Remnants of the Earth

Shit they were leaving!  Trevan inwardly swore as he saw Malcolm and Duncan talking amongst themselves a few more minutes about 'business' before walking out the main door and into the hallway.  He heard the voice, distantly, of a third man speaking amicably to Malcolm and Duncan and saw their shadows shaking hands in the corner of the room.

"Hell yeah man, come right this way.  Don't worry you're going to love her," the third man said.

"I already do!  And with the right talking, we can make this deal right."  Malcolm laughed and the door shut behind them.

Fuck.

Trevan looked through the slats again and crawled on through the air ducts.  The fit was a bit tight since he had his backpack on, but there was room enough for him to wiggle through.  And the best thing was these ducts went through the entire guest room floor.

___

Malcolm and Duncan trailed behind Ra-Ra's manager as he led them through the halls toward Ra-Ra's room.  "She's top notch!  She knows what's good for her, or else she wouldn't have ol' Rigby here as her manager, yeah?"  He laughed as he turned to glance at Malcolm.  His eyes were a bit buggy and had bags underneath them as if he hadn't slept in days.  His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead was coated with sweat.

"Yeah, of course.  She's got to get in touch with the right people if she wants to hit the big time.  I mean, I ain't sayin' she's small time, but I mean, you want to make it BIG - and I mean BIG - you've got to make the right connections," Rigby went on as they rounded the corner and spotted Ra-Ra there, making no small show of going at it with her on stage hunk.

"HEY HEY!  ALL RIGHT NOW SKEDADDLE YOU PAPARAZZI PUNKS!"  Rigby rushed at the people flashing their cameras and shoved them aside, parting the crowd and yanking T-Ate off of her.  The cameramen groaned, some of them with odd looking objects protruding from their pants, and scattered.

"Save it for the stage buddy.  Go get a cold one and you can see my girl after.  Got a very important meeting."  Rigby never did like that little punk, and shoved him aside, as her manager opened the door to Ra-Ra's suite and ushered her inside, and closed the door after Malcolm.  Duncan stayed outside and in front of the door, smiling smugly at T-Ate, since the man still had his dong hanging outside of his pants.

"You might want to put that away and go get something to cool off with," Duncan laughed.

Splat!

Followed by a mild crunch and the man was down, out for the count.  Trev was always sure to make every hit count.  It wasn’t like he could afford to just run into a room and start shooting.  Besides he didn’t have a gun and preferred not to carry one unless he could pick one up.  This place was risky, there were a lot of people here and even with the music blaring off in the background, likely wouldn’t take a few dead bodies very lightly.

But this was the only place where he knew Malcolm Macrom would be.  And probably the last night he’d be in town too.  He was a minor drug lord, a pusher so to speak, with friends deep in the entertainment industry.  He a short well-built, stocky man, with greasy blonde hair often slicked back out of his face, and was often a VIP guest of Synesthesia. 

With the music blaring out on the stage, Syn was ablaze in fury.  The crowd was apparently eating up whatever pop star was singing out there now.  And the music was so loud that thankfully it drowned out the cries of the unfortunate thug that walked in on Trevan standing over the body of the first man he killed.

He whirled around and whipped out the saw blade from the compartment on his backpack and took off a hand first, and then cut open his midsection.  The soft whirring of the saw blade remained as the man struggled to hold his belly and fell down  on the ground.  Trevan stepped back and let his body drop, his sneakers stepping softly around the men.  The window behind him was parted just enough to serve as an escape route, and looked just as inconspicuous to passersby.  That is, unless they walked headlong into the room.

The guest rooms behind the main stage, just one floor above, were a myriad labyrinth.  Only in the biggest and hottest nightclub in all of Haviah right?  Trev sighed beneath the wolf mask on his face, the red gems that served as the eyes flickered menacingly in the dim lighting.  At least he was headed in the right direction from the men that had waited in this room.

Trev stepped over the bodies and carefully opened the door, looking around the corner and looking at the suite just down the hall.  223AD, that was the room.  He stepped through the hall when he was sure it was clear and walked deftly.  His clothing was ordinary, a sleeveless shirt over a jacket, leather since it was easier to wash the blood out, and blue jeans.  Sneakers?  Because they were quieter than boots.

