarrel”. That was worth a laugh and then it wasn’t. The death toll, though only containing a handful of people, was sobering.

And they were just… full of names she didn’t recognise.

Ferric Nayamasa? The fuck was that? Some rando kid that snapped but for one reason over another, went after his fellow trainees, causing undetermined casualties and damages to the school dorms. There was a little nag in the back of her mind, wondering what it would have been like if she had been in her dorm room during the attack. Would she too have been caught in dust fire? She shook her head in self-disgust. No, it was even selfish to think of that. There were actual casualties and any feelings of fear of being an imagined victim or even a small sigh relief for escaping such a fate would in no uncertain terms, be the highest level of disrespect for the people affected.

There was another guy, Braum. She knew Braum if only barely since they worked together on the Argus Limited. She knew his face, that he was a beefy dude, but otherwise had not even shared small talk. He was a stranger to her but one to mourn. Already there was talk of him being a hero, that he deserved a statue for his defence of his other trainees. Was the statue in memory of a brave student or just a dead teenager?

And Van Sage. She’d never met the teacher and didn’t know him well enough to feel sad but she did catch a glimpse of the smouldering pile that was his house. Clearly, someone decided they needed overkill to finish him off.

It all ultimately pointed to a press release from a group who called themselves the Order of Animan Nationalists. That name itself meant nothing to her but she was about to find out. After she read the report she doubted she understood anything anymore.

The report was all over the place but the points she got were:

• Van Sage ded ded
  
• Their Scarlet Group takes credit for killing of Van Sage
  
• Justify by claiming Van Sage has a history of being a murderer called the “Red Death”
• Skeptic about Haven Academies hiring practices
• Claim Haven Academy is doing a cover-up by calling the Scarlet Group terrorists
• Student dorms were Facking BOMBED but Scarlet Group deny responsibility for attack
• Some dude, Ferric, went on his own, independent of the Order, to blow up the school?!
• Valko and “Surprisinglyempty” - dudes accessories to terrorism??
• “OAN” claim not responsible to killing of students?
  
• Nikolas was impersonated?

From what Ruqa understood there were two separate attacks perpetrated by two separate parties: (A) Scarlet Group killing Van Sage - not much detail there, apparently bombed his house and (B) Ferric and Co taking advantage of a bad situation to fuck everyone else over. Maybe Ruqa was just too “”DUMB”” to get whatever these terrorists were saying but she knew that whatever scumbags in the Order of Animan Nationalists thought they were doing to ““provide Justice for Vacco”” they were responsible for making the school unsafe, unintentionally allowing for the actions of Ferric. In her mind they were all to blame.

Quietly seething with frustration Ruqa could only wish that these guys were thrown in jail and punished. Scarlet, Ferric, Valko, and whoever the fuck was responsible for this shit. It was a mess and if they wanted to execute their imagined form of “Justice” then they would have to accept the consequences too. If they didn’t they were just ambitious murderers.

Her hands grasped out to do something but there just wasn’t anything for Ruqa to do. She didn’t have any investigative skills in the slightest and would just have to keep waiting for the teachers to call them up. What would this mean for her and the rest of the students at Haven? Would they cancel school to prevent any more attacks? A crackdown on student admission and teacher hiring practices? Would their classes graduation be delayed even more? It seemed like nothing was right anymore.

Her scroll flashed and the name “Cassander” lit on, the only forewarning to the nagging that would ensue. With a grimace, she prepared herself.

“Hey Cassy, what’s- no yeah I’m fine of course.”
“Look I wasn’t even there when it happened and it looked like its safe to go in- well you know what I mean”
“...Yeah I’m real excited to get myself blown up again I-no cass I was joking.”
“...I’m not going back home, I saw you last month! And if they try again when it comes down to it I’ll deal with it or I’ll die!”
For a half minute Ruqa stays silent.
“Dude you know I’m tough enough, don’t stress and go grey on me… well if it makes you feel better you could fix me up a new set of prosthesis like I asked you. Give me extra protection and the like!”
“Yeah yeah yeah…. Thank you though. I promise I’ll keep myself safe.”
“Yeah, uhuh”
“Yeah alright, okay”
“Got it. Love ya, tell Holly I said hi”
“-Byee`”

If anyone walked in on her, they would see a dark skinned teenage girl with an annoyed pose, rolling her eyes at the world, wondering what it has become.

Word Count: 1148
Total Word Count: 1148
Ruqa Reyes
Mantis Brachius [R1][R2][L1][L2]
Aura: 100%
Gorill: 100%

[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

The cleanup was going... well it was going anyway. The damage ranged an entire spectrum from untouched to utter within arm spans of each other. It seemed that which buildings burned and which escaped were decided at random by a capricious god with a set of dice. Yawning rifts where the fire had eaten holes in the walls gaped populated by scorched timbers like mouthfuls of rotten teeth. Roofs were caved in like cracked skulls, and blown out windows gazed in blindly on soot and smoke blackened interiors. It was both eerie and hellish, to return from his winter break to find what had been his home for the better part of the last year in ruins, made all the worse because Sol had seen this sort of ruination more than once before.

This was the first time he was the one picking up the pieces. This was the first time he was the one left behind to rebuild.

Sol had fought all across Misral's northern swamps, and through the frozen wastes of Solitas. Fire was a popular weapon among his units, or rather had been when they were still his. Especially in Mistral's mires, where the settlements were built almost entirely from wood. Unless the settlement had a strategic purpose or contained valuable supplies, it was often much easier to simply set a torch to it than to fight in confined spaces, structure to structure, room to room, searching out the insurgents. It was much better to set a few fires and set up a couple of guns to deal with anyone fleeing the flames, it saved ammunition, and lives, at least on his side.

Near to the end of that campaign, it had been a common tactic on both sides to raze settlements and deny the other forces a foothold in the region. Sol had marched through more than one fire gutted village, the handiwork of one side or the other. He thought that he was numb to the experience by now, but walking through Haven, and seeing the once resplendent buildings reduced to torn out shells, walkways littered with chunks of blackened glass from blasted out windows, and every now and then a shell casing or deplete dust cartridge, a grim memorial to the fighting for which he had been absent, felt like a hand reaching into his chest and squeezing.

