Remnants of the Earth

Jexica pressed her cheek into his hand, eyes closing lightly as she let out a soft sigh. Her emotions were all over the place, between being angry at him for leaving in the first place and relieved that he had come back to her alive. She chose to be as happy as she could manage, because no matter how angry she was or how much of an idiot he had been, Raz was alive and hopefully soon enough she could take him home.

Then she could kill him once he was healed up a bit, because she knew he was hurt, why else would he be at DoSaM like this?

Feeling his lips on hers brought out a shaky smile and when he pulled away to speak she reached her hand up to wipe at her eyes. Jexica had cried quite enough the past several days. She couldn’t help but let out a soft, wet laugh when he said she wouldn’t beat the crap out of him. Being very careful she sat on the edge of the bed, still looking down at him.

“Beating you half to death is very tempting right now, not going to lie, but I missed you so much. Please don’t ever do something stupid that takes you away from me again. I love you too much to lose you already.” Jexica looked down at Raz, blue eyes big and pleading for him to tell her what she wanted to hear.

Stubbornness or fear, it was hard to say which exactly kept the mage from seeking help and medicine he clearly needed. Deacon wasn’t even always sure which, but probably a big heap of both. Bull-headedness had been a major personality trait of his for all of his still relatively young life. Sickness, even staring into the face of death, hadn’t managed to change that. It just made him realize how petulant and childish he could really be – and how much of a coward.

Deacon let his eyes slide closed, brow furrowing softly as Eit rose up from his position sitting next to him. He somehow managed to bite his tongue as his jockey fussed over him, rearranging the pillows in an attempt to make him comfortable. It was always a war between frustration at the coddling and acceptance of it.

More than most Deacon knew what it was like to be helpless as someone close to you suffered. It was a terrible feeling. Years before he had fussed over his mother endlessly as she slowly died in front of him, and she had let him fuss. Darla Chambers was a proud woman that had never needed taken care of by anyone, but she had let him – because being able to do nothing was the absolute worst feeling he had ever felt in his life.

Taking care of her had been at least something. It was doing something, no matter how pointless or insignificant the action, it was still action. So Deacon let Eit fix his pillow and cushion his shoulder because that was all the elf really could do for him and he was too tired to try to deny his partner that small comfort of doing something to help.

“Brave man, I’m fine.” Deacon didn’t bother opening his eyes, though a ghost of a smirk did flicker across his lips for a half a moment. He wished he weren’t too tired to actually do something with an open bathroom door. That was such a great invitation to do something diabolical to his friend.

He cracked his eyes and watched the other man gather fresh clothing to change into from a bag in the corner. It caused a sinking sensation in Deacon’s chest. When was the last time Eit had teased or tortured him with kitten stickers? How long had it been since he’d pulled some sneaky payback on him for a well-placed cat picture?

Way too long.

The water in the shower turned on, Deacon could hear it faintly through the cracked bathroom door, and he closed his eyes again. He should go to sleep. Every part of his being was achingly exhausted, but he couldn’t just drift off. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes as he thought about his life being over – not dying from the cancer. The chilling feeling that it was already over.

This wasn’t his life. It was someone else’s life. Someone he didn’t know.

A hollow life that had him trapped and one he didn’t want.

Those thoughts were dangerously close to sounding like giving up, and Deacon pressed his face angrily into the pillow, letting the fabric soak in the stray tears. It wasn’t over yet. What even was normal anyway? Just because everything had changed didn’t mean it wasn’t worth anything. If he got better things could even go back to the way they were before, right?

Except he didn’t believe he would get better.

The soft slapping of water hitting the shower tile stopped and he stilled, keeping his face pressed against the pillow and listening intently for Eit to come from the bathroom. He tried to make his breathing even, to pretend he was asleep. Maybe if he pretended he could even actually fall asleep. That was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He sensed the elf check on him, heard something being thrown in the hamper, and then finally felt his partner sliding into the other side of the bed. His heart lurched painfully but he didn’t dare move. Eit couldn’t see him cry. Maybe he pretended not to notice, but the mage saw more than he let on. His jockey looked at least as tired as he felt. The worry was getting to him and there was nothing Deacon could do except pretend everything was better than it was.