He moved quickly towards the room and slowly opened the door.  Two more men were inside.  “What the fuck!?  Boss didn’t order any entertainment up here.  Get out of here punk,” one man said.  Being closest to the door, it was easiest to use the door to crack him hard in the face.  Trev ran at the second man quickly, sawing off an arm and another blow quickly separated his head from his body.  He finished off the first man with a quick swipe of a knife across his throat.

They were armed, easily concealed weapons inside their coats and pockets.  Macrom wouldn’t go around with an unarmed entourage after all.  He had protection, everywhere he went.  But not tonight…  Trev would make sure of that.

The music still pounded heavily outside, the bass bursting against his eardrums even through the covering of the mask.  He moved on through the suite, unable to stay still, as he heard loud laughter echoing from the other side of a door.  “She’s a hot one, isn’t she, boss?”

“Fuck yeah.  Ra-Ra’s got tits like rocks man, I could squeeze those things until they fucking pop!”

“I dunno.  Her ass is way hotter.  Shangri-La’s tits are way hotter.  Not to mention she’s got a better voice tooo.”

“You high, Duncan?  There’s no way Shangri-La’s got a better voice!  Besides that bitch is way too prudish.  You’d think she’d show off a little more.  Maybe she’d sell more records.”

Malcolm sniffed audibly from the other side of the door, snorting what Trev didn’t know.  “Ah who cares, all they’re good for is one thing anyway.  I can take Ra-Ra to the top with this stuff.  I got in contact with her manager too.  He’s a fucking snake, so you keep an eye on him, yeah?  I’ll have that cunt eating out of the palm of my hand come tonight.  And maybe then some.”

Duncan laughed and walked toward the other end of the suite, going through the antechamber from sitting room that served as Malcolm’s office.  “Yeah, boss.  The Show is just about over now.  Up next is Falinesti, some grunge band or whatever, I don’t really know.  Ra-Ra should be on her way up soon.”

Trevan moved back toward the bodies and moved them over toward the first room, slinking them over and shutting the door.  There was no reason for them all to just be strewn all over the place after all.  Trev spotted an air duct above him and scampered up to it, climbing over a small statue and pulling himself up, sliding the grate back into place.  Ahead of him he spotted the slits of light coming up from the sitting room below.  And he crawled silently down to it.  And from there he had a good view of Malcolm, greasy headed motherfucker.

[There’s only one entrance to the suite.  Trevan came in through the window, at the other end of the suite, so they wouldn’t see the bodies right away.]

Prologue   
+ NAME + Trevan Ander
+ ALIAS +  Trev, “Howler”
+ AGE + 25
+ GENDER + Male
+ STAR SIGN + The Claw
+ BORN + Mid-Summer
+ ORIGIN + Vhanhelis, Aedolis
+ SPECIES + Human
+ RESIDENCE + Haviah, Aedolis, but travels from time to time
+ OCCUPATION + Vigilante / Ass-kicker
+ COUNTENANCE + Dark blue hair / Hazel-red eyes
+ STATURE + 6’2” / 188 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Unknown



CH. I – Painting a Portrait
A slim brow encompasses his eyes, with low eye brows and deep set eyes.  Trevan knows that if he were a pop star, he could get anybody he wanted with his eyes alone, as unique as they are.  If he cared to do so that was.  He’s a well-built athlete so to speak.  What he does in his recreational time does require a great deal of athletic ability.  He has a few scars here and there, scuffs and scrapes from injuries while ‘on the job’, but they’re not something he brags about.

His hair is roughly cut, scraggly on his head, but always pushed back and out of his face.  His lips are thin, and when they grin, they stretch out wide, almost in mocking amusement.  But most of the people don’t get to see his face when he wears his mask.

 + NOTABLE MARKS +
Nothing particularly special, save for a small helix-like birthmark on his lower back.