Was this how those survivors of the hundreds of offensives he'd participated in, and in some cases near the end directed personally, had felt, when they returned home to find their entire lives in ruins? He was a piece of shit. In a weird way Sol felt responsible for this. Like his life of evil had finally caught up with him and followed him home, and now the poor destitute peasants scrambling through the wreckage were his friends, and comrades. Now the dead were men and women he'd known, he'd lived with. Well at least that was nothing new.

Sol had hassled one of the crew-bosses in charge of the restoration into putting him to work. The superintendant had better things to do than deal with some shell-shocked shithead getting in the way and foisted Solomon off on the nearest foreman he could find. The foreman hadn't seemed eager at the sight of the six foot tall black haired cyclops with a voice like a rusty band-saw, but had finally agreed to let him join one of the unskilled labor teams, if only to get the sullen student out of his hair. Under the guidance of a skeptical lead hand, who only relaxed slightly when Sol displayed his talent for lifting prodigiously heavy objects, the one eyed huntsman was sent to begin rounding up any of the wreckage that could be salvaged. The lead hand only shook his head when the reaction to this objectively menial task, suitable only for the lowest standard of laborer, was a crisp salute that nearly vibrated before the one eyed man marched off like he was late for inspection.

Solomon was proud of the collection of salvaged beams and studs that he'd managed to locate. Working like a soldier ant he'd been at it all morning, shuttling armloads of only slightly singed lumber from the ruins to the staging area. It was tricky work, and he was beginning to understand why the contractors had seemed to unsure of him. The destruction was not the result of an orderly demolition, it was random and cruel, and that meant that access and egress were considerable problems. Entrances were choked with debris, entire wings were utterly impassable, any elevated walkway had to be treated with the utmost suspicion in case a support had been compromised. There was an art to navigation, especially since many of the remaining access routes were shared by students and faculty. Sol was genuinely enjoying the work, as much as he enjoyed anything. The arduous labor kept his mind off the reality of what had transpired. It was peasant's work, but Sol was not as proud as he'd once been, and was happy, or as happy as he ever was, to be helping in whatever small way he could.

Sol was returning from just such an expedition. Stacked tall on his right shoulder he carried almost one hundred kilograms of precariously stacked timber. Even his densely muscled frame was straining beneath the load, as he endeavored to avoid accidentally bludgeoning passersbys with a telephone pole's worth of wood. Perhaps he should have stopped short of that last especially thick beam, though he would shortly be thankful for having stopped where he had.

As the struggling cyclops rounded a corner, he discovered too late that someone had chosen that exact spot to stop for a call on her scroll. The momentum required to swing the load of lumber around the corner was such that there was no stopping it as it swung by at head level, ready to take the unfortunate stranger's head off at the cricoid cartilage. Sol responded to this impending workplace accident by pitching the front of the load sharply upwards, so that it passed harmlessly over the girl's head. Unfortunately this was the last straw in the questionable balance of irregular planks, and a few toppled off the stack and clattered down behind the struggling man, thus further upsetting the equilibrium of his burden. The fight was lost then, as Sol was powerless to hold on as the entire bundle came apart and collapsed down behind him with a thunderous clamor.

For an instant he stood there, a deer in a spotlight, before the woman he'd nearly decapitated with salvaged lumber. He was a large man, older by at least a couple years than the average Haven student. He wore a denim work jacket, over a white undershirt, with leather worksman's gloves on either hand, all of which were stained almost black with soot and creosote. He wore a bandanna across the lower portion of his face, likely to deal with the copious levels of smoke and ash still lingering in the air. It had been red once; it was black now. He wore his hair tied back, shoulder length even in a tail, covered as well with another bandana; it may have been black to start; now it was blacker. Curiously he wore the fringe longer on the right side, allowing it to fall down across his face like a curtain of shiny black silk. It only took a moment of observation to see why.

He was missing his right eye. In it's place was a leather patch, and a gruesome looking scar that started at his hairline and passed right down through the orbital and possibly on beneath the bandanna that covered his mouth. The trick with the hair might work to conceal it at a distance, but up close there was no missing it, if anything the effort of trying to style his hair over the disfigurement only made it more obvious.

Opposite the patch was his remaining eye. It was a brilliant, almost molten gold, currently squeezed up in a combination of scorn and embarrassment. He glanced to the scattered pile of wood, and snarled.

"BY the fucking dead!" His voice was like sandpaper on granite, like he brushed his teeth with gravel instead of toothpaste, like he'd screamed himself hoarse even moment of the last twenty years and smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. He sounded angry too, words practically radiating with violence as he savagely kicked the nearest of the boards an pitched it skidding across the floor. When he swung back to face the girl who had been if not the cause of the entire fiasco, at least a contributing factor and narrowed his golden eye at her.

"Are you ok?" He inquired, perhaps unexpectedly.

@tag

1097 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Arrats Calanthe]

𝘈 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳?

By the musings of Father Fate a chance meeting occurred. Terrorist accessory and nervous wreck Arrats Calanthe was in the area. Now being labeled as such was a rather interesting thing to the purple suited Huntsman-in-training. He'd not been arrested nor charged with anything. He knew that Valko had been but that was perhaps because he wasn't a student. Though considering his attitude at the moment perhaps he wished he had been. You see, Arrats hated himself quite a bit at the moment. He hated himself more than a cow who just discovered their milk is being used to feed other cows who will be killed for meat. Or something else suitably gruesome. Though perhaps his injuries were punishment enough. His hands, tools for his semblance and his weapon were scratched and rubbed raw. To such a degree he bled. A nervous compulsion driven to it's regrettable conclusion. His hands were almost pink with new skin being shown. These injuries were severe enough to make Arrats wrap rather lengthy bandages around his hands covering the worst of it from the light of day. But enough of him. You've heard far too much about the most depressing living flashbang I'm sure the person he's walked into is far more interesting.