That’s why he forced it all back inside of him, let the pillow make his eyes dry as he heard a sweet, whispering voice reach out to him. Deacon could pretend for Eit. “What do you want now? Do you need tucked in? A goodnight kiss? Maybe I should sing you a lullaby? For fuck’s sake go to sleep.”

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Bransen Landon
Aliases: Bran, Muffin
Occupation: Pilot Noble, Inquisitor
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Height: 6’4”
Build: Muscular, upside down triangle
Race: Human?
Sexuality: Pansexual
Nationality: Aedolian
Residence: Ryun



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Bransen is tall and shaped very much like a wedge, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrower waist and long legs. Years of physical conditioning have put decent muscle bulk on his long frame. Most people would probably consider him to have a nice body, and given his peak physical health he wouldn’t exactly disagree.

Dark brown hair is kept in a short military cut, and he tends to skip shaving several days in a row, so stubble is a near constant presence on his angular jaw. His eyes are as dark as his hair, and generally very serious. Much to his displeasure freckles are sprinkled over his cheeks and nose, but nowhere else.

Deeply tanned skin with rich copper undertones is riddled with a few major scars that are a lighter discoloration. There are three gunshot wounds on his abdomen, one on the lower right side closer to the hip bone, and two clustered close together on his left shoulder. There are a line of slash scars caused by claws on his right bicep and several faint lines scattered elsewhere on his body that appear to have been caused by knives.

He has two helix piercings in each ear, but no other piercings or tattoos.



PERSONALITY

Bransen is definitely an introvert. He is a man that prefers solitude, peace, and quiet over noisy crowds and lots of action – ironic given his many years of service as a combat operative. The man is quick as a whip and very sharp. His eidetic memory is partly to thank for this, but his personality is equally important in his level of intelligence. He loves to sit back and observe situations, soaking in all the information he can before actually taking any action.

It makes him methodical, which was great for combat operations, but will also be highly valued in his new field of work. Speaking of work, Bransen has a bad habit of being a workaholic and gets hyper-focused to the point of obsession on work-related things. This thankfully doesn’t carry over to his social life.

Actually his social life is rather lacking. Bransen doesn’t dislike people, not at all, but being around a lot of them at once or for extended periods of time is simply exhausting. He much prefers to get close to a few dear friends and keep an arm’s length between him and everyone else. Although these days he doesn’t really have even a few very close people to him and hasn’t for a long time. Losing Tomas was devastating and he still isn’t really over it more than a decade later. If he doesn’t get that close to someone else, then he can’t be hurt again, right? It makes sense to him.



SKILLS & PSIONICS

Telepathy: Lacking in any form of telekinetic ability, he more than makes up for it in his skill with telepathy. Bransen can communicate clearly with high numbers of people at once over considerable distances. It has proven invaluable for coordinating combat operations. In addition, he has demonstrated a talent for implanting subtle messages within other people’s subconscious. Outright mind control is impossible, of course, but he can certainly put very persuasive ideas in the heads of susceptible individuals.

Empathy: This skill has been put to great use in conjecture with his abilities of persuasion. While like most empaths Bransen can read the emotions of those around him when focused, the real value in his particular ability is that it is more like an aura. Projection comes far more easily than reception. There is baseline neutrality to his empathy, but he can easily change how others perceive him. When necessary he can make himself inherently intimidating and menacing, not by any physical feature, but just the fear-inducing aura that radiates off him. On the flipside, he can project a warm familiarity, like the feeling you get when around an old friend. It is useful for making people want to trust him and speak to him. Both methods can be used to pry information from suspects.

Eidetic Memory: This has nothing to do with psionics, but Bransen is in possession of an eidetic, or photographic if you prefer, memory. It gives a whole new meaning to that phrase ‘can never be unseen’. He remembers everything. That moment when he was six and Bill Rogers called him a freak, they were at the indoor playground in lower subsection B, block 71, Bill was wearing a Harpy shirt, khakis, and red sneakers, the paint was peeling a bit on the wall behind him, which was covered in graffiti. Now imagine hundreds, thousands, of even the most mundane memories being stored away forever. Some call it a gift, but personally he thinks it is a curse at times. It does make learning, data collection, and analysis really easy, though.