CH II – Mental Make-up
Trev is used to thinking on his feet, and has learned to become slippery enough to get out of trouble by the skin of his teeth.  He’s highly adaptive, knowing when to stand out, and when to slink by as if he were supposed to be there all along.  Trev can’t be sure how to describe himself, and he tries not to think about any sort of moral code to what he does, other than a “Somebody’s gotta do it” thought process. 

Despite Aedolan culture in general, Trev despises corruption, the corporate and military bigwigs that think they can push their weight around with impunity.  He’s taken it upon himself to become a masked crusader of a sort, and to take out the trash – cleaning out drug dens and killing the goons of crime lords.  It’s thankless work, and he tries not to take much satisfaction out of it, but there is something a bit satisfying about popping a few melons in here and there.  A fact he would never acknowledge, he feeds off that violence, that brutality, and he fears discovering that part of himself exists more than just his ‘night job’.

Aside from that, Trev is sarcastic and snarky, not afraid of conflict, but he picks and chooses his battles.  When he’s in his alter-ego, there is no hesitation, but in every day life he’s more careful about the decisions he makes.  He doesn’t like to be conspicuous, not any more than he has to be.

+ FAITH +
N/A

+ HABITS +
Smokes and drinks a little, but doesn’t care to partake in any drugs or other such paraphernalia.  He does enjoy reading however, secretly.  Oh and making bad ass weapons.

CH III – Social

+ RELATIONSHIPS +
Ursula Ander – Mother, dead.
Andreyev Ander – Father, dead. 

CH IV – Abilities / Skills
+ VIGILANTE +
He fights, kills, and maims his way through the criminal underworld, preferring to be quiet than running through with a hail of bullets before him, since sometimes you don’t have that option.  He takes what he does seriously, and has trained and conditioned his body to move at a moment’s notice, and take great punishment.  He’s nimble, athletic, and quite good at acrobatics – he can duck, dive, roll, and flip with the best of them.  He’s also quite good at hand to hand fighting, having a rough and heavy style to it.

+ MECHANICAL ENTHUSIAST +
Trev makes most of his own gear, since weapons are illegal in Aedolis, using what other people consider mundane items.  He’s meticulous and enjoys fiddling around with small mechanics and gears and wires and welding them all together.

CH V – Gear / Equipment
+ SAW SWORD +
A particularly vicious looking chainsaw like weapon, with an extended hand on the end that allows it be wielded like a sword.  It has a small engine that turns on with the pressure of his hand squeezing the hilt. 

He also carries a mask and a backpack full of gear and an assortment of other weapons just in case.

CH VI – Reflections of the Past
He was the son between a corporate business man and his secretary.  It was a relationship not meant to last, not that it was encouraged to do so anyway.  He was left in his mother’s care, though she had to keep him a secret from her other boyfriend – a crime boss named Regulus Farrow, that eventually found about the affair.  He wasn’t one to share and when Trevan was just a child, he witnessed his mother tortured and murdered, her body thrown out like the day’s garbage.

He tried to run away to his father, but Farrow’s men found him too, and killed him.  No one did a damn thing about it, either, for Farrow had important friends in important places that kept untouchable.  Eventually, someone did away with him – Farrow was not well liked – and threw his body parts all over the Midhaven, or so Trevan later learned.

Trevan was left to his own devices, robbed of his chance for revenge and grew up on the mean streets of metropolisi Vhanhelis, a smaller city much like Haviah, and took all sorts of odd jobs, eventually learning a mechanic’s trade, dabbling in electronics, and moved to Haviah after scraping by, just enough to live day by day.

But life was no better there.  You had to be in the military if you wanted to live big, or had more money than you could count.  It wasn’t that that made him upset, no, he saw the thugs that came around small corner stores, the drugs they pushed around, and all the people that were hurt by it.  Nobody cared who got hurt as long as the money kept coming in, and people knew their place. 

It was an accident really, how it all went down.  He had come across a couple of thugs beating up a woman in an alleyway and he ran in and saved her.  But it was too late.  The damage had been done and she died before she could receive proper medical care.  He felt sick to his stomach, and followed those thugs to their hide out.  He broke in and dismantled their establishment, leaving no survivors.

Trevan took it upon himself then to take out the trash, and donned a mask – a wolf mask he calls Howler. 