Arrats was simply walking along when he noticed that in his path was someone he hadn't seen before. Which was fair. It had only been a few months after all. Though he was mostly acquainted with his colleagues or he supposed they were more akin to an angry mob after him at this point (at least, that's what he believed) he had yet to interact with this one. He didn't-or rather couldn't- place a name to this person. She looked remarkably untouched from the chaos. A relief then, if this random person had been spared. Whoever they were he was glad they weren't in harms way and in other ways Arrats was glad they weren't around to see his failure. One person spared of his mistake, as selfish a thought that was. He didn't know if he should go and introduce himself or avoid them entirely. After all what was he to say? 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘰𝘰𝘱𝘴? no he couldn't. He couldn't bear that again. So how was he to solve that issue? He couldn't avoid them. Damn social interactions. This was why he was averse to interacting. This is why he sketched. Why he stayed away from people. He didn't want to disappoint them so it was better to simply avoid the risk entirely. Or at least that was why he didn't want to talk to this person. Though they looked perfectly friendly. The situation changed all together when someone he DID know walked around the corner. That if memory served was a man called Solomon. He was in class Red like Arrats was and he was rather adversarial towards him and others. Though they'd never met in person he had spoken over red chat with him on several occasions. Though his plan was to assist in recovery efforts as soon as he could Arrats hadn't managed to convince anyone to let him. Fair enough really, he was closely related to the issue at hand so why would they want him around? Back to the matter at hand though, Solomon was carrying some wood. That much Arrats saw. However he didn't expect this new person to nearly die from it. Those beams were carried by their momentum from before Solomon presumably rounded the corner Arrats could see from his silent position near the wall so the fact Solomon was able to avert this fatal end was a testament to his reflex. Though he now saw what was to become of the other planks of wood, collapsing to the ground with a thunderous SLAM. Well now he couldn't just ignore the situation, those needed to be picked up and boy golly he wished for nothing more than to help, even with his hastily bandaged hands. So he did the only rational thing he could do. Quietly moving to collect the wood planks behind Solomon. Now this was tricky especially with his hands being bandaged but he did manage it. Carrying the wood with the grace of a man with no eyes trying to jump on the spot. Though he did manage it, what this new person would've seen was a man of the same age wearing a purple suit and black pants carrying wood planks. His hair was probably a main draw being very odd in colour, a white streak going through his mainly dark coloured hair. He looked like Frankenstein trying to look hip and his image wasn't helped by the bandages on his hands and even they were peeling off like they wanted off his skin just as much as Arrats did. His eyes though were a nice shade of misty blue disrupting the rather eerily organised purple and black wardrobe. Perhaps in another life he'd have been a rather respectable looking businessman, or a teen idol or something equally impossible. Whatever the case now he was standing in a rather awkward position behind the two of them. Carrying some wood planks that seemed driven to dig into his skin. Maybe he really shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning. Well whatever now he had to speak up otherwise he'd probably be seen as stealing as he hadn't said a word before. So with some trepidation he managed to cough as if to get attention.
"Ah, excuse me. I've got your wood here? If you weren't going to pick it up I mean." Well that was awkward, super awkward in fact. So awkward he would've-as the cool children said-cringed. Well there was nothing to be done for it now he was stuck giving his stupid introduction like the idiot he most certainly was. Ah never mind though. He'd pull through, hopefully.
(1008/10080

[Ruqa Reyes]

As the cyclops lumbered through the hallway, Ruqa idly pressed herself against the wall, still talking on the phone and not giving it a huge amount of attention. Her phone barely left her lips when she was nearly brained by a stretch of construction planks. Not being especially agile, Ruqa avoided her demise by inches if not centimeters.

Back against the wall, she lets her initial panic give rise to shouting, giving a sharp glare to the man that got in her way.

“FUCKIN-WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA, HUH?!” she brazenly yelled.

The “giant man” was a mere 3 cm taller than Ruqa herself but the way she held herself was a sure sign that she wasn’t going to a bit of height difference stare down some goon.

Ruqa “Asul” Reyes, the Harambe of Haven, wasn’t some slump. Her set of arm prosthesis and personal weapon, Mantis Brachius, was a sight to behold. Not one, not two, not three but four prosthesis. Two sets of mechanical arms attached to her shoulders, gleaming silver lined steel. Her wingspan spread out, a densely packed package of alloy and wiring.

They weren’t a thing she could put away or hide but now they were out in the open, radiating threat. And Solomon was going to observe it first hand.

The big fucker was fuming, kicking the pile with blind frustration before turning to her to yell at her. She had the sense to pretend to be patient, let him work it out before she gave him a verbal lashing.

“Jeez man, why don’t you look where you are going...” Ruqa starts but quickly spots the eye patch. Guess the guy didn’t exactly have 2020 vision. Still an asshole though.

She stretched an arm towards the mess just made. “Tsk. Look at this dude. You scratched up the paint! Bah it’s not like people will notice, with Haven’s new remodelling.” she notes wryly, dragging a finger over the ash covered walls.

“Still, you nearly chopped my head off, goldeneye. I’m sure we are all out of it, since the disaster. I’m real pissed too but I’m not the one having a tantrum. So yeah, cool it my man.” Ruqa strains, trying to be the reasonable one in this situation. It’s not like this angst filled man would.

While it was true that Ruqa had not been paying attention to her surroundings, she held that some guy not paying attention to where he was going, carrying far too much weight that was safe, was entirely at fault.

A handsome, misty blue eyed boy walked over to them and asked if Sol was going to pick it up which Ruqa wholeheartedly agreed with.

“Exactly, exactly! Pick that up so blue eyes doesn’t have to do your work for you.” Ruqa yells, stepping into Sol’s personal space. “Muscles for brains.”