RELATIONSHIPS

Amelia Landon: The woman who gave birth to him. She squeaked by on the bare minimum to keep him alive so she could collect the benefits of the government stipend for him. Even at fifty years old the woman remains a druggie whore with little to no interest in her child - until she wants money, then she loves to remind him that he owes her for existing. Bransen has never given her a penny since being drafted into the ATC.

Tomas Malott: The first and greatest love of Bran’s life. There was nothing he would not have done for the other Pilot. He had planned to marry him and be with him forever. Fate is a cruel bitch and Tomas died in Bran’s arms during a heated gunfire exchange with enemy combatants. Bran is still haunted by the memories of his dead love.



BACKSTORY

Born to the lower caste and raised by his single mother in the lower levels, Bransen didn’t start life exactly going places. His mother was more interested in drinking, drugs, and boyfriends than him. Who his father is remains a mystery, and he stopped caring a very long time ago. Left mostly to his own devices when not in the shoddy public education system, he spent his spare time at the indoor slum playgrounds or simply exploring the lower levels.

Bransen didn’t have many friends, the other children thought he was weird, and he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly to begin with. As a ten year old boy he already knew that he wanted to go into the military. Not that he could get a recruiter to so much as look at him until he was sixteen, but he at least set goals early. Joining the military was the only way for a boy like him to ever hope to climb the life ladder into something better than lower level trash. A lifetime of service in the public sector was completely unacceptable to him. He was far too clever and ambitious to suffer such a droll fate.

Fate happened to have an even bigger plan ahead for him. By the time he was twelve it was pretty obvious that Bransen was displaying significant psionic ability in the areas of telepathy and empathy. It was like the universe had dumped a huge gift right in his lap. He got to go right off to the ATC as soon as he turned thirteen.

Candidacy was not a cakewalk. Bransen had always been a bigger boy, and he threw himself into the physical training with gusto. Yes, his body ached most days as he pushed himself through the drills day after day, but he liked how it turned his gangly teen body solid and with time it got easier and easier.

The second stage was probably the easiest. Yes he had come from a poor background with minimal education, but Bransen devoured the ATC textbooks. He aced exams because he literally memorized the books and course material. Honestly it was impossible for him to forget. Other aptitude tests showed he had good problem solving and critical thinking skills.

The team-building and teamwork stage was a little harder, Bransen was a quiet young man by nature, and had trouble controlling his empathy at first. It made the other Candidates nervous around him whenever his mood was dark or angry. With a lot of extra work with his mentor and another, younger empathetic Candidate named Tomas he was able to move on to the next stage after months of lagging behind with delays in his ability to make friends. Of course he and Tomas became almost inseparable after this extra training together, the two becoming best friends.

This was also the time he earned himself the nickname Muffin, because of the way he learned to mask his emotions and his naturally quiet nature, the other Candidates decided that Bransen had become as bland as a Bran Muffin, and it stuck annoyingly hard.

Luckily all that extra work made stage four a bit of a breeze. He didn’t spend very long there before advancing out of the ATC and into the Citadel for the final stage. That only lasted until he was old enough to be eligible to bond with a dragon. Bransen was quickly assigned as a combat operative and was deployed to join the war.

Tomas was right behind him and they served together in the same unit. They had barely been fully fledged Pilots when Tomas had a nasty break-up with his boyfriend of the time. Bransen was all too eager to comfort his friend. The two had been close through years at the ATC, but they had always been sleeping with other people, neither ever romantically available at the same time as the other. For the first time there was nothing between them and they dove headfirst and hard into a hot and heavy relationship.

War and battle are ugly, bloody things. Bransen can’t forget any of it. He suffered multiple injuries. Tomas was with him through it all. Even a few years younger than Bran, Tomas was the rock in their love affair and Bran was smitten as could be. He had planned to ask the boy to marry him as soon as the war was over.