Threads
Let Me Be Your Lipstick

Okay so Cal really should've been expecting that, he thought.  He put his hands up in a show of innocence as she slammed him back against the side of the corridor.  He could feel the magnetism just itching beneath his skin at the contact of the metal and he smiled wide-eyed at her.  "Hey!  Easy now!" he hissed, feeling a bolt poking through his shoulderblade.  That was going to bruise in the morning.

"Now just give me some room to breathe here, geeze!" he coughed and dusted himself off.  "I told you the last part already, Captain.  My name is Cal.  Short for Calixte.  Look, I'm not trying to get you into any trouble, but sometimes things just turn out that way, y'know?  That's life!  Shit happens and sometimes there ain't nothing you can do about it!"

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.  "Besides, there's no telling just what they'd do to me if they catch us.  Not to mention what they'd do to you.  TRIM gets all butt hurt when they find out about missing property.  Missing as in escaped.  And property as in yours truly."  And he grinned charmingly and pointed both thumbs to himself.

Oh one slice of pizza, she was remarkably generous!  He hoped this ship was big enough for her massive head, lest she bump into something and deflate herself!  Calixte inwardly scoffed but continued to bite at the slice of pizza oh so casually.  No reason he couldn't take his time and enjoy it.  It was the only bit of good food he'd had since, well...ah he already'd been over this.

Cal glanced at the nutrition bars.  "Hm, chocolate.  That'll do," he said and pocketed a few into the trousers that he'd stolen.  No reason he couldn't have a change of clothes after escaping.  Besides this jacket fit him like a dream!  He continued to eat casually even as the Red Shirts began to bang on the door in ever growing fury. 

He looked down the corridor from the cockpit where he'd so nonchalantly walked on and immediately turned to her.  "Look, you can't open that door.  You let them in here we're both dead!" he said and swallowed a bite of pizza.  "You just get in that other chair over there and hit the throttle!  We'd be out of here like two beans out of the ass end of Neptune, yeah?  Yeah!  Name's Cal!"

"You don't open this door in the next ten seconds cutting through the hull!" came another muffled shout.  This time even Calixte knew they meant business and it wasn't going to be long before they followed through on that promise.

In a moment of eyeopening fear, Cal shot his hand out to grab her wrists, eyes actually pleading with her.  And boy could he pull off one hell of a puppy-dog face.

Goddammit!  Couldn't she just have a quiet meal somewhere and not have this happen?  Gavrian visibly groaned from the infuriating nature of the whole situation.  And the only thing that kept her from doing more than inwardly rolling her eyes was the thought of being able to eat her sandwich in peace.  She'd get poor Barney to take it to go for her, and tip generously. 

At the intervention of the other woman, Gavrian got up from her table and strode over, real business like and put a hand up between the pair.  "Hey now!  No need for all this senseless threatening.  You're really killing the mood in here, the both of you," Gavrian quickly interjected, clearly seeing Skav's inner struggle.  "Hey!  Let him go!  He clearly has nothing much to hang onto in life.  His arm's the only thing he's likely got left."

Prologue
+ NAME + Gavrian Levansky
+ ALIAS +  Gavri if you want to torture her
+ AGE + 27
+ GENDER + Female
+ STAR SIGN + The Thorn
+ BORN + Mid-Year
+ ORIGIN + Haviah, Aedolis
+ SPECIES + Human
+ RESIDENCE + Aedolis, likes to travel
+ OCCUPATION + Pilot
+ COUNTENANCE + Red hair w/ Black streaks / Gray Eyes
+ STATURE + 5’8” / 122 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Heterosexual



CH. I – Painting a Portrait
While Gavrian is not the most physically imposing woman in all of Aedolis, what she lacks in stature, she more than makes up for in attitude and determination.  She carries herself like someone who knows what they’re doing and won’t take any crap from  someone telling her that she can’t do something.  At average height for a woman, she would describe herself as fairly plain, with a small bust, and really nothing to boast about.  Her eyes are rather piercing, however, an icy gray that stands out more than she would prefer.