Word Count 472
Total Word Count (1620)=1148+472
Ruqa Reyes
Mantis Brachius [R1][R2][L1][L2]
Aura: 100%
Gorill: 100%
Colour Hex: 54e1fb
Mixed Martial Arts [F]
Cat Burglar (Athletics) [F]

[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

Sol's blood was up. Since he'd returned from Winter Break, only to find the only place in the world where he felt mostly secure to be a smoldering wreckage, his temper had been a problem. He'd struggled with controlling his anger for a few years now. His therapist said it had something to do with physiological changes in response to trauma, but it had been much worse than usual in the previous week. Whereas before Sol had lived with a constant sense of a fuse smoldering down to ignition, now every moment felt like balancing on a precipice and just waiting for the slightest nudge to fly completely off the handle.

The combination of the shock of nearly bludgeoning a classmate with an armful of lumber, the panic of trying to fight the precariously stacked bundle, the shocking clamor of the entire stack clattering to the floor, and finally having someone push up into his personal space and try to intimidate him all combined to thoroughly stoke the fires of his rage. If she sincerely intended to calm him down, then she couldn't have picked a worse way to do it.

As Ruqa sneered at the one eyed man, and unfurled her elaborate array of prosthetic, spitting invective at Sol from point blank range, the weathered warrior's aspect grew steadily more hard and hostile. Had Ruqa not opted for intimidation, Sol likely would have apologized deeply for his own clumsiness and beat a hasty retreat, but he had been ingrained since an early age to treat confrontation with a singular response. His entire body seemed to transmute by degrees from flesh to something more resembling stone. Craggy features darkened, any warmth or concern completely draining out of his eye until the golden sphere more closely resembled a polished marble, as the muscles on either side of his jaw bulged and squirmed, teeth creaking as they ground together. His posture shifted from off balance, to a martial readiness indicative of a history of violence. He carried himself with the easy self assurance of a seasoned warrior who was intimately familiar with the capabilities of his body, radiating danger like some predatory beast stalking it's prey, looking both heavy and solid and light and agile at the same instant. Liquid threat seemed to radiate from him, as he transformed from a hapless laborer to an engine of war in the space of an instant and a shifting of his weight. He drew himself up tall, face screwing up furiously, teeth bare, and his golden eye like a burned out light in the center of his head, a window looking in on a crypt.

"No Idiot!" He snarled at the blue eyed boy who was holding out an armful of wood, his voice was a low venomous grind, infused with the same sort of threat as the whispering of steel as it left a scabbard, sarcasm slathering his words like poison "I was just going to leave them there."

He did not raise his voice, but it cut through the air like steel, and filled the hall with an ominous sub sonic resonance. He spoke without even looking at the lad, but seemed to have a perfect grasp of where he was standing just from the information provided by his other senses. His golden eye boured into the gaze of the girl before him, not wavering for a moment, as if he meant to drill through her head with the sheer force of his menace. Then he spoke to the girl.

"And you. Whoever the fuck you think you are. Unless you plan on using them," He hissed at Ruqa, the leather of his gloves complaining as he clenched his fists and caused the seams in his clothes from fingertips to shoulders to strain against barely restrained fury inside, "I'd advise that you lower your weapons, and Get... The Fuck... Out Of... My Way."

@tag

1097 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Arrats Calanthe]

Well. That took a turn. An understatement of the year, Arrats knew but given the mood of everyone around he didn't exactly fault Solomon for responding the way he did. Though how venomous it sounded certainly caught Arrats out. He didn't know how to process what he'd just heard and so did what most people would do in that situation and awkwardly laugh at it all. Now if this was some childish kids show, this would be where they'd show a single drop of sweat on his brow. This was not one of those shows, otherwise he'd probably be able to solve this with a wink or something equally dense. Instead he managed to say something so truly awkward he'd probably never live it down.
"Oh, well uh. Should I hand these to you or?'
Glorious job Arrats, brilliantly executed. Truly even the most adaptable social butterflies would wilt in your presence an amazingly beautiful job you've done. How in hell could you possibly mess this up more?
While his internal monologue was tearing him apart he simply stood there waiting for a response. Though inwardly he cringed at his obvious threat to this new person he inwardly rationalised it as a very simple, Good thing she met him first and got that out of the way. Arrats appreciated the rather...aggressive? Aggressive fit-compliment that the stranger doled out. Though it didn't solve the fight that seemed to be brewing. Both were rather aggressive he noted. Fair enough then, that he might offer up a peaceful solution even if it was probably not even heard since he said it so quietly.
"Ah, perhaps we should all disarm ourselves of hostility? There's no reason for us to fight now."
That lovely sentence was coupled with his hands slipped from the planks and a struggle to hold them aloft. Which in turn was followed by the inner voice commenting again in all it's virtuous wisdom.
Nice job idiot.
(325/1452)

[Ruqa Reyes]

Ruqa is dumbstruck by the things coming out of this fools mouth.

“Whu-put my weapons away? Mantis Brachius is attached to my shoulders! I couldn’t put them away even if I wanted to! You simple bitch!” Ruqa raves, her temper edging towards outburst.

Her four synchronized limbs revolved in their shoulder sockets, re-positioning to her sides with a mechanical purr of the engineering. This guy was lucky he wasn’t getting mauled by a wall of fists right now. These limbs of her were not a hidden secret, anyone that looked could see their display, and anyone who knew Ruqa associated them with her. They were her pride and joy and to her ears it was starting to sound like this guy was disrespecting them. The pain and time it took to get them installed were an incredible ordeal and the thought of anyone saying shit about them made her furious. Maybe it was her fault for demanding such an insane upgrade but telling a furious hunter to put down their weapon was a sure way to get the opposite result.

Four mechanical fists clench, charged with a desire for action. If it came to blows between the two of them there would be no telling which of her fists would strike out first.

Shaking with indignation, Ruqa cries out:

“I DON’T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH POCKETS FOR THESE.”

Her pants had the normal amount of pockets. Two on the front and two on the back and she needed those for her wallet, her scroll, her dorm room keys, and her bus pass. Asking for more than that was asking too much of her.