Tomas was killed in action six weeks before the ceasefire.

After the war he remained as a solo CO, going on frequent missions into the wastes to eliminate troublesome raiders and mutant beasts.

On a particularly high-risk mission he took two bullets to the torso and after recovering to the point of being cleared to return to duty Bransen put in a transfer request to Inquiry, which was promptly granted and he was assigned to Ryun.

Sometimes you just had to hate being right.

Jexica had known something was wrong when Raz had told her he was leaving, just for a day, because he had to do something. The moment those words had been spoken to her there’d been an uneasy feeling squeezing in her chest. When he hadn’t come home it had been like an icy hand wrapping around her heart.

She had thought that first night with him gone when he was supposed to be home was the worst feeling in the world, but she’d been wrong. It only got worse with each passing day. Jexica couldn’t remember how it felt for her eyes not to burn with the sting of tears or her throat not to be raw from crying.

Baby and the Commodore knew something was very wrong too. They hadn’t left her side since Raz had left, but it was small comfort. Her com had barely left her hand since he hadn’t come home on time. No news certainly didn’t feel like good news, if Raz had been able to he would have just told her he wasn’t going to be home on time. That meant he couldn’t contact her. The Valkyries hadn’t been able to tell her what was actually going on.

All Jexica knew was that wherever Raz had gone, it wasn’t something he’d been ordered to do. It wasn’t an assigned mission of any kind. That was something she had latched on to because she didn’t have anything else. Raz had been taken from her and it was his own fault. The anger helped keep the despair at bay.

When Neeko had messaged her that Raz was alive and at DoSaM she had flown from the apartment so fast she barely had a moment to pause and think to ask Neeko if he and Nishi would take care of the animals until she could bring Raz home with her.

At first all she could feel was overwhelming relief and happiness. Her Razzie was alive! He was hurt, but he was alive. Several hours on the rail gave her plenty of time to turn that happiness and relief into unbridled rage. Nobody had told him to go do…whatever it was he’d gone to do that had kept him away from home and landed him in the hospital. It was his fault she had to feel all that horrible heart-wrenching worry and sadness.

When she had finally arrived in Havina, Jexica practically ran all the way from the station to the hospital. She didn’t slow down until she was in the proper hallway. Then she forced herself to stop and compose herself, if only slightly. She couldn’t exactly make her eyes look like she hadn’t been crying for days or change the fact that she clearly hadn’t slept properly since he’d been gone.

Jexica took a deep breath as she approached his door, and then let it out before pushing it open and glaring at her uncle, who apparently got to see him before she did. Alec made a hasty exit as soon as he saw her, clearly mouthing the words ‘good luck’ to Raz as he slipped past her and pulled the door shut behind him to leave them alone with as much privacy as could be afforded inside a hospital room. It would have to be enough.

Honestly the moment her eyes had laid on his face her heart had lurched, drumming wildly in her chest. He was hurt, and it hurt her to know it. Part of her wanted to rush to his bedside and try to comfort him, but no, she wasn’t going to give in to that urge.

Not yet, he had some things to answer for!

She stormed over to the bed, and brought a fisted hand down on his chest with a glare. It probably wasn’t that hard of a hit, even though she didn’t really try to hold back. Unlike him, Jexica wasn’t a fighter.

“Do you have any idea how much you scared me?” Jexica hit him again. “You better have a really good excuse. Start talking!”

---

I. About the Ravens

The Ravens are deadly assassins and battlefield game changers. A tactical stealth squad deployed with a singular purpose: seek and destroy. When you need to sow chaos among enemy ranks with key target eliminations there is no better person for the job than a Raven. The mere mention of a feathered black menace can freeze the blood of even staunch enemies of Aedolis. As to be expected, it requires a very special type of Pilot to be considered for a position on the Ryun squad. Ravens must be cunning, ruthless, and terrifying. In addition, Psionics and skills that allows one to kill while remaining undetected is paramount to almost any other qualifier.
 
