TRP is a post-Great War AU RWBY RP set in Mistral City and Haven Academy with no canons, no rank claims, no maidens, and no god interference. We offer a progression system and site-wide events that change the setting based on player actions.
Post by Arrats Calanthe on Feb 3, 2020 6:06:19 GMT -5
A friend in need, Hero complexes can be dangerous, What to do now?
Arrats wasn't the most optimistic in the best of times. This happened to be perhaps the worst of times so he really wasn't doing too well. Being back in the dorms was his way of apologising for his indirect almost murder of two to three people. For the moment though he was sitting with his back to one of the hastily repainted walls. A sigh escaped him as he twiddled his recently bandaged hands. The blood had seeped into them, colouring the formerly white bandages a sanguine red. It was unlike him to hurt himself that badly but it seemed the conversation earlier really unnerved him. He knew his responsibility for the issue, he was sitting in it's aftereffects. It really did hurt him to be back here but doing so gave him a sort of closure on it to some degree. He was regretful of course but he couldn't exactly take that pain from others onto himself now matter how much he wished to. The corridors were almost mazelike as he took a look around. His head was actually mostly hidden within his body as if he was trying to hide himself from the reality of the situation, even though he wished to take some of the pain away or at least Redeem himself, as selfish as that sounds. What he needed at that moment was a friend to make him stop being so mopey and a couple tissues considering his watery eyes at that moment. Arrats was, much to his regret actually very very sad. Which while pathetic to anyone watching made sense given the situation. He’d heard his headmaster give a speech calling him (essentially) partially responsible for the dorms burning down, the people around him most likely hated him, he was bleeding from his hands and honestly he was just not having the greatest day. So crying was a conclusion that was fair to reach to some degree. But crying in a hallway while bleeding from his hands and in a suit? He must’ve looked like the cover art from that one band...Our Molecular Breakup? Something like that. He really was in a bad way thoigh. Bemoaning life was not his style but today was simply cursed, no doubt about it really. “I’m a failure. I’m no hero.”
Post by Kishka Burzanova on Mar 10, 2020 10:31:05 GMT -5
KISHKA BURZANOVA
The Attack on Haven.
Honestly, Kishka was more annoyed than anything about it.
It annoyed her that someone would take advantage of the strongest students at Haven being away on a mission, to attack her school. And that she had been one of those students, absent during the attack.
Had she really wanted to come home from the fucking shit she'd seen and done in Rochdale, to find that her goddamn campus had been attacked? That her training areas had been damaged, and her homeroom teacher- irritating and incompetent as he was- was dead?
No.
It was unfair to her, and to the other students who'd nearly died in that shithole now-former village.
If that spineless coward had tried that shit while she'd been around, he wouldn't have made it nearly as far as he had. It was pathetic. Ferric Nayamasa. Good-for-nothing, rejected by the two main classes, and dropped in remedial shit with Class Blue. Kid had issues, and lo and behold- much like a certain other fucker with issues, he decided to go school shooter and blow up Haven or something.
At least Qiu'li stopped at breaking some legs, after he killed the old guy who'd allegedly attacked him.
Ferric killed a classmate, and a teacher, in cold blood, and tried burning down the academy. Tried killing at least two other students too, at that. He was batshit insane, and what did he earn for his deluded efforts?
A one-way ticket to "fucking dead." It was a damn shame she hadn't gotten the chance to do it herself.
She shook her head, as she walked through the halls, on her way back to her room from the gym. She'd gotten in some good work, but now, seeing the fresh paint on the walls, and the scorch marks still on the yet-unpainted ceiling, she was reminded of the Attack, and suddenly in a much worse mood than she should have been, post-workout.
And to top it off, she could hear someone around the corner. Sounded like they were crying. Ugh. Annoying. Crying accomplished nothing, especially when damn near everybody at Haven had a good fucking reason to cry about something anyways. But especially in the hallway- that just lent itself to awkward situations that she didn't have time for.
She started around the corner, and intended fully to just walk past the sobbing kid without bothering to acknowledge him. But she recognized the weird fashion sense and the hair, before she got the chance to just ignore him.
It was that Arrats guy.
She'd spoken to him once or twice online, but not much in person. Last she remembered seeing him was in Shadecloak's assembly, when he was mumbling to himself all weird as fuck. Honestly, from their chats online, he didn't seem like too bad of a guy, and he was at least passably interested in her vast collection of comics, so he showed promise as a potential friend, even if he was pretty unimpressive, as far as her search for a fourth Vytal tournament member went.
But now he just seemed sad and weird, and kinda pathetic. Didn't help that he was wrapped up in all the bullshit that she was so steamed about, honestly, though she didn't exactly blame him- he was an idiot, for letting Ferric walk away with so much dust, and a coward for hiding out in the infirmary while his classmates were in danger. But not a killer. He didn't have the stomach for that, she could tell by looking at him.
She stood there, standing adjacent to him, in the middle of the hallway for a good minute, debating whether to just keep going back to her room, or actually address the sorry sack of depression and revolting self-pity in front of her.
In the end, she decided to take the few steps towards him, and address him, with a commendable mere twinge of her full irritation at his disrupting her routine showing in her tone. "Hey. Arrats, right? What's wrong with you? And why's your hand bleeding?" Hadn't taken a genius to notice his bloody bandages- the fuck was that about? Was he not using aura for some stupid reason?
It hearkened her back to the fight with Heidi. How she'd allowed her Aura alone to heal her broken hand, over the course of several weeks, as a symbol of her perseverance and stubborn refusal to allow the beastly bitch to win.
But he didn't seem like the fighting type. And his wounded hands reeked not of prideful white-hot anger, but of mud-wallowing whining.