She was starting to lose track of what she was getting angry about. Temper cooling, she gives Sol another sharp glare before looking over to blue eyes who looked especially distressed at everything that was going on. While he tried to keep a calming tone, it was clear he was extremely anxious likely due to being stuck between two hunters that had it in their nature to escalate situations.

Maybe it was that sad puppy dog vibe that made her take a good look at their situation. Any reasonable student in the vicinity would definitely be wondering what the fuck these morons were shouting so loudly outside their door. Brawling it out in the middle of a hallway was becoming less and less appealing as a prospect.

“Blue eyes here thinks that we should disarm ourselves.” Ruqa smiles, teeth bared. “Honestly a fight right now would just be annoying. I got shit to do today and while tempting, I can’t stick around and have a jerk-off contest with you.” she says, making a crude motion with one hand.

“How about it?” Ruqa smiles, extending the offending hand out for a handshake of uneasy compromise. “Say you’re sorry for trying to kill me with that load of wood there and we can go our separate ways. Sounds doable?”

WC: 488
TWC: 2180 = (472+1148+488)
Colour Hex: 54e1fb
Kinetic Helix (Strength + Speed) [E]
Mantis Brachius (X)(L2)(R1)(R2) [D]
Mixed Martial Arts [F]
Athletics [F]
Strength [F]

[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

Sol sneered at the woman, his expression somehow radiating contempt and fury in equally measure just by a slight adjustment of his upper lip. Her protest fell on deaf ears as his single gilded eye flicked between her face and the individual fists of her spread out prosthesis, raised up around her head like the hood of a cobra. There was no possible way to convince him that unfurling the arms like the spoke of a breaking wheel at the same instant that she barged into his personal space was anything short of an obvious attempt at intimidation and effort to menace him, a person who by all appearances was unarmed, with a set of purpose built implements of murder, only to quickly change her tune when it became obvious that he would not be cowed no matter how many arms she had. Therefore, in addition to being an arrogant and impulsive bully, this girl was also a liar. In addition to thinking he could be threatened by her, she thought she could just lie to him. Therefore, in addition to thinking he was a coward, she also thought he was an idiot.

Disgusting. Sol would have hoped that the Hunter's Academies would attract those of higher moral fiber, but apparently it was like any job that called for violence, and tended to mostly attract those that intended to use their abilities to bully those around them. At least he had the measure of this girl now. A vain, abusive, fickle, windbag who would take what she could get and wilt like a wallflower at the first sign of resistance. An arrogant blow-hard who would menace unarmed men with steel just because she could, and then act like she hadn't when someone called her on it. In short, a coward and an idiot.

""Disarm."" He spat the word, affecting a falsetto to parody her higher pitch of voice, before dropping it back to a furious growl that could be felt as well as heard, "I can't tell the difference between your words and bullshit. Only one of us is brandishing steel." He spread his arms, palms held out at about waist height, and fingers splayed to clearly illustrate that he was completely unarmed, "Or do you mean to believe that you invaded my personal space with you contraptions spread out like the world's ugliest fan, just to give me a hug?" His eye did another conspicuous circuit of her raised fists, flared out around the woman like a halo of violent intent, "Only one of us is fixing for a fight, and it is not me, and it is not him. Don't piss on me and tell me it is raining."

Sol's right arm swung up in a sudden arch, effortlessly snatching the entire load of lumber out of the blue eyed boy's arms as if it were just a bundle of rags. His gaze did not depart in the slightest from meeting the emerald green of hers, as he hefted the other fallen beams onto his free shoulder, showing considerably more effort when employing his left arm, but still not seeming to struggle beneath what was an impressive weight of charred timber, even for a man in as apparently superb physical condition, sans an eye that is, as himself.

"I don't answer to liars, or cowards, or cripples with inflated egos." Sol snarled, raising his head and looking down his nose at the woman, before loudly clearing his throat and spitting a huge wad of phlegm out the corner of his mouth the land on the floor between them, "There's your fucking apology."

Then he did what he should have done already when confronted with a trigger-happy peasant with an over inflated sense of self-worth, and a lack of common sense, and walked away. He was careful not to accidentally club either of the students with the bundles of wood, but not so careful that they wouldn'tbe "inadvertently" struck upside the head if they didn'tgive him his space. He'd already wasted enough time on this.

@tag

1097 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Arrats Calanthe]

Well. This went pear shaped. At least- Arrats thought- he wasn’t carrying that wood now. Thought that aggressive snatch made him flinch a little, Arrats knew that it was probably jitters from the whole...his hands being super bloody thing. Totally. He wasn’t terrified of Sol in the least. Though no doubt his apology could do with some work it wasn’t as if Arrats was going to tell him that. Nor was the other in this conversation who he assumed would be itching for a fight given her reaction before. Though admittedly his choice of words was...lacking at least she was attempting to calm down. Though now that Solomon had done what might be politely called ‘calling someone a cripple and telling them to fuck off’ he’d assumed the two would be ready to spill more blood then was already all over the place. So he had to do something. That made him worry more. He’d never really been able to calm people down well. His sister really was the only one who was calmed by him but he had to at least try. Otherwise they’d be all over the place. As in, in pieces to clarify there. As Solomon walked away, Arrats analysed the way he walked. Solomon was not clumsy like he appeared to be. If he was a student here he’d have more precision than that. What Arrats believed was happening was that he was attempting to show he could absolutely take someone’s head off. Which of course he could, that didn’t need to be proven. Still, a threat is a threat and he had an inkling the woman with the very interesting weapons- he was beginning to notice a pattern in weapons lately- was not going to take it lightly. So as Solomon walked away, Arrats walked over to the woman and placed his still very bandaged hand on her hand? Hands? Weapons? Whatever they were he had put his still bandaged hand on one of them. With what he hoped was a calming voice Arrats spoke.
“He’s not worth it friend. I don’t wish to see another fight break out here so soon.”
His hand however was probably not ready to touch something like that so soon. A little trickle of blood flowed out of the loosely wrapped bandages around his hands and presumably onto her limbs? Weapons perhaps was a better term. Though it took him a moment to realise, Arrats chuckled a little awkwardly and removed his hand.
“Ah, sorry friend. This..well. I do hope it hasn’t stained your limbs.”
(426/1878)

[Ruqa Reyes]

What noises came from that mistake of a man passed through her one by one until they were done. The exchange that lasted seconds felt impossibly long and she didn't know what to do with herself.