Among their ranks there is a very strict combat doctrine. Assassination with a side of sabotage is their bread and butter. Stealth is vital, mistakes are intolerable and costly. Unlike many squads, Ravens frequently operate alone or in pairs. While the emphasis on team cohesion may seem less important, it is required that the squad be able to function as a singular unit for large-scale operations. During such missions the squad requires telepathic ability to meld into an almost seamless hive mind with each individual able to interpret and respond to all incoming information.
 
When not out on missions, every Raven has a very strict training regime consisting of stealth drills and simulations. Most physical training revolved around honing reflexes or practicing with high-tech infiltration equipment. All Ravens must be able to do basic upkeep and maintenance on their gear and be proficient in its operation. Most real-world practice is carried out in The Midhaven, with squad members putting their skills to the test by seeking out and killing targets matching randomly generated criteria.


Headquarters

Situated centrally on one of the largest islands that make up the Ryun dome is the Headquarters of the Ravens squadron. The building is a hulking stone and concrete bastion, fortified as a stronghold a long time ago and reinforced in the present to serve the men and women known to be one of the deadliest squadrons in Aedolis. Known simply as Nevermore, the HQ is a veritable fortress adorned with gargoyles in the form of malevolent ravens.
 
A raven sculpted from onyx welcomes visitors at the entrance, wings spread above the doorway as a silent guardian. Once inside there is only an imposing foyer to greet you. Sitting in the center is another statue; this one of four ravens each one facing a cardinal direction, water spilling from their silently cawing beaks into the fountain below.
 
No hallways lead off from the otherwise empty room. To go deeper into Nevermore one must either know the location of the hidden doors and many twisting, confusing secret passages or be escorted by someone who does.


Standard Equipment

[1] Reinforced Raven-pattern helmet and flight-suit with holographic camouflage.
[1] Standard Pilot issue medium range firearm, and sidearm.
[1] Collapsing Raven pattern shield, built into flight-suit bracer
[1] Drop pack, complete with stabilizers
[1] Frequency jammer and scrambler



II. Objectives

• Get behind enemy lines
• Take out key targets
• Regroup without being seen
• Repeat!

The Ravens are assassins, first and foremost. They're trained and equipped to infiltrate enemy locations without being seen, their mission is to sow chaos and terror by eliminating high-priority targets undetected. Ravens always employ psychological terror tactics by sending a threatening raven feather to their marked target.


III. Rank and File

To join: Send me the profile link to the character you wish to join, and Commander Zomu will be in touch.

PRESENT MEMBERS:

Squadron Command

• Pilot Royal Keiko Zomu
  Dragon: Misfortune

Squadron Leaders

• Pilot Noble Erenys Dei - Strategy Technician - HQ ONLY
  Dragon: Arcturus
  
• Pilot Echo Ndhcth-Zholellachu K'k'kthuluxtl - Field Command
  Dragon: TBD
  

Asst. Squadron Leader Limited positions available depending on squad size overall
[Acts as Squad Leader in the event that the present Squad Leader is unable to perform their duties, or helps to facilitate group cohesion in the event of large-scale deployment. Otherwise is simply part of the squadron regular. Should either be a senior Pilot Cardinal or newly minted Pilot Echo with good leadership skills.]

• Pilot Echo Obsidian Rubitri
  Dragon: TBD

Squad Members

• OPEN!
• Pilot Echo Sevastian Torje
  Dragon: TBD
• Pilot Echo Dekval Rath
  Dragon: Sophitia
• Pilot Echo Lorraine Estrada
  Dragon: Camus
• Pilot Noble Prox Lutore
  Dragon: Sanguinar
• Pilot Cardinal Polarus
  Dragon: Nimalla
• Pilot Echo Seriah Weiss
  Dragon: Zarien

PAST MEMBERS:
Whether because they're dead or something more sinister... To be added as necessary.

• Former Commander Pilot Royal Irial Siu Ynnves
  Dragon: Aeval Meabh

IV.Squad Roles
[These are specific sub-roles that are fulfilled by specific members of the squadron to form the full unit. The basic structure is that of a ten man squadron, headed by the two commanding officers, the Squadron Commander and Squadron Leader. This particular role structure differs wildly from team to team, based on that particular team's specific modus operandi (ie. a stealth based team will have far more supporting/stealth based operatives versus heavy weapons experts).]