Physically she is athletic in build, and she tries to maintain by running, an exercise she enjoys doing alone, and high intensity cardio.  She can fight with the best of them, and is not afraid to prove it.

 + NOTABLE MARKS +
She has a branding on the back of her right shoulder of a dragon catching prey.

CH II – Mental Make-up
The first thing people tend to notice about Gavrian is most definitely her temper.  She gets steamed pretty fast, even about little things.  She tries her best to control her temper, and her patience, often to little avail.  Happy go lucky just isn’t her style, and it certainly irritates her when it’s other people’s.  And it’s definitely NOT the right attitude to have when on a mission!  There’s a time to be play and a time to be serious and they should never coincide. 

She enjoys her work as a Pilot however, both on her dragon, and commandeering solo spacecraft.  In addition, she doesn’t really have the social skills to be considered a people person.  More often than not she is blunt and to the point.  And she hates filing formal paper work even more. 

She isn’t exactly popular with her peers or her superiors for that matter.  While it’s immaterial to her what they think, what does matter her performance.  She leaves no room for doubt that she’s a damn good Pilot, one of the best, and she can be counted on when needed.  While others might not like talking to her, there’s no one else they’d rather have at their back.

+ FAITH +
She isn’t nearly as hedonistic as Aedolan culture encourages, and listening to pop stars makes her ears bleed.  She does like to have a good beer every now and again.  In fact too much fun, can be a bad thing, in her book.  But she generally keeps such thoughts to herself.

+ HABITS +
No nonsense, stubborn, are the only things she’d consider to be her vices.  She has smoked here and there, but it isn’t her thing.

CH III – Social

+ RELATIONSHIPS +
Darren Levansky, Father, Doctor, Alive, 43
Branda Moore, Mother, Mechanic, Alive, 50
Brandon Moore, Twin Brother, Deceased, 23

  Caliban – Biomech Dragon- Rawr!  (WIP)

CH IV – Abilities / Skills
+ PSYCHIC +
A strong telekinetic and telepath, gifts she discovered at a young age but told no one about, fearing being shipped off to the military.  But when her father found out she could, he insisted that she go, to make something of herself.  But he wouldn’t force her.  She volunteered herself at the age of fifteen and has been a Pilot ever since. 

Her abilities have been honed to create heatwaves, a psionic reaction that sends out blasts of energy that when they impact a target will disintegrate the material like a knife through butter.  She can also create small temporary force fields to protect herself if necessary.

*She’s also a decent crack shot with a pistol, and a rifle.

CH V – Gear / Equipment
*TBA

CH VI – Reflections of the Past
Born to a middle-class family, raised largely by her father, a doctor named Darren Levansky, Gavrian had a fairly basic childhood.  She only vaguely remembered her mother and her brother was killed at 23, a Scout in the Aedolian military.  She always resented the government because of that, and she does not look forward to her birthday because of it, feeling something is missing. 

Her parents never lived together, but she always felt closer to her father than her mom, as they barely spoke or had contact of any kind until she joined the military at age 15.  She remains close to her father, a rare commodity in times like these and despite Aedolan culture, emailing or calling him at least once a day.

THREADS
Hey There Pretty Mama Let Me Whisper in Your Ear

When he got his share - and what a share it was! - he ate at it hungrily.  He didn't have much in the way of manners and was swallowing down the pizza when she spoke.  "What?  Hell no!  You're nuts, y'know that.  I told you I was hungry!  Hungry!  For food!  Real food.  Pizza Foooood!  I'm literally starving!  You see these abs?  They shouldn't be that thin!  I don't mean like I want to be fat or anything.  But this is literally the best pizza I've ever had.  Ya got any more?"

He knew he was rambling, but he was hoping she'd focus more on the last thing he said than anything else.

Calixte yowled!  Like a cartoon character that accidently stepped on a rake or stepped on some hot coals.  He reeled backwards when she bit his hand and stepped on his foot.  However, he forced the pain from his mind and lunged for her pizza-wielding hand.  "Give me that!  I haven't eaten in days!  I'm starving mad!" he growled.

http://remnants.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?board=31.0  BOOOM!