Her hand was no longer outstretched and the smile was wiped from her face. She frowned, not understanding what she did to deserve this kind of treatment.

Yes it was true, she was annoyed that Sol nearly hit her a few minutes ago. Yes, she acknowledged she had raised her fists against him but only now realizing that they were presented as weapons. And that it was the haphazard introduction that was the reason this guy refused to apologize. Did he try to apologize at least a little in the beginning? She forgot if he did.

And then, at the last moment, she allowed her anger to cool. She had built up steam and let it out without crossing the line. It would be wrong to fight him for his mistake. Violence wasn't the thing to do in this situation so she stepped back. This wasn't supposed to be personal. She tried to make amends. Made jokes even.

And then he spit on the ground and suddenly all she could feel was a cold numbness.

Her entire form went stiff. It was no exaggeration to say she froze up, muscles locked up in a set jaw and slowly tightening chest. Her hands hung idly by her side as though life had left them, a sign that Ruqa had become unsure.

Inside, her heart was going wild, so full of nervous energy that she felt she was choking in it. It was so hard to breath and it felt like she couldn't get enough air. Why couldn't she breathe?

She didn't want this. She didn't want these thoughts, wanted nothing to do with these feelings. She didn't want any part of this. She wanted to leave. This wasn't something possible. She was stuck.

She had tried to forget but her body was remembering this. This weakness. This humiliation.

Liar. Coward. Cripple.

What was she going to do? How was she going to survive in the after?

It was true, none of it.

A physical pressure on her arm.

Her eyes shot out to Arrats, panicked. No doubt he saw the look in her eyes change. In that second she regained focus. Her throat was dry as sand, her breathing still out of rhythm. But it was coming back to her. That frustration. The injustice.

Now he was asking her to let it go. As if she could let it go.

He had the audacity to even ask?

She jerks her arm out of Arrats' grasp. "DON"T TOUCH ME. AND DON'T FUCKING CALL ME 'FRIEND'."

She had/was having a panic attack but Arrats' presence helped snap her out of the cycle. Now it was time to get real. She had a decision to make and now she had the missing piece, made complete with incandescent rage.

Her look toward Arrats had its own weight to it. The weight of unflinching resolve. No one was talking her out of this and certainly not someone as unremarkable, as unimportant as Arrats.

Without a word she stomped after Sol. The man could definitely hear her coming, she wasn't being particularly subtle about it.

Fine, she knew she wasn't going to impress anyone with words.

Obviously this was what he wanted. If he called her coward for attempting to avoid this, then he should be especially happy now that she was taking matters into her own hands.

She wrestled a plank of wood out of his arms, took it between both hands, and swung the four by four right into his face.

WC: 624
TWC: 2804
Colour Hex: 54e1fb
Kinetic Helix (Strength + Speed) [E]
Mantis Brachius (L1)(L2)(R1)(R2) [D]
Mixed Martial Arts [F]
Athletics [F]
Strength [F]

[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

Sol felt cold fingers crawling out of his stomach and into those limbs that remained to him. He tried to swallow the thing that was attempting to climb out of him. If it escaped right now, there was no telling where it would end up. He should have just apologized, and he knew it. He knew that his momentary defiance wouldn't be worth what was certain to follow. He had the four armed woman's measure, and he knew that she would do. It was what he would have done eighteen months ago, before the world gave him the roughest object lesson in self-control. Even now, as he walked down the hall, he could feel the pressure building behind him like a storm waiting to break as the dark skinned thug digested what Sol had said to her. It wouldn't be long now. What came next was inevitable. Sol had pulled the trigger, and now the round was impossible to steer from it's path until it crashed into a barrier capable of arresting it's course.

Oddly, Sol was not the first barrier to test the enraged cripple's bloodlust. The boy, who Sol had ignored throughout the previous exchange as the far lesser concern, was trying to talk the four armed homonculus down from her murderous fury. The one eyed soldier had to give the lad credit for the bones it must have taken to even still be here while two hard-asses were fixing for blows. Sol did not believe for a moment that words would be enough to stop her. Words were just wind after all, and while one needed to account for the wind when firing a shot, Sol had yet to see a wind strong enough to halt a bullet entirely once it was already in flight.

Sol didn't need to guess what was about to happen as the girl stomped loudly after him. He'd been on both sides of this exchange enough times to know that things would not end peacefully, and he was prepared.

As the brute tore a section of lumber off the stack Sol provided no resistance, and instead allowed the planks to tumble off his shoulders in a shower of wood as he lunged forward and pivoted on the toes of his leading foot, before coming back around to face the woman. He guessed where the blow would come from, she didn't have enough time to do anything fancy with the stolen beam, and had simply lined up the obvious shot at his head. Sol's right hand rose to a half guard protecting his head, with both bicep and forearm, as his legs spread out to stabilize his stance, collecting their strength beneath him.

The four by four crashed into Sol's raised arm without even slowing down. If Sol were a normal man like most of the laborers currently picking through the wreckage of Haven, he would have had his upper half taken off at the second intercostal space, but Sol was not any common laborer. The wood shattered into splinters, as the entire end of the beam snapped cleanly around the warrior's raised arm, and tumbled off down the hall. Sol absorbed the blow with as much movement as with which one would resist a stiff wind. He'd been forced to take the blow with his feet planted, because the force of it would have torn him off the ground otherwise, but as soon as he was able, Sol sprang back off his toes, back-stepping down the hall in a long fluid stride. He wasn't in a hurry to see what other tricks the dim brute had hidden in her sleeves, and knew better than to turn his back on her. Unfortunately, unlike her, he had some restraint, and enough self respect to not answer every goad in turn.