V. General History

GOBLIN FINISH THIS SHIT


VI. Timeline

Active Missions Threads:

Past Missions Threads:

Nevermore was duly imposing for the reputation of the squad that inhabited it. There was a chance it may have also been super cringe-worthy edge lord. It was probably both.

Yes, definitely both.

They strolled in very casually in their uniform indicating they were from a local carry-out pizza place, a large heating bag carried in their arms. Right on schedule their com beeped softly, indicating that the camera watching that part of the foyer had been shut down. They swiftly opened the bag, pulled out a false stack of folded cardboard pizza boxes, and deposited it on the edge of the fountain. The rest of the bag was swiftly carried with them to the hidden door on a currently unmonitored section of wall.

Once ducked into the passage another soft beep indicated the camera had been restarted a breath after the door was shut. To security observers the delivery boy would have dropped off the pizza and be assumed to have left while the camera was malfunctioning.

If they noticed the camera had went down at all.

Keiko quickly shed the pizza uniform, a simple black ensemble beneath. Her pizza boy face melted away into her natural self. Another beep, the camera watching the other end of the corridor went down. The clothing was shoved back into the bag and stashed in the bathroom trashcan located near this entrance.

From there it was a simple stroll through the passageways to the headquarters proper. No one passed her, and cameras turned on and off as she made her way to each office of the squadron members unchallenged and unseen. A single black feather was left in the top drawer of the abandoned desks. It seemed no one was really working right now. She had to wonder if that was because of the notorious tendency for goofing off the last Commander was known for.

It didn’t really matter.

She found the Commander’s office – her office now, she supposed. It had not been cleaned out of the previous occupant’s belongings yet. Her nose crinkled in distaste as she carefully picked her way over to the desk. The first order of business would be to have this entire room stripped, resurfaced, and sanitized. All new furniture and equipment would be required. She wasn’t touching anything that Nym had pawed all over; she shuddered to think what the place would look like under a black light.

Keiko pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket, and then got a second pair, putting them both on she gently pushed the chair away with the tip of her boot, then booted up the computer. Once logged in, she remained standing as she casually browsed random Ravens files.

There was so much work to do.

The finances alone were atrocious. Did they destroy the yacht regularly? Furthermore, why did they have a yacht? No, that would have to go. It was probably contaminated beyond salvaging anyway. There were more mundane things, such as equipment purchase orders and office supply expenses, but they were clearly not someone’s priority, because they were a jumbled mess.

Several hours passed completely undisturbed as she evaluated her squad through the computer systems, it was only when her back started aching from standing at the desk that Keiko glanced at her timer with a disapproving tsk.

How disappointing.

She slipped back out the same way she came in, and didn’t pass another soul. The cameras turned on and off as she moved. Keiko didn’t even bother retrieving her previous disguise. Nevermore remained a silent sentinel, the people within unaware they had been visited at all as she slinked right back out the front door without a backward glance.

Deacon was not asleep as Eit picked him up off the floor and carried him into bed. A sleeping person would have still had some stirring sign of life, would have shifted their body, groaned, something – anything. The only thing indicating the mage was still among the living as his partner undressed and settled him into bed was the shallow, hitching breaths still making his chest expand and contract fitfully.

He even looked somewhat lifeless.

It wasn’t painfully obvious yet, but the Duo had clearly started to waste away, losing some of his mass and definition. Someone who had consumed that much alcohol should probably have flushed skin, but Deacon appeared somewhat drained of color and he was already normally relatively pale, now he was downright ghastly.

For about a quarter of an hour that is how Deacon remained, still and silent save the slight rasp of his breath. The deathly stillness was broken suddenly with a gasp, as if he finally was able to suck in a decent breath of air after being deprived.

Deacon turned his head with a soft groan. His mind was a tangled mess of confusion, starting with not immediately sure where he was. The soft bed really threw him off since one moment he had been at the bar and apparently now he most definitely was not. It took him a moment to recognize the comforting scents of home as his tongue ran over his lips to wet them.

They were dry.

Why was he on his back? He never slept on his back, always favoring sleeping on his left side until the injury had forced him to change positions. More than that didn’t feel right, because he was cold. Where were his clothes? Not the most pressing question as his arm reached out to the empty space beside him.

Where is Eit?

The elf crawling into bed with him was a new development, but having his partner warm against his back was something the mage had easily gotten used to in a very short period of time.

Dragging his green eyes open was a chore, but they darted around until they found the huge blue elf kneeling by the bed. Deacon’s brow drew down in a scowl as he struggled to sit up. Who the fuck put those pillows there? With a bit of irritation he grabbed them and threw them haphazardly elsewhere on the bed as he rolled to his side and made himself more comfortable. He still had no idea why Eit wasn’t in bed, what time even was it?

Late as fuck, that much he was sure.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” His voice was sleepy and confused, Deacon didn’t remember coming home or climbing in bed, but he knew that Eit wasn’t supposed to be on the floor. “Did I push you out of bed? Sorry.”

If nothing else, Matt had the sense enough to be prepared for a fight the moment his arms made it around Heather’s shoulders. She struggled and raged at him, but he was definitely the stronger and more stubborn one between the two of them in this instance. He knew she didn’t have near as much fight in her as she tried to puff up that she did, which was only confirmed as their brief battle ended with her collapsed and crying in his arms.

It didn’t matter that Matt held no actual psychic empathy. He knew that all the venom was just an attempt to drive him away because she didn’t want to deal with him and whatever they might (or might not) be making each other feel.

“I’m not going to leave you alone like this, Heather.” He gently rubbed at her back in little circles with one hand while the other fished a handkerchief out of his pocket. It was emblazoned with the Hellions logo, naturally, but he offered it to her without hesitating - hardly mattered to him if it got some snot and tears on it. “Do you really hate me that much? I didn’t think I was so bad; all I want to do is be your friend. Who cares if you’re a bitch? I still like you.”

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Travis De Luca
Alias: Fido
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Height: 6’2”
Race: Werewolf
Sexuality: Opportunist
Nationality: Libran
Occupation: Body Modification Specialist


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Travis De Luca

Travis is a tall and lanky youth. His long body is narrow instead of blocky but his physique is made up of well-defined musculature. All those lean muscles are wrapped in warm skin that falls somewhere between russet and terra-cotta. Like the rest of him, his face is somewhat narrow, with softer edges instead of stronger, more squared features like the other males in his family.

A mop of medium length and very red hair falls haphazardly into his face. Yellow-gold eyes stare out of his face full of mischief and are usually accompanied by his wide mouth twisted in a smirk. Slightly thin lips hide pearly white teeth and a pair of pronounced canines.

Fashion isn’t a high priority. Mostly comfortable shirts, jeans, and shoes make up his wardrobe. He likes jewelry, though. Travis is particularly fond of leather corded and braided bracelets or wrist cuffs. Multiple necklaces are another common grouping of accessories. Then of course are his piercings. A “snake bite” in his lower lip, his earlobes, as well as two hoops high in the cartilage and those are just the obvious ones. If you want to know about the other ones you’ll just have to go hunting for them.

There is a very stylized tattoo of a sun over his heart, and a moon with two stars on his right hip.

In the hybrid wolf form Travis grows quite a lot, topping out at eight feet if he stands at his full height. His body remains gangly, but clearly bulkier than his human self. The fur on the beast is a mix of red, brown, and gray.



PERSONALITY

Obnoxiously stubborn about doing things his own way, Travis is not exactly good at being compromising on most things. He wraps himself up in a layer of snark and smugness to keep most people at arm’s length. Despite a tendency to be abrasive and somewhat combative, he’s a fierce and loyal friend if you can get him to call you that.



SKILLS

The Usual Suspects
•   Heightened senses, speed, strength, and reflexes.
•   Can change into a hybrid wolf form that is even stronger.
•   Superior immunity to diseases and phenomenal healing capabilities.
•   Ages much slower and lives much longer than humans.