"Did you know that would happen?" He asked, voice radiating with disgust and disdain, "What if I was just some construction worker. You would have just you murdered me on the spot because I called you a mean name? You're even more pathetic than I expected. Did you even consider what might happen if I didn't have any aura to defend myself with?"

That last part was a bit of a lie, actually Sol hadn't expended any aura to absorb the strike, and had gotten by simply on brute force and the weapon's grade material of his implants, but it didn't make his point any less valid. If he'd been a commoner, he'd be dead, and this fuming simpleton a killer, and he genuinely wanted to know if she'd even considered that fact before assaulting him with lethal force.

Unfortunately even if he was stupid enough to want to answer her challenge, he was limited by the place in which she had chosen to deliver it. Sol was a capable fighter and a genuinely terrible opponent to have, but there was no subtlety to his fighting style, at least not without his sword. He could turn aside blades and bullets, and in doing so would leave gaping holes in the walls and clouds of razor sharp shrapnel filling the air. Unlike this idiot, he wasn't in any great hurry to have more blood on his hands.

"Unbelievable. Haven will just let any thug with an aura join the academy won't they?" He snarled, as he wearily took another step back, eye flicking to doors and windows for a more open area that he could take the fight to without risking the safety of the civilians and students just for the sake of this bloodthirsty imbecile's bruised ego, "What's your fucking plan, genius? Kill anyone who is rude to you? Are you seriously this stupid? Did the doctor carve out some of your brains when they bolted those ridiculous chunks of scrap to your shoulders? Or have you always been a drooling fuck-wit?"

@tag

1097 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Arrats Calanthe]

No. Not again. He couldn't let this happen. Arrats stood there speechless. Being moved like that in his state made him gasp. the pain flaring back again. It hurt. It all hurt. His hands, his legs and the rest. All throbbing with a dull pain that reminded him he couldn't stop another incident. It was too late to call out or cry for help. The weapon was already in Ruqa's hands. That wooden plan travelled almost in slow motion in Arrats's eyes. He could only clench his fists as the strike landed. It seemed for a moment that the world was still. For a moment he expected a true fight but it seemed like Solomon didn't want a fight either. That reassured him somewhat but even so he needed to get closer to defuse the situation. With a pained groan he began to move again. Not even truly paying attention to the steady trickle of blood slowly running down his hands, slowly painting his arms a familiar crimson. Advancing slowly behind the two of them Arrats had a thought. It was dangerous and idiotic. It was stupid. It was. It was. It was.

It was Heroic.

Lowering his hand a little, his palm lit up for a brief moment and the light around him faded slightly. He was determined to step in. Even if that meant interposing himself and triggering his semblance while injured. He couldn't and wouldn't let any more blood be spilled in these halls, he had to make up for his mistakes somehow after all. Arrats's eyes lit up with a fiery determination as he moved closer to the two fighters. He'd be a hero. No matter what it cost him.
(284/2162)

[Ruqa Reyes]

The moment of violence happens in slow motion, the projected piece of wood warps upon contact, bending backwards until there is a satisfying crack. The 4x4 passes through and the plank erupts into two halves.

Ruqa is left holding the bottom half, the "smoking gun" of the situation. She regains her confidence, smiling at Sol before letting the splintered weapon tumble out of her fingers and onto the floor.

"How do I know you weren't a carpenter?" She almost laughs in his face. "Call it a lucky fucking guess."

The bastard was still standing so clearly she chose right. As though he thought it was such a puzzle. Moron. "I can tell the difference between a hunter and a civie and buddy let me tell you aren't the most inconspicuous fucker on the block." Ruqa says. "That ugly attitude of yours give it right away."

She puts her hands together as though she were pleading with him. "So please, please, don't be acting so fucking coy with me. Acting like a dumb fool isn't going to protect you from me."

Oh and now he was calling her stupid. A drooling fuck-wit now, was she.

"I'm sure you think I'm some kind of violent bitch out for blood. Think that I'm probably, oh I dunno: "Irrational". "Over-emotional". Probably on my monthly. I've heard it all before." A harsher anger enters her tone. "All I'm doing is standing up for myself against an asshole who has done nothing but insult me. So don't go crying about how "psychotic" I am. Don't tell me what I am and am not allowed to get angry about. You fucking extended an invitation and I accepted. Let's see if you can back your words up."

She gestures Solomon to come closer if her dared. "If you have a problem with me being in Haven here is your chance to be a "big boy" and call me out. Show me that I don't belong in Haven. Because, baby, you will find that a lot of the students here sit still and take whatever brand of toxicity you bring. Pretend to be a 'misunderstood genius' all you want; you can take your word vomit and choke on it."

"You. Me. Until our aura reaches zero. How about it bud?" There is a dangerous angle to her look. "Are you gonna bark all day little doggie? Or are you gonna bite?"

---

WC: 401
TWC: 3205
Colour Hex: 54e1fb
Kinetic Helix (Strength + Speed) [E]
Mantis Brachius (L1)(L2)(R1)(R2) [D]
Mixed Martial Arts [F]
Athletics [F]
Strength [F]

[Solomon Moon]

Solomon

Sol shook his head, disbelieving. He wasn't a saint, far from, but if anyone had asked him if he deserved to be bludgeoned with a section of telephone pole based on the last few minutes, it would have been a resounding "no". If the same question extended back to the point of his birth, then he certainly would deserve much worse.

As he saw it, limited perspective aside. He'd been carrying out a humiliating task which he'd in no way been required to do, out of guilt for having been absent for the destruction of the academy property. There had been an accident, luckily no one was hurt, and he'd immediately expressed concern for the bereaved party, who had in turn, drawn her weapons and lunged at him, spitting invective. Sol had overcome years of hardwired instinct in not responding with immediate violence to even a perceived threat, and had rightfully called the threat in question out for her deplorable behavior. Said deplorable had then chosen to escalate the situation by attacking him while his back was turned. What was one even supposed to say to that? What was the reasonable reaction.