The Less Usual Suspects
•   Saliva has healing properties.
•   Does not have a weakness to silver.
•   Generates tons of body heat.
•   Super high metabolism means always hungry.



RELATIONSHIPS
Tanner De Luca: A grizzled old Knight and a real hard ass. Blood says the man is his father, but they don’t have much of a relationship.

Holly De Luca: A well-meaning housewife and his mother. She still tries to mother him and he still lives to make her worry.

Cyrus De Luca: Golden Boy Knight, always doing what father says and never getting in trouble. They avoid each other whenever possible.

Belladonna De Luca: Little sister and slight pest, but one he genuinely loves most in his family. She is still in training to be a jockey.

Kibble: A female gray tabby cat missing her left front leg. He has had her since she was a kitten, taking her to a vet after he had saved her from being harassed by a dog. Since the kitten was just a stray the vet was going to send her to a shelter where she might have never been adopted because of her missing leg. Travis already had his own apartment by then so he took her home with him.



BACKSTORY

Born second, Travis spent the first four years of his life as the baby, until his little sister came along and turned him into the middle child. They weren’t a terribly remarkable or out of the ordinary family, aside for being werewolves in a predominantly human culture. His father is a Knight, so a pillar of society as a military man, but the wolf was a hard man to be raised by with his authoritarian view of keeping his family running smoothly.

Being stuck in the middle, between an older brother he could never quite live up to and a younger sister that was regarded as a flawless princess, Travis holds a lot of resentment for always getting what he could only describe as “the shit end of the stick”.

The troublemaker and problem child became the center of his identity at home. With nothing he did ever being good enough to live up to what he considered unfair expectations he decided that trying wasn’t worth the effort. In fact, the only time he felt he could really get attention from his parents was when he caused them issues, so learned that bad behavior was the only thing that actually focused the family on him and not either of his siblings.

Instead of going after higher education and attempting to join the military as his father wanted, Travis barely finished the free public education system before turning his back on his family entirely. He was always fairly creative and a good artist, so he apprenticed at a tattoo parlor. Now he makes his living inking or piercing up clients, collecting his own piercings and ink along the way.

Travis is rather pleased overall with his life and with being a disappointment.

Any other time the posturing probably wouldn’t have mattered, but drunk and angry, Deacon forced himself to stand up, an action that was accompanied by a wave of dizziness and nausea that he stubbornly ignored. If this was a fight he didn’t like Eit towering over him, and part of him was itching for a fight, at least when he was pissed off he felt something besides emptiness and dread.

“So fucking what if I’m sick?” Honestly at this point his illness seemed a fairly moot point to take into consideration on whether or not he should do something. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, right? “Would it make you happy if I just stayed in bed for the rest of my short, miserable fucking existence? Excuse me for wanting to go out and do something for one goddamn night. Who cares if it was something stupid? At least I managed to go do it.”

Deacon couldn’t summon the energy or willpower to leave the house a lot of days, and he knew it was going to get worse. That was all logic in the back of his head, but he couldn’t make a logical argument right now, just like he couldn’t sympathize with Eit’s feelings on the matter in that moment.

“And I never asked you to worry about me. Not one fucking time did I ask you to do that. It isn’t your job to worry about me.” He conveniently ignored the fact that if their positions were reversed he would have been just as annoyingly fussy and frustrated. If Eit were dying he didn’t know what he would do. Probably not handle it nearly as well as Eit was handling Deacon’s own impending doom.

In the back of his head Deacon knew that he needed to stop talking, because he was only going to end up hurting them both, but he couldn’t stop that alcohol-driven locomotive.

“I have a great fucking idea, go find yourself a resonance to nag instead and leave me the hell alone.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth they reignited his earlier hurt and resentment that he had tried so hard to drown in booze.

This was all Eit’s goddamn fault - at least in his liquor-muddled mind.

“Oh yeah, Firefly told me about resonances earlier today, like how all of you have one. Funny that I would need to learn that from some stranger in a chatroom instead of from, I don’t know, my idiot partner.” Deacon honestly didn’t know which bothered him more – that Eit had one or that he hadn’t told him about it.