Sol knew one thing though, reason was not on the side of giving in to her insane demands of satisfaction. He doubted that reason and this four armed misfit had been within sight of each other for a good long time.

He just looked at her for a good long time, his stance gradually dissolving from ready to defend himself to simple morbid curiosity. Was this feeling of disgust and disbelief and utter incomprehension, this unquestioning readiness to just chock up the inexplicable behavior to some defect of the mind, what others felt when they looked at him? It was uncanny, it was humiliating. Sol knew he was a worthless pile of shit, because only a worthless pile of shit could have done the things he'd done, but this was the first time he'd ever truly stood on the other side of his malfunctions and seen it first hand. It was bizarre. It was horrible. It made him... sad.

Sol's gaze, despite the very real threat the four armed fight posed and her demonstrated readiness to strike while he wasn't looking, slid off of Ruqa and fell on the face of the blue eyed youth, bloody bandaged hands held up, face white eyes wide. He could imagine how that boy must be seeing them both right then, not a pair of titans facing off and he an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. He was watching two rabid animals preparing to savage each other for no good reason, and in an act of selflessness that was a credit to the entire human race, had put himself in the way to try and stop the senseless violence, for the simple sake of preventing the world of more evil than it already had. That blue eyed boy had no stake in this fight but simple decency, and had risked grievous injury to try and forestall conflict. He made eye contact with those sincere blue orbs, and somehow found an apologetic expression.

His gaze found its way back to the dark skinned amputee and her impressive prosthesis.

Just like that, all the anger he'd felt towards this maimed girl evaporated, and the cold sensation filling him seemed to be replaced by something he couldn't identify at first. He looked at her, his head cocked and his hands falling to his side, face frowning. He saw Ruqa clearly for the first time, and he saw himself as well, but not only that, he saw how far he'd come.

There had been a time, not too long ago, when he would have accepted her offer of blood. Not too long ago, he would have met her aggressive approach and baring of steel with the full measure of his mastery of violence, before she had the chance to demand satisfaction of him. He would have struck just for her daring to meet his eye, and he wouldn't have stopped at just shattering her aura. He wouldn't have stopped after ripping those arms right out of her sockets. He wouldn't have stopped until she was weeping, begging, humiliated in every evil manner that his twisted mind could conspire. He would have stripped her naked and violated her, and then bound her up and dragged her through the school so that all could see the fate of those that challenged the One-Eyed Dragon. He would not have stopped for anything in his pursuit of satisfaction, not for reason, not for the sake of innocent bystanders, not for anything under the sun. Not for the blue eyed youth with blood on his hands.

The dead knew, nothing could change the man he'd once been. Nothing could undo the evil he'd done. But nothing could compel him to be that man again either, certainly not this girl and whatever demons she had that were distorting her sense of reason and proportion. Solomon Moon alone had that power.

"No." Sol said simply, shaking his head again as he turned around and started collecting the fallen wood for a second time.

""Violence is the first solution of a small mind."" He said, giving the words a weight that made it clear they were not his own, but that of a source he respected greatly, "I've got nothing to prove to you. Your respect, or whatever you think I'd claim by accepting, mean nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. You're a small minded, violent, out of control waste of a seat in this academy that could be filled by a better man. And come to think of it, so am I, but the difference between us, is that I'm here trying to be worthy of that seat, impossible as that may be."

Sol stood up, weighed down once more by the stacks of lumber, though leaving the one that had broken upon his arm where it lay as he glanced back at Arrats.

"The only one of us who deserves to be here is him." Sol said quietly in his raspy voice, "And if you don't know why that is. My beating you to death is not going to change that. I've got better things to do anyway, like cleaning up the mess that small minded assholes like you made of our school."

Sol took a few steps and stopped, cocking his head a bit as if something had just occurred.

"I will give you some advice though. Those nice arms of yours. I happen to know how much work like that must cost. You must have had some help affording them. If the honor of our academy means so little to you, maybe ask yourself if whoever gave them to you would approve of how you are using them."

Then he started walking again, half wondering how far he'd make it this time before someone tried to break another beam over his head.

@tag

1097 words

notes

Velvet of WW

[Arrats Calanthe]

Arrats’s breathing was ragged and forced. His hand swirled with light and as he raised it up to fire off that stunning blast. For a moment. All was still. Then he saw Solomon’s face. It was...apologetic? Sad perhaps? Regretful. That was enough to forestall his action momentarily and when eventually Solomon said something that surprised even Arrats. No. He said no. Arrats almost gasped in shock. This man who he’d heard so much negative press about was trying to not fight too? It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. Arrats smiled weakly and mouthed to Solomon a very unsteady.
“Thank you.” It was a gracious thank you. A relieved expression of surprise that indicated how relieved he was at a fight not breaking out. His hand dropped down to his side. The light in his palm flickered for a moment, burning a little brighter before fading out entirely. He was at least happy that Solomon didn’t wish to escalate but Ruqa. Ruqa was an unknown element here. She may wish to continue the fighting. He couldn’t have that and now his mind associated him and Solomon as Allies he silently implored the man- no begged him- to do better than Ruqa seemed to be intent on doing. He hadn’t the strength to stand and do that again. Happily enough though it seemed he wasn’t in for the fighting and began to walk away. With a fragile breath he sighed and leant back on the wall next to him for support. Well. The blood was not exactly going away anytime soon. His arms had become increasingly soaked in the crimson he’d so often imagined surrounding his comrades. Arrats chuckled quietly as he slowly sat down to rewrap his bandages. He’d have to observe for the moment but as soon as he could he’d be standing up to go help out. He just needed a moment to...relax? Sleep? Something like that. To rest his eyes after he fixed messily putting his bandages back on.
(339/ 2501)